#and he said we’re only starting actual fencing from next month so ill have only three weeks to prepare??? why cant we start already

[thoughtfulseason]

yesterday coach brought up two of my insecurities/traumas from school which made cry when i got home and today i feel like my writing’s not enough 😩 pls treat me nicer

[poedameronloverx]

Close To Home

Life In Lockdown Masterlist

Pairing - Poe Dameron x F! Solo Reader

Warnings - Massive amounts of Covid talk in this chapter as it starts to effect our lovely little squad, so if that upsets you please don’t read, I don’t want anyone to be triggered or upset by this content <3

Month 2 – April 2020

As the weeks went on, you found yourself getting more and more used to remote working. Your boss had made a lunch time finish on a Friday a weekly thing and you were grateful for it. Poe was getting every Friday off, and Rose got to finish at 3pm on a Friday. You and Poe were working round each other better, you’d gotten used to his singing and he got used to you getting up to wander round the room and stretch every hour or so. The novelty of having people around all day had worn off for BeeBee, he would choose to spend an entire day with either Poe or you and lie by your feet for the day. Rose’s idea of doing something each evening had stuck and you had set up a weekly plan of things to do. Movie nights became a Friday night tradition. Rose had ordered relaxation colouring books for each of you and that became your Monday night routine. There was a YouTube marathon on Tuesdays, you’d all found a series to binge together on Wednesdays and you played board games on Thursdays. Poe was teaching you to cook, you could make basic things but he was much better than you were and you’d asked him to help you learn. Rose loved teasing your about how cute you both looked and how domestic it was. Things were still strange but everyone was getting used to it.

Rose and Finn occasionally took walks after work, just the two of them. Poe had just arrived back home with BeeBee. He wandered into the living room and found you sitting on the sofa crying your eyes out. He was by your side in an instant, pulling you into his arms and rubbing your back.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“My dad” you sobbed “He has the virus; he’s in the hospital on a ventilator”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry!” he pulled you tighter “He’ll be fine, I’ve never met a man as strong and stubborn as Han Solo!”

“Mum said he’s really ill, she’s not even allowed to go and see him”

“It’s not fair”

“I just want to go and see mum and hug her”

“I know sweetheart, I know”

Poe held you until you eventually cried yourself to sleep. He pulled you onto him, and grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over you. BeeBee jumped up onto the sofa and lay by your legs. Your body heat and the heat from the blanket lulled Poe to sleep. When Finn and Rose came back a little while later they eyed you suspiciously. The sound of Rose’s keys against the coffee table woke Poe.

“This looks romantic” Finn said

“Far from, I’ve just held her whilst she cried herself to sleep” Poe replied, glaring at his friend

“What’s wrong?” Rose asked

“Han’s got the virus; he’s in hospital on a ventilator”

“Oh my god, when did that happen, is he alright?”

“I don’t really know” Poe shrugged “She was really upset, I only got the basic information from her”

“I’ll phone Leia” Rose replied “To get more information but also to check on her”

Finn nodded “That's a good idea”

“I should text Ben.” Poe said “Then we need to work out what to do here. I don't want to put her to bed before dinner, I know she’s exhausted herself crying but she needs food in her system, as much as she probably won’t want it”

“We can make a start on dinner, wake her when it’s ready and make sure she eats at least a little then she can get some sleep” Finn said

Poe managed to lift you off him enough to move, he laid your head on a pillow and made sure the blanket still covered you. BeeBee got up and moved along the couch so he could snuggle against your stomach. Poe headed to the kitchen and made a start on dinner with Finn’s help. Rose sat on the bottom stair and called Leia. She was on the phone for 10 minutes before joining the guys in the kitchen.

“What did she say?” Finn asked

“He had a few symptoms so they called the doctor yesterday and he was told to go in and get checked out, they didn't want to worry Y/N and Ben so they just kept it between them at that point, the hospital got him tested and obviously he had it so they said he would get kept in overnight but he started to struggle to breathe so they put him on the machine. They don’t know when or if he’ll come back around”

“Oh god” Finn replied

“We just have to take care of her” Rose said “We know how close she is to her parents and not being able to be with them is going to be so hard for her”

“She has us” Poe replied “And we’ll be here for her day and night, no matter what time”

“Absolutely” Rose nodded “I’ll wake her for dinner”

The next week was difficult, you’d asked for some time away from work as you knew you would never be able to concentrate whilst your thoughts were all about your father. He hadn’t been getting better but he also hadn’t gotten any worse, which the doctors said was a really good thing. Poe and Rose had both taken a few days off to make sure someone was with you and helping keep your mind off things. You and Poe were on a walk with BeeBee one afternoon when your phone rang.

“It’s mum” you said to Poe before answering the phone. He gently took hold of your arm and led you over to a wall where you could sit. He could only hear your side of the conversation but the fact you hadn’t burst into tears yet made him feel more positive. “I’ll speak to you later mum, love you. Bye”

“How’s things?”

“Dad came off the ventilator this morning” you replied, happy tears appearing in your eyes “He’s breathing on his own and the doctors are really happy with his progress”

“That’s great news sweetheart. And it’ll be a load off your mind knowing he’s doing okay”

“Yeah, it really is” you replied “Thank you, you’ve helped keep me going this last week or so. I really appreciate it”

“I’m here for you anytime sweetheart” Poe replied

“I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. It's been so scary seeing all the stuff on the news, I guess I just didn't think it would end up so close to home”

Poe held his arms open and you fell into his hug gratefully. Poe gave the best hugs in the entire world. He hugged tightly and it made anyone he hugged feel secure and content.

Easter was very much a non event, the weather wasn't great so you were inside all day. Poe cooked a nice meal for everyone and you sat and watched a lot of TV whilst eating all of the Easter snacks you'd ordered in with the food shop. You were all happy to have a few days off work, Finn had a few weeks off whilst the schools were closed for the spring break. A few days after Easter, your father was released from the hospital. He still wasn't 100% back to his normal self but he was really glad to be back in his own home. You face-timed with him and your mother every day, just to check up on how they were both doing. You knew it wasn't easy on Leia either. She had to take care of Han plus do everything herself at home, whilst trying to work. Finn decided to take up gardening whilst he had free time, he ordered loads of plants and gardening tools online and got to work as soon as they arrived. Your garden had never really been full of plants because you and Rose were always too busy and neither of you were that into gardening. Finn cut down all the bushes, planted loads of flowers and painted the fences. The small fence that separated the patio from the grass was painted a sky blue and all of the surrounding fences were white. Poe helped Finn with the painting, whilst you and Rose cleaned up all the garden furniture. Once you were done, it looked like a whole new garden.

As the month went on, things with everyone's work got quieter. You were no longer working full days, Monday to Wednesday you only worked from 11am until 3pm, Thursday you worked 9am-12pm and Friday was a day off. Rose only had to work Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Poe no longer had to do any work. He was luckily still getting paid but his work just didn't have anything else they could do remotely. They told him to keep checking his work emails just incase anything did come in. It took a while to adjust to all of the free time. Working from home had been strange anyway but only working for part of the time made it even weirder. Finn was still working his normal hours after the school break. Friday became a cooking day. Poe continued to teach you how to make meals, and sometimes the pair of you would bake.

Rose liked to come on walks with BeeBee when she had the spare time, the park was everyone's favourite place to go. It became a lifeline to everyone. The stay at home order still said you were only able to go out once a day for some exercise. You all began to look forward to walk time so you could get to your park. You could walk all the way round it twice before BeeBee got bored. You would always stop at the kiosk and get a coffee or an ice cream, whilst the dog ran after his ball.

“This is his dream” Poe chuckled as he watched Rose throwing the ball “He's getting to spend time with people he loves, he's getting much longer walks than normal and he gets to run after his ball a lot”

You smiled “Animals must be loving this lockdown thing, they get to spend so much time with their humans and don't have to stay home alone all day”

“Bee is loving living with you and Rose. He's always really happy when you guys come to visit us so all of us living together is great for him”

“I'm actually really enjoying it too, I had my reservations at first. Especially when Rose just mentioned Finn moving in. I didn't want to be the third wheel in my own home. And even when she said you were coming too, I wasn't sure we'd all manage to work around each other but thankfully we have and I couldn't be happier to be spending this lockdown with you guys. Especially with how much you helped me when my dad was ill”

“I'm glad we're all together too. It's made things feel so much better knowing that anytime I have a bad day I get to spend it with my best friends. Living with Finn is great but sometimes when him and Rose are all loved up it gets a bit annoying. I mean not that I'm not happy for them because I absolutely am, they're a great couple but yeah”

“No, I totally get that. Being the 3rd wheel isn't easy” you nodded “They're adorable, but sometimes it sucks to be left out so I'm glad we have each other during this lockdown”

“Me too, I think you're the only one that gets what it's like to be 3rd wheel to them” Poe chuckled

The final few days of the month were difficult, Rose fell ill with suspected Covid. She had all of the symptoms but she didn't feel overly ill. Finn moved into the spare room with Poe, he didn't want to get ill whilst he was still so busy with work. You looked after Rose, bringing her food and plenty of fluids to keep her going. You were glad that she didn't have a really bad case of it, but you worried for the rest of you.

So here’s the next part. I hope if you read this far that you enjoyed it and you’re still enjoying the series. Your comments would mean the world to me <3 Have a lovely weekend!

[thethousandyearwitch]

The Show Must Go On! Chap.6

- A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need -

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 6 “Blue Sky Athletic” out now!

AO3 Link

The hotel room was quiet, the Italian sun hadn’t risen yet. Illumi sat himself up in bed and started to mindlessly comb through his hair. He had excused himself from the fashion show the previous night as early as he could. Because he couldn’t stand the lights. The music. The smells. The people.

Yet he was going to return the next night. There were contacts to be made, images to be upheld, a new name to be made for himself…

And he didn’t have to be alone.

A single text message to his butler:

“Illumi: Get me the keys to a Mercedes AMG GT Black series and leave me be the rest of the day.”

.

.

.

Killua had run away from home for the first time when he was 10 years old, with the intent to stay away. His father had scolded him about neglecting his studies, and in response he snuck out through his window with a backpack stuffed with a few clothes and snacks. In the end, a butler had caught him before he was able to sneak through the fencing around the large property.

He was undeterred and proceeded to perfect his means of sneaking away from the mansion. By the next summer he was able to consistently make it into town and stay there for an hour or two before a butler eventually found him. Though he wanted to, he never went further than that. Afterall, where was he supposed to go? A young boy traveling without adult supervision would attract attention almost immediately, and it wasn’t like he had friends he could visit (And the risk of running into his father or grandfather when visiting Alluka was too great).

But what if he had a place to go? He was older now, old enough to travel by himself for sure, and money wasn’t a problem as long as his lazy brother would stay blissfully unaware of his credit card expenses. Neither Illumi, his father, nor grandfather were home to surveillance him. Milluki barely registered what happens in and around the mansion. Kalluto was young enough to be bribed and trust his big brother when he tells him to keep quiet.

The setup couldn’t get more perfect. Now or never.

Killua shouted down the hall that he didn’t want dinner, peppered with swears here and there to underline anger, and he told Kalluto that if anyone were to set food in front of his door, he was free to take it for himself or Milluki. His CD player blasted metal music loud enough to give the impression of a moody teen dealing with anger issues, but not too loud as to prompt his mother to come in and turn it off herself.

Another cautionary glance down the hallway before he closed and locked his bedroom door from the inside. Now or Never.

Killua grabbed his pre-packed duffle bag and executed his well-practiced escape via window. His mother would regret the day she removed the bars framing it, foolishly thinking that Killua was ‘grown up’ enough to stop his escape attempts.

A cold breeze grazed his face, and the young boy granted himself a couple of seconds to take it in, wild hair gently swaying in the wind. Of course, he was not going to leave forever. It would only be a matter of time before someone went to retrieve him and lock him back in, chiding him about his ‘responsibilities’ that he couldn’t care less for.

But I won’t make it easy. With that thought, he gave the mansion one last middle-finger, before he quickly turned and headed towards the edge of the property that was closest to town. By now he had the surveillance pattern of the guard dogs memorized and knew exactly where the brick fence was covered by enough ivy to enable easy climbing. Soon enough, Killua was treading through the thick forest in a steady pace. He tried to listen for signs of someone coming after him despite his heart drumming louder in his ears.

Usually he’d be calm, collected, non-caring for breaking out. But this time was different. This time he had a destination in mind, wouldn’t be collected so easily. The grip around his phone tightened. He wondered how long it would take someone in the house to notice. Who would be sent after him; A butler? Would Illumi be called back? His father? How severe will the punishment be-

A branch snapped into the boy’s face, pulling him back from wherever his thoughts were about to wander. The lights of the town became clearer in his sight with every step. It wasn’t a big city by any means, but he didn’t need it to be. All he needed was a cab driver to who accepted credit and didn’t ask question.

In the end, an older cabdriver, he must have been in his sixties already, shrugged carelessly at the request of the young boy to be driven to the airport, mumbled something about rebellious youth and getting paid regardless. Killua discarded the duffle bag into the trunk of the car and sat himself down in the backseat as he fumbled with his phone. The Radio played some repetitious top 40s song about being young and freedom and friendship and following your heart, and he couldn’t help but snort at how grossly it fit.

The sun set against the horizon, the town steadily disappeared behind him, until it was completely out of sight. Every new meter the car cleared was the furthest Killua had ever made it away from home alone.

Ping.

His phones alarm startled Killua out of his thoughts once again. A single discord notification.

GON: Good morning! =v=

The runaway looked through the windshield of the car, in the distance an airport started to come into form.

Kil: morning, did u sleep okay?

GON: Like a baby :p

GON: How’re you?? Did you get your PC back yet?

Kil: about that actually

He handed the driver his/Millukis credit card and lifted his bag over his shoulder. No one ever told him how much to tip a cabby, so he assumed 50% was about right.

Kil: remember how you told me to give you a heads-up if i ever came over so you could clean?

GON: Yeah?

Killua took a quick peace-sign selfie in the large entrance of the airport, in front of the arrival/departure board, and send it promptly in their chat.

Kil: get cleaning.

.

.

.

Gon paced around the house as if driven mad, he mumbled about preparations, and food, and accommodations, more to himself really than to Mito who sat at the table, gentle smile on her lips.

“Gon, it’ll still be almost an entire day till he gets here. I’m sure he won’t be disappointed. Now remind me again, his parents are really okay with such a spontaneous visit to a virtual stranger across the globe?” Her smile was warm, but her eyes drilled threats into him.

“We’re not virtual strangers! We’ve been talking for months; I probably know him better than any of his siblings!”

“I’d just feel a bit more at ease if I could have talked with his parents in advance. What if he has any illnesses or allergies I’d need to be mindful of? What if there’s an emergency and I need their contact information?”

Instead of admitting that he did not think of all of that, Gon chose to smile with more confidence, “I’ll just make sure there’s no emergencies! I’m not a little kid anymore!” He stepped closer to where she was seated and rested with his arms and head on the table. “He’s a really good friend and hasn’t been feeling well. I think this could be really good for him, and it’s not like I have many other people to hang out with around here. But if you are really that concerned, I promise that he’ll write down his parents’ number and address! So, it’s okay, right?”

The woman sighed in defeat and brushed through Gon’s unruly hair. “You really are a troublemaker with best intentions. Don’t make me regret this.”  The young boy beamed in response and pulled his guardian into a hug. Before he could promise that he wouldn’t, she raised her voice again, “But don’t think this will get you out of studying.”

Gon groaned in agony, though it was quickly followed by another laugh. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do, but it doesn’t hurt to be reminded once in a while. Now go fetch the cot from the garage, or do you want your friend to sleep on the floor?”  

With an energetic nod, he sprinted out the room, leaving Mito alone in the room as she tapped her fingernails against her cup of tea. Her eyes wandered to an old picture of Gons father. He’s becoming just like you. She didn’t know if the thought made her want to laugh or cry.

.

.

.

Gon was a bundle of nerves the entire drive to the airport. Killua had offered that he’d take a taxi from the airport to Gons home, but Mito insisted that they’d meet at the airport (“Just to be sure, you know?” And Gon didn’t know).

He tapped his fingers at increasing speeds against the interior of the red Subaru XV, and watched as the scenery outside transitioned slowly from deserted dirt roads to busy highways to the even busier parking area of the airport.  

Would Killua even recognize him? Would he be able to recognize Killua? He’d like to think so, but then again, people always said celebrities look different face-to-face than on TV. His heart was beating hard and fast against his chest, but a smile never left his face, strained in anticipation of the best kind.

Mito sat down in a designated waiting area, exhausted from a long drive. She considered asking Gon to sit down as well but disregarded the thought as he fidgeted and started to pace again. Excess energy needs to be let out somehow.

“The plane has already landed, right? Shouldn’t he be here already?” he blurted out, nervously bouncing on his heels.

“He’s probably still waiting for his luggage, things like this take ti-“

“Gon!” Mito got cut off by a voice that shouted his name in such a familiar way, so recognizable that it was almost startling.

He whipped around, and his eyes caught onto the silver hair in the distance immediately. There was Killua. He looked like he had just jumped out of any of the pictures that Gon had ever seen of him, messy hair, bright eyes, pale skin, and a confident yet laidback smile.

It took about 5 seconds before Gon had cleared the distance between them, and he wrapped his arms around the other boy in a big hug. Killua hesitated for a moment, before he returned the hug, and patted Gon on the shoulder.

“It’s really you!”

“Who else could it be?” Killua snorted.

“I don’t know! But it’s still so weird to, just, have you here now!”

They spent what felt like an eternity looking at each other, laughed and giggled and commented on each other’s features, more defined than any picture could do. Killuas eyes sparkled in the low airport light, and Gon tried to burn every detail of his face into his memory, his long eyelashes, the creases of his eyes, and his sharp smile. Everything looked so natural, so right, and Gons heart stumbled over itself.

“So, would you like to introduce your friend to me, Gon?” As Mito spoke up, both boys pulled out of the hug with a jump.

Killua quickly held out his hand and stood straight, “I’m Killua, thank you so much for letting me stay over for a bit, miss. It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand with a giggle. “You can just call me Mito or Auntie, alright? And it’s nice to meet you too, thank you for getting along so well with this little troublemaker.”

Gon felt heat rush to his cheeks but couldn’t bark a complain before Mito ruffled a hand through his hair. “How about we all grab something to eat, and then had home. You must be starving, Killua. Do you like burgers?”

The boys cheered in unison, and the group headed towards a fast-food chain.

And if Gon didn’t notice how easily he and Killua fell into step next to each other, too deeply invested in conversation about flights and food and seemingly the entire world, Mito surely did.

[repmet]

Fic: Iris

For FowlFest2020: Obscure Character Appreciation Day. Iris is actually an OC, but her family is mentioned so... that counts right? Shoutout to @ms-nothingspecial for betaing  and listening to me stress about word choice for far too long.

--

The fairy shuttle port at Tara was an impressive operation. Ten thousand cubic metres of terminal concealed beneath an overgrown hillock in the middle of the McGraney farm. For centuries, the McGraneys had respected the fairy fort's boundaries and, for centuries, they had enjoyed exceptional good luck.

- Artemis Fowl: The Arctic Incident

--

Iris McGraney is born at midnight on a full moon, which for a McGraney is the very best of luck.

The birth goes smoothly and without complications, and Iris is born quietly, wailing briefly to let the world know she’s arrived, before settling on her mother’s chest, quietly basking in the comfort of her family around her.

Iris McGraney is born lucky. Then again, her family always has been.

--

When Iris is 7 she gets sick, as children do.

Plans are made to see the doctor in the morning, but McGraneys have a certain way of treating illnesses first that most others don’t.

Iris is well enough to listen to her Dad tell her to keep the bedroom window open all night, even as he bundles her up in blankets and turns the heater on.

He puts a note on the sill along with a single gold nugget, just in case.

“We’ve invited them in before, but it’s better safe than sorry, isn’t it? And you should never ask without offering something in return. It’s rare they take it but it’s only polite.”

The McGraney’s were always digging up gold, especially near the fairy fort. Iris knew it was a secret though, or else everyone would want to come dig on their farm which would make the cows sad.

“Now, go to sleep,” her Dad tells her, tucking her in tight. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Iris doesn’t wake all night, and in the morning, the note is gone, the small piece of gold now sitting on her night stand.

Iris picks it up and runs to the kitchen.

“It moved, Daddy!” she announces proudly, the picture of a healthy child. “They didn’t take it but it moved.”

Her father laughs and hugs her.

“That’s how they let us know they were here.”

--

When Iris is 14 a severe looking boy in a suit sits down across from her at a cafe she’s in, and puts a phone on the table.

Iris recognises the model, it’s seven months away from being released and the hype is already intense.

“For a moment of your time.”

Iris stares at him.

“My parents are gonna think I fucking stole this.”

The boy sets a letter down on the table as well. Iris has a brother so she ignores the letter at first and continues staring at the boy, hoping to unnerve him. He seems unbothered, maybe he has siblings too. She picks up the paper and reads a very official looking letter from the phone manufacturer congratulating her on being selected to test an early release prototype.

It’s fake of course. Iris isn’t an idiot, she is however a teenager in a tiny village with not much going for it. In short, she’s bored and whatever the hell this is, it’s interesting. Also her parents don’t know shit about technology or how major releases work.

She shoves the phone in her backpack.

“What do you want?”

“The fairy fort on your property, I want to know about it.”

Iris raises her eyebrows, that’s hardly top-secret information.

“I don’t know, man, it’s been there for ages. We take care of it, respect the boundaries, and we get lucky.”

“In just the past fifty years your family has uncovered a lost work of Holbein the Younger, a sword owned by Íriel Fáid and seven seperate stores of gold. You’ve also never lost an animal to bovine spongiform encephalopathy in all the history I could find of your farm.”

Well it was more gold than that at last count but they’d stopped being so vocal about it and also-

“Yeah... what’s that last one?”

The kid gives her a disdainful and patronising look. “Mad cow disease.”

“Right.” This dude is a dick. “Like I said. Lucky.”

“It seems a bit more than lucky.”

Iris shrugs. “Look man, you don’t need to believe in the People if you don’t want but you’re in the wrong town. We eat that shit up here, the Hill of Tara borders our farm, there’s three fairy-dedicated gift shops in this village alone.”

He looks interested now though, leaning forward in his seat.

“The People?”

His eyes are weirdly intense, Iris can’t wait to tell her friends about this. Orla is super into vampires right now, she’s going to love it.

“Fairies, the fae, the fair folk, aos sí, whatever you want to call them. Maybe it is just luck, I’ve never seen one-” She frowns, a memory bubbling up then she shakes her head, brushing off a dream of a small winged figure on her windowsill one night. “The People is what my grandparents called them though. Capital P.”

“What else did your grandparents tell you about them? Did they have any superstitions specific to your family?”

Iris doesn't even need to think on that one.

“Grandpa Rob had this thing where he would make everyone wash their hands after we came back from church. Said it was not to harm the People with the holy water, but no one else I know does that, even the Creideamh Sí families.That means -”

“The Fairy Faith,” he interrupts. “Yes, I’m aware. I’ll need to know anything else your family knows about them.”

He pulls a laptop out of his bag which looks like nothing Iris has ever seen and her family is pretty well-off (selling lost works or art tends to help).

“This is getting to be more than a moment, dude.”

“I can take the phone back.”

Iris laughs, he’s not wrong that the phone is worth more than a short conversation, but the threat is just plain funny coming from a pre-teen who looks like he’d never seen the sun in his life and a stiff breeze would knock him over.

The man standing behind him, who Iris initially assumed was his dad but now isn’t so sure, clears his throat and there’s something in the way he does it, or maybe the way he glances down at her, that makes it very clear this tiny undertaker looking child would be leaving with either his answers, or the phone.

If Iris were older or wiser, she would be suitably unsettled but today she just waves a hand at the mountain of a man.

“Chill, I don’t mind, just weird to be honest.”

“You’re welcome to whatever opinion you please so long as you answer all of my questions with as much detail as possible. Now, tell me more about the holy water.”

This phone better be worth it. (It is.)

--

When Iris is 19 the world ends.

Kinda.

Her PlayStation is ruined at least which is annoying as shit.

More importantly, the fairy fort is gone and there’s an actual fucking fort there.

“I always thought it would be a bit less… concrete.”

She’s not sure who she’s talking to, her brother’s moved to London and her parents are out at lunch with friends. But it’s rather the sort of day where Iris thinks she might not believe anything at all if she keeps it just in her head.

The door gives a loud bang and Iris yells and leaps backwards. The banging continues and she realises there’s someone on the other side.

“Are you okay?’ she calls, trying to keep the sudden nervousness in her chest from coming through the words.

“There’s a fire in here, and the suppression systems aren’t working.”

Iris takes several long breaths, processing several things. One, her family is not mad, fairies do exist. Two, they do in fact have a fort on their farm. Three, she might be about to meet them for real. Four, it’s kinda ugly and dull, she expected a bit more… magical?

She looks up to try and centre herself and catches sight of a plane, trailing smoke and flying disturbingly low before it disappears over a hill. In the distance there’s the sound of thunder.

Right, the world is possibly ending, perhaps that should be higher on the list. That part is plain not registering in her head.

She tells herself she imagined the plane, there’s no room in her head to process the alternative right now.

“Who are you anyway?”

Iris’ head snaps back up at the question. Right, fairies trapped in a burning building. Focus.

“Iris McGraney! Stand back, I’ll kick the door in.”

“This door is built to withstand more than you, human.”

Iris frowns, annoyed. “You prefer to suffocate?”

There’s a long pause then, from what sounds like a distance, the voice calls back, “Alright, give it a go.”

Iris is a farmgirl through and through. She’s been stacking hay and climbing fences and eating well her entire life, she wouldn’t be carrying the Dinnie Stones any time soon but she could best all the local boys in an arm wrestle and carry a small calf several fields if she had too.

Her first kick connects with a satisfying crack. The second gives more of a crunch and on the third the door snaps and slams inwards. It’s a pretty cool moment, Iris wishes the day wasn’t so surreal so she could bask in it more.

Smoke starts to billow out as soon as it meets the outside air and there’s a lot of yelling and organised panic as thirty-odd fairies of differing colours and various sizes of small come pouring out, most coughing.

One, in an official looking uniform, makes a line for Iris.

“You’re a fairy,” she tells him.

“Yes, a gnome if we’re getting technical.” He pulls out a handkerchief and starts dabbing at his forehead. “Thanks for that, by the way, Frond only knows what’s going on. One moment we’re getting the call that Haven’s locking down the next the electronics start sparking and melting off the walls.”

“The same thing happened in the house.” Iris tells him, rapidly compartmentalising, there was far too much to take in today. Fairies sure, but gnomes? She pushes it in a box for later. “My phone melted, and the TV almost started a fire.”

The gnome shakes his head worriedly. “This is not good, not good. No contact with Haven and all our tech going bust. I bet it’s that Koboi pixie somehow, right crazy one she is.”

Iris nods for a moment, then shakes her head. “No, I don’t know what that means.”

“Not good, is what it means.”

Iris looks across the fields to several columns of smoke rising in the distance, the further she looks in every direction the more there are.

Not good at all.

--

When Iris is 32 her parents die.

It’s sudden and so plain, after a life of quiet magic and unrelenting luck. Her mother took a turn too fast and hit a patch of ice.

They didn’t suffer at least.

She blames the People at first, but even as the anger bubbles inside her she knows it’s only grief behind it. She’s learnt over the years they’re just people themselves, no capital letter. They can do extraordinary things but miracles are miracles for a reason.

After the wake is passed and the friends gone home, her brother reluctantly back across the channel, promising to call that same night, Iris is at a loss.

She had expected to be but still.

The knocks at the door are so frequent she doesn’t even startle when another comes. She’s not sure she’s in a mood for more well-wishers but she’s not doing well alone either so- she sighs and goes to open the door.

On the other side is a black-haired man in a three-piece suit, still pale but Iris felt less concern now that he might combust if the sun ever does manage to find him.

“Artemis Fowl, I didn’t expect us to meet again.”

“You remember me.” He doesn’t seem surprised.

“Being interrogated by a ten year old tends to stick in a girl’s mind.”

He smiles. “I was 12.”

Iris invites him in and makes tea.

It’s a welcome distraction right now because you have to be living under rock in Ireland not to know how just very extraordinary Artemis Fowl the Second is. Three doctorates, Time Man of the Year at 22, already one Nobel Prize and smart money’s on a second soon.

If anyone could have done it at 12… well.

For a moment she almost hesitates, but Artemis gives her a real smile, as if he already knows what’s on her mind.

(In the years ahead she will come to know him well enough to realise that’s exactly the case.)

She hands him a cup and sits down.

“Tell me, Dr. Fowl, did you ever find the People?”

[disasterghaster-moved]

SEPTEMBER 26th - 2013 - 3AM

PART 1 ] [ PART 2 ] [ PART 3 ]

News died down and people calmed down. Slipped under the radar like so much background noise about bombings in far off countries. I could imagine it to be like how you get used to bullets reporting off the sand and brick and hot earth after it goes on for days and weeks and years. 

Tsunamis you never drown in, riots you only see as rushing masses on the screen, earthquakes you can’t comprehend, cancelled flights you’ll never be on, borders closed that you never intended to cross, and hospitals creaking under the pressure of illness that’d been packing them for months. What was some spoiled wheat when you came from the land of agricultural plenty? Nevermind that end of season harvest was recent.

And, anyway, I still had bills and to pay those I had to keep working. Natural disasters notwithstanding.

Thankfully, night shift usually meant I could relax. The current site I was working at was a warehouse facility. Took big trucks in and out all day, but shut down around the time I rolled in. Mostly I did patrols by car or foot. Since it was only what a proper northerner considers ‘chilly’ for my last patrol, I decided to walk.

All I was really looking for inside the warehouse was fires or leaks. Outside was more about checking out the parked trailers along the outer fence line. Making sure the plastic seals weren’t broken. That people weren’t climbing the fence to steal anything.

I honestly didn't expect any trouble. I heard more from the day shift about fist fights over boxes from the workers in the building than I did actual attempts at theft.

Hell, mostly I ran into lone coyotes. Or a racoon. They’re all kinda cute if you keep a distance. Sometimes I’d purposely only look at the stray rabbit from an eye corner and keep moving. They were just there for the choice, crisp, grass on this side of the fence.

Somewhere in the back, I found a hole in the fence line. Low to the ground and mostly under the fence where dirt had been dug up. Not super uncommon. Looked like an animal had dug it up. Another lone coyote lookin’ for one of those rabbits, probably. I sighed out a puff of condensed air and tucked my flashlight under my arm with the cone of light pointing at the breach.

Phone came out of my pocket and I took a flash lit photo. Put that away and took out a bit of scrap paper and a pen I kept in one of my coat pockets. Scribbling the time, 0349, and the look of the hole. I’d have to document it and let the supervisor know in the morning to have it checked out.

It also meant I’d be walking this every half hour instead of every couple hours. Thankfully, I only had three more to go.

I paid some extra attention to the trailers nearby. Checking their seals were intact and making sure the tops of the doors were adequately locked still. Scoped out the area and thought all looked well enough to move on.

Mind you, there was some unease. Might be a coyote around after all. Normally I wouldn’t think much of that. Alone, they’re not really keen to scrap with a human. Most didn’t desperately dig through a fence, either.

Thankfully, I was allowed a taser with this company so I kept it in hand in my pocket. I just couldn’t shake the feeling on the back of my neck. Cold and prickly and not from the bite in the air. Left over combat instinct or plain, embarrassing, fear of the dark mixed with primal fear of wild animals? I resolved to walk with a longer stride and dipped down the figurative hallway between two trailers. There was more light to see by coming off the warehouse at the other side as opposed to along the perimeter fence.

I nearly tripped when I came out. Ahead of me, in the dark place between trailers still in their docks, was something. Low and crouched. With two eyeballs that gave off a sheen of an amber glow. Like a coyote.

Mmm, great. Maybe it had rabies. In which case, a taser wasn’t going to do it.

I avoided shining a light on it to keep it from attacking. Instead I pulled at my radio and turned the volume down before speaking into it, quite and calm,

“Candice, you got a copy?” Relieved when that alone didn’t cause the animal to stir. Beyond a slight shift and a low rumble. A growl that sounded...pained? I didn’t get an inch closer. Rabies or not, injury was even more liable to launch at me with intent to maul if I wasn’t mindful.

“Go ahead.” She responded. Unaware of my predicament.

“We’re gunna need to call Paul and the non-emergency number for the cops, I guess?” I paused, but held the button to keep the line. “There’s a cranky, possibly rabid, coyote back he--shit!” I let the button go, my voice cracking on a high pitch, as the animal came screaming out of the dark across the pavement toward me.

By the way? Not an animal! It turned out to be bipedal! PERSON! A person was streaking toward me with a howl of rage I hadn’t heard since the desert. The only thing that kept me from getting bum rushed straight down into the ground was that time in the war. Muscle memory and understanding of how bodies work allowing me to shift into mindlessly diverting all that failing momentum into the ground under me instead. Face first with me holding an arm and pressing a knee between shoulder blades of the squirming ball of bizarre fury under me. Pinned down.

They kept hollering, but I spoke to them at an even pace despite the adrenaline threatening to make me rattle too fast with my words. “Hey! Are you okay? You can’t just hulk out in the middle of private property. I am going to have to call the cops if you don’t calm down.”

That didn’t seem to work any better than telling me not to eat a fifth slice of pizza on a Tuesday morning.

I mumbled a cuss as I worked on adjusting my hold to free up a hand enough to respond to Candice calling me over the radio with increasing concern.

“Dro? Dro, you copy?”

“Yeah, co--” I paused to let the latest howl come and go. “Copy! We’re going to need the police. It’s some person--” Growled back when the next long winded scream came. “Some person on drugs I think?”

“Copy, you need backup?”

“Nah, you can’t leave the guardhouse. Just...tell ‘em to hurry. They’re not--” I didn’t bother to take my finger off the button for the next roar. “--not real happy about all this.”

“Copy.”

I sighed and buckled down on holding them down without hurting them. Drugged out or not, this person didn’t deserve to get their ribs or wrist inadvertently broken. Or to choke if my knee got jostled out of place from all the wild writhing they were doing. I started trying to talk them down when they started whining instead of roaring.

“Sorrysorrysorry.” They sounded to be openly weeping. “Hurts, I’m sorry!” Mashing their own face into the ground where I couldn’t see them. I grimaced.

“It’s fine.” Drugs are wild. I tried to be understanding. Hard and worked up as the both of us were. Wasn’t my first run in with an intoxicated trespasser. Get out of your mind and you don’t know where you are and shit that’s a big fucking lady throwing me, around time to FIGHT. “It’s alright, hey, it’s okay. Police are comin’. With some doctors, I’m su--”

Apparently that wasn’t the right thing to say, they kicked back up into doing their damndest to trash free. My muscles were starting to burn by the time I heard the sirens rolling in close enough to hear. I was running out of breath to deal with this. They couldn’t get through the gate and around back to me fucking fast enough as far as I was concerned.

The police officer that came out of his cruiser looked the sort of troubled that my colonel had in his eyes right before he was expecting us to get blown away by an IED any second. The EMTs that came out of the ambulance were dressed to deal with something infectious. Like...face shields, multilayered plastic white clothing, and were on the person under my knee in seconds with a large syringe.

No one said anything to me as my perp went limp by the time the plunger on the shot fully depressed. I awkwardly got up and stepped away as they gave me the impression of mopping up an undesirable pile of barf. Packing themselves and their charge away into the back of their ambulance on a stretcher board before they took off.

The police officer barely even thanked me for my help and told me to have a good rest of my day before he left right behind them only to overtake them. Flipping on their lights to escort the emergency vehicle he accompanied.

Leaving me in confused and stunned silence as I caught my breath.

What?

The cop didn’t even try to get a statement. Or my name. Or even my number to ask me my statement later. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to write my report up and not sound like I didn’t do my job right without that interaction with the officer.

My brows knotted as I leaned into a brisk walk back for the guardhouse.

[tobiasfarnal]

The Lady Regent

The cold, crisp Alteraci morning air whipped across Toby’s face and rose goosebumps across his skin as he stepped through his portal into the small town of Grafenwohr.  

He took a moment to lean his head back and breath in through his nostrils, free of the scent of the Stormwind canals or the general sense of rot that lurked in Duskwood.  The air dried and began to freeze the inside of his nose as he inhaled, but a small smile curved up the side of one face.

Home.

It felt strange, even now. He waved in passing to some of the people—his people, he corrected himself.  Thanks in large part to the actions of the 47th, the town had begun to thrive.  Construction had slowed; the small wooden houses largely put together, the inn half-finished, but the icy mountain winters of Alterac did not lend themselves well to construction.

That said, the curls of smoke rising from the chimneys, and the livestock in the yards, bespoke of a town well-fixed to survive the harsh winter and begin anew in the spring.  The largesse donated to the town by Lord Edain had supplemented the initial “anonymous” donation—true to his word to his brother-in-arms, Toby hadn’t even told his mother that the seed money for all this had come from Corporal Silvermoon absolutely pasting him in the dueling tournament, then turning around and sending his winnings to help the recovery.

The memories of that terrible night had begun to fade.  Every time he walked past the half-built inn, he heard the screams of the infected as they burned alive a little bit less.  He’d done it—had to do it—and he’d felt the pain of that since.  But those actions…had led to this, and the current state of Grafenwohr was starting to look like the old stories his father had once told him.

He approached the manor hall—the residence of Lord Farnal, and the center of business for the town. His home.  Repairs to the hall had been minimal; the stonework where the prior Lord Farnal had smashed through the wall as an undead abomination had long since been patched.  Toby and his mother had, at first, attempted to get the new townsfolk to ignore the Hall in favor of their own housing, but…they’d insisted.  

The only stone building in town, the manor hall flew the sigil of House Farnal once more, the bird-in-flight in red-on-orange.  Where once Toby had flinched away from his house sigil—the thing had stood for little more than arrogance and empty pride most of his life—he now smiled to see it flying, pronouncing to anyone who would look that this sleepy little mining town lived once more.

His smile was dashed as Frau Gutlein emerged from the Hall just as he approached.  The older woman froze as she saw Toby, her eyes fixed in frozen hatred for a moment.  “My lord,” she said, though her voice carried no joy at the words.  She bowed, and stepped to the side, but let her cold courtesy pronounce her true feelings more loudly than any verbal protestation.

Toby didn’t blame her. One of the only three survivors of the first wave of settlers, Frau Gutlein had been the only one to choose to return to Grafenwohr with the second wave.  She’d lost her husband and two children to the events of that October night—and while the plague of the Scourge had signed their death warrants, it was Toby’s own hand that had caused their deaths.  Deaths that, no doubt, had been filled with terror and panic as Toby’s conjured fire consumed the old inn and choked them in hot smoke and despair.

Shame.

Every time Toby looked at Frau Gutlein, he felt the shame of it.  He shouldn’t—all the arguments he’d made to Eastwind and Mac’aSionnach held true. But even so—those were his people, and he’d condemned them to a horrible death.  And he suspected that, to Frau Gutlein, none of the success that the town had seen since would ever override the fact that he’d personally burned her family alive.

So he simply nodded to the woman without comment.  No words could fix that gulf—and trying would be simply picking the scab off a wound, so he let it lie.  

Instead, he simply walked past the grief-hardened woman and into the warm, stone hall.  

“Tobias!” said his mother as he rounded the corner into the great hall.  The Lady Petra Farnal had lost some weight since leaving the small Stormwind apartment. She looked…healthy.  Vibrant.  Alive. As though she’d spent her time in Stormwind in a sort of torpor, and had only now awoken.

“Hello, mader,” said Toby. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Come, come, sit down.” She waved off a couple of assistants who’d been huddling about her, examining plans for…something.  Toby couldn’t tell from where he stood.

He chuckled, then shook his head.  “Can’t stay long,” he says.  “The regiment is still on alert back in Stormwind…there’s things happening back in Duskwood, and we’re working on…well, stuff.  I’ve been promoted, though.  I’m commissioned as an Knight, now.”

“Oh!” said Petra.  “Oh, my Tobias—a Knight at last.  Your father, so proud would he be, he always wanted—”

“I…know what he always wanted,” said Toby quietly.  “And likely he’d just find some new way to be disappointed in me now.”

His mother frowned.  “You—do not know the whole truth of your father, Tobias.  All of this—all because of him.  A good man, he was, and I am not wishing to hear you speak ill of him, regardless of the way he ended.”

“I killed him, Mom.  That’s how he ended.”

“That is not I read the report, Tobias.  He was dead before your army was fighting him, yes?  You…you killed the thing that killed him.  You were not his murderer, Tobias; you were his rachsucher.”

Toby chuckled, then nodded. “I…suppose, Mom,” he said, then opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah!” said Petra before he could speak.  “Come, come, I have gifts for to give you.”  She bustled past him, grabbing his hand before he could get a word in or share any of his news.  “So many Winterveils, with only a sweater and an orange!  Do you remember, Tobias, when you were nine and begged and begged for your father and I to gift you a puppy?”

“Um…” said Toby, not entirely sure where she was going.  “Yeah? I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time…” “Well!” said the Lady Regent of Grafenwohr. “I knitted you a sweater like normal, of course, but finally I am able to be fulfilling this wish.” “Mom, that was twelve years ago,” Toby said, following his mother out of the Hall and to the right, passing behind the large buildings to a fenced-in area with a small shelter built into it.  Petra swung open a gate.  “I don’t reall---oof,”

A rather large mass of fur, muscle, and tongue launched from the shelter, catching Toby in the upperlegs with a unexpected, meaty shoulder-block and sending him sprawling. The massive beast immediately positioned himself over Toby and lay atop him, then bathed his face with a big, swabbing tongue.

“Toby, this is Rolf,” said his mother in an amused voice.  “I think he likes you.”

“He’s heavy,” Toby said.  “Where did you find this monster?” Rolf gave a little whurf, almost a half-bark, then settled his giant head down atop Toby’s.

“He’s an Alteraci rescue dog,” said Lady Farnal.  “If stranded you are in the snow, he’s your best bet at staying warm.  When he’s sent out on a rescue mission, or at formal occasions, it’s traditional to put a cask of mulled brandy about his neck.”

Toby chuckled as best he could under the mass of dog.  “Well,” he says. “He is warm, I’ll give him that.”  He reached up to scratch behind Rolf’s ear, and the dog pressed his massive head against Toby’s hand in grateful appreciation.  “Nice to meet you, Rolf.  Though I think you’ll have to stay here, mostly; I can’t exactly deploy with a massive dog in tow.”

“Ah, happy I would be for the company,” said Petra.  “Since I am without my son.”

Toby chuckled again. “So…how do I get him to…”

“Rolf!  Aufstehen!” said Petra in a sharp, commanding tone. The big dog obligingly stood and rumbled to the side, allowing Toby to stand…and then immediately leaned his massive weight against Toby’s leg.  

“All right,” said Toby with a little smile at all the canine affection.  “All right, I like him.  Good boy, Rolf,” he says.  

“Yes.  Now, next question—when am I going to meet this freundin of yours?” asked Petra.

“Well, actually—” Toby said, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise with his mother.

“You’ve been seeing this girl for months, now, and you do not bring her for to meet your mader? Are you ashamed of me?”

“I—” Toby said, but his Mom was on a roll.

“Oh, woe!  That my own son would keep his mother locked away from his lady.  Is she not to be bearing my grandchildren?  Am I not to know them, either?  Just keep me shut up in the mountains, away from my family?”

“Mom, you know I—”

“Good, then.  It’s settled.  I will cook for her, and you will bring her for dinner.  Will she like Schweinshaxe?  Ah, what am I saying, everyone is liking Schweinshaxe.  Bring her, let me meet her for Winterveil. Friday, yes?  You will bring her on Friday.”

“Friday?” Toby said, absently scratching Rolf’s head some more.  “I don’t…that is, I’ve other plans on Friday.  Keledry--Knight Brightmaul—and I are portalling some of the regiment out to Winterspring for a little celebration.”

“Oh!  All of your friends in one place, for me to be meeting and hearing stories of my Tobias.  I will be cooking the Scheinshaxe for all of them, then.  You come and help your mother with the cooking. I know those Pandarens taught you something, but learn real Alteraci cooking with your mother, yes?”

“Mom, I—”

“Embarrased, he is!” said Petra with a glint in her eye.  “Does your Lady Regent disappoint you so, Lord Farnal?” she asked, then, shifting subtely into a more serious tone.  “And…I wish to thank your Lord Edain, as Lady Farnal myself.  His gift…it was more than generous, and it’s made what could have been a hard, hard winter comfortable.  Bring me along, my Lord.  Let me say thank you in my own way.”

Toby opened his mouth, then closed it.  A request from his mother…that he could laugh off.  Wave off.  Deny and still smile.  A request like that from the Lady Regent of Grafenwohr—Lord Farnal couldn’t deny.  “Very well, Lady Petra,” he said, responding to her formal tone with one of his own.  “I will come get you.”

“Oh good!” said his mother. “And while we’re there, I can—”

“Actually,” said Toby. “There’s one more thing you should know…”

[angelofthequeers]

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Chapter 16 | Chapter 18 | AO3 link

“Die already!” Alya growls, furiously mashing the buttons on her controller.

“No can do, babe!” Nino mashes just as hard, trying desperately to keep up with his girlfriend. But she’s on the warpath and is out for blood, so there’s absolutely no chance of him getting any ground on her, and he’s soon utterly crushed by Alya, who whoops and punches the air.

“I never knew that Alya was so ruthless at Ultimate Mecha Strike III,” Adrien comments, his voice slightly warped by the phone speakers. Marinette just laughs.

“Why do you think I never play against her?” she says, turning her phone so that she can see Adrien’s face while still letting him see the gameplay. “She’s terrifying.”

“And I can never beat Marinette!” Alya snarls, already loading a rematch with Nino, who looks like he’d rather be akumatised thrice over than go up against her again.

“That’s because she’s super talented!” Adrien says. Marinette beams at the compliment, idly marvelling at how she can smile now at something said by Adrien that would’ve turned her into a hot, gooey mess only weeks ago. And it’s not like he doesn’t still make her insides shiver, but the more she focuses on being friendly without the looming pressure of asking him out, the softer those shivers become. Part of her misses the hot intensity of her feelings for him, but really, would she be interacting with him in this way if she was still a disaster around him? She’s become better friends with him over the past few weeks than she had in all the months of crushing so hard on him that she could barely talk to him. Hell, she’s even stroking his hair consistently now.

Who knows? Maybe those feelings will bear fruit someday. But as it is, Tikki had been totally right; she’s far closer to Adrien as friends than when she’d been stressing over asking him out. And if something does happen between the, at least she’s got a solid foundation of friendship to build on.

“I wish you could have come,” she sighs. “It’s not really a sleepover if you’re not actually sleeping over.”

“Father was pretty firm,” Adrien says, his smile fading. “And I didn’t want to push it. There’s a line between teenage rebellion and being outright disrespectful.”

“It’s probably wise to pick your battles,” Marinette agrees. “But still. Now Nino has to sleep on the floor alone because Mum and Dad are on the whole “no boys and girls together!” thing.” She makes a face and Adrien laughs.

“Can’t we talk about this?” Nino pleads. Alya just gives the most terrifying laugh that Marinette’s ever heard and proceeds to crush Nino, who drops his remote and throws his hands up.

“I think that’s the end of that,” Marinette says, her lips twitching at how Alya immediately loses her scary competitiveness and tries to cajole Nino into hugging her when he’s looking at her as though she’s an akuma. “Maybe we should do something that you can actually do with us.”

“I don’t mind watching,” Adrien says. “I mean, I wish I was there, but this is better than just sitting in silence.” He smiles at Marinette. “And at least I get to talk to you.”

Marinette grins back, wondering why his face suddenly morphs into a look of horror.

“Uh – and Alya and Nino – when they’re not playing their game – not that it’s not nice talking to you –”

A voice in the background on Adrien’s end halts his rambling in its tracks. He grimaces and drops his phone on his pillow, giving Marinette a wonderful view of his high bedroom ceiling as his footsteps cross over to his door.

“Adrien, your father has requested that you practice your current piece –”

“But I’ve already done my piano practice today!”

“Yes, but your father is dissatisfied with your progress. He feels that you should practice the piece a little more until you reach his standards.”

“Seriously? He won’t let me go to my friend’s sleepover and now he’s not even letting me be there by phone?”

“If it was up to me, I would be perfectly happy for you to continue talking to your friends. But it’s not up to me.”

Marinette desperately wants to jump in and say something but doing so will only make things worse for Adrien. Plus, he probably doesn’t even realise that he’s got an audience of not just Marinette but also Nino and Alya, whose bickering has ceased so that they can listen in too.

“You know what? No.”

“Adrien –”

“All I ever do is practice my piano and fencing and Chinese and model for him! And he can’t even let me hang out with my friends for one night!”

“Adrien, this is so unlike you –”

“What, like going to school was unlike me?”

“Those were exceptional circumstances –”

“Leave me alone.”

“But –”

“I don’t care what Father says! Tell him that it was all me and you tried your best. Just…leave me alone for the rest of the night.”

“Adrien –”

“Leave me alone!”

There’s silence for a few moments. Marinette bites her lip and exchanges a glance with Alya and Nino, who look just as worried as she does.

“I’ll tell your father that you’re coming down with something and feel too unwell,” Nathalie finally says.

“Thank you, Nathalie!”

“But be warned, he will expect more effort in the next few nights to make up for this.”

“I don’t care. Really. Just…thank you.”

There’s the sound of the door closing, followed by footsteps that gradually grow louder. Marinette has a brief bout of motion sickness when the phone is picked up, making the screen blur and move wildly until it refocuses on Adrien’s miserable face.

“You okay, dude?” Nino says. Adrien smiles, but it’s a weak effort.

“Sorry you guys had to hear that. Guess I didn’t hang up like I thought.”

“What Nino said,” Marinette says when she notices how pale Adrien is. “Are you okay?”

“Honestly? I think I’m about two seconds from a panic attack. I can’t remember the last time I’ve put my foot down like that.”

“Well, are you sure you can’t make it over here?” Alya says, while Marinette’s stomach lurches. “You shouldn’t have to be stuck there with a borderline panic attack just ‘cause your dad’s on a power trip.”

“I wish I could. But there’s no way out without my father seeing except through my window, and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t survive the jump.”

Marinette briefly entertains the idea of turning into Ladybug and rescuing Adrien, but she has to force herself to think clearly. There’s no way she could explain how Ladybug found out about this so fast, not to mention that there’s no way she could explain her extended absence to Alya and Nino. Hell, she already pushes that enough during akuma attacks, and at least those are a convenient excuse. Her powerlessness right now makes her clench her fists. What good is she as Ladybug if she can’t help those who need it?

“Anyway,” Adrien says, pasting a grin on his face, “I’ll be fine so long as I can talk to you guys.”

“Do you at least know how to focus on your breathing?” Marinette says. “Five seconds in, hold for three, out for seven. Do it now, while we’re here.”

Adrien immediately obeys, sucking in a deep breath while Marinette counts to five, holding it, then releasing it while she counts to seven. After a minute or so, Adrien closes his eyes and sags.

“Thanks, Mari,” he mumbles. Marinette smiles at him.

“Any time!”

“I think I’ll be okay now if I keep my mind off it. What should we do next?”

“Anything but truth or dare,” Nino shudders. “Marinette and Alya get ruthless when they gang up on you.”

Marinette and Alya laugh together. The mood’s slowly starting to creep back to where it was before, but Marinette still can’t help but wish that there was more she could do for her friend than leaving him in his prison-like house and only having him over via phone call.

The next day, Adrien’s not at school, although Marinette’s not totally worried because he’d texted her beforehand to say that he’s being made to stay home due to Nathalie’s excuse of him coming down with something. Still, though, she can’t help but worry a little and that, mixed with her feelings of powerlessness, leaves her distracted all day. Especially since he’d also said that his phone was probably being taken for the day while he had lessons at home, so he hasn’t messaged her since his initial text and is therefore most likely unreachable.

“Marinette.” Ms Bustier’s voice snaps Marinette out of her haze. Marinette jumps and meets Ms Bustier’s eyes guiltily. “Please pay attention to the lesson.”

“Sorry!” Marinette says. Ms Bustier’s face softens.

“Are you feeling unwell? Do you need to be excused from class?”

“I…actually, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit sick.” It’s not like Marinette’s lying; her stomach really is rolling, and she hasn’t been able to concentrate all morning. Ms Bustier just can’t possibly know that it’s from anxiety over her friend rather than an actual illness.

“Alya, could you take Marinette to the nurse?” Ms Bustier says. “Marinette, if you still feel unwell after having a rest then please go home.”

“I’ll take her, Ms Bustier,” Chloé declares. The class goes dead silent. Ms Bustier is the first to recover.

“Thank you, Chloé, that’s very nice of you,” she says.

“I know,” Chloé says rather smugly. “I’m being super nice now. Come on, Dupain-Cheng.”

Although Marinette doesn’t trust Chloé at all, she can’t really say no when she’s the one showing Chloé how to be nice. So, rather than kick up a fuss, she swallows her words, packs up her things, and follows Chloé out of the classroom.

“What’s the deal, Chloé?” Marinette says when they’re walking down the corridor, Chloé strutting ahead of her. “If it was anyone other than me…”

“Because you’ve been a mess all day and Adrikins isn’t in class,” Chloé says. “I put it together. Something happened to him and you know what, and since he’s not answering my texts…”

“He probably doesn’t have his phone,” Marinette says. She explains what had happened the previous night, all the while wondering why she’s confiding in Chloé like they’re friends or something, and Chloé doesn’t look anywhere near happy by the end of her explanation.

“Cute,” Chloé drawls. “You’ve worried yourself sick over your friend. At least it’s not something super serious like I thought.”

“Nothing super serious? How can you say that?”

“Because his father’s like this all the time. It’s not like I’m happy, but at least I know it’s not something like having a broken leg or me needing to destroy whoever hurt him or something.”

Marinette totally doesn’t buy that. “Rubbish! After you let Adrien take the fall for what you did twice, pretending like you care is a total new low for you, Chloé. You don’t care about him at all, do you, you just see him as some trophy –”

Chloé’s hand shoots out to grab Marinette’s wrist and yank her down the next corridor and into the girl’s bathroom. “Don’t you even dare go there, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé hisses, squeezing Marinette’s wrist as the door slams shut behind them. “I’m trying to be nice so that my best friend will talk to me again, so don’t you even think of implying that he’s just a shiny thing to me. I just…didn’t realise how special he was until he stopped talking to me for good. I didn’t realise that I was treating him like shit as well as all you peasants since, you know, that’s my default.”

An awkward silence falls over them. Chloé clears her throat and lets go of Marinette, then deliberately wipes her hand on her jacket. Marinette stares at Chloé with a tilted head.

“Are you really in love with him?” she says. Chloé just sniffs and looks away. “You can tell me, Chloé. I’m the last person who’d go telling everyone your private information.”

“You hate me, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé snaps. “I hate you. Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t hate you,” Marinette says. “Not since you asked me for help. I’ve actually been…impressed at how you’re really trying to be nice. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you. And even if I did hate you, I wouldn’t go spreading around anything that you tell me in private.”

Chloé stares at her for a long moment, then sighs. “You’re, like, the one person I can actually believe wouldn’t do that to me,” she mutters. “Stupid, goodie-two-shoes Marinette Dupain-Cheng. No, I’m not in love with Adrien, okay? He’s like my brother. But I don’t want anyone else to get near him.”

“Why? If you’re really that close, you can’t possibly believe that he’d abandon you for someone else, right?”

“He did!” Chloé clenches her fists and stomps her foot. “He left me for – for you! And that Ladyblogger and weird DJ!”

“Only because you were being mean and he knew that he had the power to push you to become a nicer person,” Marinette counters.

“Exactly! Now I’m stuck turning myself into some fake, nice, smiley person that I’m not just to get my friend back!”

Marinette’s face softens as she regards Chloé, who snarls and looks away, crossing her arms. “Then don’t do it for Adrien,” Marinette says. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Find a reason why you want to be nice.”

“I don’t have a reason! Don’t you get it? Why should I want to be nice when I can get everything I want anyway?”

“You didn’t end up being class president. You’re always getting kidnapped by akumas with a vendetta. No one apart from Sabrina and Adrien likes you, and Sabrina’s more of a servant than a friend. Those are three good reasons.”

“Whatever, miss perfect know-it-all. Come on, we’re supposed to be at the nurse’s office.”

As Chloé storms for the door, Marinette scrambles for one last line of reasoning as to why Chloé should keep being nice. Finally, as Chloé’s pushing the door open, Marinette blurts out, “What about Ladybug?”

Chloé freezes. “What about her?”

“You’re her number one fan, right? Well…why not do it so you can be the kind of person Ladybug would love to have as her number one fan?”

“Are you implying that she doesn’t see me or want me as her number one fan?” Chloé arches an eyebrow as she turns, letting the door slam shut again. Marinette gulps. Now she has to be careful with how she navigates this, or she’ll end up either outing herself or offending Chloé into hating Ladybug again.

“I never said that,” Marinette says slowly. “Look, if you truly can’t do it for yourself, do it to become a person that Ladybug would be proud of. I know I try every day to strive to be the kind of person that Ladybug would approve of. And once you’re in the habit of being nice, who knows? Maybe you’ll find that you really do enjoy having people like you and want to do nice things for you because they like you and not because they fear you.”

“Hmph.” Chloé crosses her arms. “Well, she did totally praise me for being nice and helpful at my party. Whatever. Come on, Dupain-Cheng. You’re supposed to be sick.”

“You could start being nicer by calling me by my first name,” Marinette says as she follows Chloé out of the bathroom. Chloé snorts.

“Over my dead body, Dupain-Cheng.”

[jane-fucking-seymour]

The Ink in Which We Inscribe Our Lives is Indelible

It was years into their second lives when Catherine Parr decided to write down the queen’s origins in the modern era.

For some, like Katherine, it was only vaguely remembered first hand due to illness and had to be filled in from other’s accounts. For most of the others, like Aragon, the start of her story actually began with her lady in waiting. Regardless of all of that, Parr had finally finished the short tale of entering this new world after months of revisions and consultations.

As Katherine Howard wandered into the room that day - something about how Jane wouldn’t let her get a sword, so she’s “angry” at Jane now - Parr invites her to read it. With excitement in her eyes, she does just that.

Anna of Cleves was the last to die, but the first to arrive.

She gasped awake, eyes wide and wild for a moment before she realized where she was. She doesn’t remember coming here, but she distinctly knows how she did just that.

She looked down at her hands; they were foreign, yet familiar. Her clothes, at least, hadn’t changed style, which she would both thank god and curse at within the next few hours.

She stood a bit unsteadily barely able to stand as she took everything in - things looked the same for the most part, but there were small differences that led her to believe that something was very, very wrong.

She frowned as she looked around, stumbling at first but eventually able to catch her balance. It looked like it was to rain, maybe a few hours time, so she made the decision to find shelter before figuring everything else out.

Just as she was about to move, though, she heard a small, kind, familiar voice.

“Lady Cleves.”

Anna turned to find the familiar yet unfamiliar woman and she couldn’t help but smile, despite the shock.

“Bessie.”

Bessie Blount moves forward, wrapping a blanket around her mistress. The former queen took it gratefully, still looking around.

“We’re not home, are we?” Anna asks.

“Not even close,” Bessie replies. “Come on. I have a flat not far from here.”

Anna nods, heavily leaning against her lady in waiting, before she frowns. “How exactly did you find me?”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Bessie replies. “I don’t... I don’t know how. But I have been. All I know is that you were here and I need to get you ready for meeting the others.”

Anna frowns. “Who are the others?”

“I don’t know. But they’re good, whoever they are.”

Anna nods; for the moment, she’ll take her word for it.

“Let’s go,” Bessie says, clearly wanting to rush out of there. “There’s someone coming. One of them is coming soon, and she’ll need our help.”

A few hours later, that would prove to be true.

Katherine suddenly awoke that early morning, torrential downpour already having soaked her through.

“Katherine?”

The woman in question, startled, snapped her attention to the person to the right of her; she hadn’t noticed the older woman standing there. Katherine whimpered, scampering away, dress muddied up as she tried to make distance.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” the woman said gently. “You’re Katherine Howard, right? I don’t... I don’t quite know what’s going on, but I just... I know that.” She tilts her head before slowly crouching to Katherine’s level. “I must say, in all my years of a historian, this is certainly a first.”

Katherine was still breathing heavily, a hand on her neck. She looked around, shivering.

“You must be confused,” the woman continued. “Probably as confused as I am, I’m sure. Do you remember how you got here, Katherine?”

The woman approached slowly, making no sudden movements, trying to ensure that the wide-eyed, terrified girl in front of her didn’t bolt. Katherine watched every single move but shook her head. She leaned back against whatever she was leaning against, her hand rubbing her neck.

“That’s fine, we can figure that out later,” the woman said. “Let’s get you out of the rain-”

Unfortunately for her, a sudden lightning strike close by had her spooked.

Katherine bolted up, rushing away. The woman tried to call to her, to tell her to come back, even following Katherine as she ran, but Kat was too fast and disappeared.

Katherine rushes through the streets of London, already completely out of her mind: there’s weird noises and scary contraptions and nothing looks the same as it was before. She didn’t know what was happening, but she was scared and alone and couldn’t breathe.

Months after this, she would learn that this is what they now call a ‘panic attack,” but the girl had no idea what that was or how to properly combat one. She kept running until her body forced her to shut down, stumbling in an alleyway and collapsing to the ground. The rain was still heavy and her dress was soaked as she lay there, gasping for air while trying not to drown in the flooded street.

Spots in her vision started appearing more rapidly as she tried to fight for breath, but no breath would return to her. Within minutes, her body was limp and she blacked out, body face down in the torrential downpour.

When the girl awoke a few hours later - the rain still continuing, though not as badly as before - she struggled to get herself up. Her body, so tired, barely responded to her commands of sitting up out of the water. She coughed, chest burning; she must have swollowed some water while unconscious.

The girl felt feverish as she stood, cold and barely lucid, wandering the back streets of London as she tried to find somewhere to go. She would have loved to go back to where that woman was - maybe she could help - but she didn’t have a clue how to get back there. Even though the streets were deserted thanks to the torrential storms, nothing was recognizable for the young queen.

She walked for hours, getting very weird looks from very weird looking people. She cried out in pain as she continued; her fever was getting worse, as was her cough. She was barely able to stand by the time she got to where she was going, body trembling as it unknowingly lead her somewhere intentional, yet not a place she ever had been before. Glassy eyes looked around the alley before they closed, the girl pitching forward as her body gave into the pain and fever...

... only for someone to gently catch her before she fell.

“Lady Howard?”

She doesn’t know that voice, yet she very clearly does. She doesn’t know the hands holding her, yet she can pinpoint exactly when she saw them last. It’s all very confusing, having knowledge she very well shouldn’t, but it didn’t matter right now. What mattered was she felt safe, especially when she heard the second voice.

“Katherine?”

The first picks Katherine up. “She’s burning up, m’lady.”

“Let’s get her inside. I imagine she’s as confused as we were. She needs to be ready for when the time comes.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

The last thing Katherine sees is the very, very concerned face of Anna of Cleves before she settles into darkness.

Meanwhile, in Peterborough, another reunion of sorts was happening.

A woman carefully hopped over a fence st Peterborough Cathedral. The chapel had been closed for renovations that day, which was good and bad with the current situation. For one, no one would be around to scare off the person she knew was in there, but this meant she couldn’t just walk through the front door to help her mistress.

Well, she thought, picking a lock with skills she didn’t know she had, wouldn’t be the first time she had to sneak in to find her queen. It wasn’t even the first time this week, actually.

The woman hid behind a corner, listening for footsteps before she made her final few turns through the halls to her destination. Hearing none, she quickly moved and rushed to her destination. She turned left with purpose, as if she had done this before-

- only to stop and gasp in awe.

She was there.

“Catalina?”

Maria de Salinas rushes to her friends side; Catherine of Aragon was still unconscious, draped over her burial site. After checking every single day for the past week, Catherine of Aragon had finally arrived.

Maria did not know how she knew that Catherine would return.

She only knew that she knew it.

For the moment, it was enough.

She holds her friend in her arms, almost exactly as she did the last night they saw each other. She’s crying - of course she is - and she can’t help but smile widely as Catherine’s eyes flutter open.

In their first life, Maria was the last person Catherine saw.

Now, she was the first person Aragon laid eyes on in this new life.

“Maria?”

Maria smiles, tears rushing down her face as she embraces her long lost friend for the first time in centuries.

“Oh, god, I’ve missed you, Catalina.”

“What’s going on?” Catherine asked; she’s speaking Spanish, an old tongue in this new world, but Maria understands every single word.

“It’s alright, I’m not sure but we’ll be okay,” Maria says. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

Catherine slowly stands for the first time in centuries, smoothing out her dress as she looks around. “Where is everyone? Am I dead?” She looks Maria over. “And what are you wearing?”

Maria chuckles. “They’re not here, you were dead, and it’s complicated but in fashion for our current time,” Maria says. “It’s... it’s going to be a shock. We’ll take it slow-”

“My god.”

They turn to find a man there, eyes wide as he trembles. He falls to his knees, saying a prayer.

Aragon blinks, confused, but Maria steps forward.

“You know who we are, yeah?” Maria asks. The man nods, still trembling as if he’s seen a ghost. Which, Maria thinks, he very well might be. “Can you show us the way out of here? And possibly some clothes for my mistress.”

“Uh... o-of course.”

Maria gently takes Aragon’s hand, giving her a gentle smile.

“It’ll be okay, love. I’ll explain what I can, but when you’re well enough, I think we have people to find.”

Sure enough, at that very moment, the lady of Sudeley Castle drew her first breath in centuries.

She sat upright on top of a marble tomb, catching her breath. Oddly enough, a stone statue of her that was on top of her tomb was now gone, replaced by the woman herself.

The plaque in front of the tomb scared her more than anything else:

KP HERE LIES KATHERINE PARR

Parr carefully moved from the tomb to the ground, looking around with confused, fearful eyes. She knew where she was - she recognized the chapel she had prayed in so many times for safe delivery of her baby - but she just knew that, somehow, it’s been ages since last time she saw it.

Seeing as no one was around at the moment, she quickly moved out of the chapel and into the courtyard, wincing at the light peeking through dark, stormy clouds. She looked around and, sure enough, this was definitely the Castle, but not the way she remembered it.

Something is wrong.

She moves to where she knew her quarters to be, but they’re no longer there; it looks like someone’s made a museum out of her living arrangements.

Odd.

“I... honestly didn’t expect this to work.”

Catherine turned to find a woman standing there, seemingly astonished. It takes a moment, but the woman bows.

“Lady Parr, I’m sure you’re very confused, but I think I can help.”

Parr, frowning, tries to speak, but her voice doesn’t come to her. The other woman nods.

“I’m unsure of what’s happening, but there are reports of Anna of Cleves and Catherine of Aragon once again breathing. I met Lady Katherine Howard just yesterday morning. I think... if you come with me, I think I can explain some things and, best case, get you to the others.”

Parr tilts her head, swallowing before trying again.

“My godmother is alive?”

“Yes. As, I would suspect, the other wives.”

“Of Henry?”

“Of Henry.”

Catherine nods, a bit dazed, but she looks back at the woman when she extends a hand. She looks at it, then at the woman, and nods.

“I don’t know how I know this,” Parr says gently. “But I must be ready in a day’s time. Then, I’ll have to go.”

“To where?”

“Dunno.”

The woman nods. “We’ll be ready. Lets get you some clothes that’ll help you blend in, then we can chat a bit more, yeah?”

Parr later would say that historian saved her life - or at least ensured that she wouldn’t have suffered from being dropped so suddenly into this new world. It seemed that, despite not having a lady in waiting to tend to them like the others, Parr and Howard would be taken care of regardless of that.

The final two pieces of the puzzle would suddenly appear an hour later.

Nearby the place where Katherine Howard awoke the day before, a young woman waited patiently with a blanket, an extra set of clothes, and some food and water. She had been waiting here every day, always around this time, for the last week. She didn’t exactly know why at first - she just felt compelled to - but it became more and more apparent as she sat by the grave.

Today, her patience would pay off.

It’s a blinding flash of light that would suggest that her waiting was at an end and, sure enough, her mistress appeared once the flash was over. The woman laid on top of her grave, unconscious at first, her neck scar clearly agitated and visible.

Her lady in waiting is quick to pick the girl up, smiling at the woman she had considered a sister, bringing the girl round while holding her in her lap.

“Anne?” The woman said gently. “Wake up, Anne. Please.”

Anne slowly cane round, gasping in pain at her neck before her eyes fluttered open. At first, Anne seemed confused, but then she recognized the person before her.

“Margaret?”

“It’s Maggie now, actually,” her lady in waiting replies with a chuckle. “How are you feeling?”

“Weak,” Anne admitted, sighing and closing her eyes.

“That’s alright,” Maggie says softly. “We can rest here for a bit, but after that I’ll need you to change your clothes to something a bit more... suitable.”

Anne frowns. “I died.”

Maggie nods gravely. “You did.”

“Swordsman cut m’ head off.”

“Cleanly, from what I could tell.”

“Still hurt, though.”

“I’d bet.”

Anne sighs.

“Why do you look younger than me?”

“Dunno. There’s a lot of things I’m unsure of now.”

“Like how a dead, headless woman can talk?”

“And how I even knew you’d be here in the first place.”

“Well, you always went above and beyond your duty, so I wouldn’t put it past you to know the unknown.”

Maggie rolled her eyes fondly before she started to stand. Anne, shakily, is able to as well. Maggie holds up the clothes.

“There’s a bathroom nearby,” Maggie says. “Let’s get you changed. We need to get going.”

“To where?”

“I think you know.”

And indeed, Anne did know; it was like an overwhelming sensation, to get to the place she knew she needed to be. She understood it rather perfectly.

“We don’t have much time,” Anne says. “I’ll need some help.”

“Of course, my lady.”

An hour later, they were on their way; Anne wasn’t entirely sure what they were in - Maggie called it a “train” - but whatever it was was faster than anything Anne had seen. The world, too, had changed since the swordsman’s swing, and Anne found herself both scared but thrilled st the prospect of a new beginning.

They arrived in Windsor less than an hour later, walking the rest of the way. Anne wasn’t sure how both of them knew what to do, but they did, and they knew they wouldn’t be alone in this endeavor.

“Do you know what year it is?” Anne finally asks, having just now gotten the courage to do so.

“Early 21st century,” Maggie replies.

Anne makes a face.

“That can’t be real.”

“It is, I assure you.”

“How long have you been back for?”

“About half a year. The others have as well, I think.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you know they’re back, then?”

“I don’t know, m’lady, I’m sorry.”

Anne hums in thought as they continue to walk.

“This is quite peculiar.”

“It is.”

“But we just keep walking, yeah?”

“We just keep walking, yeah.”

They arrive at their destination - Saint George’s Chapel.

It was closed for some reason, though Anne would alter speculate that everything had lined up so perfectly that it had to of been fate.

When they get there, Maggie is quick to lead Anne to the back... where a small girl was waiting. She looked worse for wear, a small teenager, shaking and barely lucid.

At first, Anne wanted to avoid her, but there was something about the girl that drew her in.

Anne crouched down next to the girl and felt her forehead; she was hot.

“A fever, definitely,” Anne mumbles. “No way she could have gotten here on her own-“

“Hey!”

Maggie stepped in front of Anne, protecting her from the woman that suddenly appeared from around a corner. The woman in question narrowed her eyes.

“Step away from that child, if you please.”

Anne gently cupped the girl’s cheek, smiling gently when she felt the girl lean into it. All at once, a name came to her.

“Katherine Howard,” Anne says softly. “This is my cousin.”

“Your cousin? That makes you Anne Boleyn, no?”

The woman in front of them relaxes, allowing Maggie to do the same.

“My Lady, Anna of Cleves, has been waiting for you two.”

“Why is Katherine out here?” Anne demands, glaring at the girl. She’s never really connected with Katherine - not even in the previous life, they had barely seen each other if at all - but there’s a surge of protectiveness for her younger cousin that rushes through her.

“I... I was compelled to do so,” Bessie says. “I’m not sure why.”

“I think it was to lead you here, Lady Boleyn.”

The three look over to find Anna of Cleves standing there, Maria de Salinas next to her.

“Looks like mostly everyone is here,” Maria says. “My lady, Catherine of Aragon, is inside awaiting her goddaughter’s arrival.”

“Catherine is here?” Anne asks, perking up a bit. “Finally, a familiar face in all of this.” She looks back down at Katherine. “Let’s get her inside.”

The four move into the deserted chapel and, as soon as they do, Anne gasps in surprise.

“Catherine of Aragon, as I live and breathe!” Anne says with a smile.

Aragon scowls. “Be quiet while we’re in here, Anne, surely you remember proper decorum in a chapel?”

“Rules have changed, babe,” Anne says. “Everything’s changed, clearly.” Boleyn watches as Bessie brings in the still sick Katherine.

Aragon frowns. “Is the girl alright?”

“She’ll need a doctor,” Anne says. “But we cant leave. Not yet. We’re missing three.”

Aragon frowns. “You feel it too, right?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know why, or how, but we’re missing-“

“Two, now.”

Anne points to the back of the chapel where a one Catherine Parr has arrived. She’s different - everyone is - but she instantly zeroes in on one queen in particular.

“Catalina?”

“Catherine!”

Catherine is quick to embrace the woman, hugging her tightly. It’s been ages since last.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Parr admits.

“How did you get here?” Catherine asks with a frown.

“A lady helped me. She wanted to come in, but I told her no,” Parr looks back at a particular spot in the chapel. “We need to do this together, but without anyone else.”

It’s a weird statement, but Aragon is inclined to agree.

As Parr says that, a woman walks in from a side door. She seems startled to see all of them, but then she nods.

“I’m Joan Meutas,” Joan says. “I see we’re all present.”

Anna of Cleves nods from her place in a pew, Katherine Howard leaning against her, barely responsive. Anne Boleyn is keeping a close eye on her cousin while also standing next to Catherine of Aragon, who still is holding Parr’s hand.

“What’s this all about?” Aragon asks, but Parr can answer it.

She moves forward, pointing at each queen as they’re related to the poem.

“Divorced, beheaded, divorced, beheaded, survived.” She nods at them. “The only one we’re waiting on, is-“

That’s all she can say, though, as a brilliant light blinds all in the chapel.

When it fades, the final queen is unconscious next to her so-called final resting place.

Joan is quick to attend to her, a bag of clothing and a blanket in hand. Her mistress comes round relatively quickly.

“Lady Jane?” Joan asks quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Joan?” Jane asks quietly, eyes fluttering open as she looks around. “What’s going on, what’s happened?”

“We’re unsure,” Joan says quietly. “But we’re all here now. Exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

“But why, though?” Anna asks, standing as Bessie takes over caring for Katherine. “Why are we here?”

“Is it not obvious?” Parr asks. When they all look at her, she points to the tomb Jane is leaning against.

Jane Seymour’s marble statue is gone.

Only Henry’s remains.

Back in the present, Katherine lets out a low whistle.

“That was brilliant, Parr,” Kat says with a big grin as she offers Parr the story back. “What ever happened to that historian?”

“We still keep in touch,” Parr replies, taking the papers from Kat. “She made that documentary, remember? The one that meant everything to us.”

Katherine nodded, tilting her head in thought. “I don’t really remember those days,” Katherine says quietly. “I didn’t talk much.”

Parr nods sympathetically. “You has pneumonia, love; even then, it’s completely understandable, considering...” she trails off with a frown. She takes a moment before she moves over to hug Katherine tightly. “You’re better now,” Parr says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

Katherine smiles and nods at that. “And we’re all together still,” Kat says with a grin. “It really was fate or destiny or what have you.”

“I’d like to think so,” Parr agrees. After a moment, she released Kat. “How about we go downstairs?”

Kat huffs. “Only if I can get a sword.”

“No.”

“But Parr-!”

Catherine laughs and hugs the girl again, kissing the side of her head before leading her downstairs. There, she finds Jane smirking at her daughter, Anna firmly on Jane’s side and also smirking at Kat and Boleyn trying to convince the others of the “importance of swordsmanship in the 21st century.”

The ladies in waiting were there for the morning before they headed out to the two-show day: Joan making breakfast, Maggie assisting, and Maria wandering over to Parr with a glass of juice.

“Aragon’s in the living room, if you’d like to join,” Maria says. “Joan and Maggie are trying to keep the peace while Bessie may or may not be quietly enabling the conversation.”

Parr laughs as Maria wraps an arm around her shoulders, leading Parr towards where Aragon was.

“Bessie is sneakily the most chaotic of the lot of you, I’ll have you know,” Parr says. “Though I wouldn’t mind a sword-“

“Don’t you dare,” Aragon says, not even looking up from her work. “No child of mine is having a sword in this day and age.”

Parr chuckles and is quick to curl up next to Aragon. She hands Aragon the story and smiles.

“Oh, you finished!” Aragon says.

Katherine hears that from the other room. “Oh, right! We can debate this later, it’s story time now!”

They all move into the living room, breakfast cooked and plates full, and settle in for Parr to start.

Parr looks around he room, at the nine other people that have suddenly meant so much to her... and she can’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the feelings of love and appreciation for each and every one of them.

They’re telling their stories.

Not only from then, but also from now.

Catherine Parr wouldn’t have it any other way.

[takingcourage]

Bring to a Simmer

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 2,200

Summary: Arden attempts to make the inaugural batch of ‘Dad and Arden’s Stroganoff,’ but with Jaime around, staying focused is more easily said than done. 

Note: This is just a silly little oneshot inspired by some optional dialogue from the “remembering mom” diamond scene in Chapter 13. I thought it could be a fun premise for a story, especially with a side of Jaime Lewis there to spice things up. Gosh, I’m going to miss this book. 

This also fulfills a request I received for kiss prompt #8 (the playful kiss on the tip of the nose). 

“I’ve got the onion sliced, pumpkin.”

Up to her elbows in flour, Arden looked over her shoulder toward to check her father’s progress at the breakfast table. “Great! I’ll bring the mushrooms over in just a minute.”

Turning her attention back to the recipe card in front of her, she mashed at the sticky dough again. It never looks this way on Bake Off, she considered, worrying her inner cheek against her teeth. But then again, they’re usually making pastry, not pasta. The thought made her feel slightly better, but she still had very little faith that the pasty substance before her was going to end up resembling anything close to her mother’s stroganoff noodles.

She pried one hand away from the clumpy mass, grimacing at the feeling of her very messy fingers sticking to the paper of the flour bag. How had her mom always managed to make cooking look so easy? Even a simple four-ingredient pasta dough was enough to tempt Arden toward a delivery service.

It’s not about the finished product, she reminded herself. This is about remembering mom and making new memories.

Picking at the excess lumps of dough from between her fingers, she wondered how she’d keep her father involved in the process once all of the ingredients had been chopped. His leg had been particularly bad today, which meant that he couldn’t spend much time on his feet without his trusty cane by his side. Unfortunately, canes and cooking didn’t mix particularly well.

“Can you see Jaime working out there?”

She smiled at his inquiry, lifting her eyes momentarily to catch a glimpse of the man at their fence line. “Yep, he’s hard at it. You’ll be really happy with how it looks, dad. I promise.”

“Your mother would have put me in the dog house if she’d seen how bad I let it get. I just…” His voice grew wistful as the sentence trailed, and Arden had to take a deep breath to steady herself.

“It just didn’t seem as important without her around. I think she’d forgive you.” 

The front yard had been a point of contention ever since her mother had fallen ill. Melinda Gale had always taken great pride in her plants, the perfect picket fence, her trailing ivy – all things that Harry only tended to on her behalf. In recent years, the yard had been gradually falling into a state of disrepair. 

Thank goodness for Jaime and his powers of persuasion. He’d been gently nudging for several months, and after coming home from the hospital, her father was finally ready to accept the offer. Arden was just glad that the matter had been resolved without too much nagging on her part.  

That’s not all I’m grateful for, she mused, sneaking another glance out the window. 

She’d known Jaime was attractive for years, but if possible, he’d grown even more gorgeous to her in the past week. Maybe it was because she’d been out of work and had had more time to appreciate him. Maybe it was because she’d seen every inch of him on the night after the gubernatorial debate and knew exactly what was hiding underneath those work clothes. Or maybe it was because she loved him. That word still made her pulse skip every time she thought it. 

Beyond being very nice to look at and prompting irregular heartbeats, he was also incredibly skilled at repairing fences. In a single afternoon, he’d managed to replace the missing and broken pickets, paint the entirety, and purchase new balusters for the front porch. His abilities seemed to go on without end. 

Arden’s own talents felt questionable at the moment, though her hands were becoming less laden with dough the more she rolled and patted the clump into submission. She gave it a final smack, drawing her hand away slowly to determine whether the consistency was ready for rolling.

Although she’d never assisted her mother in the process of making dough, she did have an idea, more or less, of what the final result should look like. The mass on the counter wasn’t an exact replica, but she didn’t think that her attempt was too far off.

At the table, her dad inhaled a sharp breath, but it was several long moments before his words came. “I’m glad you talked me into this, honey. I think your mom would probably get a kick out of watching our struggles in the kitchen.”

“So do I.” Smiling faintly at the thought, she sidestepped to the sink and began the chore of cleaning her hands.

“And she’d be even happier to see how well you and Jaime are getting along these days." 

Arden yanked the kitchen towel a little harder than intended, causing the cabinet door it hung from to squeal in protest. 

Her father clearly needed something else to keep him occupied.

Carrying in the colander of button mushrooms, she set them before the man without a word. As she traded him for the plate of onion slices, she caught the mischievous grin slanting its way up his face. 

"I’m not as blind as you think I am, Arden.”

“I know.”

“And he’s been looking at you like he wants to haul you off and marry you." 

She knew that too. 

Thankfully, her back was turned by in time to hide the blush spreading over her cheeks. "We’re still figuring things out,” she answered evasively. Pulling the largest pot from the oven drawer, she set about filling it in the sink.

“I know I promised not to tell you how to live your life anymore, but he’s the only man I know who’s good enough for my Arden.” She ought to just kiss him sometime. She’s been half in love with him since they were kids. 

Arden pretended not to hear his thought or his comment over the running water. Her father might claim to have seen things, but he’d missed an awful lot of kisses that had passed between them in the last couple of weeks. Beyond that, he didn’t have the faintest idea that she’d spent the night next door after the insanity of the debate. As she waited for the pot to fill, she snuck another look through the glass.

Jaime was removing his shirt.

Her skin flushed again at the sight of his toned, tanned body. Her hands ached to glide along those perfect abs – to wrap her arms around his neck so she was pressed flush against the heat of his chest. Sleeping with him had been incredible. Waking up in his arms, nothing short of divine. 

They hadn’t discussed their plans for after dinner, but maybe she could talk him into another sleepover…

With a start, she realized that the water was spilling over the side of the pot. She drained the excess quickly, vaguely aware of the sporadic sound of chopping coming from the breakfast table.

Her father didn’t say anything, but there was a distinct twinkle in his eye when she returned to the table with the beef. 

_____

 Thirty minutes later, she’d managed to produce something that vaguely resembled stroganoff. Arden counted it as something of a marvel that she hadn’t given up the whole cooking endeavor in favor of just standing and staring out the window. She knew he wasn’t doing it deliberately, but Jaime had been putting on quite a show.

Wielding a paintbrush, standing back to consider his work, wiping his brow – everything he did set her blood on fire. As the evening had worn on, the pan before her received less and less of her attention. The sight through the window had proven too tempting for her to resist. 

His work on the fence complete, Jaime had switched to trimming the bushes in front of the house. As he skirted around the plant, she caught his eye. Arden sucked a breath at his wink.

"I’ll be right back,” she promised her father, hardly taking the time to make sure that he was still cutting romaine hearts for their salad.

Jaime’s eyes were on her as soon as she passed through the door, the shears falling to his side. “The view from the kitchen wasn’t enough, I see. Did you decide it was time to get up close and personal?” 

She rolled her eyes. When she looked up at him again, she was taken aback by the glisten of sweat all over him. With his chest mere inches from her face, she could discern each perfectly sculpted ab, and her fingers twitched with longing at her side. Arden wondered idly how much it would scandalize the neighbors if she started making out with him in her father’s front yard.

Still not prepared for this view?

She reddened at his thought as their eyes met, his sweaty hair obscuring vision from one side. “I’m still getting used to...” she gestured vaguely at his stomach, much to Jaime’s amusement. “But I actually came out to give you a dinner update. It all just needs to simmer for about twenty more minutes and then we’ll be ready to eat.” 

“I’m looking forward to it. I should reach a pretty good stopping place shortly, so I’ll have time for a quick shower before we eat.”

Arden’s mouth grew very dry at the appealing mental images his suggestion graced her with. Distracted, her gaze wavered from his face for a moment – not long enough to satisfy her desire, but certainly long enough to attract his notice.

"You keep looking at my chest, Arden. Is everything okay?” Not that I mind. I’ve only been hoping for this for years.   

Knowing she’d been caught, Arden dropped all pretense and stared openly. She sighed and lifted her face to his. “I’m just thinking again how much I’d like to kiss you right now.”

Jaime bristled with pleasure. “You wouldn’t get any complaints from me if you did, but I am pretty sweaty at the moment. We should probably wait until after dinner.”

Someday, she’d have to tell him that she didn’t mind him being sweaty. In fact, she’d found sweaty kisses with Jaime to be extremely enjoyable just a few nights before. With that memory in mind, she was inspired. “Can I just have one for now?” 

He ran a hand through his hair, uncovering both eyes. The deep brown pools were gleaming with equal parts humor and desire. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Arden tilted her chin, lips poised and eager for contact. Jaime’s mouth was warm and soft as it descended on hers, the salt of his sweat making her relish the experience even more. Body responding of its own volition, she had to pinch herself to keep from throwing both arms around his neck. Even after he’d pulled away, it took a moment for her to regain full control of her senses.

Just as her head cleared Jaime caught her by surprise, leaning down a second time to brush his lips gently across the tip of her nose. 

She wrinkled the bridge instinctively. “What was that for?”

“I couldn’t help it,” he explained. “You’re just so damn kissable, Arden.” 

“So are you. Please tell me there will be time for more kisses later?”

“I was hoping you’d suggest that.” He stretched out his free hand, skimming the pads of his fingers along her forearm. 

“The mind-blowing, earth-shaking kisses that are full of ten years of pent-up desire?”

He chuckled at her description. “You know those are my favorites. And I don’t have any plans for the rest of the night.” 

“Mmmhmmm.” His little half smile was doing funny things to her stomach. It wasn’t long before she’d lost all track of what he’d been saying. 

Should I put my shirt back on? 

His thought managed to get her attention, and she recoiled. “Don’t even joke about that. I’m enjoying the view way too much.” 

“You can enjoy it as much as you want after dinner.” 

“That feels like too long to wait.” She took another step toward him, forgetting both sweat and propriety in her need to touch him. 

“Arden,” he cautioned, though she knew from the yearning on his face that he wasn’t going to tell her no. 

Was that the door?

His thought corresponded with a click from the porch, followed by the beat of her father’s cane.

Their heads swung toward the doorway where Harry Gale stood, watching them both with an arched brow. Maybe she doesn’t need my encouragement after all... After taking a moment to collect himself, he announced, “Your pan boiled over. I got it off the burner, but I’m not sure what to do next.” 

Arden stared at him dumbly. “I was just….I, um.” She swallowed hard and forced her thoughts away from the man beside her. “I’ll come figure it out.” 

Her father retreated back to the house, leaving her alone with Jaime once more. 

“Go do what you need to do with dinner. I’ll finish up here and be in in a few minutes,” he told her, trailing a finger along her inner palm. Before she could pull away, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“See you then,” she promised, breaking the link between them. As she hurried up the porch stairs, she decided that an addition to her mother’s recipe was in order: 

Step 1 - If Jaime is outside, close curtains on the kitchen window. 

[mikauzoran]

Adrienette Drabble: Daisy Chapter Thirty-Two: Game

There’s a Daisy Chapter Thirty-Two: Game

(It’s baaaaaaaack. ^.^)

“It’s good to know that you haven’t lost your skill,” Kagami remarked condescendingly as she removed her mask to reveal a sly, fox-like smile. “I had been concerned.”

“I mean, I did go for a run on Monday,” Adrien snorted, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “It’s not like years of training are going to instantly evaporate just because I spend a few days moping in bed.”

Kagami clicked her tongue reproachfully. “My mother would disown me for neglecting my art like that.”

“I’m sick.” Adrien shrugged dismissively.

“In my family, mental illness is viewed as weakness and inferiority,” she countered ruefully. “Be grateful your father is so lenient and understanding.”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed, relenting as he rested his mask against his hip. “He’s really stepped up lately. I am grateful. A couple years ago when I asked to see a therapist, he told me it would be disgraceful to talk about private family matters with ‘one of those charlatans’, and when I started having panic attacks, he insisted that I was just fatigued from all the work…. He’s come a long way.”

Kagami nodded, beginning to pack up her equipment.

“…Do you think I’m weak?” Adrien wondered.

Kagami paused, her head tipping slightly as she considered her response. “…I think it takes a very strong person to admit to their weaknesses.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “I think you’re admirable.”

A pleased blush slowly rose in Adrien’s cheeks. “Thank you. I admire you too, Kagami.”

She waved away his compliment. “Flatterer. I’m commandeering a guest room to shower and change. You should do likewise, and, then, as a reward for your fencing skills not deteriorating despite your negligence, I will allow you to take me to lunch.”

Adrien frowned. “I thought you said that I couldn’t pay for your meals unless it was a date.”

Kagami shrugged. “Those were the old rules, and they have outlived their usefulness. I no longer have any delusions about the two of us ever being a couple, Adrien. You’re sweet, and I’m glad of your friendship, but now that I’ve gotten to know you better, I can see plainly that we’re not meant to be.”

“O-Oh.” Adrien shifted uncomfortably. “…Did I do something wrong?”

Kagami shook her head. “I did. I decided who you were without really knowing, without consulting you. I acted on assumptions and incomplete data. I apologize.”

Adrien opened his mouth to apologize in turn, but Kagami cut him off: “Whatever you’re about to say is superfluous. If you’re about to tell me all is forgiven, it’s unnecessary because I know you forgive me. You forgive so easily, Adrien—too easily. If you’re about to apologize and try to take some of the blame onto yourself, that too is unnecessary because, like I said before, you are not the one in the wrong.”

Adrien smiled softly at his friend, silently thanking her. “If you say so,” he replied aloud. “…Do you like Chinese food?”

Kagami raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I would not be opposed to trying Chinese food if that’s what you really want, Adrien, but we can’t tell my mother. She doesn’t approve of commoner food.”

His soft smile morphed into a mischievous grin. “You can just say I took you to La Bauhinia or Shang Palace at the Shangri-La.”

Kagami rolled her eyes. “Devious boy. Go shower.”

 Wednesday evening, several hours after Kagami’s departure, Gabriel stood in the doorway as Adrien finished a spirited rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody on the piano and Plagg crooned along.

“Your playing has improved in these past few weeks,” he observed, clapping reservedly.

Adrien gave a start and turned on the bench to smile sheepishly. “It’s more incentive to practice when you’re playing something you want to be playing—no offense to Ravel.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“And yet you were playing Ravel’s Une Barque sur l’Ocean the other day,” Gabriel hummed.

Adrien shrugged and tried not to blush. “That one’s been stuck in my head for some reason.”

Plagg snickered.

Adrien swatted halfheartedly at the kwami.

Gabriel nodded, ignoring the interaction. “Do you like Queen?”

Adrien shrugged again. “Select Queen songs. Bohemian Rhapsody and The Show Must Go On. There was a lot of Queen music featured in the show Elise and I watched yesterday, so…”

“I’m the one who requested Bohemian Rhapsody,” Plagg spoke up from where he was lounging on the piano. “I like Queen. Did you need something, Gabriel? If not, you should come over and play a piece with us.”

“Maybe later,” Gabriel excused himself, actually intending to make time to play with them at a later date. “Monsieur Lahiffe is in the foyer. I told him you did not wish to see him. He asked to appeal the matter with you. Are you still upset with him?”

Adrien held out a hand palm down and wiggled it. “I think I’m going to be hurt about this for a long time, even if I’m not actively upset. Right now I’m playing hard to get and seeing what he comes up with as far as grand gestures to win my forgiveness. He snuck into my room the other day, and that was kind of impressive.”

Gabriel frowned. “How did a teenage boy get past our security system?”

Adrien waved away Gabriel’s concern. “Magic. Don’t worry about it.”

Gabriel doubled down in the concern department. “Wait. Actual magic, or is that just a figure of speech?”

“The magic of friendship,” Adrien clarified, getting to his feet. “Let’s go hear what Monsieur Lahiffe has to say for himself.”

Gabriel reluctantly followed his son, hanging back to observe the confrontation.

Nino was waiting in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. When he saw Adrien up and dressed, he smiled. “Hey, Mec. Looking good.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you into my bedroom, Nino,” Adrien snickered, stopping at the top of the stairs and crossing his arms. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this to somebody else,” Adrien hummed, looking down imperiously at his friend.

“Dreams really do come true sometimes,” Nino snorted, not enjoying being in Adrien’s usual position.

“This is kind of a power trip,” Adrien mused, standing more erect. “…So I hear you asked to appeal your case?”

“Yeah,” Nino sighed. “Dude, call your dad off.”

“Nope,” Adrien chuckled. “I’m taking the high road and trying to suck it up and be mature about so many other things in my life right now. You get to deal with the childish temper tantrum.”

Nino inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “Lucky me.”

Adrien bit his lip. “…How’s Marinette?”

Nino smiled sadly. “Hanging in there. Throwing herself into her work at the moment. Inside, she’s a mess, but she’s putting her game face on and going out there and getting things done.”

Adrien nodded, unsure how to feel about that. Part of him wanted her to be a complete and utter wreck. Part of him didn’t want his Lady, his Princess to feel anything like the pain he was going through.

“You should write me a sonnet to prove your undying friendship,” Adrien remarked offhandedly, turning to head back to his room.

“How about a limerick?” Nino bartered.

“Am I only worth a limerick?” Adrien pouted, passing his father and slipping back into his sanctuary/cage.

Ten minutes later, Carapace opened Adrien’s window.

“You came prepared this time,” Adrien chuckled as he plugged a second controller into the game console.

Nino sighed as his transformation dropped. “Dude, you’re worth this.”

Adrien paused, letting the words warm his chest while simultaneously trying not to let on. He looked up expectantly at Nino. “So, where’s my limerick?”

 Thursday, Wayem came over to play through Adrien’s collection of board games.

“You know, I haven’t even played three quarters of these,” Adrien muttered, getting down a copy of The Settlers of Catan.

“How come?” Wayem looked back over the couch to arch an eyebrow at his friend.

Adrien shrugged, coming and setting the game down on the coffee table. “I’ve never had enough players for most of them. My father has only relented in allowing people over the past month or two. Before that, I had no one to play them with.”

Besides Plagg, put Plagg was hard to convince to play and often had to be bribed to participate and take the game seriously.

“Some of them I was able to play multiple roles myself, but…with strategy games or games like Cluedo, for example, looking at another player’s cards is cheating, and it’s difficult to plot and scheme against yourself. I mean, it can be done, but…it’s really not as much fun to screw yourself over.”

“I need to take you to a board game café,” Wayem realized.

Adrien blinked. “That’s a thing?”

Wayem winced. “Next week we’re getting some of the others together and going to Dernier Bar avant la Fin du Monde. I’ll bring some of my friends too. You’ll love it. Do you think your dad would let you go?”

“I think he could be convinced, especially if Elise goes. He’s somehow gotten it into his head that she’s a responsible adult,” Adrien chuckled.

Wayem cracked up. “Does he know she smuggles in Pop-Tarts?”

“Shhh!” Adrien shushed urgently through laughter, frantically waving his hands. “The walls have ears around this place.”

Wayem shook his head, looking down at the assortment of games on the table before them. “So what do you want to play first? Is there one in particular that you’ve always wanted to play but’ve never gotten to?”

Adrien bit his lip, scanning the lineup. Tentatively, he picked up the box of a game that neither Plagg nor his father would ever deign to play with him. “Exploding Kittens?” he asked hesitantly, peridot eyes wide and overflowing with hope.

Wayem applauded. “Good choice!”

 Friday, mid-morning, Chloé, Kagami, and Elise came parading into Adrien’s room without warning.

Adrien jerked up from where he was lying on his stomach on the couch reading volume two of Seven Days. He hastily snapped the manga closed and shoved it under the couch before his friends could see.

Plagg, who had phased into the couch at the sound of the door opening, snickered at Adrien’s expense.

“Guys,” Adrien whined in frustration. “A little privacy? Could you please knock?”

“Your father said we could show ourselves in,” Chloé snorted. “Why? Were you looking at porn or something?”

Adrien’s already rosy cheeks exploded in a flood of scarlet. “No! I was just researching!”

“Oh?” Chloé snickered as she approached. “And what’s that?”

“Something personal. Relationship stuff,” Adrien huffed.

Kagami and Elise looked on sympathetically, knowing from experience that Chloé would not back down until she was satisfied with the answer she received.

Chloé bent behind the couch and felt underneath.

“Chloé!” Adrien squeaked, ducking down and reaching for the book.

Her hand found it first, and Adrien was left to blush in horror as his oldest friend began to flip through.

“It’s a comic book,” Chloé observed, looking disappointed. “There’s not even any nudity. Why were you so embarrassed to be caught reading this?”

“No reason. Give it back?” Adrien asked hopefully, holding out his hand with a nervous smile.

Chloé turned to Kagami, and Adrien’s heart sank. “What language is this in? Can you read it?”

Kagami blinked as the book was thrust into her hands. “…It’s Japanese.” She flipped through perfunctorily, and her eyes widened just a touch. She closed the book.

“It’s just a teenage love story. He’s being overly sensitive,” Kagami reported, her tone of voice informing the others that this was the final verdict as she strode over to the couch and handed the book back to Adrien who was a blush personified.

He took the manga without meeting Kagami’s eye. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

With a sigh, Kagami switched to Japanese. “You’re researching relationships between men?”

Adrien shrank, replying in a small voice in Japanese, “I am.”

Kagami pursed her lips. “I’ve heard that these kind of manga are not realistic representations of same-sex partnerships. They’re mostly for the entertainment of women. You probably shouldn’t base your expectations on them.”

Adrien returned to French with a bashful smile. “That’s kind of a relief. Thanks.”

Kagami gave a decisive nod. “Friends,” she tested the word out on her tongue. “Friends look out for one another.”

Chloé turned to Elise. “What just happened?”

Elise chuckled. “I don’t speak Japanese, Lemon Drop, but I’m guessing they had a friendship-solidifying moment.”

Chloé snorted. “When do I get to have a friendship-solidifying moment with Kagami?”

Elise shrugged. “Not with Adrien?”

Chloé waved Elise away. “The friendship between Adri-chou and me is like bedrock.”

Adrien’s bedroom door opened once more to admit an annoyed-looking Gabriel Agreste. “I’ve just been arguing with Monsieur Lahiffe about his admittance. Adrien, would you care to weigh in on the matter?”

Adrien pursed his lips. He slipped the manga back under the couch and stood. “He can come in since there are others. Keep giving him a hard time when he comes alone until further notice.”

“Very well,” Gabriel sighed, turning to call over his shoulder. “Monsieur Lahiffe? You’ve been given a special dispensation.”

Nino trotted up the stairs and eagerly made his way into Adrien’s room, announcing, “I wrote you a limerick.”

Adrien blinked. “For real?”

Nino nodded. “It’s rubbish, but it technically fits the definition of ‘limerick’. I’m not a poet, Mec.”

“I know you’re not,” Adrien snickered. “That’s why I asked you to write me a sonnet.”

Nino frowned deeply. “Is this like that story you told me about the moon chick who sent her suitors out to fulfill impossible requests?”

“Kaguya-hime?” Kagami cocked an eyebrow at Adrien who shrugged.

“The main difference is that Kaguya-hime meant for her suitors to fail,” Adrien explained. “I’ll be very pleased if Nino succeeds in winning my forgiveness.” He turned to Nino expectantly as Adrien took a seat on the piano bench, crossing one knee over the other. “Limerick?”

Nino cleared his throat.

“There was a young man named Agreste whose best friend was a real pest. The friend was a snake. He made a mistake, and their friendship was put to the test.

 “I told you it was rubbish,” Nino concluded. “But there’s your limerick.”

Adrien and the girls applauded politely.

“I’ll take it,” Adrien decreed, looking pleased.

Elise chuckled. “Candy Floss, you’re being mean torturing him like this.”

“And torturing us by extension,” Chloé snorted. “That was painful to listen to.”

“He did his best,” Kagami allowed.

“I’m not being mean,” Adrien protested with a pout. “I’m practicing holding a grudge with someone who I know won’t hate me for it, someone I know I won’t lose just because we have a fight. My therapist said it was unhealthy to avoid conflict by disregarding my own feelings and always folding like I do just because I’m terrified people won’t like me and will leave me if I stand up for myself. I’m practicing engaging in conflict in a safe environment,” he explained.

“He’s fine,” Nino assured, waving the girls off. “I can take it. Our friendship is stronger than this, so don’t worry about it. …Anyway, as a bonus, I wrote a haiku,” Nino informed, lightening the topic of conversation once more. “Do you want to hear that too, or have you had enough of my poetic buffoonery?”

“I’m game,” Adrien decided, making Chloé audibly groan.

Nino stood up straighter. “I feel deep sadness and regret for hurting you my beloved friend.

 “How’s that?” Nino shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Now, that was sweet,” Elise cooed.

“The syllables were correct,” Kagami remarked.

“Too sappy,” Chloé sighed.

It took Adrien a moment to formulate his response. “You took the time to come up with that for me?”

Nino replied with a wide-armed, what-else-was-I-supposed-to-do shrug. “I thought you’d appreciate it, even though I suck at poetry…I mean, since I can’t even begin to write a sonnet for you.”

Adrien pushed himself up off the piano bench and tackled Nino in a crushing hug. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you putting this much effort in…you thinking I’m worth it.”

Nino smiled tiredly, returning the hug. “Of course you’re worth it, Mec.”

“Bleh,” Chloé grumbled. “The bromance.”

“I think their friendship is beautiful,” Kagami remarked, coming to stand between Chloé and Elise.

Chloé gazed sidelong at Kagami. “…I guess there are some nice things about it…. Would you want to have a bromance?—Hypothetically.”

“I think it would be nice to be that close to someone,” Kagami affirmed with a wistful smile.

Chloé made a mental note.

“Does this mean that all’s forgiven?” Nino wondered as he and Adrien pulled apart.

Adrien laughed, smacking Nino on the arm playfully. “Hell no. You stabbed me in the back. You’re going to be groveling for a loooong time.”

Nino’s face fell, but he took the news in stride. “Yeah. Okay, Mec. I get it.”

“I love you,” Adrien sang, winking as he made a little heart with his hands.

“I freaking love you too, you sadist,” Nino muttered, giving Adrien a shove that was half playful, half letting out some of his frustration.

“Okay!” Elise announced, calling the meeting to order. “Nino was going to show us how to play Dungeons and Dragons today, if that works for everyone?”

 “Princess Celestia of Monte Carlo steps in a bog, and a Rodent of Unusual Size bites her ankle,” Nino reported.

Chloé let out a bark of indignation as she rolled her die. “…Two.”

The entire party winced collectively.

“It tears your dress,” Nino informed her.

Chloé shrieked.

“I’ll try to kill it with my arrows,” Adrien proposed, rolling his die. “…Six?” He looked up uncertainly at Nino.

Nino shook his head. “Princess Luna of the Night Elves fires an arrow and wounds the beast but misses the vital organs. Now the Rodent is angry.”

“Crap,” Adrien sighed. “Sorry, Princess Celestia.”

“You tried, Princess Luna,” Chloé assured, patting him on the knee. “It was a good shot.”

“A lot better than when you accidentally impaled my medicine bag when we were fighting the orcs,” Elise sighed. “Can I heal her?”

“I would wait until we defeat the monster and can get her to safety. Dungeon Master, I’m going to attack the Rodent,” Kagami announced, rolling her die. “…Twenty.”

The group collectively gasped. 

Elise let out a low whistle.

“Damn,” Nino chuckled. “Musashi the Warrior from the East makes sushi out of the Rodent, gallantly pulls Princess Celestia from the bog, and carries her in his arms out of the Fire Swamp.”

“My hero!” Chloé sighed, clasping Kagami’s hands in her own.

Kagami smiled shyly, a pleased blush colouring her cheeks.

“Why does Musashi always get the girls?” Adrien grumbled.

“Is Princess Luna interested in girls?” Elise teased.

“Princess Luna is lonely and confused and thinks other people are pretty in general,” Adrien reported with a toss of his head. “She is keeping her options open.”

“I’m going to heal Princess Celestia now that we’re out of the Fire Swamp,” Elise chuckled. “Musashi, if you and the princess could please stop gazing longingly into one another’s eyes for a sec?”

“If we must,” Kagami giggled, enjoying the theatrics.

Elise rolled her die. “Twelve!”

Nino nodded. “Princess Celestia is fully healed.”

“What about my dress?” Chloé demanded. “The Rodent ripped it, right?”

Nino’s brow crinkled in a bemused frown. “Who do you think Elise is, Ladybug?”

“Why not?” Elise urged. “Everett has been training with monks on the tops of mountains for the past forty years. Why can’t he heal the dress?”

Nino considered briefly before giving up. “Okay. Whatever. Roll for the dress.”

“Thirteen,” Elise chuckled, pleased with herself.

“The dress is good as new,” Nino decreed.

“Good because that dress is made out of spun gold,” Chloé snorted. “My daddy had it commissioned specially for my sixteenth birthday.”

“It’s not very practical for adventuring, Chlo,” Adrien remarked. “Maybe you should go shopping when we reach the next village.”

Chloé gave a snort. “Like your chainmail bikini is any more practical?”

“It’s not a bikini,” Adrien whined. “It’s a halter top. Why would anyone go adventuring in a chainmail bikini? I’m wearing actual pants.”

Gabriel cleared his throat from the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt your campaign, but, Adrien, your phone is…I believe the phrase is ‘blowing up’, and I thought you might want to know so that you could have the option of answering.”

Adrien’s eyes widened as he got up off the bed where they were all seated and reached to take the phone from his father. “…Marinette?” he inquired in a small voice, half filled with dread, half with hope.

Gabriel shook his head. “Luka Couffaine.”

Adrien fumbled the phone but managed to catch it before it could hit the floor. “L-Luka?”

“Isn’t that Marinette’s boyfriend?” Kagami whispered to Chloé.

“Why is he texting you?” Chloé arched an eyebrow curiously.

Gabriel frowned. “I did not mean to invade your privacy, but the phone kept buzzing, and I thought it might be important. That does not appear to be the case, but…I took pity on Monsieur Couffaine when I happened to glimpse some of the messages. It made me appreciate the fact that they didn’t have texting when I was young. That way I couldn’t text stupidity that I later regretted to your mother. All the inane things I said to her had to be said out loud, and I find that that dramatically cut down on their number. Monsieur Couffaine is not so lucky. Perhaps you could put him out of his misery?” Gabriel suggested. “If you wish. If not, I can take back the mobile.”

“What does he say?” Nino wondered, confused by this development.

Adrien looked down at his screen to find nearly twenty new messages from Luka.

They started out casually enough for two people who hadn’t texted in two years with, “hey how r u doing”, “this is luka by the way”, and “i hope this is still your number”.

Things quickly snowballed after that: “i was worried about u”, “im sorry i didnt know about what was going on”, “i hope youre ok”.

“Why are you blushing?” Chloé demanded.

“I’m not blushing,” Adrien grumbled defensively. “He was texting because he was worried about me. It’s sweet of him. I appreciate it.”

The downward spiral in the texts continued: 

“sorry im so stupid of course youre not ok”

“im sorry i hurt u”

“im really really sorry”

“for a lot of things”

“sorry if u dont want to hear from me”

Adrien’s heart clenched. He’d been wondering the same thing: Luka had expressed interest in renewing their friendship at Chloé’s graduation party, but would Luka even want to hear from Adrien after finding out about the complicated mess between Adrien and Luka’s girlfriend?

“i couldnt stop thinking about u”

Adrien’s heart fluttered.

“sorry for texting u in the first place”

“i miss u angel”

It had been a long time since Adrien had last heard that nickname. It brought back all kinds of memories from the summer he had spent sneaking out of the Agreste Mansion and practically living on the Couffaine houseboat. The guitar lessons with Luka, cooking with Rose, asking the Capitaine’s advice and listening to her wild stories, trading snark for snark with the surprisingly witty Juleka…movies and giving each other hell…teasing relentlessly, snuggling when Adrien was feeling down or unwanted or just because…talking late into the night and early into the morning…whispers in the dark, secrets and laughter and finally feeling like his feet had touched down on something solid. Feeling like he belonged. Feeling like a part of a family. Five months of happiness…until Gabriel had found out and ripped it away.

“god i wish it were possible to unsend things”, Luka’s text barrage continued regretfully.

“just ignore me”

“please please ignore me”

“im so sorry for bothering u”

“please take care of yourself”

The last message made Adrien smile. Luka still cared. Somehow, despite the ugly relationship drama with Marinette, despite the way things had ended between Luka and Adrien two years prior with Gabriel’s threats, Luka still wanted Adrien back in his life.

“What’s he say, Mec?” Nino cautiously inquired.

The flickering emotions on Adrien’s face made Nino uneasy. Surprise, delight, a pleased blush, a nervous smile, conflict, guilt, apprehension, an intrigued look, a charmed smile. The fact that Adrien was having so many varied, complex reactions to texts from the boyfriend of the girl Adrien was in love with did not bode well. Adrien was making the face he usually wore when he had his very worst ideas.

Adrien shrugged, waving dismissively. “He just wanted to check in on me, but he wasn’t sure I’d want to hear from him.”

Adrien’s thumbs started moving in a blur as he typed, “Hi, Orpheus. <3”. He figured his old nickname for Luka would quickly dispel the musician’s anxiety.

 “Can’t talk right now. I have company over.” he explained and then added, “Thanks for worrying about me.” with a broad smile, a warmth building in his chest that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like a long time…since things with Marinette imploded…since he’d lost his Lady.

“What are you grinning about?” Chloé accused, feeling like she was being left out of a joke.

“Nothing,” Adrien insisted, looking up from his phone. “It’s just nice to be worried about by people you thought hated you. I’m just…I’m happy he doesn’t hate me and still wants to be friends. We used to be close, so…it’s like when you and I reconnected, Chlo. This feels like I’m getting something I lost back. I’m happy.”

Gabriel pointedly looked away. He understood Adrien’s longing for his old friend and Plagg’s reasoning that the boy could be good for Adrien, but Gabriel was still against his son renewing an acquaintanceship with the Couffaine boy who had been such a bad influence in the past, especially now with the further complication of the boy’s relationship with the girl Adrien was in love with.

Adrien turned to his father. “I think I’m okay to keep my phone now. Thanks so much for babysitting it.”

Gabriel frowned down at his son. “You’re sure?”

Adrien nodded. “In case Luka texts me back. I’ll let you know if I change my mind and need you to take it away again if it proves to be too much of a temptation.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to respond, but a tremendous jolt cut him off, rocking the house and nearly knocking both Gabriel and Adrien off of their feet.

Car alarms started to scream.

Nino cursed.

“An earthquake?” Elise wondered aloud, voice high and wavering.

“Akuma,” Adrien breathed, running to the window.

“That’s impossible!” Gabriel argued, a step behind his son. “I didn’t—I mean…Papillon has been dormant for nearly two months!”

“There!” Nino pointed, coming to stand at Adrien’s side, one hand on Adrien’s shoulder.

“That’s a sentimonster,” Gabriel gasped, mind whirling. “Why would…? Why is…? Why?!”

[quicksilversquared]

There’s No Camembert in Tibet Outtakes: Chapter 7

Adrien: Future

Adrien loved having his mom back.

It wasn't all smooth and easy, not by a long shot. She had a lot to deal with in order to get reintegrated into the life that she had been pulled from. She wanted to spend time with him, of course, since she had been missing for a year, and she wanted to get to know all of his friends and other classmates, but she couldn't just do the fun stuff. She had to talk to police and tell them what had happened when she went missing, and catch up with what was going on with the company, and then deal with the reporters that kept clamoring to know what had happened.

And then, of course, there was the whole need to deal with his father. She hadn't told him what had gone down during her visit to the prison, but she hadn't seemed very happy afterwards.

But his mom was getting along with his friends really well, and she seemed to adore Marinette already. Adrien had definitely heard the two of them discussing how they might renovate the front hall area to make it not so intimidating, and she seemed to really listen to what Marinette had to say.

...Adrien was a little concerned that he and Marinette wouldn't get any time to properly relax together, between them simply spending time with his mom, meeting up with their other friends that they hadn't seen for the first half of the summer, and doing all of the shopping for the impending redecoration. His schedule had already started up again with fencing and basketball and piano and photoshoots, keeping him busy for several hours each day almost five days each week. His mom had agreed to not resuming his Mandarin classes as long as he spent some time chatting with Mrs. Cheng every week, so he didn't have that, but still.

At least she had agreed to let him continue going to public school. Otherwise, Adrien probably would have had tutors starting to come in on top of everything else, and his summer would be done for.

(To be fair, she hadn't even argued that one. It was just automatically a given that Adrien would be returning to school, it seemed.)

"Sitting around doing nothing isn't all it's cracked up to be," Marinette assured him one day as he was practicing piano and she was listening, perched on the bench next to him. "It gets boring. I know Nino was talking it up, but he probably lasted for all of one full day before needing to do literally anything else at all."

"He's not gotten his full day of relaxation, either. He texted me grumbling about it." In fact, out of all of them, only Chloe hadmanaged to sit back and fully relax. Alya had had to babysit her sisters, Nino had been put in charge of his little brother Chris, Master Fu had re-opened his business, Mrs. Cheng had been working in the bakery again filling in for a worker that had come down ill right after her return, Adrien had had his activities, and Marinette alternated between designing, helping in the bakery with especially large orders, and helping his mom with redesign and renovation plans. "Maybe once we're back in school we'll get a Saturday free or something."

"And we've had half days here and there to hang out," Marinette pointed out. "Even if there were some very noisy kids around."

Adrien winced at the memory of Chris, Ella, and Etta running around screaming at the pool on top of the Grand Paris on their last afternoon out. If it hadn't been for their connections to Chloe, Mr. Bourgeois probably would have tossed them out right away.

(If Chloe had actually been there and not on a shopping spree, she would have probably kicked them out herself, friends or no. They had gotten the kids to calm down after a bit, but they were still a bit splashy.)

"Maybe we can go on a date this week and have an afternoon and evening to ourselves," Adrien suggested, finishing up the song with a practiced flourish and sitting back. "Not to do anything fancy, but maybe pizza and a movie? Or go to the arcade and trounce everyone's high scores."

Marinette beamed at him. "Oh, I'd like that," she agreed. "We can maybe start with one and move to the other after dinner, depending on when shows are playing and how late the arcade is open. Will your mom let us be out that long?"

"She's being strangely lenient about me being out and about." It was surprising, really. Adrien had prepared himself to be coddled to the point of nearly being smothered, but instead he had nearly as much freedom as he had had with Nathalie and the Gorilla watching him. Nathalie had warned that it probably wouldn't last forever- his mom probably felt guilty about leaving him on his own and about all that he had had to go through while she was gone, and was still trying to figure out where to set new boundaries now that he had gotten used to more freedom.

Adrien was going to enjoy his freedom while he still had it. Once his mom set new limits, there was a possibility that some of the stuff that he had taken for granted over the past couple of months would be off-limits until he turned 18- or until after he had graduated university and moved out.

The sleepovers were already out-of-bounds, they didn't even need to ask to know that much- and Adrien didn't want hangouts in the park to be next, just because some fangirls (and fanguys) didn't understand the concept of leaving him alone and his mom was worried about them harassing him.

"Right, so let me check my calendar." Adrien pulled out his phone, hoping that his mom wasn't going to come investigate if she didn't hear piano music for a while. He knew that he was meant to be practicing, and he did have a lot of ground to make up after not playing much after his father's arrest and not practicing at all for the first part of the summer, but his girlfriend was right there. After being together all the time on the trail, their separation back in Paris was jarring. So sue him if he maybe wanted to set practice aside for a little bit to figure out when they could have another proper date before their evenings filled up with homework and projects again. "Ooh, it looks like most of my photoshoots have passed! I only have one this week."

"More fall stuff?"

Adrien winced at the reminder that he would have to get dressed up in clothes that were far toowarm for the hot Paris weather. "Ugh. Yeah. Promise you'll come rescue me?"

"I can bring iced lemonade again. Does that work?"

"That sounds purr-fect, my Lady."

  "Oh, we're getting dirt all over the floor!"

Adrien grinned at his mom's distressed exclamation. "Mom, we have a broom. And a top-of-the-line vacuum."

"And mops," Marinette added, trying to push her hair out of her face without actually touching it with her dirt-covered hands. She wasn't entirely successful. "It'll all come up! We knew it would get messy! That's why we didn't put the rugs down yet."

"Oh, but still." Mrs. Agreste scanned the footprint-covered floor. "I know we wanted the entry hall to look lived in, but this is going a little too far."

Adrien caught sight of Nathalie peeking out of the office at the mess and wincing before vanishing back into the room. He grinned at that. Nathalie wasn't used to seeing the mansion in anything but perfect shape, and right now, in the middle of their redecorating, the front entry hall was anything but perfect. The couches, chairs, tables, and rugs that Marinette and his mom had found for the space on one of their little outings were shoved together and piled up in one corner, waiting to be arranged. Another corner was filled with their new curtains, the light, airy fabric draped over the banister of the stairs and trailing across the floor in anticipation of being hung later on.

And in the middle of the space, almost every centimeter of floor was covered by planters, pots of plants, and bags of dirt. Marinette had come up with the idea to replace the old planters, formerly filled with dark red plants, and replace them with a number of new ones, light and fun instead of dark and businesslike, and then fill them with a more playful arrangement of plants. Ferns and bamboos and palms and orchids and all sorts of plants Adrien didn't recognize were scattered around them, waiting to be planted and arranged around the room, making his mom and Marinette's vision for the space a reality.

Of course, before they could get planted, they needed to actually fill the planters up with dirt. That...was taking a while.

Mostly because Marinette was the only one out of the three of them to really be willing to get elbow-deep in dirt and fertilizer. Adrien was doing his best, he really was, but he wasn't used to the feeling of dirt under his fingernails, and his mom was fussing over the dirt that was getting on her clothes and on the floor. Apparently she was willing to put up with a little dirt while camping, but not at home in Paris.

Adrien could relate, honestly. He felt the same way.

Things got sped up when the Gorilla came in, saw Marinette wrestling with a heavy bag of dirt just as big as she was, and heaved a sigh before helping them get all of the containers filled properly in no time at all.

"Okay, arrangement time!" Adrien's mom said cheerfully once the empty bags were cleared away. "Marinette, dear, what were you planning on doing?"

As Marinette and his mom planned which plants would go where, Adrien became the muscle, rushing around to get the plants they pointed out and placing them in front of their designated planters. There was a bit of back-and-forth before they settled on their arrangements, making notes to go back and out and buy a couple more of certain types of the plants, and then it was time to actually remove all of the plants from their flimsy plastic pots and get them in the planters.

By that time, the Gorilla had managed to return with a couple hand trowels and gardening gloves. Adrien pulled his on eagerly, grinning at the cat pattern that ran across the back of the gloves. His mom cooed over her own ladybug-spotted gloved before diving into the work with renewed vigor.

"This place is going to look so nice once we're finished," Mrs. Agreste said eagerly as they started arranging things in the first of their planters. Now that they were past the step of wrestling with heavy bags of dirt, her cheerful mood had returned. "Just switching out the painting already has changed the mood of the room!"

Adrien nodded, glancing up the main stairs. Up on the landing, overseeing the entire room, the dark portrait of Adrien and Mr. Agreste had been replaced as soon as possible with a colorful painting of flowers and butterflies. His mom hadn't been sure about having butterflies in the picture at first, but Adrien and Marinette had eventually convinced her that not all butterflies were bad, so there was no reason why she should avoid them.

Besides, there were no purple butterflies in the painting.

"And then the electrician is going to come in this afternoon and switch out those ugly light fixtures," Mrs. Agreste continued, absentmindedly stroking the fronds of a fern. "And then- what else will we have to do, Marinette? There's so much."

"All of the rugs and couches and everything will get put out," Marinette reminded her, patting the dirt down firmly around a plant with trailing vines. "And the curtains will go up. It's not that much, really, it's just bulky."

"Can you really call them curtains if they don't really block any light?" Adrien mused, handing Marinette a plant with silvery leaves. "They have about as much substance to them as a wisp of a cloud. Not that I don't like them, of course, I trust your vision, but..."

Marinette giggled. "They're just for show. Fabric makes softer lines."

"We're all going to get a good night's sleep tonight, that's for sure," Mrs. Agreste announced. "And- oh, this plant won't come out!"

It took them nearly three hours just to get the planters all finished, though a couple had small notes on them with what needed to be added in the future. The three of them headed in for lunch with growling stomachs and dirty hands, and it was only Nathalie catching them at the door that made them remember that they had to wash up first.

As they ate, Adrien couldn't stop smiling. It never failed to make him amazingly, stupendously happy when he saw how well his mom and Marinette got along. He had worried about it at first, of course- if his mom would feel like Marinette was taking up too much of Adrien's time, or if she might not like Marinette simply because she felt that he was too young for dating, or- well, anything, really. He had read so many stories and seen so many shows where the main character had to deal with a disapproving family, and Adrien had been so, so worried that he might have to deal with something similar.

Thankfully his mom didn't seem to have any problems with him dating- she was quite supportive of it, it seemed- and she adored Marinette. The two of them had hit it off right away.

She would love Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng once she got to spend more time with them, of that Adrien was sure. They had only had time for a few short meetings so far, since both families were understandably busy, and, well, so far, so good.

Lunch went by too fast, and then they were back out in the front room, moving the planters into place. Thankfully they all had tiny wheels on the bottoms, making it easy- well, easier, the planters were still heavy- to get things into place. The white planters and colorful plants filling them hid a lot of the dark marble and filled in a bit of the empty space around the room, already making it feel a lot nicer.

"We were thinking of doing a hanging herb garden over that bit of marble so that the cook could use fresh herbs without having to get them from the store, but the hanger hasn't arrived yet," Marinette told Adrien as they maneuvered the last of the planters into place. "And there'll be air plants around the room, too, but we're still trying to figure out where."

"It'll be easier to tell once we have everything else in place," Mrs. Agreste told them. "There's no point in overdecorating and making the place feel cluttered."

Their maid appeared out of thin air to help them clean up all of the dirt on the floor, sweeping and vacuuming and then supervising Adrien and Marinette as they mopped up the last bits of dirt. She made sure that the floor was dry enough for them to not slip and fall before vanishing again, taking the cleaning supplies with her.

"Rugs next?" Mrs. Agreste asked. "Maybe the large one first?"

Wrestling the large entry run into place was a hard, sweaty task, but it was so worth it once it was settled. It covered the large black-and-white motif on the floor and made everything not feel so empty. There were a couple more smaller rugs, ones that would go under the tables and chairs, and one fun little mat that Marinette had made for their shoes.

That one got tucked behind the planters at the entrance, mostly hidden from view but still fun.

The rest of the day went by in a rush of sweat and sore muscles. The electrician came, switching the light fixtures in the entry area from straightforward and functional to more artsy and brighter, switching the light's tone from cold to warm. The Gorilla helped them hang the light, airy curtains, softening the windows. A few smaller paintings went up around the room, adding color to the space without tearing anything out.

Adrien's personal favorite, though, was the several comfy benches and chairs posted around the space, some obvious and others tucked away behind the planters. Near them, a couple tables had been arranged and decorated with warm lamps. Per Marinette's idea, baskets with blankets in them had been tucked under the tables, in case anyone wanted to curl up in a corner with a cup of tea and a book.

His mom had forbidden the two of them from using the hidden chairs to make out. Whether or not she was being entirely serious, Adrien wasn't sure.

"Well, I think we did a good job," Mrs. Agreste said once the last of the tables was in place. She pushed her hair off of her face. "I don't know about you, but I need a shower now. We have showers in the guest rooms," she added, looking at Marinette. "And Adrien has plenty of extra soap, or you can use some of mine if you want. Then maybe we can have some ice cream and plan what room to attack next?"

"Are you trying to steal my girlfriend away again, Mom?" Adrien joked. "Maybe I wanted to spend some time with her."

His mom giggled. "How about we keep the planning under an hour, and then I can give you money for the two of you to go out for dinner?"

Adrien pretended to think it over. "Hmm. I suppose."

"That sounds lovely," Marinette told Mrs. Agreste. She playfully poked Adrien in the side. "Adrien can share for a bit longer."

Adrien could only laugh.

  Adrien had messed up.

He hadn't meant to freak his mom out, he really hadn't. But he had spoken without thinking, talking about his relationship with Marinette as though he were in front of Tom and Sabine instead of his own mom, who didn't know the whole picture. Who didn't know that he and Marinette had been close as Ladybug and Chat Noir before finding out each other's civilian identities. Who thought that Adrien and Marinette had only been friends for a couple months before they started dating, because that was what Nathalie had told her and several of their classmates had apparently said the same thing.

So yeah, in hindsight he could see where his mom would maybe not take him casually mentioning that he fully planned on marrying Marinette in the future well. But hindsight wasn't going to help him now.

Nathalie had warned him that his mom would likely get strict again, setting boundaries that he didn't much like because he was used to getting free rein. Adrien just hadn't expected the change to be so sudden, rules materializing overnight even though there hadn't been any issues before.

His door couldn't be closed if Marinette was over, and they were meant to do homework together in the dining room instead of his room. He had to let his mom know if he was going over to Marinette's house and for how long and if they would be supervised. She had to know when Marinette came over to visit him. Dates had to end right after dinner, and wouldn't it be fun if they did group dates instead of individual ones? When Marinette did come over, it seemed like his mom always just happened to get off work early to come home and watch them together.

In short, he was being heavily oversupervised.

His mom had apparently talked to Marinette's parents at one point, right after his accidental slip-up, but they had only had a few minutes to chat since the bakery was so busy. It seemed that their chat had only made his mom more anxious, though, since Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng hadn't seemed that surprised about Adrien's declaration and clearly had a bit more relaxed parenting style.

His mom didn't really like it when he went over to Marinette's house for exactly that reason, actually. She didn't think that they would be adequately supervised.

"My parents have Sundays off," Marinette told him as they ate lunch together on the school steps after two weeks of Mrs. Agreste's hovering. "Maybe she can sit down and have a proper conversation with them then? Because I don't think they gave off a very good impression that one time when they were super busy and your mom came over in a panic. I can ask them to invite her over this weekend, and then maybe you can have some of your freedom back."

"We can stop having her hovering over our shoulders, you mean?" Adrien dropped his chin onto the top of Marinette's head, giving in to the urge to cuddle despite the still-warm early fall weather. "Yeah, I liked it better when we could just hang out and she was encouraging us to go on dates instead of making sure that there was someone around all the time so that we don't rush anything."

Marinette nodded. "Yeah. And maybe no more comments about getting married," she added, giving Adrien a Look. "Or else she'll still be following us around and making sure that we're behaving when we're in university. We won't get to do anything except cheek kisses ever again."

"I probably shouldn't tell her that you've already come up with names for our kids, then?"

"Adrien!"

  Adrien and Marinette didn't get to sit in on the Sunday morning meeting between their parents. Instead, they were sent off to the park with a picnic basket of pastries and fruit.

It would have been easier to enjoy their breakfast if they weren't worried about what was happening in the Dupain-Cheng kitchen. Adrien was mostly worried about the Dupain-Chengs accidentally saying something that would make his mom really not trust them and not want him around Marinette any more.

If they let on that Adrien had slept over before, that would be it. He probably wouldn't be able to date again until he turned 18- or worse, until he was through with University.

"I wish she would trust us more," Adrien said quietly as they sat back against the trunk of a large tree- or, rather, as Marinette sat against the tree and Adrien reclined with his head on her lap. "Like, I can see where what I said might have freaked her out, and then Nathalie told me that it wasn't helping that your family was my main support network when I found out about Father."

Marinette frowned. "Wait, why?"

"Because I wouldn't want to break up with you and lose them, too." Adrien squeezed Marinette's hand. "But I know that your parents wouldn't just stop talking to me if we broke up, as long as it wasn't messy. That's just not their style."

"They adore you." Marinette rested against Adrien's side. "Hopefully they'll tell her that and she'll believe them. They'll probably still be more lenient with us than your mom will after their meeting no matter what, but she doesn't know about the kwamis. And the kwamis are why they're fine with us being in my room by ourselves."

"I don't mind keeping my door open. I understand that, and Nino and Alya both said that their parents enforce that as well. It's the constant supervision when we're just hanging out." Adrien groaned and stretched. "Constant parental supervision, that is. Tikki and Plagg are different."

"Yeah, because they're off doing their own thing half of the time." Marinette ran a hand through Adrien's hair, drawing a purr out of him. "I can understand where your mom is coming from, really, it's just..."

"She overreacted?"

"Yeah."

It was a full two hours before Marinette's phone dinged with a text to let them know that they could come back up. It didn't say how the parent meeting had gone, so both teens were a bit anxious as they headed back across the park towards the bakery.

They found three smiling parents at the door.

"See, I told you they wouldn't be long," Tom said with a laugh, reaching out to usher them in. "Don't look so worried, you two. We had a good chat."

"We cleared up a couple misunderstandings," Mrs. Agreste chimed in. "And came up with a revised list of rules."

Adrien and Marinette turned their expectant, hopeful looks on her.

"I'll stop hovering," she told them. "Though I still expect the bedroom door to be open when you both are in there."

Adrien and Marinette nodded in unison. They had expected that. It was fairly standard.

"And I still want you to text when you're going anywhere other than home or your regular activities," Mrs. Agreste continued. "Just to know where you are, in case you lose track of time or something comes up. That's just a safety thing."

Adrien nodded. "Yeah! That sounds reasonable."

"And we can discuss curfew times after dates later on," Mrs. Agreste told them. "We want to be reasonable, of course, but you're both young. It's not smart to stay out super late, we all agreed on that."

"In the past, we've always aimed to get home by nine," Marinette told her. "Unless there was a movie or concert that we wanted to go to that ran later, and then we discussed it with Nathalie and my parents beforehand."

Mrs. Agreste perked up. "Oh, that is very reasonable."

"And we made sure not to do late movies on nights when either of us had something we needed to be up for early the next morning," Adrien added. "And it's a once-a-week thing. We're not going to go overboard with it."

"I know." His mom reached out, pulling him into a hug. "You two are smart. I just- it's a lot to take in and adjust to."

Adrien nodded. He knew that. He could see the strain that everything was taking on her- from getting back into her job to getting to know his new friends to dealing with the whole deal with his father (the divorce, the new charges against his father's continued planning to get the Miraculous, all of the reporters wanting to get an inside scoop). Even if he didn't like it, it made sense that she might try to control what she could.

He was just immensely grateful that Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng could get through to her and talk her out of going too far with her overprotective parenting.

"It's a learning process as the kids grow up," Mrs. Cheng said fondly, patting Marinette's shoulder. "You want them to stay young forever, but they don't. All you can do is make sure that they have the support and the knowledge that they need to grow and fly."

"It's the letting go part of that I'm having trouble with," Mrs. Agreste said wistfully, though there was no disagreement in either her voice or her face. "I liked the ten-year-old stage. They're still cute but can take care of themselves, but there's no dating to worry about."

Adrien gasped, playing up the wounded look. "You don't think that I'm cute, mom? I'm hurt! Marinette, you still think that I'm cute, right?"

That broke any lingering tension and they all laughed. Mrs. Agreste shook her head as she giggled, ruffling Adrien's hair.

They stayed for another half an hour, chatting idly about what was going on at school and around Paris, and then Adrien and Mrs. Agreste had to leave to go meet up with an old friend of hers.

"See you at school tomorrow," Adrien told Marinette, dipping in for a quick kiss before pulling back. "I can send you my schedule tonight and we can figure out when we can get together with Max and work on our group project."

"That sounds good." Marinette returned the quick kiss and beamed up at him. "Can I text you later if I have any trouble on the Chem homework?"

"You bet. Even if you don't, we could Skype and work on it together."

Tom laughed. "You haven't already gotten it done? What were you doing for the past couple hours?"

"Breakfast in the park and worrying about what was going on up here." Adrien grinned cheekily. "We're expert worriers."

Sabine rolled her eyes. "You guys have no faith in us, honestly. There was nothing to worry about."

It didn't take long for them to get out the door, and then it was just Adrien and his mom again as they headed back up the street towards home. It was one of the last nice days of the season, so they had opted to walk instead of having the Gorilla pick them up.

"I'm glad that I had a chance to properly sit down with Marinette's parents and talk," Mrs. Agreste commented as they rounded the corner and headed past the park. "They're lovely people, and I would have hated to be at odds over me misunderstanding them before. We had never really talked about boundaries in your relationship before, just about... well, everything else."

Adrien nodded. That was understandable. He knew that his mom had been really concerned about what he had gone through and how he had grown so much over the past year. Figuring out the dynamics of what had initially seemed like a normal teenaged relationship was naturally pretty far down on the list of things to do. "And then I seemed too serious, too soon."

"Right. It didn't help that I was a bit anxious about what the effects of a break-up might be like," Mrs. Agreste added. "I've seen people get married young and then divorced shortly afterwards, and I've been finding out just how much a pain in the rear it is to get a divorce. It's not just a matter of signing a paper and being done with it."

"I'm not going to rush into anything," Adrien assured her. It was true, more or less. They weren't rushing at all, but to an outside view, it might appear that they were. "We didn't when we started dating, because we knew that there was no reason not to wait a month or so for everything to settle down and for me to be properly ready. It wasn't going to be healthy to get into a relationship when I was still coming to terms with- well, with everything."

His mom's smile grew. "Yes, I heard about that! I hadn't known about that before. Given the timeline I had been hearing about, I had assumed that you two had started dating either right before or right after Gabriel was arrested. And Marinette's parents said that they had already talked with you guys about not rushing into marriage?"

"Not rushing into marriage or anything else," Adrien agreed. Yeah, he wasn't going to forget that conversation any time soon. He was pretty sure that he hadn't been able to look Mr. Dupain or Mrs. Cheng in the eye for several days after that, but he couldn't deny that the conversation had been an important one to have, and was pretty informative to boot. "They said that it's important to build a good foundation instead of rushing to hit milestones. There'll be time for that stuff later on."

"They're very wise." Adrien could see the look that his mom was giving him out of the corner of his eye. "You seem to have paid attention to what they told you."

"Of course, they've been happily married for ages!" There was no doubt that Marinette's parents were excellent role models and had a stable, loving marriage. Adrien wanted to have a marriage like that- well, when he grew up and was old enough, that was. If they were willing to share any of their advice, Adrien was going to sit up, listen, and take notes. "They clearly did something right."

"What else have they told you?"

"Besides not to rush?" Adrien thought about it. "Communication! They're big on communication. Letting the other person know when something is wrong and then listening. Not waiting until something becomes a big issue to address it. Making sure that one person isn't putting in all the effort in- well, in the relationship, in a household, whatever- while the other person coasts by." He grinned. "They've been teaching me how to do things like dishes and laundry and cooking and cleaning. And baking, of course."

"You're probably a better cook than I am, then," his mom admitted with a laugh. "I haven't in years, since we have a chef."

"I can teach you! And Marinette can help. She's really good at stopping me before I can make too many mistakes when we cook together-" Adrien caught himself. Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng had suggested that part of his mom's concern might have stemmed from how attached he and Marinette were. They did a lot of stuff together, preferring to attack things that they had to get done as a team. It might be nice to have some things reserved for mother-son bonding only. "I mean, if you want to."

"I'll... think about it."

  Things improved a lot after that. Mrs. Agreste was supportive of Adrien and Marinette's relationship, but not to the point where Adrien was wondering if the pod people had taken her over. She didn't hover, letting them have their privacy as long as they didn't abuse the privilege.

She didn't tease them like Tom and Sabine did- she still wasn't as laid-back about their relationship as Tom and Sabine were- but that was okay. It was understandable. She still had a different parenting style than they did, and she didn't know that they were Ladybug and Chat Noir, the Heroes of Paris.

That was okay, though. Mrs. Agreste was giving them enough freedom to have a comfortable relationship now, and she was talking to Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng on a regular basis. There wasn't any tension between her and Marinette like there had been after Adrien's marriage comment, and questions about their dates had gone back to sounding like a curious mom, rather than tense interrogation.

No doubt there would be shifts in the future, times when she felt like Adrien was growing up too fast and she would overreact about it, and he would have to push back. For now, though, they had found a good balance.

For once, Adrien could have it all- a parent who was there and present, a fantastic, supportive girlfriend, and a whole army of friends. It didn't matter that his father was going to trial again on continued conspiracy to steal the Miraculous and change the timeline to get out of jail, or that there were still reporters who occasionally tried to stop him or his mom on the street to get an interview. They were inconsequential details, really, unable to permeate the bubble of happiness that had surrounded Adrien in one form or another, ever since his mom returned to Paris.

And to think- it was all because Plagg had wanted more cheese.

[foodloverforever0]

Escape room  Jikook

More than the light can hold

Escape room series: part 1

Description: When Jimin needs to pass a test to finally be able to work as a doctor, but what he didn't know what the horrible truth behind those walls of the BTS hospital for mentally ill criminals

Genre: mental hospital au, agnst with a happy ending, a lot of swearing, blood included, slightly Horror and if you're uncomfortable with violence I recommend not to read this

“The plastic eye is watching.” - Jeon Jungkook

masterlist

This was it. After a whole five years of studying, stress, no sleeping, and eating are finally coming to an end. Jimin was staring through the window, watching as the world around his was passing by.  Jimin had his head on the glass of the window thinking about everything that happened last three years of his life. He was one of the best. Perfect grades, understanding of the situations and he finished one of the hardest colleges of six to seven years in three years and this was the last test, and after this, he will finally be able to work and move out from the dorms he was currently in. His roommate wasn't the nicest guy, although he didn't see much from him, the guy would constantly bring someone home late at night for sex and sometimes even ask Jimin to get out of his own room. And of course, Jimin being Jimin actually said yes many times. But those times were over now! Jimin had an evil smile on his face as he looked forward.

"what's up with that face? It's kinda scaring me."

Jimin looked at his red-headed hyung who was driving, glancing at Jimin from time to time.

" O nothing hyung. I think that my excitement is finally kicking in."

Hoseok chucked at that." Yeah? Because working in the most dangerous mental hospital sounds so much fun, doesn't it now?" Hoseok said sarcastically while making his eyebrows rise higher than the moon.

"Hyung we already talked about this. I'm doing this for myself and it's going to be good to have a little experience before I actually start working." Hoseok let out a big sigh through his nose as he kept his eyes on the road.

"I just think they could have put you in another position. Did you even read about that place? There are the sickest, dangerous people you could find Jimine. Even the last therapist went mad in there. I just want you to be safe. Jimin looked at Hoseok with a small smile on his face. He could always depend on his hyung, no matter what was it about.

"You don't have to worry about me hyung. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You just need to take care of Ms.snowpaw for me like you promised!" Hoseok smiled a little, nodding his head. “ At least that cat likes me. do you remember your devil cat? I swear he wanted to kill me in my sleep.” Jimin gasped. he put his right hand on his chest like he was out of breath.

“ How could you say that! Grumpy- I don't like anyone- the cat was just scared of you and besides he was a lovely cozy cat.” Hoseok looked at Jimin with a face that said ‘ we both know that is a lie’. “ A so, you want to tell me that it scratched me accidentally. fought with other cats, and broke everything accidentally” Jimin was ready to fire back, but the stopping of the car caught him off guard. Hoseok opened the door of the car and got out.

“ Come on. We need to take your stuff form the car.” Jimin looked at him before he got up himself and got out. The first thing he saw was the forest surrounding them. They lost signals on their phones a long time ago and the closest town was six hours away. Right before them was a path that leads to the building he was going to stay for a few months. Building most of the people were terrified of. ‘BTSMHFIC’ standing for Biological testing system mental hospital for ill criminals. It looked like any other hospital, but then there was a big brick wall all around the place, with a lot of sings that said ‘ DANGEROUS NO TRESPASSING’, ‘PRIVATE LAND’, ‘STAY OUT’ and more. Even after the wall, there was a big electrical fence. Jimin felt a hand on his shoulder bringing him back to reality. Hoseok looked at him with a worried look and Jimin hugged him. They let go of each other after two minutes still holding onto each other's hands.

“Are you sure you want to do this Chim? You know she couldn't force you right?” Jimin looked at Hoseok’s eyes, putting his hands onto his cheeks.” I'm sure and don't worry I'm doing this for myself, nobody else.” Hoseok nodded.” You better send me letters every week or ill come here and kick your poor ass.” Jimin chuckled. “ Now wouldn't that be a sad death of my ass?”

Jimin wawed one last time as he watched Hoseok’s car disappear in the forest. Jimin took a hold of his suitcase. With a deep breath, he started walking towards the building. When he was close enough a guard asked who he was. Jimin showed his ID card and documents that he was here for education matters. After the guard let him in Jimin walked through a path where there were two fence boxes. On the left were held, girls. Some of them were just sitting talking with each other, others were in the corner by themselves and some were laughing without a reason running in circles. On the right were boys. Most of them played basketball, but there was some standing in groups smoking. The one that caught Jimin's eyes was a guy who was sitting at the biggest table, alone reading a book. Like no one dared to sit next to him. The guy probably left that someone was watching him as he moved his eye’s from his book to make eye contact with Jimin. Jimin felt his whole body shiver from the guy’s stare. It was so cold, intimidating, and his whole aura said dangerously. Jimin sure did feel unconformable so he turned his head down, rather look at his feet than anywhere else. Jimin kept moving forward as he can still feel the guy’s eye’s on him. He was looking at him like Jimin was some kind of a pray and he was the hunter. A big bell on the wall started ringing, the doors for the inside opened, boys and girls started getting in. Jimin looked at them. They all looked normal, well mostly. For some of them, you couldn't even say if they ever did something wrong. It was kinda sad, looking at them all like this. Most of them probably won't see anything else but the same walls, prison, and torture for the rest of their lives.

" It's sad, isn't it? But we're trying to help them get better." Jimin looked at the owner of the voice. It was a man in his late forties, he was taller than Jimin with a little bear and bushy eyebrows. He looked at Jimin with a smile on his face finishing his sentence. " At any cost."

Mr. Kang was one of the best doctors in the world. He won first places for the category six times and he's in the council where are only the best scientists So, of course, Jimin was surprised when Mr. Kang himself decided to show him around. " Jimin is everything alright?" Mr. Kang had a slightly worried look on his face, probably because Jimin zoned out for a while.” Everything is perfectly fine sir, excuse me because of my behavior, I zoned out for a minute there.” Mr. Kang smiled at Jimin again. “ You must be tired, right? You had a long trip. I'll go fetch one of my boys to show you your room. We can talk about your cases tomorrow.” “ Cases? I thought -” Jimin turned to look at Mr. Kang but he was already walking down the hallway. Jimin waited for five minutes when he suddenly heard a scream. It sounded like a male and it was definitely a scream of pain and fear. Jimin looked at the opposite hallways from where Mr. Kang went. “Bitch!” One guard came running down the hallway, he probably heard the scream like Jimin. He stood by the doors where the scream came from. “What happened? Did she bite you again?” Then came the second guard, probably the one that screamed. He had an angry, painful look on his face. “This time she stabbed me in the leg. With. A. Fucking. Fork.” It was true. On his right leg, you could see a fork sticking out of it. the stab was right above his knee. “ I bet you tried to have some fun, that's why she stabbed you, like every single time before Hwan.” the guy named Hwan mad an irritated look as he stepped out of the room. “ If you ask me she should be learned some manners, or be treated like an animal, not like she does not act like one.” When Hwan stepped out of the room you could see the ‘she’ they were talking about. She was pushing against Hwan with every move he did. Hwan was holding her right arm, so when the second guard got a hold of her left arm she finally calmed down a little. In the middle of those two guards she looked so small and breakable Jimin couldn't believe that she was actually the one to stab Hwan. They started walking towards Jimin, probably to get her to her cell when she started to fight again. She was constantly looking behind herself like she was looking for something or someone. Hwan slapped her, right across her right cheek. She didn't flinch or react. She just let her head hang down low. And Jimin asked himself ‘was it really necessary to hit her?“ ‘What kind of treatment is this?’ Stop being such a pain in the ass, your really starting to get on my nerves you little slut.” Hwan pushed forward and this time she didn't fight back, she just kept on walking, her head still hung low. When they passed Jimin guards nodded at him, as a silent ‘hello’, Jimin doing the same but he didn't pay them much time as his attention moved on the girl. He couldn't exactly see her face because it was cover with her obviously dirty dyed blonde hair. Her dark brown roots were showing so Jimin guessed she didn't dye her hair for a while. Her hair was reaching her shoulders, just enough for Jimin not to even see a tiny bit of her face. Her clothes were dirty and even too big on her small frame. Jimin kept his eyes on them as they moved through the hallway. “ Excuse me.” Jimin turned his head. “Mr, Kang told me to show you your room.” The guy was taller than Jimin, he wore a white coat and he had round glasses, maybe too big for him but it looked good. But the first thing you could notice about him was his bright red hair and a big boxy smile on his face. “ My name is Kim Taehyung, a doctor in children psychology and your roommate.”

First thing Jimin noticed was that Taehyung was a big goofball. He was open minded and would say something without thinking. Taehyung was actually younger than Jimin by a year and a second the younger heard that he started calling him hyung, not that Jimin minded. Taehyung showed Jimin around and they hung out for the rest of the day. Jimin got to see where Taehyung works with kids, and all of them actually were nice. And Jimin asked himself what have they done to be in a place like this? After that Taehyung showed him Where he was going to work, but they could go there so Jimin was just in the hallway. Around 11 pm they finally ended up in front of their dorm. “ So this is our place. There are three bathrooms if one of the family members visits, but I think no one would come here.” Taehyung laughed at his own sentence. Jimin looked around. You could see someone was already leaving here. It wasn't very colorful but there were a lot of plants and pictures o the walls. Jimin walked next to Taehyung who was putting his bag and papers on the table, taking a deep breath before he mumbled a soft ‘ home sweet home I guess’. Taehyung sat on the couch, taking his laptop, typing what happened with the kids throughout the day. Jimin sat next to him taking his own laptop into his lap. Putting his fingers on the keyboard to start typing away, but for some odd reason, he didn't know what to write. Instead, he looked at Taehyung who was deep into reading something on his own laptop. “ How long have you worked here Taehyung?” Taehyung looked at Jimin, slightly surprised not expecting the question. “ Is going to be four years almost.” He put a hand on his chin like he was thinking about the same thing. “ Your pretty young. How’d you get the job so young?” Taehuyung closed his laptop taking a remote and turning on the TV. After he let a random movie in the background he moved his eyes to Jimin’s. “ My parents knew Mr. Kang, like childhood friends or something. They died in an accident when I was seven.” Jimin looked at Taehyung with a surprised look that soon turned into a sad one. “ O  Taehyung.” Taehyung interrupted Jimin with a smile on his face.” No, it’s ok you were just curious. Anybody would be and besides, I don't remember my parents really, and what I do remember, let's just say it's not the nicest. When they died Mr. Kang took me in. Showed me love and affection I never had.......except.” Jimin tiled his head to the side. “ Except what?” Taehyung smiled his big boxy smile as he stood up.”That's a story for another time. God, I fell like death. I'll go to bed first. You should go too soon you have a big day tomorrow.” Jimin waved at him, letting out a sigh. He closed his eyes as he leaned on the couch. rolling his head. ‘Tommoeow is a big day.’

Jimin woke up the next day alone in the dorm. Taehyung left him a note saying he had an early appointment with kids. and he didn't forget to draw a little smiley in the corner of the note. Jimin smiled, Taehyung seemed like a good kid, it was a shame he was stuck here. Jimin ate, took a quick shower, dressed and was just ready in time to meed Mr. Kang. walking through the halls of the hospital wasn't very pleasant. For six in the morning, it was very loud. Especially when Jimin crossed the hall that led to cells, you could hear screaming, things breaking, hysterical laughing and guards ordering everyone to quiet down. Jimin walked to Mr. Kang office, knicking as he heard a ‘come in!’ Jimin opened the doors of the little office. Going in to take his paper cases. Mr. Kang was sitting at his desk reading something in front of him. He looked up to look at Jimin and smiled, Jimin doing the same.”Jimin come in, today is your first day. Are you excited?” Jimin looked at the dack form Mr. Kang seeing his cases.”More like nervous sir.” Mr. Kang laughed relaxing Jimin a little. You have nothing to worry about. Everyone is nervous on their first day. here take his four folders.” Mr. Kang said as he handed Jimin the folders.” I know it seems much for a student like you, but your school really wanted to test your abilities for this. Not many people passed their college in three years like you Jimin.” Jimin kelp his eyes on the folders, listening to Mr. Kang.” Your fists case starts now, with a number W654pL. Everything you need to know about his is in the folders. On the front page says witch floor and room.” Jimin was opening his mouth ready to ask his questions but was interrupted when Mr. Kang’s phone started ringing. He took his phone and answered the call before his eyes moved back to Jimin. “ Don't worry everything's going to be ok. And if you have any questions for number X09 You can ask Taehyung, He knows everything about him.” Jimin was ready to speak again but Mr. Kang started talking with whoever on the phone, so Jimin excused Himself and left the office. Jimin looked at the office door on last time before he turned around. ‘What did Taehyung know about a patient in the adult section? Didn't he work just with kids? Jimin was going to ask the younger later, for now, he had other worries. He looked at the file. ‘ W654pL “. God, it sounded so wrong saying it. Don't they save their names? Because Jimin sure did hope he doesn't need to call his patients like numbers. Numbers always change, in the age, year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, it always changes. But people don't change, they just fade away, forever. So every single person wants to live the best life they could have. That's why they help people like this, but that doesn't mean they're better or more precious. And it especially means that they shouldn't treat them like animals. Jimin didn't forget how that guard Hwan hit the poor girl and now this? Jimin made a mental note to talk to Mr. Kang about this as he stood in front of the door he was supposed to get in. There was one door on the right side, it had a sign saying ‘ W654pL’ and it ad a removable hole on the ground, probably for food. And the left door said ‘ watcher’ which send shivers down Jimin’s spine. Jimin opened the doors getting inside of the room his going to call his workplace. The room was small, in the middle of the room was one half of the table and a chair. The table connected to the wall that was so black that Jimin could see his reflection on it. Jimin knew how this worked, last night before he went to sleep he red all about the system here. When you have a talk with your patient you are not in the same room. The glass that separates patient’s room and a therapist’s room, only that looks like its connecting them is the table, one half is on Jimin’s side and the other half is in the patient's room. It said it was for therapist’s safety better not to be in the same room, because of the previous events, but Jimin still found it a little cruel. There are special buttons, for special lights. one that is working right now and Jimin and the patient can’t see each other, two where only Jimin can see the patient and three where the therapist and the patient can see each other. Jimin sat at the table taking a deep breathe before he pushed the button for third lights. and at that moment Jimin was able to see the other side. There was a bed in the corner, not in the best condition. He could he the bathroom doors right next to the bed, and there were some shelves with books on the side. But there were no windows or any sign of natural light. Which made Jimin a little sad and mad. Everyone was treating these people like some animals, no it was even worse. They were treating them like they were some kind of monsters, and Jimin wasn't very fond of it. He Finally looked at where was supposed to be the other end of the table, but there was already sitting a person, he was looking directly at Jimin’s eyes like he knew where and when he was going to be there. Jimin took a better look at his face and then he realized.

  It was the same guy who stared at him when he came here.

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aaa finally the first part is over. I hope you all enjoy and the next part will be out soon, at least I hope, depending on my mood and laziness.

[anna-catherine-bruno]

Mental Illness & Following Jesus

It was one of my goals in 2019 to be more open. It was also one of my goals to get back to making these blog posts. So in light of Bell Let’s Talk, I’ve decided to do just those two things.

I’m not sure exactly where to start, but I know I cannot be the only Christian who is confused and tired by the way many believers approach mental health. I tend to get two overarching reactions when talking about mental health (as I do quite often as a psych undergrad student); one response entails speculation of dark powers driving the mental health issues in the people who have them, which usually comes with comments about praying for their problems, or demons, to go away. The other reactions tend to be ones of disbelief that it's really an illness, getting comments like “they just need to shake it off.” And even though as a Christian I do believe in an enemy at work, and I do believe in the power of prayer, I've come to realize that mental health, just like physical health, is not necessarily something we all will live without. I’m also very aware, and pleased to know, that people, Christian or not, are becoming more informed of what’s the deal behind mental health, and doing what they can to break the stigma. And to that, I say thank you! But this blog is being posted for those still on the fence. This isn’t a post to start a theological debate about mental health or argue whether a Christian should be healthy and prosperous all the time if they just have enough faith. This is to share my journey with mental health, as a Christian, and to share how good God is in all my messiness.

So to start, let me tell you about my imperfect self. A part of me who I just opened up about to my fiancé, my family, and some of my friends in the last two years, because before that it was regularly suggested to me to “just be thankful”, “pray for God to take it away” and not to share my struggles when sharing my story, because people will think I’m “looking for attention”.

P.S.: I still have a loud voice inside me telling me people will think I’m looking for attention, but I have a louder voice telling me I can’t hold back what God has done for me in my life.

My mental struggles, as far as I can remember, started when I was about 11. I dealt with the (sadly) common struggles most 11-year-olds deal with. Body issues. My body was beginning to change out of my lanky child figure, and I have pretty heartbreaking memories of being a young girl, not yet in high school, pinching my fat and bawling my eyes out alone in my basement on a weekly basis. Fast forward to age 15, being in high school, starting to take an interest in pimpled ridden, voice cracked, hormone surged 15-year-old boys. Something in me switched at that age. I went from being sad about my chub to obsessing over taking control over it. Hence, the bulimia started. Purging was something I planned to do only temporarily until the weight came off. The sad part of an eating disorder is the weight really isn’t the problem. At 16 I weighed 125 pounds at 5 foot 6 and was obsessed with losing more weight. The goal was always 99 pounds, and I only got to 117. So, year 16 and 17 of my life was P90X and purging on a daily basis.

We’ll come back to the eating disorder later because at 17 another wave hit me. Anxiety. It’s funny because all my life I would say “wow I’m feeling so anxious right now” or “that gives me so much anxiety” lightly until the anxiety actually came. It started in grade 11, I lost a lot of my high school friends (a lot of whom I’ve reconnected with and love more than ever today, thank God). I would cry almost every night thinking about my next day at school and the feelings of loneliness. I would often find myself in the girls' washroom hyperventilating. The anxiety carried into every aspect of my life, often manifesting into full-blown panic attacks; curled up in a ball, on the ground, seemingly out of nowhere, unable to catch my breath, sometimes for up to 15 minutes. After a pretty rough breakup, things got exponentially worse. For about 6 months I was getting about 2-3 hours of sleep a day, a great side effect of anxiety called insomnia, and I felt like I was drowning in fears, hopelessness and thoughts of suicide.

It was when I was 17 I first started seeing a psychologist. Fast forward another two years, and I’m doing better. I’ve learned how to manage the panic attacks, I dealt with the anxiety, and I was sleeping much better. What I didn’t know at nineteen, and which I know now, is I was still dealing with what I’ve been dealing with from the beginning. Depression. It’s kind of weird, but as I write that word, I have a smile on my face. We’ll get to why in a second.

At 19, as many of you know, and the reason this blog even exists, I went to L.A. to serve with Youth with a Mission Los Angeles. While I was there I shared my testimony countless times, often talking about anxiety, but avoiding depression and especially avoiding my past with an eating disorder, mostly because I became very close with girls who had eating disorders, and I got it into my mind that because I wasn’t institutionalized for it, it wasn’t really a problem and I shouldn’t bring it up. It was in Barcelona that year that I gave my life to Christ (yes, I was raised in the church. No, I didn’t know Jesus until I was 20). I came back for the summer, started dating my now fiancé, and went back for another few months where I grew so much more in my faith. It was some of the best times of my life.

I really believed everything that was ever wrong with me, everything messy in my life, was behind me. After growing so much in that year, surrounded by amazing people who were growing beside me, I felt free. The kicker is that I came home, started studying psychology (typical, a girl with mental issues goes on to study mental issues, isn’t that most of our stories?), and my “messy past” caught up to me eventually.

This past year I really faced my mental health, afraid, but head first. I realized a few things. One was that I have control issues. Many people who know and love me know that I get really, unwarrantedly upset if I get a grade below A. Sometimes they laugh until they see or hear how much I obsessed and beat myself up for not getting a perfect score. I work really hard to get the grades I do, and it’s looking like I’m going to graduate with somewhere between a 3.9-4.0 GPA, but I also have had a 2-year struggle of hating myself and ripping myself apart for not being absolutely perfect in everything I do. This mentality led to me trying to gain control and be “perfect” in other areas of my life. Yes, you guessed it, the purging began. At the beginning of 2018, I found myself back into my high school habits, and thank God I have a fiancé who was always there to listen and help me through it this time around. The depression also continued and still continues, although it comes more in waves nowadays and not a constant tug.

So, where am I going with this? I really hope you’ve read until this far because all this background story is just noise compared to the real point I’m trying to make. This year, despite my battle with mental illness, has been one of the best years of my life, and I can tell you why in five words: Christ is enough for me. Yes, you might have heard the song, but those words have never rung truer in my life. Maybe you’ve walked into a church that told you if you pray enough and if you believe enough, all your problems, physical, mental, financial, will go away. I know for a fact that isn’t true. We live in a really, really messed up, fallen world. We’re riddled with diseases, heartbreak, selfishness, pride, and battles we have to face every day. But one thing I know to be absolutely true is in the face of it all, Christ is enough. This year, learning to lean into the grace of God more and more each day, I discovered the awesome truth that I’m never going to be perfect, and it’s in my imperfections, my depression, my anxiety, that God gets to be glorified. I get to wake up knowing that there is a perfect God who has a plan for me. In the midst of my depression, I don’t feel hopeless anymore, because I know God will use me to reach and empathize with others struggling on a whole other level. When I’m feeling most anxious, my nervous system on fire, not able to sleep because I’m thinking of life and marriage and grad school, I’m also feeling the most peace I’ve ever felt, knowing that God is so much bigger than the battle in front of me. I realized this year, something I spoke about to so many women while in L.A., Mexico, Switzerland and Spain, that the goal was never to be perfect, the goal was never to be illness free. If it happens that I don’t have to deal with depression or anxiety one day, amen! But until then, the healing, peaceful, protective, full power of Christ is enough to carry me through. It’s in my weakness that God can shine, can be given the glory for why I wake up every day with a purpose, a light, and with hope. What I’m trying to say is summarized pretty well in the word of God, as it always is:

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. - 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m really not that great without Christ. I’m broken, I’m selfish, I fear, I fret, I want complete control. It’s only through knowing, seeking, loving and following Christ that I can live free, in my flawed body and spirit, I can trust in God’s promise that his power will be made perfect in my weakness and I can rest easy knowing God has such an incredible plan for my life.

It’s been on my heart to share this part of me for 3 years now, and I hope someone out there reading this is affected by my words. Maybe you’re dealing with mental illness, and you’ve been scared to open up about it to your family, friends or church. To you, I say that God’s perfection can’t be made whole if we’re too scared to show our weakness. A fundamental element of believing in Jesus is admitting we’re broken, and still believing He is so so good. If you’re someone who doesn’t deal with mental illness (first of all, thank you, Jesus, for that, cause that’s awesome and becoming more and more rare), maybe my words broke down a bit of the stigma around this topic. I hope you exit this page rethinking the way you see things like depression and anxiety. I’m not trying to make a point that we shouldn’t pray for healing in these areas, because I believe God can give us healing, but just as there are people who are bound to wheelchairs, who will never walk again, and who still praise and give glory to God, I believe we should open up about what binds our minds, even if we can never “shake it off” and still praise and give glory to God. We should be looking forward to the day we are united with Him, in our new bodies and mind, but until then allowing ourselves to be made perfect through His perfection, and not through striving for our own.

As a last note, because I know some will worry, through opening up to my family and diving deep with God into the body image issues behind it, I have been able to fight a good fight against my eating disorder, and I’ve been doing much better the last 8 months. My anxiety comes and goes, but that’s something I’ve been able to manage the best, thanks to lots of prayers, some cardio and good old deep breathing techniques! And the depression comes and goes in waves, but I’m no longer hopeless, which is a huge step forward.

I wish everyone reading this the absolute best, and know that I’m always here to talk (as a friend, as someone who’s been there, and as someone who happens to be studying this stuff and knows quite a bit on mental health, not just Jesus, haha). And I'm always open to talk about Christ if this is your first time reading about Jesus in this way. I'm an open book.

Thanks for listening, Anna.

Links

List of listening services in Quebec & Canada

List of suicide prevention lines worldwide

Online, anonymous emotional support

The only thing that really keeps me going

[newstfionline]

Saturday, July 17, 2021

Vaccinated Americans to be able to enter Canada (AP) Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said on Thursday Canada could start allowing fully vaccinated Americans into Canada as of mid-August for non-essential travel and should be in a position to welcome fully vaccinated travelers from all countries by early September.

Child Tax Credit (The 19th) Earlier this year, Congress expanded the Child Tax Credit, giving families $3,000 for kids aged six to 17 and $3,600 for kids under six. Furthermore, it’s no longer just an annual lump sum around tax time: the money will now hit bank accounts in monthly increments of $250 to $300 per kid per month. The payments began yesterday and will go to 88 percent of American families with children, and the backers hope that the payments could cut the child poverty rate from 13.6 to 7.5 percent, a 45 percent reduction. There’s at least one catch—the deposits are actually prepayments based on estimated 2021 taxes, meaning families may face smaller returns or unexpected tax bills next April.

Largest wildfire in Oregon expands further (AP) Firefighters scrambled on Friday to control a raging inferno in southeastern Oregon that’s spreading miles a day in windy conditions, one of numerous conflagrations across the U.S. West that are straining resources. Authorities ordered a new round of evacuations Thursday amid worries the Bootleg Fire, which has already destroyed 21 homes, could merge with another blaze that also grew explosively amid dry and blustery conditions. The Bootleg Fire, the largest wildfire currently burning in the U.S., has now torched an area larger than New York City and has stymied firefighters for nearly a week with erratic winds and extremely dangerous fire behavior.

With virus cases rising, mask mandate back on in Los Angeles (AP) Los Angeles County will again require masks be worn indoors in the nation’s largest county, even by those vaccinated against the coronavirus, while the University of California system also said Thursday that students, faculty and staff must be inoculated against the disease to return to campuses. The announcements come amid a sharp increase in virus cases, many of them the highly transmissible delta variant that has proliferated since California fully reopened its economy on June 15 and did away with capacity limits and social distancing. The vast majority of new cases are among unvaccinated people. Other counties, including Sacramento and Yolo, are strongly urging people to wear masks indoors but not requiring it.

Haiti’s assassination mystery (Foreign Policy) In the search for those behind the assassination of Haitian President Jovenel Moïse last week, authorities have arrested at least 18 retired members of Colombia’s armed forces—some of whom previously received U.S. military training—and five Haitians, including a former rebel leader, the owner of a security company, and a pastor. While the details of the plot are still under investigation, the alleged use of former Colombian soldiers as mercenaries was unsurprising to observers. Elite Colombian troops, trained over the country’s half-century of conflict, can retire as early as their 40s and are frequently hired as private military contractors in the Middle East and elsewhere.

Biden: US will protect Haiti embassy, won’t send troops (AP) President Joe Biden said Thursday that the U.S. will bolster security at its embassy in Haiti following last week’s assassination of that country’s president, but sending American troops to stabilize the country was “not on the agenda.” Haiti’s interim government last week asked the U.S. and the United Nations to deploy troops to protect key infrastructure following President Jovenel Moïse’s assassination. Biden signaled he was not open to the request, which comes as he is drawing down U.S. forces in Afghanistan this summer. “We’re only sending American Marines to our embassy,” Biden said. “The idea of sending American forces to Haiti is not on the agenda,” he added.

U.S.-Cuba policy (Foreign Policy) U.S. President Joe Biden said he would not allow U.S.-based Cubans to send remittances home as part of White House plans to assist the Cuban people following Sunday’s protests. Biden said he was prepared to give COVID-19 vaccines to the island, but only under the condition that an international organization administered them. During a speech on Wednesday, Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel again lambasted the “cruel” and “genocidal” U.S. blockade of Cuba while promising a “critical analysis” of the problems facing the country. Since the weekend protests, Cuba has lifted restrictions on the amount of food and medicine travelers are allowed bring in to the country, fulfilling one of the demands of the protesters.

Death toll from European floods passes 115 as receding waters reveal scope of devastation (Washington Post) As deadly floodwaters began to recede Friday across Germany and Belgium, the full extent of the destruction was slowly revealed: muddy washouts where homes used to stand, cars and debris tangled together, and officials still adding to a death toll that surpassed 115 and was expected to climb higher. “Whole places are scarred by the disaster,” German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier said at a news conference after the worst flooding in decades to hit the region. “Many people have lost what they have built all their lives.” The storm—a major low-pressure system that stretched from Germany to France—brought a deluge Thursday that quickly swelled rivers, collapsed bridges and roads, and left many people scrambling to rooftops or onto fallen trees. Luxembourg and Switzerland were also hit by torrential rain, and warnings were issued in more than a dozen regions of France. Earlier this week, Britain was struck by flash floods that submerged parts of London in deep waters and turned residential roads into flowing rivers.

Xinjiang Products Banned In U.S. (Reuters) The Senate passed bipartisan legislation Wednesday banning the import of all products from China’s Xinjiang region. It is Washington’s latest effort to punish Beijing for what U.S. officials say is an ongoing genocide against Uyghurs and other Muslim groups. Under the Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act, the burden of proving goods manufactured in Xinjiang are not made with forced labor—and therefore not banned under the 1930 Tariff Act—would be shifted to importers. This legislation would go beyond steps already taken to secure U.S. supply chains in the face of allegations of rights abuses in China, including existing bans on Xinjiang tomatoes, cotton, and some solar products. The Biden administration, which has been increasing sanctions, issued an advisory on Tuesday warning businesses they could be in violation of U.S. law if operations are linked even indirectly to surveillance networks in Xinjiang.

COVID spreading in Asia and Africa (Worldcrunch) As Indonesia becomes Asia’s new COVID epicenter, nearby countries are planning new restrictions with Singapore’s announcement it will limit social gatherings, a move that South Korea is also considering. Across Africa, cases have “surged by 43 percent in the space of a week.” There is concern that the Delta variant could mutate into more dangerous variants as it sweeps through largely unvaccinated regions.

Athletes go it alone in Tokyo as families watch from afar (AP) Michael Phelps reached for his mother’s hand through a chainlink fence near the pool. The 19-year-old swimmer had just won his first Olympic medal—gold, of course—at the 2004 Athens Games, and he wanted to share it with the woman who raised him on her own. That kind of moment between loved ones won’t be happening at the pandemic-delayed Tokyo Olympics. No spectators—local or foreign—will be allowed at the vast majority of venues, where athletes will hang medals around their own necks to protect against spreading the coronavirus. No handshakes or hugs on the podium, either. “I like to feed off of the crowd,” defending all-around champion gymnast Simone Biles said, “so I’m a little bit worried about how I’ll do under those circumstances.”

Hospital fire deepens Iraq’s COVID crisis (AP) No beds, medicines running low and hospital wards prone to fire—Iraq’s doctors say they are losing the battle against the coronavirus. And they say that was true even before a devastating blaze killed scores of people in a COVID-19 isolation unit this week. Infections in Iraq have surged to record highs in a third wave spurred by the more aggressive delta variant, and long-neglected hospitals suffering the effects of decades of war are overwhelmed with severely ill patients. Doctors are going online to plea for donations of medicine and bottled oxygen, and relatives are taking to social media to find hospital beds for their stricken loved ones. “Every morning, it’s the same chaos repeated, wards overwhelmed with patients,” said Sarmed Ahmed, a doctor at Baghdad’s Al-Kindi Hospital.

Riots in Lebanon as West calls for quick Cabinet formation (AP) Tension intensified in Lebanon on Friday, with riots leaving more than two dozen people injured in the northern city of Tripoli, including five soldiers who were attacked with a hand grenade. France, the European Union and the United States in the meantime called on Lebanese politicians to urgently form a Cabinet. The announcements came at a moment of great uncertainty for Lebanon after Prime Minister-designate Saad Hariri stepped down on Thursday over disagreements with the president on the shape of the Cabinet. Hundreds of his supporters rioted in the streets, blocked major roads and hurled stones. In Beirut, protesters briefly closed several main roads Friday, prompting a swift intervention by the troops to clear them. In the northern city of Tripoli, Lebanon’s second largest and most impoverished, residents angry over rising prices, electricity cuts that last for most of the day and severe shortages in diesel and medicine, rioted in the streets and attacked Lebanese troops.

Bamboozled Birds (Hakai Magazine) Lots of bird populations are at risk due to habitat destruction, deforestation and wildfires in historical nesting areas. Given that they’re not really known to crash zoning board meetings, birds don’t know that the areas they want to live in are doomed to timber harvesting, so researchers would like to find ways to get birds to nest in places where it’s safe. New studies have found ways to trick the birds into doing this, with one recent experiment in Oregon convincing marbled murrelets to nest away from threatened forests by piping in artificial recordings of marbled murrelets into the desired areas. Over 60 species of seabirds have been lured to different breeding grounds in this way before, and now they know it works with the murrelets: they played back recordings in 14 locations not slated for logging but otherwise unoccupied in 2016. Within a year, those locations had four times as much nesting activity compared to un-bamboozled tracts of forest.

[tinyshe]

“Around the world,  reports are pouring in of people dying shortly after receiving the COVID-19  vaccine. In many cases, they die suddenly within hours of getting the shot. In   others, death occurs within the span of a couple of weeks.

“One notable case  is baseball legend Hank Aaron, 86, who died January 22, 2021, 17 days after  publicly getting vaccinated for COVID-19.1,2 He said at the time that he hoped other Blacks would follow his lead and  get their vaccines too.

“According to news  reports, he died “peacefully in his sleep” and no cause of death had been  announced. Aaron was famous for being the home-run king of baseball, and broke  Babe Ruth’s record when he hit homerun No. 715; he had hit 755 by the time he  retired from the sport.

29 Dead in Norway

“In related news,  Norway has recorded 29 senior citizen deaths in the wake of their vaccination  push.3 Most were over the age of 75. A total of 42,000 Norwegians had by that time  received the vaccine.

“While health  officials initially downplayed any connection to the vaccine, a report in  Bloomberg suggests the Norwegian Medicines Agency are now reconsidering. At the  time of the deaths, the Pfizer  vaccine was the only COVID-19 vaccine available in Norway, so “all deaths  are thus linked to this vaccine,” the agency told Bloomberg.4

“’There are 13 deaths that have been assessed,  and we are aware of another 16 deaths that are currently being assessed,’ the  agency said. All the reported deaths related to ‘elderly people with serious   basic disorders,’ it said.

‘Most people have experienced the expected side  effects of the vaccine, such as nausea and vomiting, fever, local reactions at  the injection site, and worsening of their underlying condition’ …

“The findings have prompted  Norway to suggest that COVID-19 vaccines may be too risky for the very old and  terminally ill, the most cautious statement yet from a European health  authority.

The Norwegian Institute of  Public Health judges that ‘for those with the most severe frailty, even  relatively mild vaccine side effects can have serious consequences. For those  who have a very short remaining life span anyway, the benefit of the vaccine  may be marginal or irrelevant.’”

Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious  Diseases, commented that the deaths have to be “put into context with the  population they occurred in.”5

In other words,  they were old and old people die. It’s hypocrisy at its finest. When seniors  die before vaccination, it’s due to COVID-19 and something must be done to  prevent it, but when they die after vaccination, they die of natural causes and  no preventive action is necessary.

The World Health  Organization added that since there was “no certain connection” of the vaccines  to Norway’s deaths, there is no reason to discontinue giving it to senior  citizens.

Questionable Coincidences

Interestingly,  several areas have reported that deaths are rapidly increasing AFTER  vaccination programs are implemented. The news stories don’t actually say it  straight out, but if you look at dates given, it raises questions. One such  example is what’s happening in Gibraltar at the southern tip of Spain, which  has a population of 34,000.

The area rolled  out its vaccination program on January 9, 2021, using the Pfizer mRNA vaccine.  By January 17, 2021, 5,847  doses had been administered (about 17% of the population), according to a  report by MedicalXpress.6

The curious thing about it is that the area’s  first recorded death from COVID-19 didn’t occur until mid-November 2020. By  January 6, three days before the vaccination program began, the total  COVID-19-related death toll reportedly stood at 10.

Then, by January 17, the total death toll had suddenly skyrocketed   to 45. In other words, 35 people died in the first eight days of the   vaccination program. Most were in their 80s and 90s.

Chief  Minister Fabian Picardo said, "This is now the worst loss of life of  Gibraltarians in over 100 years. Even in war, we have never lost so many in  such a short time."7 None of the deaths are being blamed on the vaccine, however. Instead, they’re loosely  blaming them on the new variant of SARS-CoV-2.

Vaccine Rollout Coincides With Outbreak

Other  areas are also reporting “outbreaks” of COVID-19, resulting in increased death  tolls, after the rollout of vaccinations. Case in point: In Auburn, New York, a COVID-19 outbreak began  December 21, 2020, in a Cayuga County nursing home.8,9 Before this outbreak, no one in the nursing home had died from COVID-19.

The next day,  December 22, they started vaccinating residents and staff. The first death was  reported December 29, 2020. Between December 22, 2020, and January 9, 2021, 193  residents (80%) received the vaccine, as did 113 staff members.

As of January 9,  2021, 137 residents had been infected and 24 had died. Forty-seven staff  members had also tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 and one was on life-support.

Considering we’re  also seeing cases in which healthy young and middle-aged individuals die within  days of receiving the vaccine, it’s not inconceivable that the vaccine might  have something to do with these dramatic rises in deaths among the elderly in  various parts of the world. In fact, I’d expect it.

You can rest  assured, however, that the public health authorities and media will not report these  observations. Anything that conflicts with vaccine safety and effectiveness  will be intentionally and universally buried. This is precisely their modus  operandi of the past three decades, so it’s really up to each individual to do  their own research.

Massive Amounts of Serious Side Effects Emerging

While  the global  vaccine campaign is less than a month old in most places, reports of serious  side effects have already started pouring in. Many are sharing their  personal experiences on social media networks. Disturbingly, many are having   their stories censored as misleading or false. Videos, in particular, tend to  be taken down.

Aside  from sudden death within hours or days,10,11,12,13,14 examples of side effects among survivors of the Pfizer and Moderna mRNA  vaccines include:

Persistent malaise15,16 and extreme exhaustion17

Severe allergic, including anaphylactic reactions18,19,20    

Multisystem inflammatory  syndrome21

Chronic seizures and convulsions22,23

Paralysis,24 including Bell’s Palsy25

To get a feel for what’s really happening, check out prezi.com, where someone has started  collecting stories from various social media posts. It’s a rather shocking  compilation that is well worth sharing with family and friends who are still on  the fence about getting the vaccine.

Many say they  “feel weird” and that they “don’t feel like myself.” Dizziness, racing heart  and extreme high blood pressure seem to be a common complaint, as is severe,  chronic seemingly “unbreakable” headache that does not respond to medication.  Many describe the pain they feel in their body as “being run over by a bus” or  “being beaten with a bat.”

Some report  swollen and painful lymph nodes, severe muscle pain and gastrointestinal  issues. Symptoms mimicking stroke are being reported, even though CT scans show  nothing of concern. One such report is from a 19-year-old girl. Several report  lethal heart attacks claiming the lives of someone they love.

Psychological  effects are also starting to creep in. One woman who is on chemotherapy reports  “mood changes with intermittent periods of elation and mild euphoria.” Bouts of  anxiety, depression, brain fog, confusion and dissociation are also being  reported, as is an inability to sleep.

One person  reports having lost “the voice in my head,” which I suspect is the ability to  hear yourself think. Another reports losing the ability to formulate words  about half an hour after getting the first dose of vaccine, and a third reports  “struggling for lost words.” Loss of taste and/or smell are also being  reported, as well as taste alterations. Several say they have developed a  metallic taste since their vaccination.

One pregnant  woman reported spontaneous rupture of the amniotic sac resulting in premature  delivery. Another woman’s baby was found to have no heartbeat two days after  her vaccination and was delivered stillborn. Several describe effects  suggesting vascular problems, such as skin blotchiness and fingers turning  blue.

We see mass cell activation syndromes. The clinical symptoms are  going to be the inflammatory diseases. We hear everybody calling it ‘long haul  COVID’ — the extreme, profound, crippling fatigue, the inability to produce  energy from your mitochondria. It's not long haul COVID. It's exactly what it  always was — myalgic encephalomyelitis, inflammation of the brain and the   spinal cord. ~ Judy Mikovits Ph.D.

While people are  hoping and praying their side effects will be temporary, a significant portion  say they’re still struggling with the effects one or two weeks after their  shot. Time will tell whether they turn out to be permanent, but considering the  fact that the mRNA vaccines reprogram your DNA, there’s certainly the  possibility that they might be long-lasting.

Side Effects Were Predictable

I recently interviewed cellular and molecular biologist Judy Mikovits, Ph.D., about the mechanics of COVID-19 mRNA  vaccines, which are in actuality gene therapy. They’re not conventional  vaccines. Compare the summary of reported side effects in the section above to  the longer-term side effects she suspects will become commonplace, based on the  mechanics and biological effects of these gene therapy “vaccines”:

Migraines

Involuntary muscle movements,    tics and spasms

Parkinson’s disease

Microvascular disorders

Cancers

Severe pain syndromes

Bladder problems

Kidney disease

Psychological disorders such    as psychosis and autism spectrum

Neurodegenerative diseases

Sleep disorders

Infertility and other    reproductive problems

The underlying causes, according to Mikovits, are  neuroinflammation and dysregulation of the immune system and endocannabinoid  system.

“It's the brain on fire,” she  says. “You're going to see ticks, you're  going to see Parkinsonian disease, you're going to see ALS, you're going to see  things like this developing at extremely rapid rates, and it's inflammation of  the brain.

We see mass cell activation syndromes. The clinical symptoms are going to be the inflammatory diseases. We hear everybody calling it ‘long haul  COVID’ — the extreme, profound, crippling fatigue, the inability to produce  energy from your mitochondria.

It's not long haul COVID. It's exactly what it always was —   myalgic encephalomyelitis, inflammation of the brain and the spinal cord. What  they're intentionally doing is killing off [certain] populations.”

Discrepancies in Moderna’s FDA Report

According to a  recent report by The Defender,26 there are significant discrepancies in the data Moderna submitted to the U.S.  Food and Drug Administration:

“Moderna’s reported death rate for its COVID vaccine, based on   clinical trials, is 5.41 times greater than Pfizer’s. Yet neither are   representative of national death rates — that’s a red flag …

The Moderna vaccine arm  death rate of 0.36 deaths/100K/day) is 5.14 times higher than Pfizer’s (0.07  deaths/100K/day). This large discrepancy deserves notice and requires explanation.

If Moderna’s on-vaccine  death rate is so far below the national death rate and also simultaneously more  than five times greater than Pfizer’s on-vaccine death rate, then Pfizer’s  study sample appears even less representative of the entire population. This, too,  requires due consideration …

When comparing [Moderna’s] study-wide number of  deaths per day per 100K for the study to that of the entire U.S. population  from 2019, I was shocked: the national number of deaths per day per 100K is  2.44.

Moderna’s screening process and exclusion  criteria in the trial led to evidence that the general population is dying at a  rate 6.3 times greater than the death rate in the Moderna trial — which means   the Moderna study, including its estimated efficacy rate and the vaccine’s  alleged safety profile — cannot possibly be relevant to most of the U.S.  population.

The super-healthy cohorts studied by Moderna are  in no way representative of the U.S. population. Most deaths from COVID-19   involve pre-existing health conditions of the types excluded from both Pfizer  and Moderna trials …

Those enrolling in the post-market surveillance  studies deserve to know the abject absence of any relevant information on  efficacy and risk for them. In their zeal to help humanity, or to help  themselves, these people may very well be walking into a situation that will  cause autoimmunity due to pathogenic priming,  potentially leading to disease enhancement should they become infected  following vaccination.”

Why Is Moderna’s Gene Therapy Deadlier Than Pfizer’s?

What might  account for Moderna’s gene therapy “vaccine” causing more than five times more  deaths than Pfizer’s? One possibility raised in The Defender’s article is that  they failed to “screen out unsafe epitopes to  reduce autoimmunity due to homology between parts of the viral protein and the  human proteome.”

According to a  2020 paper27 in the Journal of Translational Autoimmunity, “Pathogenic priming likely  contributes to serious and critical illness and mortality in COVID-19 via  autoimmunity,” noting that the same may apply post-vaccination.

As  explained in this paper, all but one of SARS-CoV-2 immunogenic epitopes are  similar to human proteins. Epitopes28 are sites on the virus that allow antibodies or cell receptors in your immune  system to recognize it.

This  is why epitopes are also referred to as “antigenic determinants,” as they are  the parts that are recognized by an antibody, B-cell receptor or T-cell  receptor. Most antigens — substances that bind specifically to an antibody or a  T-cell receptor — have several different epitopes, which allow it to be  recognized by several different antibodies.

According to the author, some epitopes can cause “autoimmunological pathogenic  priming due to prior infection or following exposure to SARS-CoV-2 … following  vaccination.”

In  other words, if you’ve had the infection once, and get reinfected (either by  SARS-CoV-2 or a sufficiently similar coronavirus), the second bout has a great  potential to be more severe than the first. Similarly, if you get vaccinated  and are then infected with SARS-CoV-2, your infection may be more severe than  had you not been vaccinated.

For  this reason, “these epitopes should be excluded from vaccines under development  to minimize autoimmunity due to risk of pathogenic priming,” the paper warns.  The abstract lays out the basics of the pathogenic priming process.29 As noted in The Defender:30

"Thus, concern over vaccine-induced pathogenic priming is not   zero, but it may be less than COVID-19  vaccines that  use more than one SARS-CoV-2 protein. However, the hyper-focused IgG response  to the fewer antigens could cause hyperimmunization, a condition considered   ripe for off-target autoimmunity attacks."

Are Lethal Effects Being Hidden?

The Defender  points out that vaccine trials never use inert placebos. Instead, many use  another vaccine. By doing so, they effectively hide side effects. In the case  of Moderna, a total of 13 people died in the trial, seven in the vaccine group  and eight in the placebo group. One severe adverse event in the placebo group,  however, was relabeled as a death, and one death in the vaccine group was   relabeled as a severe adverse event.

In the vaccine  group, deaths were listed as cardio-respiratory   arrest, heart attack, multisystem organ failure, head injury and suicide. None of the deaths were  linked to the vaccine.

However, as noted in The Defender, heart attacks  can involve autoimmunity and have been seen in post-vaccinations before.   Multisystem organ failure is also “consistent with autoimmunity against ubiquitously expressed proteins as a result of vaccination.”

“The suicide cannot be ruled  out as not due the vaccine, either,” The Defender writes, noting it could be  related to “autoimmunity against oxytocin or serotonin receptors,” which might  result in “devastating depression.”

Indeed, prezi.com includes a number of reports of people saying  they’ve experienced anxiety and depression following their vaccination.  Depression is also a possible outcome of neuroinflammation, as noted by  Mikovits.

Do a Risk-Benefit Analysis Before Making Up Your Mind

While both Pfizer and Moderna report low rates of side effects — Moderna’s  being just 0.5% — the rates of side effects in the real world appear to be  extraordinarily high. Data are still hard to come by, but if we go by initial  data reported by the U.S.  Centers for Disease Control and Prevention,31 we end up with a side effect rate in the real world of 2.79%.

By December 18, 2020, 112,807  Americans had received their first dose of COVID-19 vaccine. Of those, 3,150  suffered one or more “health impact events,” defined as being “unable to  perform normal daily activities, unable to work, required care from doctor or  health care professional.” If you divide the number of reported side effects  with the number that received the vaccine, you get a side effect rate of 2.79%.

If you then extrapolate that to  the total U.S. population of 328.2 million, we may be looking at 9,156,780  Americans suffering vaccine injuries if everyone gets vaccinated.

[to see full article with tables/graphs and other information not picked up in a cut and paste please go here]

[creativitytoexplore]

Candy by Dave Wakely https://ift.tt/306W3OW Dave Wakely's character has to look after his estranged fifteen-year-old daughter for a few days.

"God, you're so useless!" She stands before me, two skimpy candy-pink tops dangling from their hangers like the discarded skins of lurid reptiles, her ferocious glare expecting me to choose. Decisions, decisions... Luminous Lycra or acrylic machined-lace the colour of bubblegum. I scratch my chin while her right foot counts out the seconds on the rough concrete floor. Tap tap tap. This is her second day with me after half-an-hour's notice, after what passes for an explanation from her mother. Just a text, neither predictive nor predictable. Hasn't her daughter told her? Abbreviations are sooo last year.

Moved in new house but hv chickenpox + R on business in Singapore. B not had it. Don't kno neighbours so cant ask. Yr office sed u r on study leave, so sending her over w driver. Shd be ok in 2 wks. Will xfer £s to yr a/c. Spk later. J.

Since she arrived, we might still be in my town but we're in her world now. Mine never smelt of fast food and unisex perfumes. The lighting was kinder, and it was quieter there. How's a man to think? More to the point, what would the man she now calls Daddy do? Would he even allow her in a place like this? The tapping stops, and then comes the outburst. "You're supposed to be GOOD at this!" Her tantrum is, I understand, designed to drag me back into the moment. I've been lucky to escape so long. She lives for now, not for later, even if that's when most of her life is going to actually happen. At fifteen, hormones trump strategic thinking. Frankly, it's still a tussle at thirty-eight. For twenty minutes now, I've lurked in the shop's darkest corner while Bonnie has ransacked the rails, the gum-chewing sales assistant eyeing me like I'm an old paedo lurking behind a playground fence. Above my head, a speaker booms like the daytime disco Bonnie probably wishes she was in. Eddie would cope with this so much better than me. He usually says I'm trying to be kind when I tell him I envy his deafness, but right now... Still, it's her mother's money I'm spending, I remind myself, not mine. B nds new summer tops: put xtra £150 in yr a/c, this morning's text said. No sign-off - not even a J, let alone an x - but Jess has an encyclopaedia of reasons to hate me. My uselessness isn't news, just an echo sounding down the years. Whether I dress her daughter as a teenage hooker or a day-glo Edwardian vamp, it will be just another erratum slip tucked inside the bulging catalogue of my failures. I wonder if she ever reads them to Bonnie, bedtime stories with a pinch of deadly nightshade. Bonnie was twenty-three months old when Jess finally realised the main reason I'd spent the afternoon on the balcony, our baby girl cradled in my arms. Not to revel in the sunshine and the miracle of my daughter's existence, but for the view of the man next door and the shadows flickering across his sunburnt-pink back as his muscles danced the lawnmower to and fro. My life started then, or at least the life I lead now. I'd seen the pain in Jess's eyes when she gave birth, heard her screams, but I gave birth to myself - to the honest version - in the spare-room, on my own. No gas, no comforting hand, no drugs beyond the illicit. If Jess heard me cry, she didn't say. Tap tap tap... Bonnie's left foot jerks me back into the day once more. "Hold them up against you," I tell her, buying time I've no urge to spend. At least not here, not now. She holds first one hanger and then the other against her, arms signalling a bad-tempered semaphore. I admire her energy, but with every flourish of her elbows I get the message: I am rubbish, a desperate case. Eventually she pauses, the skimpier blouse's lacy material as transparent as her mood. "The other one?" I ask. "Just for a few seconds?" I watch her dial her loathing up another notch, glowering as she slams the second hanger against her collar-bones, letting the first fall to the floor. I expected Till Girl to complain, but she just scrolls her head from left to right like a security camera, purple hair swishing as she scans first Bonnie and then me. Her lip-stud winks with every grind of her jaw, a twenty-first century beauty spot. Maybe, behind her carefully applied overlay of tedium, she's as baffled as me. It's not just the fashions that I'm out of touch with: it's the girl. For twenty-four hours we've skirted each other, any moments in the same room an uneasy truce. I'm like a wary gardener, too daunted by the thorns to venture a nostril nearer to the rose. I've seen Bonnie grow, but in giant leaps rather than baby steps. Standing on the porch, face caught between smiling and blankness as I drove away in a borrowed car after six months of sleeping on an old sofa, stemming the draughts under the garage door with the boiler-suit I'd worn to half-finish painting her bedroom. Outside the divorce court three years later, beaming and waving as she held Roger's hand. "Daddy," she called out, till she was shushed into silence. "I'm right here, darling," I heard him say. Then at nine-and-a-half, when Jess's mum died and her father invited me to the funeral, still preferring me to Roger. Close enough to see her tug Jess's sleeve while she pointed at me, for Eddie to lip-read her mother calling me 'Uncle Desmond'. Since then, mostly snatches of conversation at weddings or old friends' parties before Jess or Roger could steer her away. Perfunctory paragraphs in Christmas cards, letters send via lawyers' offices. As I wait for her scowl to turn vocal again, I remind myself that I am the adult here, even if I'm not the precise adult either of us might have chosen. She knows me as little as I know her, and taking a gay man shopping hadn't turned out as fabulously - and that would be the word, wouldn't it? - as she'd hoped. I turn to Till Girl, her face dead-pan. "I need your help here," I tell her, shouting over the music. "This is Bonnie. She's fifteen years old..." "I'm nearly sixteen," Bonnie interrupts with a shrill squeak of outrage. "She was fifteen four months ago," I continue, hearing my voice coarsen into a bark. "Her mother's ill, so I'm looking after her. She needs a new top." I can feel my emotions bubbling like a percolator, finer manners sinking like silt. "One that doesn't make her look a total slut." As the words leave my mouth, I hear the shame under the rage, feel the realisation that it isn't really Bonnie I'm angry with. Till Girl flicks her tongue across her lip, a snake tasting the air. Contempt, or contemplation? One hand drops below the counter and the music abruptly dies. Bonnie is silent now too. The girl steps round from behind the counter, nods once at me and strides to a rail by the changing-room. "What size, please?" she asks, her crystal vowels a surprise. I motion Bonnie to reply. "Six," she mutters, absorbed in staring at her feet. Till Girl's fingers fly through a mass of hangers, pulling out a blue velvety creation with an asymmetric hem and sparkling embroidery. "This suits your colouring more," she tells Bonnie firmly, "and the cut will make you look taller. Slimmer." There's a subtle emphasis on the second adjective. "And I think you're more like an eight." She pushes open a changing room door and waits as Bonnie half-drags, half-stomps her way across the shop. As the door swings shut behind her, the girl raises one artfully-pencilled eyebrow at me and struts back to her counter. A seemingly eternal silence later, Bonnie re-appears, tugging down the shorter side of her new hem. Till Girl knows her stuff: she looks taller and more graceful, almost adult. Differently dressed, she has the beginnings of a figure, shaded and outlined without anything being underlined or underwired. "Well?" she says, more tremulous than truculent. Till Girl beats me to it. "Quite sophisticated, actually. Yes, I like that," she says. There's an undertone of surprise. "What does your father think?" "I think you look great," I say, before Bonnie can speak. Before she might deny my existence, or I might do the same. Even here where it would never matter, where it's already assumed, it seems an acknowledgement too far. "Not that my opinion matters, I suspect. I'm just the wallet carrier. Is there a younger man she might impress?" Till Girl almost smiles, and turns her head towards the back of the store. "Jamie!" Her shout would stir a catacomb. A boy of eighteen or nineteen shuffles out of the stock-room, all ear-tunnels, piercings and ink-black tattoos, halfway between Meccano and a badly-photocopied medieval map. He moves inside his baggy clothes like a man wrestling inside a duvet cover, the waistband of his unbelted jeans sitting below under-developed buttocks. There's a flash of gaudy yellow underpant, bright as cupcake icing, the only hint of sweetness he's allowed himself. "Trade Descriptions Act," Eddie always says when he sees a boy dressed like that. "If it's not for sale, don't put it in the window." Till Girl does her security-camera head-swivel thing at Bonnie, and then back to the boy. "Cool," he says, his voice as flat as Lincolnshire. "Wicked." Whether from shyness or lust, he rubs his palms on his thighs, a blush spreading through the few patches of bare skin left on his neck. Is this how straight teenagers flirt nowadays? It's like watching a wildlife documentary. Bonnie's face is as pink as the clothes she would have chosen, but she's clearly persuaded.

Twenty minutes later - after she's convinced us both that her new look requires black metallic leggings and, two stores down, petrol-blue patent leather stilettos that of course she insists on wearing - we walk the mall's marble walkways, a stable-hand leading a prize filly into the dressage ring. Each time I hear a pause in her erratic clip-clopping, I take her hand for a second before she teeters, sparing her more the embarrassment of toppling than the pain of a twisted ankle. I watch the eyes of teenage boys as we pass, scanning her like bar-code readers assessing some new exotic fruit. Whenever a woman Jess's age comes close, I try to read her expression as if I might read Jess's mind by proxy. As if I ever could. Bonnie's eyes dart from window to window, feverish with the shopping bug. Each time we stop, it's not the display I dissect but our reflection. The young woman, dumped on an almost-stranger but bursting to be happy. The gangly man in the biker jacket and faded 501s, sullen as a teenager and anxious to be somewhere else. And the way they avoid each other's eyes, stranded in a no-man's-land between anger and apology. We pause on the benches by the fountains in the open courtyard, faces splashed with spray, pretending that an icy slab of damp marble under our buttocks comes as some kind of respite. I take her picture on her phone so she can send it to Jess. My new look, her message says. Like it? B x. There's no reply. As we drift back into silence, I watch her attention scampering from one boy to another, so blatantly she triggers more blushes than smiles. Maybe this is the kind of moment Jess and Roger would never allow her, a chance to make mistakes. Perhaps she's even enjoying being here, with me, just a little. I police my own gaze more carefully. Here and there, middle-aged fathers sit with teenaged daughters, carrier bags at their feet and shoulders turned a fraction against each other, seeing the world at different angles. Maybe this is what teenage girls think fathers are for: for presents and treats, but not for company or conversation. "I'm sorry I made you lose your temper," Bonnie says, looking down at her feet as she breaks our silence. She's shaken off one of her new shoes and there's the start of a blister on her heel, already rising a livid red. "I'll buy you some plasters," I tell her. "Unless you want to put your trainers back on?" I pat the growing pile of carrier bags beside me. "Thanks," she mumbles, shaking her head, "but I can afford Elastoplast, at least." She takes my proffered tissue and folds it over, wrapping it round her heel before she slips the shoe back on, trying not to wince. "And I know me being here isn't your fault. Just 'cos Mum's using you doesn't mean I should. It's not like you're responsible for me or anything." I want to protest, though it would do no good. Jess didn't get herself pregnant: if I'm not responsible for her, who on earth is? Without me, Bonnie wouldn't be anywhere - wouldn't even be. But it's not what she means, and complaining won't help. Roger's her father now: I abdicated and I can't expect loyalty. "It's ok, I'm sorry too. I know I'm kind of the last resort," I tell her. "Like being promised a trip to the zoo to see the tigers and winding up in the reptile house with some cold-blooded thing staring at you through the glass." She looks as embarrassed as I feel. The fountains spray our faces with cold water as the silence grows again. "How about I treat you to something?" she asks me, suddenly a child again. A fifteen-year-old girl wanting to impress. "Have you ever had bubble tea?"

The concession stall is a cartoon-coloured laboratory of bubbling liquids in luminous columns. Their high-buttoned uniforms as white as surgeons', Asian boys barely older than Bonnie strain alien concoctions into transparent beakers, inscrutable stewards in a Martian cocktail bar. I scan the menu, pretending to understand. "Extra bottom, 50p," it declares. With Eddie, I could have pointed and laughed, but not now. I turn to Bonnie. "Help me out here?" "OK," she says, "are you more milky? Or more fruity?" "I guess I'm more the fruity type," I say, stifling a snigger I can't quite prevent. "Apple, if that's possible?" "How are you with things that burst in your mouth?" she asks, all wide-eyed curiosity, and I wonder if she's trying to provoke me, testing my boundaries, or if being fifteen is still as innocent as I dimly remember. The students I teach are older: nineteen, twenty... women, not girls, though their counterparts are still more boys than men. "I'll try anything once," I say. Her face stays straight. My offer to pay refused, I perch on a ridiculously tall barstool while she places our order, passing over her little sequinned purse from her backpack when she remembers her new outfit has no pockets. I watch how she keeps it hidden below the counter-line, too girly now for her chic ensemble, for the suddenly mature Bonnie. Young enough to blush and giggle, but old enough to play the scene to suit the audience. She passes me a see-through cup filled with something bile green. There are viscous black lumps clumped at its base and a thick purple straw sticking out like a drainpipe. Hers is a shade of lilac only chemicals could conjure, but she slurps at it happily. We swivel on our seats, our feet dangling in mid-air, two satellite dishes scanning the ether for different channels. "Go on," she teases. "Try it." I lower my head and suck. The glowing gunge fills my mouth, cold and thickly chewy. I give silent thanks that I've mastered my gag reflex, and swallow with what little elegance I can muster. "So, how does it taste?" she asks, apparently blind to my discomfort. Preoccupied with not throwing up, my manners go AWOL. "Like it looks," I mutter, scrambling for tissues to wipe stray globules from my chin. "Dragon sperm." I watch her roll her beaker across her cheek, either hiding a blush or cooling one, and wonder if I've gone too far. There's a pause before she replies, but no coyness in the question. "You recognise the flavour?" Her eyes signal a smile that's yet to reach her lips. "I've had... similar." It's taken twenty-four hours, but finally I've made her laugh. "You're much more fun than Roger," she tells me. "Or Mum. And it's ok - leave it if you don't want it."

The concrete park bench feels warmer than the mall's marble, although the landscaping's manicured scrubland is no more sincere. In the dogwoods behind us, I can hear the underground pump that sends the curiously tidy stream trickling down through the artificial hills. She wants me to choose a place for lunch, but where would she enjoy? I can hardly take her to The Taverners and spend an hour explaining the difference between bears and otters, cubs and twinks. That menu would mean as much to her as the bubble tea bar did to me. What have we got in common? She has my nose, my eyes, but it's only genetics. What do we share beyond a woman neither of us seem to love anymore and a weakness for letting our eyes wander over the bodies of men we don't know? Bubble tea might be thicker than water, but blood? I ask a question that I probably shouldn't. "So, what kind of boys do you like?" She looks a little flustered. I'm probably creeping her out more than earning her interest, but my mouth keeps moving. "I mean, what kind of boy do you dream of being with, one day?" I wonder if I'm blushing now. "Intelligent," she tells me. "Clever. Someone that reads. Proper books, not comics." Hardly the answer I expected, but heart-warming: maybe Eddie might like her after all. I won't tell him she asked me yesterday why I 'went for' a deaf guy, like he was something sub-standard I'd settled for. As if I'd told myself that was what I deserved. She didn't say it quite like that - although he did, once. "Just checking," he said afterwards. "Making sure." I wonder what she'd make of him, proof-reading in his brother's spare room to escape a girl he's pre-judged as shrill and vacant, if she got to know him. Maybe she'd see what I love, if she took the time to look. "Someone who cares about more than money and deals and profits and all that," she says. "Not like Roger." I feel an eyebrow rise and I struggle to keep it level. "Or like Mum. Thinking a turtleneck jumper or a squirt of scent covers everything. Even when it gives her away." My eyebrow drifts aloft like a balloon slipping from a child's hand. "Last time she farmed me out, she said she had a migraine..." Bonnie pauses, her face wondering if she should tell me. "When I got home, I sat on the sofa with her. The cushions smelt of cologne. I recognised it." She's looking down at her hands, her fingers knotting and unknotting. "It wasn't Roger's." She unclasps her hands and they lie in her lap, palms upturned. "Not that he's any better. Coming home late reeking of breath mints, a plaster over a love bite and some crap about cutting himself shaving." She looks almost like she's going to cry. I slip my arm round her shoulder and she nestles her head into my chest. I can't think of a thing to say. "So I'd like a proper man. Classy. Faithful." She's almost mumbling now. "Not like someone you'd find in a shopping mall then," I say. Her smile is half-embarrassment and all charm.

The canal-side bookshop café's an oasis after the mall, tables far enough apart for your conversation to be your own. Away from the neon and the noise, Bonnie's quieter too. We take a balcony table with a view out over the water, a gaggle of Uni students messing about in punts. She chooses mushroom risotto - no meat, Jess's texts had reminded me, she's veggie now, apparently - although she seems to live on Haribo and Diet Coke. She has a sweet tooth and the world is her candy store, eyes still darting from one man to another with the indiscretion of youth. Mine too, pretending to soak in the view but drawn more honestly to the rowers. One of them wears only cut-off jeans, torso already lobster-pink and shiny with sweat. He must have been in the water, thick hairs flattened against his legs, droplets catching the sunlight in his dense black beard. He could be a satyr from an old Greek vase: all he needs is a horn to blow. I barely register when Bonnie asks if I'd mind if she reads the paper, although I notice it's a broadsheet she brings back from the rack, unfolded to the crossword and pen in hand. "The waiter guy said it was ok," she says. "Although he doesn't think I'll manage it." I look occasionally as she starts to fill it in, resting the paper on the table's edge as she either writes in an answer or stares into space, temples lined in concentration as she grasps for solutions. My cheesecake devoured, my attention drifts back to the other temptations. I don't even notice when she gets up to go to the loo. It takes a second or two before I realise the insistent throb in my pocket is my mobile - another command from Jess, no doubt. But I'm wrong: it's a message on Grindr. "Well, this is kind of sweet ☺" There's no profile photo, just a name - Huxley92. Checking Bonnie's not back yet, I send a simple "?" "Her watching me watching you watching him." I'm scanning the room, trying to work out whose eyes are on me, whose fingers are tapping away. "Behind the counter. Goatee. Glasses. Reading Brave New World. Or pretending to ;-) As I turn my head, he smiles casually, paperback propped against a serviette dispenser. I recognise him now. Graham, a former colleague of Eddie's. Cheeky, Eddie says, and flirty with it, although it's only ever just words. We met at some Department evening, me joking with Eddie that every time I turned round I caught Graham pretending not to be looking at me. "Oh, you're his type," Eddie told me, laughing. "Scruffy." Then a pause that could have been shorter. "And gorgeous with it." He planted a theatrical kiss on my cheek, making sure Graham saw him pinch my arse. "She's my daughter," I type back. "It's complicated." "Sure is! Still, she has taste. You too, dude. Eddie's always said so." "Thx. I think." "She's coming back now, btw - you want coffees?" I nod, grinning sheepishly, before I'm distracted by a noise outside. The rower has capsized his boat and he's spluttering in the water, spitting out the rancid taste of city centre canal. As Bonnie sits back down, Graham's right behind her, bringing two large lattes. We each get a shot glass full of Smarties. "Enjoy," he says, as he glances over Bonnie's shoulder. Her crossword puzzle is complete, her handwriting all the more girlish for the pink pen she's been using. "Oooh, cryptic," Graham tells her. "I'm impressed. Where did you learn that?" He's looking at me as he speaks, and I could swear there was a wink. "This hip dude here?" Yep, definitely a wink. "It must just be genetic," she says, cool and coy. As I sip my coffee, I realise my phone is still on the table and Bonnie's been reading it out of the corner of her eye. I play it deadpan, face as inscrutable as an exam invigilator till she looks up at me. I nudge my glass of Smarties across the table. "You have these. My eyes are bigger than my appetite." She nudges them aside and smiles back. "Well drink up, then. We've got more window-shopping to do." She giggles as she reaches across the table to take my hand. Her mother's laugh, perhaps, but her father's sense of humour.