#dry january is off to a terrible start

[nobdoy]

My mom gets so mad at my dad for having a disability and I just. Don't. Understand.

[frodo-with-glasses]

Dreams in the House of Tom Bombadil (and the Four Elements of Trauma)

Now that we've gotten to the point where the hobbits spend the night in Tom Bombadil's house, I'd like to expand on this bullet point from my chapter review:

Much apologies to my girlies on the server who headcanon the hobbits with phobias corresponding to the four elements; sadly, Tolkien is not on the same page as us this time.

For context, I present to you these screenshots of messages sent on the Fig Tree Discord Server back in January:

This started as a half-joke, but it's since evolved into something of a shared headcanon for some of us. Pippin has a Thing about fire, because of the Pyre of Denethor. Frodo has a Thing about water, because his parents drowned. Bri has since told me that she headcanons Merry has a Thing about air, specifically cold air, after his encounters with the Black Breath. And that leaves Earth to Sam.

The good news is that this is a really fun headcanon; and when you look at LotR through this lens, it's actually kind of staggering how well it fits with the events of the book.

The bad news is that Tolkien did not write LotR with this idea in mind; and the whole thing with Old Man Willow, and the subsequent nightmares that the hobbits have in Tom Bombadil's house, make that abundantly clear.

After all, what does Old Man Willow do to Frodo? Lulls him to sleep and then tips him face-first into the water. He almost drowns. He almost drowns. Sam finds him face-down in the water, unconscious, held down by a root and not struggling; there's water in his nose and his mouth and his eyes and ears and he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he nearly goes out the same way his parents did, in a river that connects to the one where they died. If Tolkien was writing Frodo with hydrophobia, this probably would've gotten a bit more attention than it did. But no; in Tom's house, Frodo dreams of Gandalf and Black Riders, because he's the protagonist and Tolkien needed an efficient way to foreshadow things a bit.

What does Old Man Willow do to Merry? Closes its roots over him, so that only his legs are sticking out; and when Frodo and Sam set fire to the tree, Merry screams, and begs them to put it out. "He'll squeeze me in two, if you don't. He says so!" He could feel the roots of the tree clamping like a vice under his ribs, squeezing, crushing, bruising; he could hear the voice of the tree in his head, demanding he communicate the ransom message. And as our beloved former anon, Meg, pointed out: Could he breathe in there? Was it dry and stuffy and stifling inside the tree? How much air could he even draw in, when his lungs were being crushed and had no space to expand? He screams with what little breath he has left, but can they hear him? He's going to die. He can't breathe. He's going to die.

But, ironically, he's the one who dreams about nearly drowning, and his dream-brain convinces him he's lying in a "soft slimy bog" before he wakes up and finds himself in Tom's house again. He's not the one who got tipped into the water, but go off Tolkien I guess.

What does Old Man Willow do to Pippin? Closes its roots over him completely, with a click like a lock snapping into place; and when Frodo and Sam set fire to the bark, and Old Man Willow gets angry, they can hear Pippin's "muffled yell" from deep inside the tree. Fire. Smoke and ash and anger. Could Pippin smell the burning wood around him? Could he feel any heat or sting? Did he hear Old Man Willow's voice, the same way Merry did, cursing the flames and threatening to smother him if it wasn't put out?

His nightmare, out of the three of them, is the only one that makes sense to me; he dreams that he is again inside the willow, hearing the wood creak as it sways in the breeze over him, and hearing the voice of the tree laughing at him again. But, sadly, no mention of fire.

All of that to say, if I wrote Lord of the Rings—which I realize is a terribly presumptuous thing to say given that I am, unlike Tolkien, Not A Genius, but hear me out—I definitely would have Frodo's nightmare be about drowning, Merry's be about suffocation, and Pippin's be about burning alive. This would then be foreshadowing for the later horrific stuff they're going to encounter concerning water, air, and fire respectively.

I dunno. It just seems like a missed opportunity is all. Which is probably why, despite how much I adore the “nightmares revealing inner turmoil and then characters waking up in safety and comfort” trope, I never really liked this sequence in the book all that much.

Sam, meanwhile, is welcome to continue sleeping “in deep content, if logs are contented". Good for him. 10/10, no notes.

[kate-the1975]

Meet Cute 🧡🍁 // Matty Healy

A/N: I'm using promptober as a lil mini series. So, the same characters/female love interest will be used for each prompt. I hope that's okay with everyone ♡

CW: Maybe some mature language, but that's it ♡

WC: 1,936 words

🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁

The streets of Dublin were completely frost bitten. The roads were icy and damp, the leaves soggy and totally mushed into the ground and the sky crying heavily.

Amy's dream season was that period between winter and spring, but this. This was not it for her.

Amy loved it when the sky was nearly bronze, the leaves so crisp that they'd crunch under her feet as she walked to work, and when the air was dry, but the kind of dry that everyone loves at this time of year where it makes your cheeks and the tip of your nose rosy, and gives you an excuse to wrap up in an overwhelming amount of layers.

This, though, this wasn't the kind of season that she loved.

The bell above the door of her bakery and coffee shop jingled lightly as she pulled open the door, letting a loud and exaggerated sigh while she removed her fluffy red scarf, hat, and the rest of her body warming attire.

"You're here early!" The cheerful voice of her best friend, Eve, echoed from the kitchen in the back.

"Nope! You're the one who's early for once instead of being late. I'm just perfectly on time, my love." Amy skipped playfully into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around Eve's shoulders in a tight squeeze.

"Hey! You're distracting me. Stop it!" Eve chuckled as she tried to shake her best friend off her back, but her efforts were pointless.

"Just act like I'm not here. Go on, continue what you're doing." Amy placed a quick kiss on Eve's temple before leaving her alone to continue prepping the freshly made Croissants to go into the oven while she herself pottered around the kitchen, collecting all the squeaky clean dishes from the dishwasher.

"Evie?"

"Yes, Amy?"

"Do you know what date it is?"

Eve knew this was a trick question. Of course, she knew what day it was. It was the day of the new year that Amy hadn't stopped talking about for months now.

"Umm....nope! I have no clue. Tell me." Eve teased, huffing as she rubbed her hands together to clear off the access flour from her hands.

"It's January 29th, which means we-"

Amy was cut off by the bell above the door, ringing in a way that felt rather obnoxious.

"Did you flip the sign to open?" Eve looked at her with confusion.

"No, it still says we're closed. I'm too fucking cold and tired to deal with it, you go."

"Me!? Why me!? I have to keep an eye on the pastries." Eve argued, starting to become visibly bothered by the thought of having to deal with a not very welcomed costumer.

"Fine, I'll go! But these pastries better be your best yet, or you're paying for the drinks at the concert tonight."

Amy flung the damp cloth she was using to dry the dishes at Eve's face, making her squeal in disgust and making Amy laugh embarrassingly loud.

"Hi, I'm sorry to say this, but we aren't open yet. If you come back at 9am we'll be open for business."

Amy put on her best customer service voice as she spoke to the back of this man physique.

His tall frame slightly hunched over as he analysed the large bookcase filled with classical and also more modern vinyls.

"Sorry, love. I didn't even notice you were closed. I saw the vinyls, and I just walked in. I truly apologise, my mistake."

As he turned around and his thick accent echoed throughout the shop, her heart stopped beating. Any words she could possibly form were caught in the back of her throat.

"I-uhhh-well-.....please, don't be sorry! I'm sorry. I actually completely forgot that we're open earlier today because of how terrible the weather is. Please, take a seat or have a look around!" Amy rushed her speech. Word after word coming out in a stutter filled with obvious nerves.

"Oh, alright, so. Thank you, darlin." The curly headed man smiled warmly, sending a flutter of warmth into Amy's own heart.

With a friendly tip of her head and a sheepish smile, Amy made a quick turnaround back into the kitchen, practically hyperventilating to Eve as she tried her best to explain who walked into their shop.

"Seriously? Ams, I'm not falling for that. Don't be so fucking- OH! Shit, he's right there!" Eve gasped as she poked her head out around the door. Gawking at the man who was tapping his fingers awkwardly against the table he was sitting at.

"Yes, Eve. Yes. THE Matty Healy is sitting in OUR shop when we're supposed to be going to HIS bands show tonight."

"Well, just....talk to him." Eve shrugged her shoulders like it was no big deal.

For Amy, this was a big fucking deal.

"HA! No."

"HA! Yes. Now, here's a raspberry muffin, go up to him and say it's on the house. I'd say his ego would fucking love that!"

Eve gave Amy a shit eating grin as she passed the muffin to her on a beautiful vintage lavender rose China plate that Amy's grandmother owned.

"Fuck off." Amy grumbled as she put on a smile and walked back out to the front of the shop. Only to find him out of his seat and pondering around the vinyls again.

Amy took a deep breath before speaking. Wanting to sound proper instead of sounding like a total dumbass.

"If you'd like, you can pick out a record and put it on. We normally let customers pick a record if they feel like it." She spoke in a more toned down version of her Dublin accent, standing a few feet away from him to give him space.

"Ah! You see, this one right here is an excellent one. I'd like to put this one on, if you don't mind, of course." Matty turned on his heal to face Amy, smirking slightly as he watched her face turn a Ruby red when she noticed he was holding his bands latest album in his hands.

"Ehm, sure. Why not! They're a good band. Have you ever heard of them?" She quipped.

"I know a few songs. Wouldn't know the lyrics to their songs off by heart or anything, but they're tolerable."

Matty went along with the banter. Something in his heart feeding off of this interaction with the beautiful brunette girl in front of him.

"Well, while you put that on, can I get you anything to drink? I have a raspberry muffin on the table for you over there, but if you'd like something different, don't be afraid to -"

"The raspberry muffin is perfect. I appreciate it. Oh, and, just a simple Americano. Please, love."

Love.

Amy liked the way it came out of his mouth, and the way it sounded like her favourite song.

She was quick to go behind the counter and make his coffee. Trying to hide from him as the intense redness in her cheeks reappeared rapidly.

As the crackling of the record subsided and the album began to play, she could hear his footsteps getting closer to her, and she could feel his presence close on the other side of the counter.

"Do you get many customers coming in?" He asked casually, trying his best to keep the conversation he was so desperate for going.

"Yeah, we do actually."

"We?"

"Oh, sorry. Me and my best friend Eve own the place. We opened it straight after the last lockdown. So, around July 2021." Amy explained as she passed him his Americano, leaning against the counter right in front of him as they chatted away.

"Christ, that's amazing. I'd say it's fun working with your best friend everyday."

"It is! I'm sure you know all about it."

Her comment made Matty smirk as he sipped the hot drink.

He knew she knew who he was, and whether her and Eve knew it or not, he could hear the entire conversation they were having in the kitchen. Matty was just waiting on Amy to bring something about the band up so he could call her out on it.

"Ah! So you know who am." He spoke with a slightly cocky attitude.

"Was me having every single one of your bands albums on vinyl over there not a giveaway." Amy snickered, starting to feel more at ease and comfortable as the conversation went on.

"Right, I guess, but I was waiting for you to say something that I could call you out on it in a way that didn't make me sound like a total dickhead."

"Aren't you just a dickhead in general, though?" She was beginning to pull his leg, having some kind of new found confidence running through her.

"Wow, alright! We've only met and you're already throwing abuse my way." He placed a hand over his heart in pretend hurt, pouting at her like a lost puppy.

"Well, who said we'll ever meet again? Might as well get my assumptions out of the way while I have the opportunity to do so." She gave him what seemed to be a flirtatious wink before walking into the back of the shop and into the kitchen to check on Eve's baking progress.

If Matty had it his way, this would only be their first encounter, but Dublin was just a quick stop on the tour and then he was off again. It's not like he could visit her every morning until he finally got the courage to ask her for a drink.

But if he made the effort, he thought to himself, maybe he could make this the first encounter and not the last.

He waited until she returned to announce his departure, telling her that he'd take the muffin to go before he was late to go wherever it was he said he needed to be.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Take care of yourself. It was nice talking to you, Matty."

Matty could tell by her face that their was a slight twinge of disappointment that he was leaving so soon, but that made his heart flip. A glimpse of hope that she'd take him up on the offer he'd left her.

"It was nice talking to you too....I'm sorry, you never said you name. What is your name, love?"

"Shit, sorry. Amy, my names Amy."

Amy stuck her hand out politely over the counter for Matty to shake, which he politely and very gently took.

"Well, Amy, have a good rest of your day. And, here's a little tip. My treat." He returned the same flirtatious wink that she'd given him earlier, slipping the so-called 'tip' into her warm palm.

"Oh, and before I go, enjoy the show tonight. Be careful with what you and that best mate of yours say in the kitchen. Those walls aren't as thick as you think, gorgeous." He chuckled deeply before disappearing into the gloomy streets of Dublin, taking the warmth that Amy felt with him.

She looked down at the tip in her hand to find a piece off of one of the napkins left on the tables with his phone number on it with three delicate x's at the end of it and a simple written note saying :

Text me on this number if you're up for a drink or two after the show. On me.

Amy couldn't help but giggle as she noticed the hand drawn smiley face at the end.

And just like that, the heavens closed, the concreate began to dry up, and the ice on the roads began to melt. The winter sun belted down as the leaves seemed to appear to come back to life.

That was just the effect he had.

That was just the effect he would have on her.

(I'm very aware that as I post this, it's the 4th of October, but I promise I'll have the other two prompts I missed and the fourth one out tomorrow xx)

(Oh! Thank you to @abiiors for giving me a hobby and for doing these adorable prompts ♡♡)

[wetcatspellcaster]

Writer Interview Game

thank you so much for tagging me @eraserspiral !!!!

When did you start writing?

I wrote a lot of 'original fiction' as a teen, including a couple of TERRIBLE novels, that were essentially just a grab bag of all the books i was reading at the time. School (and in hindsight, grief) stopped this around 16-18, and then a very high pressure degree at a high profile university seemingly killed off my love of writing entirely.

I got back into writing at 26... weirdly?? just before the panini?? (january 2020, did past-me feel something in the water and know i'd need to hold onto any crumb of serotonin for dear life??) I had just finished my PhD applications, and after sinking so many hours and so many words into the most joy sucking series of forms I've ever encountered, I decided I wanted to write something fun for a change!

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I don't write smut. I read a LOT of smut.

But in terms of themes, I tend to write in worlds/fantasy settings where we can all pretend that capitalism doesn't exist, or that if it does exist, the protagonist is winning at it. I really like speculative fiction (sf and fantasy) that tackles capitalistic themes/poverty well - this has been on my mind recently bc of an arc in a D&D game I've been playing, where my wonderful DM has essentially gone 'capitalism bad' but then let us do something about it <3

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I find it hard to know what my writing 'is like'... not bc it's wildly unique or anything, but just bc I don't think I can see my own influences that clearly (if anyone wants to drop me some comparisons in the askbox, go for it, I'm curious!)

But in terms of writers I want to emulate, at the chatty/colloquial end it's T Kingfisher and Sarah Rees Brennan, who have a good handle on when to hit emotionally or on high fantasy register, and then when to have really grounded/human moments that make their characters incredibly relatable (and often very funny). At the high fantasy end, it's Shannon Chakraborty, Ann Leckie, Nghi Vo, Silvia Moreno Garcia. They write haunting and engaging narratives!

And, of course, I'm always trying to muster an ounce of whatever the fuck Howl/Sophie had going on.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I use my desk for work/thesis and want to exclusively keep it that way, so my writing space is actually just on the corner of the sofa in my living room, with my legs crossed, a blanket, and a cup of tea. No music, pure autistic silence (but also bc my laptop speaker is broken). Scotland gets dark for a long time in the winter, so it's usually pretty cosy vibes. It's probably not good for me, as I get a LOT of leg cramp.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Honestly, not to be tsundere about it... but maybe ignore the muse a little? If you've burned out or you're trying to brute force a scene, all you're doing is guilting yourself into being productive. With fic writing, especially, you should be doing it to have fun, not bc you feel like you have to. So if the words aren't coming, do other things for a bit. Go on a day trip, hang out with friends, do chores or read something. In my experience, my brain doesn't stay quiet for long, and ideas for my current project will come to me when i'm not trying to squeeze them out of myself like toothpaste.

Sometimes the well runs dry! Rather than feel terrible about it, be kind to yourself, and wait for rain x

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Hahahahaha, let's not talk about how I keep placing people into the worst versions of themselves and then have them improve and earn love anyway, regardless of if they deserve it. Or how I'm interested in characters who feel a wealth of emotion they hide from everyone behind a mask of either performed indifference, wilful charm, or simply bc they can't articulate it in the socially correct way. Or women who think 'if I cannot be beautiful or loveable, I will be competent', and the men who-

Anyway, introvert x extrovert pairings, amirite? Everything else is shown to me in a vision (my therapist reaches a dead end in my session as I insist nothing is wrong, asks me about my fanfic, and then delivers me a laundry list of the stuff I'm currently coping with. Lowest point: being told im IDing through the fucking DARKLING, on one project. That man is a war criminal, and I dont look like Ben Barnes).

What is your reason for writing?

In the beginning, I think it was pure comfort. I'd just come out of a period of extreme depression, and wanted to hallucinate some characters in love.

But recently, and going forward, I think it is a genuine exercise in proficiency. I thought my writing was so terrible that I said 'I couldn't write', for so fucking long. I now genuinely think this is something I'm good at, and that is something it has taken me so very long to believe, and even longer to say. I am a very self-deprecating person. I have so few things I feel good at, or that I think bring something worthwhile to the table. As academia delivers me blow after blow and the world leaves me feeling worthless, I am going to cling to this until my hands bleed.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

focusing on the 'motivation' part of this question... I think the comments that happen to land on the one specific thing that matters to me, those are the ones that hit hardest. It happens rarer than you'd think. part of the joy of fanfiction comments is the wealth of different reader interpretations, with people seeing things in your own work that you've never noticed. All interpretations are amazing, especially the ones that show you a blindspot you never considered. But when a reader hits the nail fucking on the head (gets a 'gold star in reading comprehension'), that's the most motivating, and makes me want to open my document and write the next chapter. Because I know then that at least one person out there 'gets it', and is fully on board with the story I want to tell.

But that is a very selfish, specific feeling. All comments are motivation, and all reader interpretations have value!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Idk if this seems weird or a disingenuous answer but... as a person?? Writing a story for fun? Pieces was a very cool and special experience, but it was very unexpected. I wasn't and never considered myself to be a 'big name fan'. I never want to enter any kind of popularity contest, and I never want to be beholden to people who are reading a story I am writing for fun. Very funny to have a story blow up when you have weird feelings about attention lmfao. Like don't get me wrong, absolutely amazing to ride such a huge tide of support, but this was meant to be my silly introvert hobby :')

I also hope they think my writing is good!! obviously!! i know it can't be everything everyone wants all the time, but you know!! i think it's neat!! I hope y'all think it's neat!! plz and thank!!!

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

lmao eraserspiral's reply to this question was a fucking mood. (just deleted it in my template to make space).

I guess... I know how to flesh out a character, and a character voice. I think I can establish a character's personality, their strengths and their flaws, and have them consistently become the vehicle for both progression and some very real, understandable mistakes. I think chapters from different perspectives feel distinct, and that when development in either direction (bad or good) happens, it feels earned.

idk man, this is a hard one to answer when depressed :')

How do you feel about your own writing?

At the end of the day, it's a lifeline. Sometimes I keep very much to myself and I protect it fiercely, because it's one of the only things that kept me going at certain points in the last few years. At my lowest, I've often wondered for what, if anything, I'll be remembered for or what I'll leave behind... and now I actually have things! 12 whole stories, where once there was nothing! Sure, it's fanfic! But some people's favourite fanfic. None of it is perfect, but it all matters to me, and we're now at the point (4 years in) where I am starting to slowly realise how it has changed me as a person, and will continue to change me going forward.

I want to start on some original ideas once my thesis is over, vivaed and done, but I don't currently see my writing as anything something I can make into a career, bc I need to keep the joy in it as the joy literally keeps me alive :')

tagging: @imscissorbladez, @pricemarshfield, @blarfshnorgull, @violacae, @dededrabbles, @brabblesblog - no pressure, just trying to share this tag game to more groups/social circles! :) x

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Was my mother's birthday today. Spent the weekend making her a video as a gift, today went to her friend's house after work for a birthday celebration. Tomorrow after work have to go perform ten minutes of stand-up for the first time (have previously only done six). Have a document full of ideas for stuff to try beyond my six minutes, just need to sit down and map out a plan. Had several hours to do that tonight. But also have to go this weekend to the junior and senior national championships that are being hosted in my city this year, a few years ago that would have meant months of hard work on my part, I've now stepped back from the sport so much that I wasn't even part of the prep, I just need to show up. There's the competition, and then also my first ever teammate/training partner, whom I started training with in 2005, has recently retired from competition, which doesn't normally warrant a national event but it does for her because she had a massive career that included a gold medal at the Rio Olympics, so on Friday they're doing a ceremony before the finals at the championship to honour her, and then a social at the bar after that of course I'm looking forward to because she lives across the country now so I haven't seen her in ages but I love her and want to be there to celebrate her, but also that event will be full of coaches and athletes and refs that I used to see all the time and now barely see, due to my stepping back from the sport, about which I feel very conflicted and find very emotionally difficult, so I'll just go confront that all weekend, partly at a bar, while I'm still trying to avoid drinking though to be honest I've slipped a few times in the last few weeks.

And these are the few hours that I was supposed to spend mapping out my stand-up set plan, but every time I look at the page I become overwhelmed with 1) the idea that I've happened to come up with a few funny things but everything else I might think of would be embarrassingly terrible, and 2) I did stuff on the weekend and then more stuff today and then there will be stuff tomorrow and then stuff Friday and then stuff all weekend and it's too much stuff and I can't think about any of it.

Thought of how John Robins occasionally explains that "If I have to think about four things at once I'll curl up in a corner instead of thinking about any of them and then tomorrow there will be five things." Decided to throw on the radio show to distract myself. I'm into March 2018, when John Robins is the middle of his large tour during which he filmed Darkness of Robins. The first few months of 2018 on that radio show is just documenting John Robins having a breakdown; at first he said he'd do dry January then says no because touring is too stressful, comes in tired and a bit sick one week then full on tonsillitis and can hardly talk then keeps getting sick with other things and explaining that he's not sleeping then turns up to an episode an hour late because he forgot it was happening, reports that he's lost a stone from stress, then takes a couple weeks off and gets replaced by James Acaster, comes back the next week with fresh anecdotes about having a cry in a hotel room, entirely because there were too many things going on and had to do too many things in a row. I was looking forward to getting to the era of this show when I find out what happens when you win a Perrier Award, and now I know. You significantly expand your tour at the beginning of the following year due to increased demand, and then have a breakdown due to increased having to do things on multiple days in a row.

This is the saga I jump back into as my distraction, listen to him explain how touring is still wildly stressing him out, and I thought, this sounds familiar except that I've been paralyzed by the stress of a ten-minute open mic set in a way that feels relatable when he discusses the stress of like a 68-date tour. Then I thought, to be fair, John Robins is not doing quite a stressful job all day involving constant human interaction. It's the constant human interaction. I need to not have that. I also need to have a better idea for stuff to say in a pub tomorrow. And preferably a brain that can think about four things at a time without short circuiting.

Also I have scratches all over my hands because a kid had a meltdown at work. He stood up, screamed, cried, hit himself, fucked up my hands, and then I played him some Lynn Miles and he very slowly calmed down. I tried to change the song but he used his very small verbal repertoire to say "play that again" so I just kept it on repeat. If you ever see someone have a meltdown, try this song:

Some scratches on my hand are not actually a big deal, I don't mind that. It's the look in his eyes when he does it. He doesn't want to hurt me. It's so clear that he's just truly desperate to make it stop and thinks tearing something apart might help and is willing to try anything. I'd let him do it as much as he wanted if 1) I thought it would actually help, and 2) it weren't very dangerous to teach a kid - a kid who will one day grow up to be a black man who has a disability that causes him to make strange noises and barely be able to communicate and not understand the rules and sometimes get uncontrollably upset in public, that it's okay to grab people and dig your nails in when you get upset. Our goal with his therapy is mainly to make sure he doesn't grow up to do the wrong thing to the wrong person in public and get badly hurt. I get very scared when I think what might happen if he's still responding to stress by grabbing people once he's too big to be cute.

See, you can't make jokes about that. Not in ten minutes, anyway. Maybe a highly emotional Edinburgh hour. But I can't make jokes about that, and everything funny that does happen at my job is protected by medical confidentiality anyway. It's not fair, other comedians have jobs with amusingly stupid clients and things like that. What am I supposed to talk about? I mean I've got a Word document but I'm looking at it and I don't think I've ever had a good idea in my entire life. And I still can't think about more than one thing at a time.

...New Taskmaster date's exciting though. Pretty hyped about that. Taskmaster! March 28! They've all gone big on costumes! Let's fucking go!

I am actually fine, by the way. I made some posts earlier in 2024 about how I was in mental health crisis, which was true then, I just want to clarify that I'm not in that now. I'm just overwhelmed because I've been asked to do more than like two things at a time and I possibly should start leaving some of my anxiety meds at my mother's house so I don't just skip the nights when I stay here. I'll feel a lot better after my set tomorrow. I had a stressful fucking week last week too, for reasons that have nothing to do with any of this, so that doesn't help. This is really making me remember why I hated university so much, though. I don't do well with homework.

[sasquatchwalker]

The Nothingness I Live in Now

11/26/25

This Friday I turn 29. My golden birthday. It doesn't feel very golden, not with me being unemployed, single, living with my parents and -$64.38 in my bank account. But it will happen nonetheless. I will turn 29 years old. 29 and at the lowest point in my life.

I recently got back into drinking tea every morning, because it's cheaper than coffee, and as I was drinking it one morning I couldn't help but be reminded of high school. Back then I too would drink copious amounts of tea, partly because of my grandma and partly because I was obsessed with all things British. I was struck by the fact that I was much the same then as I am now; jobless, penniless, and with a vague plan for the future. Except when you're in high school that's acceptable. At nearly 29 years old, it feels like failure.

I keep thinking things like, I should've saved more, I shouldn't have moved to Southern California, I should've been more proactive at work. Maybe they would've seen how valuable I was as an employee and not laid me off. But I didn't save and I did move and they did lay me off. And there's nothing I can do about it besides apply for job after job and hope one sticks. So far, nothing has.

People keep telling me they'll keep an eye out for jobs for me or they'll be sending positive vibes my way. I am grateful for the optimism but it also makes me feel so much more miserable. "You'll find something," they say, "You're qualified for so much." But it seems that “qualified” just isn't good enough these days. Or maybe it's too much. Either way, qualified or not, I am still nearly 29, jobless and living with my parents. Three months of no work and no money and too much guilt welling up inside of me.

The other week I cried in the shower. No, not cried. Sobbed. Bent over, wailing, clutching my chest sobbing. If the water hadn't been washing it away I would have had tears and snot running down my face. A small, inconsequential thing set me off and it was the hardest I had cried in literal years. I'm not saying I don't cry. I cry at least once a week for one reason or another. No, this was like the dam of my heart burst open and out poured every miserable thought I had ever had about myself. You're a terrible friend, you're selfish, you're a leech, you're ugly, you're useless, you're a failure, you're unlovable. Over and over again these thoughts whipped at me like those spinny brushes in a car wash until the water started to get cold and the realization that my dad would be home soon hit me and I didn't want him to find me sobbing in the shower. And then afterwards, hair wet and skin dry and cold, I laid in bed and let tears silently stream down my face.

The day after "The Big Sob" was election day. I hung out with friends, we played games and ate food and tried not to think about what was happening. I drove home from their house around midnight and the entire 45 minute drive felt like the night of the 2017 fires. The wind whipped violently, debris being thrown everywhere, a feeling of foreboding in the air. I hadn't brought my glasses so the road felt extra hazardous. And when I got home, I felt so empty and too full all at the same time. My dreams were not memorable but I woke up with a deep aching sadness in my chest and tears began falling from my eyes. Unemployed, single, no money, living at home, and starting in January, living under a fascist. The tears didn’t stop for a while and the ache never fully went away.

On top of all this, I've been struggling with a mysterious foot injury for nearly the entire month of November. Weeks of pain and discomfort that have finally subsided somewhat but flare up if I stand for too long. I keep finding myself in this miserable cycle of feeling sorry for myself and then feeling childish for feeling sorry for myself. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of hurting, I'm frustrated with myself for being out of shape, which is likely the cause of my injury. My sedentary lifestyle biting me in the ass yet again. I'm tired of this endless nothing, this endless waiting. Waiting to hear back from jobs, waiting for my foot to get better, waiting to find just the right motivation to better myself. I'm tired of it all.

And then there is my writing. For the past week I've been stuck on the same passage of my book with little to no progress. My goal was to be finished with the first draft by the end of January of 2025, but the way progress is going now, I highly doubt that will be the case. At the end of October, I had challenged myself to write 50,000 words in the month of November. Midway through the month I abandoned that goal. Too many obligations, too little motivation, one thing or another got in the way of my writing. One would think that being unemployed would leave ample amounts of time to write a book, but oh, do I find ways to fill my time with endless nothing. A project that once brought me joy now feels like a daunting chore.

But things are not all bad. As the end of November approaches, I've been focusing on my birthday party. Buying decorations, cleaning, making lists, etc. It's a good distraction to have, the planning of a party. Something joyful in the midst of misery, both self-inflicted and not. Since it is my golden birthday, the theme is gold, shockingly. I will be wearing gold pants and we will sing karaoke and play games and eat cake. I will be with my favorite people and it will be an evening filled with fun and joy. It has to be. If nothing in my life can go right at this moment in time, at the very least let this party be something that does. 

I have so many plans for 2025. But I am so scared that they will all be derailed, like many of my plans these past four years have been. 2020 was supposed to be my year. I was going to turn 25, I was going to go to concerts and get more tattoos and travel. I liked my job, I had a boyfriend, I was starting to really settle into adulthood. And then the pandemic hit. Two weeks in, my boyfriend broke up with me, claiming there was no more spark and he wanted children and I didn’t. My grandfather fell ill but because of restrictions we couldn’t see him. He died in early spring and I cannot remember the last time I had hugged him while he was still alive. I had two trips planned and had to cancel both. My job couldn’t give me enough hours so I left and started a new one in August 2020, the job that would eventually lay me off exactly four years later. 2020 was no one’s year but for me it felt like the jumping point of my gradual descent into the nothingness I live in now. 

That being said, even though I am scared of the future and what it holds, I am trying so hard to wade through the muck that is my misery and find solid ground again. My life is not all bad. I am lucky to have my family’s support, I am grateful for all my friends' love and care. I am healthy-ish, my dog is healthy and happy, and tomorrow is a new day. And even though there is pain in my heart, I am determined to enter 29 with optimism. Yes, I am jobless, single, and living with my parents, but I am also loved and alive and that is enough for me. 

Cheers to 29.

[influencermagazineuk]

Daniel Craig is ending at 56. Daniel Craig has officially closed the chapter on his long tenure as James Bond, leaving fans and media buzzing with curiosity about who will take over the iconic role. His reign as the famous British spy is the longest continuous run in the franchise's history that has captivated audiences since Ian Fleming's novels first hit the screen in 1962, starting with Dr. No featuring Sean Connery. Caroline Bonarde Ucci, CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons The actor, who first played Bond in Casino Royale (2006), followed by Quantum of Solace (2008), Skyfall (2012), and Spectre (2015), announced that No Time To Die (2021) would be his last outing as 007. Since then, there has been endless speculation about who will next embody the suave and lethal agent. The names floated around among fans and insiders have included Idris Elba, Tom Hardy, and Aaron Taylor-Johnson as potential candidates. Taylor-Johnson, who was at the top of the heap in January 2023, apparently aced a screen test that was screened by producer Barbara Broccoli. Known for such movies as Kick-Ass, Bullet Train, and Nowhere Boy, this 33-year-old has won former Bond stars, James Pryce, Pierce Brosnan, and George Lazenby, to the camp he believes he could be one promising successor. At one point, Craig said when asked in an interview by Variety who he wanted to have follow in the footsteps of the iconic role of Bond that his typically dry humour answered: "I don't care.". Such is the brutally honest comment coming from Craig, which states that he is disconnected to a good portion of the dialogue, implying that Craig is far off of a line if ever he was meant to leave his career-defining role for nearly a decade. As debates and gamblings are carried out by the public of who the next Bond could be, Craig is up to new works. His latest effort, Queer, which he stars in and has directed under the helm of Luca Guadagnino-remember his work on Challengers and Call Me By Your Name? This film, premiering at the Venice International Film Festival, has set quite the buzz with explicit gay sex scenes, according to reviews of the film so far. It's just a bit of a departure in which Craig has been allowed to take his cinematic work that much further. Having filmed love scenes with Sienna Miller, Léa Seydoux, Monica Bellucci, Eva Green, and wife Rachel Weisz throughout his career, Craig says the secret to intimate scenes is the director's approach. He recalls previous experiences, saying, "I've been in movies with terrible love scenes.". It doesn't work. He stresses the need for a director to be sensitive and adds, "You need someone who understands—put it bluntly—how to make it real. That's the job: to make it as genuine as possible." One of the reasons Craig became so popular in Hollywood was because of his directness. As he ventures into new artistic endeavors, the James Bond franchise is left waiting for the next actor to portray the legendary character – whoever that may be. Meanwhile, Craig's history as Bond will not be forgotten, and his candid responses keep the world entertained. Read the full article

[mindylichtman]

It's been a terrible last year on all fronts.

Early on, just after January 2023, a guy dropped me like a hot potato. All because of an ex from late 2022 whom I had to drop because he caused my miscarriage of my week and a half old kid. It was going to be his.

I have a forgiving nature but that took the cake. My forgiving personality was broken at that point.

The guy that he spread lies about me to, we had a history. We started seeing each other since late 2020. We didn't start seeing each other in the guy/girl way right off. We started off at platonic friends.

I remember the first night we ran across each other. Doing my return home walk after my fitness walk, my usual route. An older gentleman named Bob asked me if I needed a ride. He drove a small white van back then and something in my gut let me know that he's good, not dangerous in anyway. Halfway back to dropping me off home, we're chatting about trucks and stuff because in December 20, 2020, I attended a Facebook in person meet and greet put on by a acty group I was in. I attended and one of the companies that sells to cars and trucks was going to be there. I didn't know that beforehand. And I got to meet in person the supplier for the company, along with the salesperson.

First Global Import and Exports was the name.

Well this bob guy dropped me off and I dismissed the encounter as a one-off. Just another person doing good in the world by helping people out.

Well about two weeks later, I run across him again, this time in a motorhome he drove around. I remembered thinking that It was so cool that this guy remembered me. This though was not about his age, rather I'd figured that I was just a blip on the radar of a guy that probably had a job somewhere that he saw an interacted with loads of people. Just like my job in a grocery store; countless people come through my line.

After awhile, no more bob. He didn't really have a southern accent, kind of a mix of a north/not north accent. I told one of the workers at the gas station I always did my fitness walks to, that a guy named Bob seemingly was in town but I hadn't happened to run across him lately. I just dismissed it that he probably was a snow bird.

Well valentine's day of 2021, I had no plans. My then actual boyfriend hadn't texted me so I just decided to go out on my fitness walk, but this time, I'd done it during the day. Well I was on that one road, the second to last one before the gas station. My bf texted me just then to see if I was coming over. He didn't live far, in a neighborhood right across from the gas station. I said yes and continued my walk. I had to hurry, he had to be in Jacksonville for business soon.

Well about 10 minutes later, it started raining!! 😫��� I had decided to try to walk more quickly, and here comes bob in his motorhome!!

He drove me to the gas station, allowed me to quickly dry my hair with one of his towels. I had him leave me there to make my way to my bfs house because my bf was the type of guy to see a girl of his in a vehicle with another man and automatically accuse the girl of cheating.

Well about a few weeks later, I was doing my fitness walk at night. A motorcyclist passed me, coming down the second to last street. I was close to the main road that would lead to the gas station.

I didn't know it but they turned around and came back and parked on the side of the road, a few feet back. They called me over, it was Bob! And I rode on the back of a motorcycle for the first time in my life, to the gas station and he rode me back home again!

A lot of other run across, here and there by coincidence. I felt like the luckiest chick in the world. A lot of times, bob was a unknown hero because the world happened to have him cross paths with me when I was feeling down because of family arguments and such. Or when I had to deal with particularly rude customers.

Eventually, I fell in love with him. There was once I had a major scare. I was in an accident Halloween night in '21. I almost didn't make it. 19 days in the hospital. January '22, I found an obit by Accident that crushed me.

I thought bob had died that past December. I was gutted, didn't want to socialize really outside of work and such. I was pretty much grieving. In middle of February, it turned out that bob didn't die. I found this out by him running across me while I was about to come to my street from my fitness walk. There he was, sitting on his motorcycle.

We started running across each other From time to time again. Each time, I truly counted those times as blessings.

Well flash forward to the here and now:

The ex I broke up with in the end of 2022, he tarnished my character by false lies against me, to the point where possibly bob got scared of me.

Now, I don't know if bob is alive or dead. Thanks to a son of a bitch who decided to try to ruin my life.

[coppeliafoxworth]

January 22nd 2023

Let's start with yesterday.

Yesterday was Saturday so I didn't have work.  I decided that I hated the way my new song sounded so I deleted it, apologies if you did like it.  I've been reworking and editing it to try and find a sound that I like.

I ended up waking up really early yesterday.  I woke up at seven a.m. due to my lover calling me.  Nothing dreadful happened, he just wanted to tell me that he loved me.  I rose from my bed and made myself breakfast, a plate with different fruits and vegetables on it, and sat in the living room watching YouTube.

After a couple of hours my father woke up and stole the remote from me.  The day seemed like a good day until my mother woke up.

She had planned a last-minute chore for my father and so he was pissed off.  Since my father was pissed off, my mother was pissed off.  

He was pissed to the point of as soon as the dryer went off, he was yelling at me to come fold the laundry.  I did as I was told, changed my attire, and left to my lover's house.

My parents already knew I was going to spend the night there, so I wasn't concerned about angering them more.

My lover hadn't been feeling the best since Friday.  His symptoms have pretty much cleared up by Saturday, but he still had a terrible migraine.  It was his first time having a migraine which caused him not to know what to do about it.

I took care of him.  I placed him in a cold room, with no lights on and the windows shut.  I gave him a damp towel for his forehead and made him take some Excedrin for his pain.  After a few hours of cuddling in this situation he felt better.

We were planning on going to a rodeo, but he was scared of his migraine coming back so we didn't.  Instead, we met up with an old friend and talked a bit before heading back home.  Like I stated before, I spent the night at his house.

This morning we cuddled for a couple of hours and then left to get Dunkin.  By the time we arrived back at his house it was time for me to go home.

When I arrived, there were packages waiting for me.  One of them was from Victoria's Secret for valentine's day, and the other was the three-faced-doll I ordered a few days ago.  The doll is a bit smaller than I expected but I still love him.  Turns out, Victoria's Secret sent me an extra item of what I ordered from them last time for free.  I'll use it as a back-up in case my other one breaks.

I started a new project today.  I was scrolling through Pinterest when I found a video detailing how to screen-print your own clothing.  I wanted to try it right away, so I went to the store and bought the materials needed.

-A picture frame

-Tights

-Modpodge

-Paint

-Fabric softener

-And paintbrushes

By the time I arrived home from Walmart I had to leave for a family friend's house.  Today we were having a little late Christmas where we would exchange gifts.  She loves my art and has it hanging all around her little apartment, I decided to draw a scene from her favorite movie this year.  Her favorite movie is, "The Abominable Dr. Phibes".  It's a Vincent Price movie.  I'll leave a photo of my art down below.

Once my dad defeated everyone in Uno my lover had to leave.  I kissed him goodbye and have been working on my screen-printing since then.  I'm only writing this now as I'm waiting for the Modpodge to dry.

[witchysolfan]

Dracul AU Human Variation Timeline plot (may add to this in later reblogs) (this turned out longer than I thought so gonna break it up into sections. Agshdjf)

(This is Part 1 to 3)

Cw: Violence, blood, death

Part 1- It all starts with a closet

(January)

Stefan Murrow (Starscream) gets jumped by a vampire who is his former student Peter Agyenim (Predaking) that is seeking to settle some scores. Except he accidentally completely drains his asshole former professor. He just wanted to scare him a bit, drain a bit of blood and go away. Instead he has a dead body in his arms and in a panic, runs to his apartment with the body and stuffs it in a closet.

Peter is panicking on what to do until Stefan wakes up in the closet and tries to sneakily leave until Peter spots him. From there Peter grabs Stefan and is shocked that he’s still alive.

He was dead. He could’ve sworn it.

He heard his heart stop beating.

Stefan is screaming and trying to get away, calling him a monster and that causes Peter to try and argue that he isn’t. It escalates more and more as Peter tried to make Stefan quiet but he’s yelling at him, throwing curses, and does not want to hear anything he has to say. It actually incites Peter’s temper, the dragon’s blood enflaming it to a crescendo.

And he’s draining Stefan again.

Draining him dry, a bloodless husk.

It’s a minute later, on the dot, that Stefan comes screaming back to life. The vampire is incensed that yet again this man just won’t stay dead. This spiteful, terrible man that ruined his chances to get a good education at a university and tarnished his reputation to where he struggled to get into one university that would accept him-the cause of it all just wouldn’t die.

Peter picks up the sobbing man and blinded by rage that burns hotter than any before. It was unearthly and inhuman, this wrath that burns so hot within his chest. He bites Stefan again, ignoring his pleas. Gasping at the venom slurring his words into a dreamy state again as the vampire drinks. He drinks and drinks until there is no more and Peter is left with a pale corpse.

The dragon’s blood roars in approval over the vengeance of his wounded pride.

Peter stares at the face of his most hated professor and all of the red hot anger starts to drain away. There is blood on his mouth, on his hands, dripping down to the floor.

He killed a man three times tonight.

He killed….

Oh god, he killed.

Stefan seizes then, returning to life and the agonizing wail ripping from his throat as his body thrashes in the arms holding him. There is too many tears it blurs his vision and he sobs. It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS IT HURTS…!

Peter wakes up from whatever disassociation that took hold of him and is horrified at the whimpering, trembling man that slips from his arms and curls up on the floor. Gasping desperately for air, for life.

Stefan begs Peter to not do it again.

To not kill him anymore.

It hurts coming back.

It hurts.

Peter backs away, falling to his knees as he watches Stefan hug himself tight. Body twitching and blood staining his neck and shirt.

This isn’t���what he wanted.

This isn’t what he wanted at all.

The deep, taunting laughter of a dead dragon fills his mind.

Part 2-The Blow Up

(February)

Stefan has been trying to sneak out of the apartment and away from the apartment several times. Each time Peter finds him and drags him back in. This is mostly due to Peter being worried over Stefan going to the nearest police station or revealing what his knows about Peter to whoever.

It was upon the 4th escape in a dark, cold, February night that Stefan had his first encounter with another supernatural entity.

Peter had just pulled Stefan away from the skinless ghoul that had already taken a part of the skin on Stefan’s arm off. The immortal screaming in pain as Peter set the ghoul ablaze with his dragon fire in his chest and picked Stefan up. The immortal cradling his bloody arm and hissed at the exposed muscle.

It was only after they returned to the apartment and Stefan’s skin grew back did they realize something over several days later. Stefan could be a new never ending supply of resources for whoever is seeking such things out. For anyone from any world, the everyday mortal lives to the higher entities that reside beyond mortal imagination.

This is emphasized when Peter goes to drink from Stefan again.

There is some arguments and issues from that.

Of whether Peter is knowingly taking advantage of such a situation and Stefan’s dubious consent with it. The immortal has tried to escape before and will try again, but after a few unfortunate encounters more with a wandering warlock group, sadistic mortals looking for an easy victim, a necromancer seeking new parts, and other entities and spirits who have come to learn a new immortal is amongst them now, Stefan reluctantly agrees to stay with Peter. No matter his own anxiety and growing unease with the man he cannot help comparing to someone he once knew as terrible reminders, Stefan feels it’s better to stay now than go.

This vampire apparently is more powerful than the others here and even if he is still adjusting to it, Peter is the lesser evil compared to the rest.

It is the one he knows.

Or at least he thinks he does.

Stefan cannot help comparing Peter to a past figure whose shadow still looms over him with memories of past abuses and degradation. He knows this situation too well and though he is afraid, he seeks out some sense of familiarity. To ground him and feel reassured that this is no different. He’s survived this. He can survive it again. So please, stop hiding it all behind a mask of concern and show him the monster that lurks beneath.

Just to get it over with.

Peter for his part does not understand how a man who is so terrified and worried, deliberately goes out of his way to antagonize him. Arguments and sarcastic insults exchanged often as they try to figure out what the other one is thinking. Peter often taking the high road and walking away when he feels his temper start to fray and a dragon’s wicked growl to punish the annoying insect speaks in his mind. No. He is not that kind of man. He refuses to be.

He doesn’t want to be that man.

He also feels guilty for what he put Stefan through. How he lost his temper and his new inhuman heightened emotions got the best of him.

He won’t ever forget how he harmed Stefan and it haunts him. It didn’t go like he wanted it to.

He only wanted to scare his formerly hated university professor.

He didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

Stefan grows more and more agitated. This is not familiar to him and he doesn’t like it. He knows Peter can he violent. He had a black eye to prove it years ago when the university incident happened. Why isn’t Peter reacting the way he should? Why isn’t he taking his anger out on him?

It’s making Stefan feel more helpless and he reacts, making one last escape attempt again to gain some semblance of control. Something, anything, so he doesn’t feel like he’s falling forever.

He encounters the same necromancer again.

He loses a kidney before Peter finds him and rescues him.

They stop over by an alley way to stop Stefan’s bleeding.

Stefan has enough and finally screams.

(This part I discussed with @sketching-shark and though I would’ve cleaned it up a bit, am just wanting to get this timeline out now so here’s screenshots of an imperfect sequence)

Part 3-Sleep Paralysis Demon for a Roommate (or the Ghost Girl turned Snow White)

(March)

While things have calmed down and progressing to a more positive relationship between Peter and Stefan, there is an unexpected roommate they get just before the end of February. A shadowy person that stalks after Stefan, asking him for help but never quite elaborating with what.

She’s a ghost.

She’s intangible.

For three nights she follows after Stefan and watches him sleep.

Peter and Stefan are not amused and try various ways to get her to stop. But there’s something familiar about her to Stefan. Her voice and stature remind him of someone but not sure who.

Her voice is always slurred, as though she were half asleep, and there’s brief moments of sudden lucidity then lethargy.

One question triggers a sudden change in her demeanor.

“How did you die?”

“N-not….dead….can’t….breathe….good…not dead…”

The ghost was not really a ghost.

Stefan realizes why that voice is familiar.

“Alexis? Alexis Thi Dang?”

She was a recent student of his. She had been a subdued and quiet young woman. Always hiding her face and wearing the most ridiculous of baggy clothing.

She had asked him to help her one day after class. Stefan brushed her off, in a hurry to leave for something that seems so trivial now.

He regrets not listening to her then.

Alexis flickers, begging for him to find her. Someone is hurting her. She’s in a dark place. It’s hard to breathe.

Then she’s gone.

Peter doesn’t protest when Stefan asks for his help. Stefan thinks the university should have her student file still as Alexis had bought one of his classes for next semester. They have reason to suspect this was a recent occurrence.

“….we can break in easily I think.”

“I was thinking something different….”

“No.”

“What? Do you honestly think keeping me prisoner here still is better?!”

“It’s not going to help this girl if everyone has their eyes on a missing person showing up. We don’t have time for that. Plus, there’s still plenty of creeps after your skinny ass.”

“……fine.” Stefan begrudgingly agrees.

It’s a very quick and surprisingly easy work to get done in one night. Tracing back to Alexis’s apartment and sneaking into what they believe is her bedroom, they find the apartment is still occupied by a man. At first Peter thinks to drop in and talk, maybe go for aggressive negotiations if he has to, but stops.

“What is it?”

“He smells…”

“What? What does that have to do-?”

“He smells dead….dirt and dead…like a graveyard.”

Peter could never forget the first time he caught the strong scent of a graveyard. It was strong and reeked of decay, rot, dirt, but also flowers, trees, and life.

Peter and Stefan watch the man go about his business. There something off about him. Stefan could feel the hairs on his body stand up and a deep churning of revulsion in his stomach. Peter unconsciously bared his fangs and twitched his hands. Stefan notices pictures of Alexis and some of her with the man. Her boyfriend.

The man leaves and Peter knows immediately they should follow him. He picks up Stefan and they fly overhead, following the man on his truck to a old graveyard just at the outskirts of the city.

They tail the guy but Stefan separates from Peter who is startled by his senses going haywire. Dead. Voices. Dead voices. Underneath. Smells. The dead are speaking and he doesn’t know how to not listen. It’s overwhelming.

Stefan is following after the man, not noticing Peter is not with him, and watches as he goes up to mausoleum and is opening up one of the broken stones housing a coffin. He is creeping closer, grabbing a nearby rock just in case and watches in sudden horror as the man brings out the coffin and there is an gaunt woman lying in it. It was Alexis.

Stefan moves slowly from behind the man who was kneeling over and getting out a needle. Muttering about keeping her a bit longer and making her perfect. Stefan heard enough and swings as hard as he could with the rock on the man’s head. It hits him and he is stunned, falling to the ground but flailing. Stefan goes to check if Alexis is still breathing and starts to take her out of the coffin when the man lunges at him and they roll away in a struggle. Stefan manages to claw and get a few hits in but the man is hitting him harder and starting to choke him.

That is when Peter, still on sensory overload, stumbles over and gives in to the anger that takes hold of him and yanks the man off of Stefan. Roaring in the other’s screaming face as he flies up, up, up.

Coughing and crawling back to the coffin, Stefan holds a stirring Alexis up.

“Professor?”

“You’re okay now…I’ve got you…”

Alexis heard screaming and looks up and there’s a shadow taking a familiar figure high into the air. Then he drops him.

There is screaming from the falling man and then a sickening splat.

It takes her a moment to realize he is dead.

He is well and truly dead.

She is glad.

Alexis is startled when the shadow flies down and there is another man there talking with Stefan. He has gigantic bat wings and gold eyes. Alexis is still weak but she fights to keep awake. Holding onto Stefan as the only familiar figure here while the cops and ambulance are called from her former boyfriend’s cellphone.

Peter is becoming distressed the longer they stay in the graveyard. Holding his head as he sits down, hunched over, and growling, wanting the voices to stop. Shut up.

Stefan places a hand on his head and it seems to help. Alexis at his side as they wait for the arrival of professionals. Stefan and Peter will make their quick sneaky exit once certain Alexis is safe. However, she pleas for Stefan to see her again.

She has no one else.

She is alone here.

He is the only person she knows.

Stefan tells her he will before Peter takes them away and watches at a distance Alexis being loaded up into the ambulance.

They saved her.

They saved a person.

[cutethingstolove]

First Day Back… in Diapers

Photo From @little-stephanies-diary​, Part 6

Stephanie was having the best night’s sleep she had experienced in a long time. Maybe it was because of how close she felt to her dad from the night before, maybe it was because of the damp diaper she was wearing. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it to end. Alas, her alarm clock didn’t care how well she was sleeping and began ringing at 6:30 as it did on every school day. Reaching out to turn it off, her eyes still not quite open, she felt the urge to go to the bathroom. She really didn’t want to crawl out of her comfy bed yet, and realizing she was still wearing her diaper, she relaxed just a little and emptied her bladder right there. The feeling of her diaper absorbing every ounce brought a smile to her face, and made her feel a lot better about finally leaving her bed.

Knowing she was up on time today, Stephanie decided to enjoy her wet diaper just a little while longer and went downstairs for breakfast before changing. Walking down the stairs in in her diaper that she had wet in twice was a new experience for her. The extra bulk forced her to waddle just a little, and she could feel the weight of it pulling downward on her hips. Shockingly, she actually enjoyed the way everything felt. When she reached the kitchen she grabbed some cereal, milk, bowl, and spoon before sitting down at the table where her dad was already eating.

As she took her chair opposite her dad, her diaper made a much more subtle crinkle than she had heard before. It dawned on her that the wet diaper was a lot quieter than it was when it was dry, and she just hoped her dad didn’t notice. Without saying a word she just poured her cereal as if it were any other morning, but glanced up as her dad spoke.

“Morning princess,” he said, “How well did you sleep last night in your new diaper?”

“Really well actually,” she replied excitedly, “That was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

“Good to hear,” he said smiling, “And did you manage to keep it dry all night?”

“Well no,” Steph said as she stared back down at her breakfast, “But I promise it’s not a problem daddy.”

“How is a wet diaper not a problem sweetheart?,” he inquired, “The reason I put you back in diapers was because you had an accident yesterday. Having another accident while you were asleep was exactly what I was worried about.”

“It wasn’t really an accident daddy,” she sheepishly explained, “I was so tired last night after doing homework that I thought it would just be easier to pee my diaper than take it off and have you change me again. And this morning I didn’t want to get out of bed right away, so I did the same thing. I figured it was already wet and I would be changing for school, so I thought it was ok.”

“I can understand that honey,” he said understandingly, “But that does mean that your week of potty training restarts today. Now finish up your breakfast and get ready for school.”

A little upset that she had added a day to her time in diapers, she realized it was only one day which wasn’t too terrible. She finished eating her cereal, put everything back in the kitchen, and headed upstairs to shower before putting on her school uniform. As she entered the bathroom, she pulled off her pajamas before undoing the tapes on her diaper and throwing it in the trash. She showered quickly before heading to her room to change for the day. Going about her normal routine, she was still taken aback when she went to grab a pair of underwear only to remember that they had all been replaced with Goodnites. Somewhat reluctantly grabbing a pair, she pulled them on before putting on her stockings, skirt, and white shirt that the school made her wear.

When she left her room to head back downstairs to grab her backpack, her mind was flooded with a horrifying thought; today was gym day and she would have to change in front of all the other girls! The only thing that consoled her was the fact that the school had separate gym classes for the boys and girls, so at least none of the boys would accidentally see her pullup during class. Just as she was about to leave the house to walk to her bus stop, she heard her dad’s deep voice from the other room.

“Princess,” he boomed, “I know today is going to be different now that you are back in diapers. I should also let you know that I gave the nurse a bag of bigger diapers just in case.”

“But daddy,” she exclaimed, “I won’t need those! Why did you give those to her?! I can’t wear ones those big at school!”

“They are just there as a backup,” he reassured her, “I just wanted to let you know that the nurse knows about the deal we have, and will be there just in case. I did buy you ones that have bunnies on them because I know how much you love bunnies.”

“Fine,” she moaned, “But I promise I won’t need them. These Goodnites are easy enough to take off so I can still use the bathroom. I need to go though. Love you daddy!”

Stephanie left the house quickly and made her way down to her bus stop. As she walked along, she did notice that the Goodnites weren’t nearly as puffy as the diapers she wore at school yesterday. They were a lot quieter to, and she thought that this wouldn’t be so bad because they were so much more discreet. They still felt much warmer than her regular panties, and she enjoyed that quite a bit on the cold January morning. She arrived at her bus stop right as it was pulling up, and she stepped on and made her way to her normal seat for the long ride to school.

When the bus pulled up to the school, she headed inside and to her class with Mrs. Hanson. She managed to stay  awake today during class, probably because of how well she had slept the night before. She actually managed to stay awake all the way until her lunch period, even using the bathroom once with no one noticing her pullup! After grabbing her lunch tray and taking a seat, she started to feel like she needed to pee again. This was a problem as the school had a very strict policy that once a student entered the cafeteria, they weren’t allowed to leave until the lunch period was over. This meant that she had to hold it for more than 30 minutes until she could go to the bathroom, but she thought that she could make it that long. With only five minute left before she could leave, she realized that she wasn’t going to make it. She had already been fidgeting in her seat for almost the entire time, but she just couldn’t hold any more and he Goodnite quickly filled up.

As soon as she was allowed to leave, she went as fast as she could to the nurse’s office to change. She was bright red with embarrassment when she entered the office, she paused for a moment to think about just how crazy this was. She was going to have to ask the nurse for one of the diapers her dad had dropped off, and hated the idea of admitting that she needed them. The nurse had heard Steph open the door and turned from her desk.

“Stephanie, you’re back,” she quipped, “What can I help you with?”

“Well Nurse Baker,” she timidly replied, “My dad told me that he had left some things here for me, and I think I need one.”

“I understand,” Nurse Baker calmly said, “I can hand you one behind the curtain so you can take care of it yourself again.”

“Actually,” Steph said, “I wouldn’t mind some help putting it on. I found they fit better that way. I’ll take care of what I’m wearing now, but I’ll take my skirt off and lay down on the bed if you can help please.”

Nurse Smith nodded understandingly and went to the cabinet to grab one of the bunny diapers Stephanie’s dad had left. Stephanie stepped behind the curtain and took off her skirt and wet Goodnite, throwing the latter in the garbage before laying down on the bed. One thing she had always loved about the nurse’s office were the warm black blankets they had, so she grabbed one and covered her upper body to stay warm. As Nurse Smith stepped through the curtain, Stephanie lifted her butt off the bed just as she had done the night before with her dad. Not nearly as afraid as she was with her dad, Steph looked on as Nurse Smith slid the diaper under her before wiping her clean and taping the diaper on.

Stephanie felt much better with a clean diaper on, but had noticed that Nurse Smith wasn’t nearly as gentle when she was wiping her as her dad was when he powdered her last night. She still enjoyed being changed by the nurse, but not nearly as much as she did when her dad had done it. She stood up and pulled her skirt and stockings back up, and then pulled back the curtain before asking the nurse for a note to explain why she was late to her next class. Once she had the note in hand, she left and quickly walked to class opening the door only a couple of minutes after the bell. She handed the note to her teacher and took her seat before it hit her; she still had gym class that afternoon and had no idea how she could hide this much bigger diaper from the other girls in the locker room. At least she had 2 full class periods to come up with something before she had gym as her last class of the day.

 To Be Continued…

[emsylcatac]

What the future holds, we'll never know

Summary

Marinette didn't know what the future was made of—but the glimpse of the one featuring her akumatised partner she had seen taught her one thing: she and Chat Noir should never be together.

Which currently wasn't really a problem considering that she was in love with Adrien, and that they had been getting closer lately.

Read it on AO3

Hiiii @ladynoirist Lisa gemini bro ♥♥♥ I was soooo happy to be your totally secret (yes pretend you never guessed it was me okay I was so subtle) santaaaa for the @mlsecretsanta !!! (also pretend we're totally in December and not in May ho ho ho! Reindeers are still roaming!)

I'm so sorry for how late I am, but I hope you'll enjoy this fic 😄

───※ ·❆· ※───

21st of January, 1h after the reveal

Marinette stood in front of the bistro door, pacing. Pretending to look at the menu, pretending to think of what to choose, pretending that everything was absolutely normal and fine and this was just a perfectly normal day.

It was, however, not normal nor fine inside her head.

She had to push that door. She was already a good half an hour late and it wouldn’t do good to make her friends wait longer—excuses were harder and harder to explain the more she shied away.

Please, don’t be here. She never thought she would hope for that. Please have your bodyguard bring you home. Your father forcing you to go home.

Please, go home by yourself and find some stupid excuse.

She would feel bad for having all these unfair hopes if she hadn't been feeling completely panicked inside.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Gulping, she chanced a glance at it.

Alya girl where are u?? we’re waiting to order!

Well. She couldn’t delay for much longer. Taking a deep breath, Marinette pushed the door open and scanned the room.

Please, please don’t be inside.

She wasn’t being fair, she knew that—it wasn’t his fault if she didn’t feel like facing him.

“Marinette!”

She turned in the direction of her name where Alya was waving at her, hand held up high, while Nino was grinning and—he was there.

Swallowing—though her mouth had been dry for a while now—Marinette headed towards them despite her legs screaming at her to turn around and run as fast as possible away from here.

“H-hey,” she stuttered, “sorry for...for being late.”

She sat next to Adrien (because of course she had to be seated next to him). Their eyes met for a split second and he gave her a timid smile that she couldn’t return.

“It’s fine,” Alya waved off, “the most important thing is that you’re here now! But quick, choose what you want to eat, I’m staaarving!”

She, for one, clearly wasn’t.

Adrien was giving her quick glances and she tried her best to ignore him.

It was him, it was him, it was him.

And it was oh so unfair. She picked up her menu to hide her face as tears threatened to escape  the corners of her eyes.

───※ ·❆· ※───

5th of October, 108 days before the reveal

“Try that.”

Marinette turned around, abandoning the search for her size amongst the many red skirts on the clothes rail.

Adrien was holding a tacky glittery dress, reflecting  the light of a multitude of disharmonious colours, supporting two red fabric-flowers on each shoulder straps. It was positively horrendous, the kind of clothes you wonder who would ever buy when passing in front of it in the store.

She looked up to Adrien’s innocent smile and had to bite down the disgusted expression she suspected she must have shown for a split second. She hoped he hadn’t noticed—the last thing she wanted was to offend him. Growing-up in the fashion industry didn’t make him a good judge in the field, it seemed.

“I… You want me to...to try that on?” she stammered.

He gave her a nod, humming enthusiastically.

Maybe it was the kind of dress Adrien saw on girls at fashion shows, and she just hadn't seen it before. Maybe he liked it on them.

Maybe he would find her pretty in it.

Against her better judgement (because her judgement was always lost when it came to him, wasn’t it?), Marinette stretched a hand towards the piece of clothing, gulping. She raised her eyes to his, offering a tight smile.

Adrien’s mouth twitched, and his eyes held a new mischievous glint that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“You...you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” she said, deflating.

He burst out laughing, a genuine, happy laugh that reminded her of a certain day in the rain, and she couldn’t help but smile despite herself.

“You should have seen your face!”

He hadn't made fun of her in a while—in fact, he hadn’t laughed at her since that day, in the rain. The thought of him being comfortable enough with her to allow himself to do it again made her cheeks heat up.

“I could...I could call your bodyguard or...or your dad! Yes! I could call your dad and out you, you know!” she threatened, fighting back the nerves that always messed up her words when she spoke to him.

She wouldn’t mess up today.

It stopped Adrien momentarily and suddenly he was pleading her, begging with joined hands.

“Marinette,” he said, and he did sound serious—she would have been convinced had his eyes not looked a tad too much like a kicked puppy’s, “please, you can’t do that. Please please please please, I’m sorry for ruining your shopping day and running into you and insisting to tag along and—”

Marinette giggled. “I’ll wear it,” she said, snatching the terrible (terrible!!) dress from his hands, careful to not brush his fingers and make it awkward. “Because unlike you who’s trying to hide, I’m no coward.”

Adrien straightened up. “I’m no coward either!”

She could feel her heart beating erratically in her chest. She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t gonna be nervous when talking to Adrien. Not again. Not this time. She could banter with him—this was known territory. Not with him though, never with him, but…

“Okay,” she crossed her arms. Her eyes scanned  the different clothing items before landing on a pink plastic fur dress on a mannequin. “Prove it.”

He choked on a laugh before grinning at her. “Oh, you’re so on.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

16th of November, 66 days before the reveal

Adrien opened his diary, ready to write down the homework of the day Mrs Bustier was dictating.

The sound of ruffling papers and rummaging in bags filled the classroom, but he tried to focus on one sound in particular, resisting the urge to smile.

Any moment now.

Just a little longer before—

A loud groan resonated from behind him, and this time he let the grin slip onto his face, thankful that she couldn’t see it.

“What’s wrong?” Alya’s whisper made its way to his ears.

“Someone drew me with a towel on the head, swimming glasses and an ugly party dress!”

Adrien couldn’t help the snort that escaped him.

Teasing Marinette, he found, was very entertaining. He didn’t know exactly when he started to feel comfortable enough to do it. Didn’t know what exactly it was that was making it deliciously familiar yet all so new—and above all, warm.

Her reaction had been worth the wait. He  silently delighted in the way she battled between raging against him and finding him hilarious (because with the way she giggled, or stammered, or even bit her lips the few times he had joked with her, before getting ahold of herself and teasing back, she had to find him hilarious, right?).

He guessed he deserved the ruler slap he received on the head.

Yes, Adrien liked her reactions, he thought while rubbing his head. He liked that new, teasing  dynamic he’d been having with her for a couple of weeks now. He liked it.

But above all, he loved—

Adrien let a soft fond smile pull at his lips when he opened his diary that evening, once seated at his desk. A drawing quickly scribbled in the margin lit up by his many computer screens welcomed him of what he assumed was a new Gabriel ad featuring him in an atrocious fur dress coloured in fluro pink highlighter.

Above all, he loved her witty and sneaky comebacks.

───※ ·❆· ※───

8th of December, 44 days before the reveal

“What are you thinking about?”

Ladybug saw a smile stretch across her partner’s lips. He let out a fond chuckle, throwing his head up towards the sky. His eyes were closed, but she could tell that he was seeing more stars that way than if they had been opened looking up at the Parisian sky. She envied him a little.

“I’m thinking,” he simply said.

And didn’t say anything after that.

She waited a little, just in case, but he remained silent. His feet dangled above the edge of the roof and he started gently swinging his legs one after the other. He let out a breathless giggle, as if he couldn’t control it, and hummed a song her ears caught only because of the wind blowing towards her.

Her heart did a somersault in her chest at the sight. She felt a weird mix of emotions, not unpleasant but not entirely enjoyable either, bittersweetness and happiness mingling together.

He did look happy—but tonight it felt like she wasn’t a part of it. That he was in his own bubble of joy, a bubble she once had complete control over but, in that instant, was slipping through her fingers. If she was being honest, it had been slowly and subtly escaping her for a while now.

He was in love, she realised. Her gaze on him softened, before she turned away from him to look towards the sky, too, and exhaled a puff of hot air that dissipated in the cold and continued to grow as she joined him in his humming, closing her eyes.

If she wasn’t the one he was shining for tonight, she would still share that moment of exhilaration with him.

Besides, she had reasons to feel giddy herself too.

───※ ·❆· ※───

29th of December, 23 days before the reveal

“Hey.” Plagg’s voice wasn’t loud enough to pull Adrien out of his reverie completely, but enough to bring the cloud he was on a little bit back down to Earth. “You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past twenty minutes now. What’s up?”

Adrien let the thread of his lucky charm pass through his fingers, feeling the beads between them rolling from one to another. “I have?”

Plagg stayed silent for a few seconds. “Yes. Are you alright?”

Adrien chuckled. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.” I have been for a little while now, he didn’t say.

Suddenly, he got up, walked towards his computer, picked up his phone from his desk and opened Instagram. His fingers quickly found Marinette’s name and pressed her icon to see her latest story. He smiled as a selfie of her and Alya appeared, and played it again once it was over.

“Ah. I see.” Adrien hadn’t noticed Plagg flying above his shoulder but he couldn’t care less. “You like her?”

“I love her,” he simply corrected.

“Really?! Planning on asking her out? Sweeping her off her feet?”

Adrien shook his head, chuckling. He put his phone back on his desk and let himself fall further in his seat, pushing his feet against the desk leg to propel himself back.

Marinette, Marinette, Marinette.

“We’ll see,” he stretched his arms above his head. “We’ll see what happens and when I feel that the time is right. I don’t want to mess it up. Not this time.”

Not with her.

───※ ·❆· ※───

11th of January, 10 days before the reveal

When she found Adrien waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs that morning, blushing, a hand rubbing the back of his neck, the other holding a yellow rose with red tips on the petals and stammering a simple yet powerful “I think I love you”, Marinette was glad she had been on time for school for once.

───※ ·❆· ※───

21st of January, 1h before the reveal

“I can’t believe you made me wake up at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning,” Marinette shook her head.

Adrien laughed and held her hand tighter as he pulled her along with him, striding alongside the Seine. “But you have to admit that it was worth it.”

Spending time with you is worth the world, she thought. I could wake up at five if that’s what you wanted. She didn’t say any of that out loud. They had only barely started dating, after all. It could scare him off.

Instead, she let half a smile pull at her lips. “I suppose.”

Adrien stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “It was worth it! It just snowed during the night—for once! It’s so rare, we have to enjoy it! And the sunrise was beautiful!”

She crossed her arms, pretending to think about it and evaluate her morning.

“It was,” Adrien insisted, pleaded for her to agree.

“Fine,” she conceded, giggling. “It was beautiful. I’m glad you forced me out of bed.”

She was rewarded by a brilliant smile, that melted her heart despite the cold January air on her cheeks, and a kiss on her forehead (that melted her whole).

A giddy laugh escaped her and she couldn’t help but kiss his nose, making him giggle, the sound sweeter than the glockenspiel a busker was playing a few meters away.

Adrien’s cheeks were red when she pulled away—from the cold or from her kiss, she didn’t know, but she hoped for the latter. She decided to grab his winter hat, leaving his hair all messy on top and wide eyes of outraged shock on his face. Adrien, she had realised, really liked when she was messing with him and she berated herself for never having dared to do such a thing before.

In retaliation, he grabbed her own hat and put it on his head. “Jokes on you,” he said, “now I have a pink pompom while you have a lame black one!”

She laughed as she put his hat on her own head. He likes me, she chanted in her head. He loves me even. He loves me, he loves me, and I love him.  All was well that day. All was perfect.

“When are we meeting up with Alya and Nino for lunch, again?”

“I think we still have an hour,” Adrien replied.

It felt like nothing could disrupt their date, their day, them, really.

───※ ·❆· ※───

21st of January, the reveal

Accidents were stupid, most of the time. One second of miscalculation, one careless mistake and every neatly protected secret could be disrupted forever.

Detransforming in the same alleway was probably the stupidest, lamest and most careless way to reveal their identities, Marinette and Adrien thought, as they faced each other with wide eyes and heart beating too fast in their rib cages with their kwamis hanging incriminatingly at their side.

Marinette didn’t think. She ran.

───※ ·❆· ※───

21st of January, 1h30 after the reveal

To say the atmosphere was awkward was an understatement. They were barely glancing at each other, passing each other the salt without brushing a finger or looking where they handed it.

Marinette overfilled Adrien’s glass when pouring him some water; Adrien startled when Marinette’s hand accidentally brushed his arm while trying to clean his table up.

They were a mess.

In a way, Marinette was glad that Alya and Nino were here to provide distraction.

She just hoped they wouldn’t notice the tension between her and Adrien.

“So, how have you two lovebirds been doing? Still in the chummy-chummy phase?”

So much for that. There was an awkward silence, none of them knowing what to really say.

“Sure,” she decided to take the plunge and ate a mouthful of fries so she wouldn’t have to explain further.

Alya and Nino said nothing, looking between the two of them.

“We’ve been, uh…we went walking around the Seine this morning,” Adrien mumbled. “To see the snow and, uh…”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Marinette cut. She couldn’t believe she was managing to talk to him. “Y-your...your winter hat.”

She handed it to him and Adrien looked at it for a few seconds before taking it back, his face crumbling and disheartened.

“...Thanks. Um, here is yours, I suppose.”

Marinette closed her eyes tight as she snatched her hat from his hands, feeling nauseous all of a sudden.

Where did they stand, now? They had barely even started dating. Could they brush off the massive new developments that were their identities? Could superheroes even date?

White flashed before her eyes. Her heart did a somersault, and the nausea intensified, making her head spin.

Stupid. Idiot, superheroes couldn’t date, least of all her and Adrien.

It was unfair that she was having these thoughts now, when she still didn’t know what was going on in her head—Adrien, Chat Noir, her partner. The same… so similar yet so different.

He had given her a rose when he had confessed. It was such a Chat Noir thing to do...she should have known.

They were the same person and it was awkward and she needed time she didn’t get the luxury to have. The second she thought she had acknowledged this information, it would all come back the next with the panic accompanying it.

The silence following must have been long and heavy because Alya took in a sharp breath. “Okay. What’s going on between you two? You’ve been acting awkward since we’ve got here.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

23rd of January, 2 days after the reveal

“So, this is it?”

Adrien felt the knot in his throat tighten a little more and more as Marinette kept looking to the side, silent, avoiding his gaze. He didn’t know why he asked; he knew the answer. And he knew that hearing it would cut like a knife, but maybe that’s what he needed instead of foolishly pretending there was hope.

“This...this is it,” she finally said in a breath.

He swallowed. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated.

“I… okay.” Okay. Because what could he say? It wasn’t like he could decide for her.

If it was only on him, of course he wouldn’t want anything to end. Of course he would fight for them, and try and see where they’d go, identities be damned because...well, it was still them, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry. I...I really am. It’s just… It’s…” Marinette sighed. “It’s just that it’s a lot to take in, you know?”

She had finally raised her eyes to his, and Adrien had to fight back tears; maybe it would have been better if she had continued to avoid him.

So he was the one to turn his eyes away this time.

“I guess,” he couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice to show through. “I just...I didn’t know it would be so bad.”

“It’s not! It’s not that! It’s just that… we still...we still need to get used to this,” she gestured between them, “and… superheroes ca—”

“—can’t date, I know. I understand. I mean—not completely, but... I get it.”

And he did; really, he did get it.

It was selfish of him, probably, to not want things to stop. He found that it was also maybe a little selfish of her to want them to.

None of them had decided to be heroes—and yet they had to bear the consequences of such a responsibility.

Looking back at her, she had now dropped down her eyes and wasn’t watching him anymore. A strong gust of wind blew on the balcony, making Marinette’s hair wave with it.

“It’s getting late,” Adrien spoke. “And you’re freezing out here. I should get going. We’ll see each other tomorrow at school.”

He extended his baton.

“Adri—Chat Noir! Wait!”

She grabbed his tail, stopping him in his tracks. He turned around. She was fidgeting, and looked tentatively into his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I hope it’s not...I hope it’s not too hard but…”

He sighed. “I’m not gonna lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt. It...it does. A lot. It’s like…” he sighed. “It’s like we had everything, and then…” He paused. “But I guess… none of us can control the way we feel, right?”

She nodded numbly. He attempted to give a smile, but he knew he wasn’t doing a good job at it.

“I just wished I knew what’s wrong with me, “ he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“I… it’s not… I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” Marinette tried. He could hear her voice trembling. I don’t think there’s anything right with me either, he didn’t say—and she didn’t say either, he noted with a bitter smile. “We’re just a mess right now.”

She bit her lip and he had to force to keep his eyes on hers. He felt terrible. Worse than all those times she had rejected him, because—well, because now he knew just how much he was losing.

“That we are.”

“We’re still...we’re still friends, right?” she asked after a few seconds of awkward silence.

“It’s you and me against the world, so… of course.” He shrugged.

And with that, he left, finally letting the tears blur his vision on his way home.

Tonight, their old promise sounded more bitter than comforting. Them against the world, the heroes fighting for the city, forced together by their duty and pulled apart at the same time.

───※ ·❆· ※───

23rd of January, 2 days after the reveal

Marinette rushed back inside her bedroom as soon as Adrien had left and threw her head in her pillow, crying her heart out. Screaming to Tikki how unfair it was to have to be responsible, at Master Fu for choosing this life for her, at herself for following it, at Adrien and Chat Noir for being the same people.

Shouting at Adrien again, at another Adrien she hadn’t even really known that it was all his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault, all his fault. She knew it was unfair of her—but she needed to put the blame on someone, and Chat Blanc, who didn’t exist anymore, seemed like a good candidate, no matter how wrong she knew it was.

───※ ·❆· ※───

24th of January, 3 days after the reveal

“...My father wanted us to break up.”

Marinette shrunk on herself. She wished she had been able to come up with a better excuse on the spot. Anything that would have avoided Adrien’s cold and numb tone when he repeated her flimsily excuse.

But nothing sounded plausible enough; nothing else could explain this sudden change in their dynamic.

“It...it was a surprise, really, we weren’t expecting it,” she tried, hoping he would follow her lead.

Adrien clicked his tongue. “A surprise, indeed.”

“Aaaand you didn’t think of dating in secret becaaause…?” Alya drawled, the cease in her brow increasing the longer she looked between the two of them.

“Because… well… because…” Marinette fumbled, trying to think  of a way out because Alya wasn’t wrong and it was a flaw in her carelessly crafted plan.

“Because Marinette didn’t want to,” Adrien supplied curtly.

Alya and Nino’s heads snapped towards her with incredulous looks in their eyes, making her involuntarily shrink on herself even more.

“She said it wasn’t worth a try,” he shrugged and sat down, his back now to her.

Alya looked between the two with a mix of worry, incomprehension and a hint of pity. Marinette didn’t dare look at Nino to see what emotions would flicker in his eyes.

“That’s not it, it’s…” she struggled, took a deep breath, and tried again. She had to roll with what he came up with. “If he were to find out we...we’d be in trouble. You’d be in trouble… and I don’t want that,” she whispered the last words.

“Like I said,” Adrien said coolly, half turning towards them. “Not even worth a try.”

Her heart crumpled.

───※ ·❆· ※───

26th of january, 5 days after the reveal

“Chat Noir, you’re here!” Marinette exclaimed, relieved.

He twirled his baton, deflecting a spurt of gooey green liquid she could only dread to know the composition of—some akumas truly were more disgusting than others to deal with. “As for every akuma.” He raised a brow. “Don’t act so surprised.”

She startled. In the midst of all the action, in the hope and wait for his arrival—because she always felt bolder and stronger once her partner was by her side—she had forgotten.

This was Adrien, her ex-boyfriend with whom she had broken up and had upsetted. And who still wasn’t talking to her much. Thinking about him as ‘ex’ suddenly hurt as she realised it was the first time she was referring to him as such in her head.

Marinette blinked back remorseful tears and tried ignoring the tightness in her chest to focus on the akuma again. She still needed to find where the akumatised object was, and she couldn’t let her emotions get in the way of her job.

She decided to pretend things were fine. “His name is Snowtty, we don’t know the victim but it’s a kid who was made fun of for having a runny nose after receiving a snowball in his face. Try to avoid his green spurts, they would freeze you on the spot!”

Adrien barely nodded before jumping into action, without so much as a word of acknowledgement like he would usually do. It hurt more than she would care to admit.

She knew they hadn’t talked since that evening on her balcony, but she had hoped he just needed time to process and that it wasn’t deeper than that. He had said they were still friends, hadn’t he?

Trying to ignore the sting in her eyes, she jumped after him into the fight.

“Ladybug! I see your pet has arrived to the scene as well,” Snowtty sneered. “All the better for me, I need both your miraculous after all!”

“I’m my own person, thank you very much,” Chat Noir said, none of his usual teasing in his voice. “And you won’t be getting any miraculous. Why don’t you give us your akuma instead and save everyone’s time? You’re just gonna lose like the others do, anyway.”

The akuma let out a growl of frustration and double-fired in their direction. Marinette ran for cover using her yoyo as a deflecting shield, Adrien using his baton.

He didn’t take cover with her.

She called him and was almost relieved when he picked up.

“Okay, he’s angrier than I thought he was. Any idea where the akuma could be?”

“You’re telling me you don’t?” he raised a brow. “He’s throwing his substance from that bracelet he has on his left wrist, and there aren’t any other objects.”

It seemed obvious now. But she wasn’t at the top of her game and was far too focused on her relationship with her partner than she was on the fight at hand, and she realised how detrimental it could be—not letting her personal life interfere with her duties as Ladybug was one of the rules she had promised herself to never break, yet here she was.

“Right,” she said, voice wavering. “I… Right. You’re right. Good job, Kitty.”

She regretted the nickname as soon as it left her mouth.

“‘tis nothing, Ladybug,” he shrugged. “Guess you cast your lucky charm and I distract him as usual.”

“Not yet, I need to first figure ou—” She let out a sigh as he ended the call, and turned to see him heading back straight for the akuma.

Well. The message was clear.

Throwing her yoyo angrily in the air, she called on her lucky charm. And was rewarded for her effort with an umbrella.

She wanted to scream.

She glanced up and closed her eyes, temporarily blinded by the brightness of the sun. “And it’s not even raining,” she grumbled.

She stomped away from her hiding place, only to be thrown on the ground a second after.

“Wha—”

Adrien was hovering over her and spared a glance behind towards Snowtty before standing and helping her up.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

But he ran back towards the akuma without so much as a glance in her direction. The momentary relief she felt when he saved her evaporated right away. She ran after him.

She hated how he could be upset with her in the middle of an akuma fight but still be able to focus on the task at hand. Because he was paying great care to the akuma and his surroundings and was trying to actively find a solution to put an end to the fight—something she had a harder time doing when her personal feelings were getting overwhelming. She couldn’t reproach him for that. It was just incredibly infuriating.

“Adri—Chat Noir, will you please talk to me and stop ignoring me?” Marinette exploded, frustrated. “It’s been two days and now is not the time!”

“Bold words from someone who ran away and avoided me for two days after discovering my identity,” Adrien snapped back, avoiding another blast of green.

Her heart stuttered painfully. He was right, but it made it no less hurtful to hear. She and Chat Noir had argued in the past, and while it had never been pleasant, it was something they knew how to navigate through — how to come out stronger from. She and Adrien, however? Never. She hadn’t even fathom the possibility of it ever coming up one day. Any comebacks she could have had died on her tongue, and Ladybug found herself speechless.

They both ran for cover once again behind the safety of a rooftop chimney, leaving Snowtty growling at having lost their track.

She swallowed painfully. “Listen. I know you’re hurt, I understand and you have every right to be. But we need to work together right now.”

He kicked some of the remaining snow from the roof, fidgeting with his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t think my father would approve of that.”

She frowned. “Of what?”

“Us working togeth—” he sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Sorry. Forget I said anything, that was rude. Let’s...let’s just get back to the fight. I’ll behave.”

She grabbed his hand before he could vault away. “Wait.”

“Ladybug, I don’t think we have the time to talk or—”

“And I think it’s important that we talk now,” she said, giving him a pleading look. “Please.”

He kept eye contact with her for a few seconds before glancing hesitantly towards the city, nibbling at his lower lip. “Okay,” he finally murmured.

She involuntarily squeezed his hand in relief. He didn’t squeeze back, but he didn’t take it away either.

She hadn’t taken the time to focus on her feelings for him in the midst of her freakout about his identity; the warmth of his hand and the tips of his claws barely grazing hers and enhancing its delicacy made her realise that if anything, they had only gotten stronger.

It was painfully heartwarming.

“Are you...are you still… upset, about us, um… about me… you know…” she gestured between them.

“Breaking up with me?” He shook his head. “No. I’m hurt, yes. But that’s your right. That’s not what I’m angry about.”

“Then what…” she trailed off.

He sighed. “I thought I had made it clear, but I guess not.” He paused and kicked some more snow. “I didn’t like you telling everyone that my father forced us to break up,” he mumbled, and she had to listen carefully to pick up every word.

She blinked. “That’s… it?” She threw her hands in front of her at the glare he sent her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong… I agree it wasn’t my best excuse, but we had to find one that sounded plausible and…”

“That’s the thing, Marinette,” he said. “You decided to use my father as your excuse without asking me first.” He wrapped his arms around himself and looked to the ground. “I know my father isn’t… isn’t the best and that he can be… a little strict, but… He wouldn’t do that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“He wouldn’t do that,” he repeated more quietly.

She didn’t know if he was trying to convince himself or her; but she didn’t know Gabriel Agreste much and thus couldn’t confirm nor refute his words.

He shook his head. “But the thing is… How would you have felt if I had told everyone that...that your parents had forced us to break up?” He lifted his gaze towards her, green eyes piercing through her.

“Oh,” she said, understanding dawning on her. “Oh. I see.”

“Yeah.”

“I hadn;t...I hadn’t thought about that,” Marinette admitted.

“Well.”He sniffed, angrily wiping at his eyes. “You should have.”

She hadn’t noticed that he was on the verge of crying, but she instantly felt shame coursing through her.

He kicked the snow harder. “And the worst part  is… the worst part is that… it workedI he almost spat. “They...they believed your excuse. They didn’t even doubt it, they just….” He gestured with his hands .“...Bought it as if it was obvious and that...that hurt.”

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, taking it in. She didn’t want to start the conversation now as to why it had been that easy for their friends to believe his father would do such a thing—it was something that they would have to discuss another day. A day on which he’d be more ready.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered. “I panicked because I...I realised I hadn’t thought of a reason for our breakup. My mind was busy with something else.” She chuckled dryly with a hand gesture in the air. “But you’re right, I crossed a line and that’s not an excuse. I probably would have killed you if you had told them my parents were the reason for our breakup.”

A timid smile appeared on his lips. “Good thing it was just me, then.”

She giggled tearily. “Yeah, good thing. But still. I hope you can forgive me. I promise I’ll be more careful.”

He sighed. “You know I can’t stay mad at you for very long, Marinette. Thank you. And I apologise too. I… I probably overreacted. And I should have known better than to snap during a fight.”

She smiled. “It’s okay. But maybe now, don’t wait until there’s an akuma to talk to me. Now that we know each other’s identities, you don’t need to.”

“I think I needed time to… digest that. But you’re right, will do.”

They looked at each other, smiling shyly as an awkward silence settled between them.

“So, Ladybug,” Adrien spoke with a wobbly smile, glancing towards the lucky charm in her hands, “shall we go back to the fight so you can play Mary Poppins?”

It still wasn’t a ‘my Lady’ or a ‘Buguinette’, and there was no wink to accompany his teasing, but he was back to joking. She would take it.

“Of course.” She smiled. “But let me recharge first.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

15th of February, 25 days after the reveal

“Psssst, come here, kitty kitty! I just want to be your frien—”

Marinette groaned as the ginger cat ran away, joining a tabby cat further up the alleway.

A chuckle from behind her startled her. “Looks like you’re having cat troubles.”

She turned around to meet her partner’s cat-like eyes, and yes, she was having cat troubles, indeed.

“They don’t like me,” she just said.

Adrien seemed to search her eyes for a second or two, his expression unreadable. “You know that’s not true.”

She didn’t know if the conversation was about the cats in the street anymore, and she wasn’t sure whose fault it was. But soon after, Adrien shook his head, blond hair softly sweeping against his cheeks, and let a smile pull at his lips.

He crouched down, grabbed his belt tail and slowly moved it around.

“You need to let them come to you.”

Marinette watched the tail slither, half hypnotised by the movement, until she heard the soft tapping of his claws on the ground. His fingers drummed in a steady rhythm, and she couldn’t help but marvel at how delicate the motion was.

It seemed that some cats around agreed because, soon enough, one advanced towards him, while another had laid down and began wiggling his butt and tail, ready to pounce.

She looked back at Adrien and he was smiling widely at them, anticipating their every move and excited to see their reactions. He looked so happy, so carefree and her heart did a somersault at the sight — she knew that she shouldn’t think like this, but she wished she had been the one he was looking at. She wished she could be one of these kittens, ready to tackle him to the ground, so they could fall in a heap of laughter together. So they could suddenly stop, and gaze into each other’s eyes, getting lost in each other, and maybe, just maybe, lean a little bit closer and ki—

“Wow.” Adrien’s loud laughter shook her out of her reverie. “No need to bite me, little one!”

While a small grey cat had attacked his tail and was nibbling at it, rolling on the floor, another one was more focused on his hand.

The white one with blue eyes.

“Careful,” she told him, “that one’s nasty.”

Adrien continued to play with the cat, moving a finger around and hovering it above his nose that the kitten tried to take a mouthful of.

“What? Why do you say that?”

“Well, he bit you. And earlier, he scratched me. Good thing my suit could protect me or my arms would have been covered in blood,” she informed.

Adrien smiled. “That doesn’t make him nasty.”

She spluttered. “Wha—? How—of course it does! He’s a mean cat, trust me on this! All white cats with blue eyes are!”

He chuckled, giving him a fond look the kitten didn’t deserve. “Good thing I’m a black cat, then.”

She shuddered.

“And he’s not mean,” he went on, “he’s broken.”

Marinette frowned. “What do you mean, ‘broken’?”

Somehow, Adrien had managed to pet the cat on the head, making him let out a contented meow. “Cats who have been abandoned or rejected by their mother too young tend to be more aggressive,” he explained, a pained smile she wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. “They scratch and bite a lot because in a way, they’re kind of lost.”

He took him in his arms and kissed his nose, to which the cat answered with a small ‘meow’. Staying close to his face, he scratched under his chin that the cat was exposing happily to him as a sign of complete trust. Adrien’s smile melted when a purr rumbled out of the kitten, and Marinette hung on it with both fascination and envy.

He let out a breathy chuckle. “See? He just needs someone to show him they care.”

“Show him they care,” she repeated dumbly. She could do that. She coul— “What if...what if it still doesn’t change anything?”

Adrien’s gaze left the kitten to turn to her. “What do you mean?”

“What if...What if even if someone cares about him, and cares about him so much they would sacrifice their own happiness for him if it came to it, and shows him everyday and tells him everyday but he still…” She stopped, fumbling with her words for a second. “...He still keeps biting and scratching and feeling lost and alone a-and no one can save him?” She lifted her eyes to his, only to find her vision blurry.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you talking about?” Adrien breathed.

“M-maybe, this cat is doomed from the start. Maybe he’ll be like that forever, no matter what and maybe they’ll all be like that and—”

“My Lady,” a hand landed on her shoulder, stopping her from spiralling further—and here it was, the ‘my Lady ‘she’d been craving for so much, at the most unexpected time. “That’s stupid. I’m not sure if it’s about cats anymore,” he chuckled, “but I’ll pretend it is.”

She blinked back tears. He kept on, “Yes, some of these hurt cats never change. But not all of them! You can never really know what will happen, how they’ll evolve, because they’re all different, and they’ll all live different lives.”

He smiled at her, his delicate hand never leaving her shoulder, while the other continued petting the purring white kitten. “We can’t guess what will happen to them. All we can do is try, and take the risk. And maybe the owners of this lovely kitty will be lucky and have a loving ball of fur”— he bopped the cat’s nose who in turn let out a small ‘meow’— “or they’ll be less lucky and have a little monster that—ouch,” he said, as the cat chased his bopping finger to bite it, “bite them from time to time but still would be worth caring for.” He sighed a chuckle.

Marinette swallowed, taking it in. “So you mean that… the future of this cat isn’t… set in stone?” she asked carefully.

“Of course not! No one can know what he’ll grow into now, it will depend on a lot of factors.” He took his hand off her shoulder to lift the cat off his lap and nuzzle his nose with his. “Isn’t that right, little one? You’ll be a good kitty, won’t you?”

She let a smile pull at her lips at the sight. Adrien turned to face her with a big goofy grin on his face.

“If our future was written in our DNA, we’d have known all about our futures a long time ago,” he chuckled.

She let his words sink in, closing her eyes. What if...what if.

What if their love wouldn’t destroy the world, this time.

But what if it did again.

...But what if it didn’t?

She heaved a sigh, releasing some of the tension that had been weighing down on her. When she opened her eyes, it was to see that Adrien was back to playing with the kitten.

“And what are we gonna call you, hm? Ooooh, I know! See, I’m Chat Noir, so that would make you Chat Bla—”

“—FLOCON!” Marinette interrupted him.

He blinked at her. “Chat Flocon?”

“No, just...just Flocon. He’s white as snow, and fluffy like a snowflake, so it makes sense. And,” she added after a beat, “it’s cute.”

And it reminded her of that date they shared, just before revealing their identities, strolling through a snowy Paris. It was a memory she cherished, even if it didn’t end quite well.

Adrien grinned. “Okay. Flocon it is.” He scratched the cat’s chin, who purred in turn and tried to bite his finger again. “No,” he told him, “I said no biting, you thickhead.”

She could watch him bicker with a kitten for hours, she thought.

“Hey, Buguinette,” he called out to her, pulling her out of her momentary reverie, “you wanna hold Flocon?”

She blinked. “Errr… I don’t know if that's a good idea or…”

He laughed. “He’s not that aggressive. It’s up to you; but if you want to try befriending him again…” He held a half-wiggling and meowing Flocon in the air towards her.

Marinette bit her lip, and took a deep breath. Maybe it was a bad idea to cave, but... “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll give him a try.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

26th of April, 95 days after the reveal

“Adrien, aren’t you gonna snap her in half?” Alya asked with incredulous eyes.

It made both him and Marinette giggle. “It’s like she doesn’t know that you’re usually the one snapping me in half between the two of us,” Adrien whispered in her ear, which made her laugh harder. “She said she wanted to!” he told Alya louder.

“Yes, Alya,” Marinette added, “I’m a strong girl and I can carry him! Right, Adrien?”

“Right!” he replied enthusiastically, clinging harder on her back.

He wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but he was too busy feeling lighthearted and free on this spring afternoon. It was the first warm day of the year, with only a slightly chilly breeze coming to ruffle his hair at times that only contributed in increasing his  giddiness. For the fifth time this day, he thanked the star that made his father allow him to go out to the temporary funfair with his friends—though he thought they were studiously working on a school project.

“It’s not because you can carry him that you should,” Nino said, shaking his head fondly.

“You’re just jealous because Alya isn’t carrying you.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Let’s ride to the moon and back!”

“To the moon and back!” Adrien repeated, one hand raised in the air.

Marinette let out a warrior cry before attempting to run, albeit slowly because of his weight, and he could tell they wouldn’t go far as he already felt himself slide down and her grip on his legs slacken.

He should have known they’d fall face first before she got too exhausted. If he had, maybe he’d have had the time to react and avoid it.

As it was, he just found himself on top of Marinette on the ground. He lifted himself up and sat down, Marinette soon doing the same.

Distantly, he heard Alya and Nino running towards them shouting “are you okay”s and “are you hurt”s at profusion, but he didn’t pay them any mind as Marinette looked up at him with eyes glinting with mirth and they both fell in a heap of laughters.

Some passersby looked at them funnily while others whispered some “that must hurt”s or “everything alright?”s to them.

“It’s okay,” Adrien told them. “We’ve had it worse!”

“Yes,” Marinette chimed in. “One time we were thrown by an akuma—”

“—A big tuna," he quickly corrected.

“—a big tuna, he’s right,” she repeated, “and we both fell right into a moving bus, and we survived!”

“And you find that funny,” Nino deadpanned, putting his hands on his hips as Adrien helped Marinette up.

Adrien just grinned at him. “Yup! We’re the survivors.”

“And we’re gonna make it!” Marinette sang.

“You’re insufferable,” Alya chuckled. “The both of you. I don’t know how you two can be more unhinged than me with Marinette, but—”

“—That’s because we’re exes besties,” Adrien chirped. Despite the months that had passed, it always hurt a little to call each other “exes”. But he had long since learned that laughing at his suffering was better than crying over it. He just wondered when and if he’ll ever be over her one day. He probably never really would.

“Hey,” Nino said indignantly. “But you’re my best friend!”

“Maybe, but are you also exes, hm?” Marinette asked him. “Because we are, and it makes us the unstoppable exes besties! And now, our next stop will be…” She jumped on Adrien’s back without warning and he caught her with a ‘oof’. “...to that splashing boat attraction over there!”

“Dudes, you already fell once, what are you doing?”

“We’re getting back up, Nino, and we try again,” she announced proudly, raising her fist up. “Let’s go to the boat, Adrien, and may our ship sail! Go, go, go!”

Adrien faintly heard a ‘they’re beyond help’ from Alya as he ran towards the attraction, both his and Marinette’s laughters echoing in the wind.

───※ ·❆· ※───

28th of May, 127 days after the reveal

Adrien landed with a grunt on the pavement. The suit was a good protector, but it didn’t stop his back from hurting from the impact with the ground. This akuma — Firebender as he called himself — truly was more violent than usual.

“Wow,” he managed to breath between two gasps, “you’re on fire today!”

He tried to push himself up with an arm, and raised his head towards Firebender with a half-closed eye. The fireball he saw coming towards him arrived so fast that he didn’t even have the time to do so much as widening his eyes. An anguish cry was the last thing he heard before it faded and he saw nothing at all.

───※ ·❆· ※───

28th of May, 127 days after the reveal

Marinette realised she was screaming when she felt her lungs were empty.

Usually, when an akuma took lives, the victims just disappeared into thin air, as if they had never been. They weren’t lying there, unmoving on the pavement like Adrien was. Somehow, seeing was worse than not.

She felt dizzy, as if everything around her was moving in slow motion. She staggered, trying to turn her head away from the sight of her unresponsive partner who was becoming blurrier and blurrier the longer she looked at him. She needed to breathe, she needed to—

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” she screeched instead, the sound reverberating into the street, bouncing from building to building.

She took a ragged breath, and another, closing her eyes as she took in the dead silence that greeted her scream.

She swallowed her first sob and squeezed her eyes tight shut, taking yet another heavy breath. She turned towards the akuma before opening her eyes, otherwise she knew she wouldn’t be able to tear her gaze away from Adrien’s dead form. She gritted her teeth as soon as the thought of him being gone entered her mind again.

“You’re a monster,” she spat, low and cold, the last word echoing through the silence and carrying her voice to Firebender’s ears — to Hawkmoth’s.

All these days worrying over the possibility of a devastating future she had seen, all this time doing everything she could to avoid it no matter how little she knew of it, and she hadn’t considered the possibilities she hadn’t been a witness of. All these days flirting with the line between caving and resisting only for her regretful indecision to hit her in the most cruel way.

“Give up, Ladybug,” Hawkmoth spoke through Firebender, “you no longer have your pet. All you have to do is surrender your miracu—”

“And what?” she spat. “Let my partner die? Listen to me, Hawkmoth. I have a chance to save him, and for that I need to defeat you. You think I’m stupid? I’m not giving up on Paris. I’m not giving up on him!”

And I’m not giving up on us, she told herself.

“Lucky charm!” she roared, rage and determination coursing through her veins.

She knew nothing about how Chat Blanc had really happened, she realised, catching the spotted chain falling from above. Nothing about her current future, as she scanned her surroundings for a solution. Nothing but the crushing weight of the present and her fear of the unknown, as she opened her yoyo to retrieve the dragon miraculous and put it around her neck.

“Tikki, Longg, unify!”

As she surrounded herself with water and ran towards Firebender with only one goal in mind, she promised herself to never let the gifts the present gives her slide in favour of hypothetical futuristic tragedies. She was finally done running away and sacrificing her life to her fears.

───※ ·❆· ※───

28th of May, 127 days after the reveal

Light suddenly flooded Adrien’s vision as he took a sharp and deep intake of breath. His lungs were burning with the sudden air filling them up, and he squinted his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He groggily lifted himself up on his elbows when—

“Chaton!”

—a red blur threw herself at him. He caught her, her hair in his nose and her warm breath and hot tears in his neck.

He let her sob and squeeze him as understanding washed over him. He gently threaded his clawed fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp, noticing absent-mindedly that she was also wearing the dragon miraculous.

She slowly detangled herself from him but stayed close, looking into his eyes through her wet ones and caressing his cheek with her thumb.

“Kitty,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, “my Kitty.”

He didn’t have the time to react before her lips were on his and she took her time to savour him before ever so slowly pulling away. He let her do.

She didn’t stop there. Gently cradling his face in her trembling hands, she kissed his cheek. And his other cheek. And his forehead. His nose. His jaw. Puncturing each of her kisses with whispers of “mon Chaton”, or “Kitty”, or “my love”, to which his heart made a somersault at, before diving for his neck.

Each time he kept on letting her do, keeping her close to him as she sobbed through her kisses and yet another nickname for him.

He could feel her breathing him in; so, with his nose in her hair, he inhaled her scent too. Her hot breath left his neck once again, and she came back for his lips.

This time, he kissed her back, and as soon as his lips moved against hers, she choked on a sobbed whine and pushed her mouth closer to his, if that was even possible

He hadn’t forgotten the taste of her lips on his, even after all these months; but he also knew their kisses had never burnt so intensely, driven by despair, the need to memorise the present and the aroma of being alive.

───※ ·❆· ※───

1st of June, 131 days after the reveal

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Marinette smiled sadly. “Oh, I don’t know. Hurting you. Putting us through this mess. Not telling you about Chat Blanc. Take your pick.”

She let her arms rest on the railing of the bridge, looking across the Seine. The clouds were getting darker and darker, though a sunray pierced through one of them, lighting up a few buildings on the shore in a powerful atmosphere. Her eyes followed a barge floating further and further away, waiting for the moment it would cross the ray of light.

“You’ve been hurting too,” Adrien said after a few seconds. “You’ve been shouldering it all on your own. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

His hand slid into hers and she welcomed it, intertwining her fingers timidly with his. She glanced at him with a tentative smile and he smiled back, looking at her with soft eyes. She looked back towards the Seine just in time to see the barge slicing through the sunbeam.

“Still. Maybe, if I had told you… if I hadn’t let my fears get the best of me…” She trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

“And maybe,” Adrien spoke when it was clear she wouldn’t add something more, squeezing her hand once, “if you had told me earlier, I would have given up Chat Noir.”

She gasped and turned to him, but he was looking at the Seine with saddened eyes.

“What do you mean?” she breathed.

“I’m not sure I’d have been able to handle hearing that I could destroy the world as an akuma,” he whispered, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb as if to reassure her. “It’s… really hard already, but I feel like it would’ve been worse before.”

He turned his head towards her again and she held his gaze, gripping his hand harder as if to dare him to leave.

“You said it yourself,” he went on, “just like we have no idea about what the future can really hold, we can’t know how things would have played out if we had done things differently. What really matters right now is what you want us to be from now on.”

She searched his expectant eyes for a few seconds before looking back at the Seine. A tourist boat coming towards them had replaced the barge in the sunspot before the window of clouds closed on the light, leaving only a dark atmosphere in its place. The clouds grew darker and a warm gust had picked up, making their hair fly in every direction and their clothes ruffling in a frenzy. Marinette felt her emotions growing with the wind, begging to be said and to explode.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and feeling the wind coursing through her as she gathered her thoughts, and opened them again.

“I love you, Adrien,” she spoke, her declaration followed by a distant rumble in the sky. “I love you so, so much. Discovering that you were Chat Noir, once I took it all in… it was the best thing in the world, but also the worst.”

She faced away from the Seine to face him instead and take both his hands in hers, gripping them as tight as she could to ground herself as she felt a flow of tears coming in.

“It made me fall in love with you so much more it hurt, but I knew I couldn’t be with you or I knew I shouldn’t because…” She paused, taking ragged breaths. “...Because it wouldn’t be responsible. Because we’re superheroes and because I had this warning with Chat Blanc, and as the guardian it’s my role to keep us grounded and to do the right thing.”

A lighting bolt pierced through the sky, accompanied by a loud thunderstrike a few seconds later. Adrien was looking at her with a pain in his eyes that she knew meant he was hurting for her and not him.

“But I don’t want to do the right thing this time,” she murmured, as she felt a first drop of water slide down her cheek. “I’m tired of doing what’s supposedly right. Not when...not when we’re both hurting so much that it feels like it’s more dangerous to stay this way instead of just… giving in.”

At this point, she didn’t know who out of her and Adrien were gripping the other’s hands the tightest. She felt more and more raindrops falling on her face and clothes. She didn’t know if the water in his eyes were because he was tearing up or not.

“So maybe our love destroyed the world, once,” she continued, “but I think there’s enough far more damaging hate in this world; and ever since these akuma attacks started, what saved it is our love — for Paris, for our family and friends… and for each other.”

Adrien’s eyes now held a glint of adoration. His now damped hair was sticking to his face while some strands curled with the water. She supposed hers wasn’t faring much better.

“So to answer your question,” she swallowed a sob, “I want us to be together… if you’ll have me.”

Lightning ripped through the sky accompanied by deafening thunder as Adrien pulled her into a crushing hug. She put her arms around his neck to pull him even closer to her and let the flow of her tears finally mix with the rain on her cheeks.

“Marinette,” he whispered, voice wavering and lips barely touching her ear, “I love you, of course I’ll have you. I’ll always have you.”

The rain fell even harder as they hugged closer and cried, soaking them, yet they couldn’t care less. Their clothes were sticking to their bodies, growing more and more uncomfortable, which was worsened by them being in each other’s arms, but Marinette hadn’t felt so good in a long time.

She suddenly pulled away from the hug and cradled his head between her hands. He took her face in his and they stayed closed, forehead against forehead, breathing each other in. Another rumbled resounded and Marinette’s last resolve snapped with it—she brought her lips to his and kissed him.

He responded in kind, and she drank him in and pressed her mouth closer as she felt him doing the same. She should care about the rain falling and the thunder rumbling, but the battering of the elements were just making her feel freer, finally allowing her to get away from all her self restraints.

She sighed against Adrien’s lips as they kept coming back for more. They kissed their reunion, the relief of finding each other again, at last—unlike when he had come back from the dead earlier, these kisses tasted of the promise of more to come, because they knew they would stay together this time.

───※ ·❆· ※───

21st of January, 1h45 after the reveal

“Okay. What’s going on between you two? You’ve been acting awkward since we’ve got here.”

What was going on. What was going on.

“We’re fine,” the lie rolled out of her tongue easily. “Really.”

Alya raised a brow. “Adrien?”

She saw him smiling from the corner of her eyes. He was a much better actor than her—always had been.

“It’s nothing. It’s… we just… we’re working on it.”

...And much more honest than she was, be it with his feelings or with his heart. Always had been.

“Well,” Nino said, “I hope it’s not too big of a deal and that you’ll get over it soon. You guys are the cutest out there.”

Marinette smiled painfully. She glanced at Adrien who was looking at her with soft eyes that she didn’t deserve considering her reaction, and she felt his warm hand timidly covering hers.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I have hopes we will. We always do.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

21st of January, one year after the reveal

“You’re heavy,” Adrien gasped.

“That’s a rude thing to say to a lady,” Marinette commented from atop him, head resting on the arms she had folded on his chest. “And even more so to your girlfriend.”

He groaned and attempted to lift himself up. Fail. She was grinning at him and he pouted in fake-annoyance. “Not when said girlfriend is purposefully putting all her weight on you! I can’t breath!”

Marinette giggled and pressed herself further on him to which he let out a choked whimper, before pushing away from him after a few seconds, ending his suffocation.

“I could report you for attempting murder, you know,” he threatened with a finger. “‘Ladybug slips into teenage model Adrien Agreste’s room and proceeds to suffocate him’, now that would make the newspapers talk for months.”

She laughed and came back to hover over him. “‘And Adrien asked her to do it again’,” she smirked, and she bent down to peck his lips.

He couldn’t even argue with that.

He discreetly brought his hand close to where his head was lying to grab a pillow. When she pushed herself up and sat next to him, he quickly hit her head with it.

She gasped, betrayed and that sent him into a fit of laughter. She glared at him playfully, grabbed his other pillow, and swatted him way harder than he had.

“You’re dead, Kitty! You hear me?” she said, trying and failing not to laugh. “You’ve just signed your death contract!”

“No, my Lady, please I’m just a defenseless citizen!”

“I’ll knock you out with my yo-yo!” she threatened.

They fought again for a few minutes before stopping, Adrien breathless but Marinette only slightly out of breath due to being transformed.

“I hope your father won’t come in,” Marinette said.

“Don’t worry, if he or Nathalie come, you’ll just say you’re investigating here because, uh...because you suspect me of being Hawkmoth!”

She laughed. “Kitty, that’s such a stupid idea.”

“Why not?” Adrien wiggled his eyebrows. “After all, I do disappear during every akuma attack.”

Marinette smiled and crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as he steadied her with his hands on her hips. They lost themselves into each other’s eyes, faces close but not close enough to exactly touch.

“Then,” she murmured against his lips, and he felt his cheeks heating up. “I’ve come to seduce my enemy. Is it working?”

“I’d rather be your partner if that’s okay,” he whispered.

“Yes, but is it working Adrien?”

He chuckled—she didn’t even need to try, he’d always been too far gone when it came to her. “A bit too much.”

He kissed the proud and satisfied giggle from her lips.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, my plan to stop drinking has slipped as the weeks have gone on in 2024; I didn’t drink anything at all in January and it was psychological hell, I extended that for a week into February and then had a bit and then no more for two weeks and actually kept that up successfully and it was still quite terrible. Then started loosening the rules throughout March, mainly because my tolerance was so much lower than it’s been for about 14 years after drinking so little for 2 months, which made me realize I could drink much less than usual and still feel the effects, and drinking only a bit can’t be that bad, so I’d let myself have just a few drinks in a night and enjoy the fact that I’d end up nearly as drunk as I’d previously have been after 9-10 beers + whiskey, but obviously once I started getting affected by the alcohol it would also affect my judgement and I’ve have more. So I’d end the night by drinking much less than I would have before 2024, but more than I’d planned to when the night had begun, and the amount crept up every week.

I’m still doing much better than I was before I started this (if you define “better” entirely as “having fewer drinks” – mentally it still sucks). Before I started this fulltime in-person job in August last year, when I was doing work from home as I had been for years, I was drinking between 2 and 4 nights most weeks, probably (usually closer to 4 than 2, though). When I started this job I made a rule to never have any alcohol if I have to work the next day, and was surprised that I didn’t find it all that difficult to go down to never drinking more than twice a week. Though that’s mainly because I was incredibly stressed from Monday to Friday about having to be around people and “on” all day, I was obsessive about getting enough sleep and doing everything else right to avoid making it any harder so the last thing I wanted was alcohol, until I got off work on Friday and then the only thing I wanted was alcohol and I’d drink all night on Friday and then usually all afternoon as well as the night on Saturday.

Until the end of 2023, when my job shut down for a week and I drank on four nights of that week and I woke up after the fourth one deciding it might be Admit I Have A Problem Time. Or at least, See How Hard Dry January Is Time. Thinking that because I’d found it easy to cut out drinking on weekdays and confine it to only two days per week, it couldn’t that hard to go down from two days to zero. But nope, it turned out my entire system was built on forcing my brain to somehow survive the workweek, and then get a break at the end where I can drink a bunch of beer and whiskey and turn off my brain. If you take away my break, so my brain has to continue unimpaired 24/7, the whole thing collapses. January was terrible.

I’m still doing better than that I was before I resolved to try to slow down. I have not drank more than once a week in 2024. I’ve been picking Friday or Saturday, rather than both. But I never meant to relax my rules to the point of being fine with drinking once a week again. I just kept telling myself this one day of this one weekend can be an exception, and then I realized I’d done that for five weeks in a row. I think if I actually could drink only a small amount once a week forever, that might be fine. But I know if I have a rule that says a small amount once a week, it’ll creep back up to a large amount and both weekend days and I’ll end up drinking weekdays again too. I like it too much.

So I’m trying to reset. I’m still not saying I’ll never ever drink again, I haven’t said that at any point, because if I say that, then if I have one drink I’ll just assume the whole mission’s failed and I may as well give up. But I’m trying to at least stick the rule harder than I have been. I didn’t have anything this weekend. On Friday I met a few friends in a pub, hung out for several hours, ate dinner, drank water all night. On Saturday I spent all day walking around downtown with my roommate, because I wanted to go to this dessert place and suggested he come with me so I could have a social life thing that doesn’t revolve around drinking, since I also told myself in 2024 that I want to try to have more of a social life, and it turns out that trying to increase your social life at the same time as trying to decrease your drinking is difficult if most of your social life revolves around drinking. So I told my roommate we could go for fun desserts and that would be fun non-alcoholic socializing. Which was fine but then on the way home he had us stop at two different pubs where he ordered a beer and I really really wanted to and he suggested that I should too but I didn’t. And I was very pleased with myself for that because I really really did want to.

Here's something. I'm finding myself not wanting to drink with other people these days because I'm trying to put severe limits on the total number of times I drink, and I enjoy drinking alone more than pretty well anything, so I'd rather save up my allotted alcohol intake (the allotment would ideally be zero but in reality its more like, just go as long as I can without it) for that. I can enjoy hanging out with friends even if I'm sober (the thing that makes it hard is that being with them frequently means being near alcohol, and it's hard to do that and stay sober). In fact it's better than being with them while drunk, because it reduces the panic that I've said something horribly wrong. But being with myself is much better drunk than sober.

I write all this to explain how fucking annoyed I am at the fact that I felt hungover all day today. I didn’t even do anything. I haven’t had alcohol in a week. But today I spent all day with that lethargic and general feeling like shit that I normally associate with hangovers. And then just now I threw up and my stomach still feels off. And I didn’t even drink! Instead I get to play: My body’s annual physical rejection of the weather getting warmer, or (sorry, going briefly TMI for a moment here, though I guess I really shouldn’t be more hesitant to briefly mention this than I am to write about having a drinking problem) a reaction to my imminently starting menstrual situation? Probably a bit of both. But it’s not alcohol-related, at least! I can rule that out as a factor in why I threw up on a Sunday night. Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Also, you know, my brain’s not loving that it didn’t get a break this weekend. Quite the opposite, it spent this weekend on overdrive sitting in pubs and trying not to order anything. Until this afternoon, which I spent very pleasantly listening to several Rankin Family albums in full while reading Andy Zaltzman’s book. That was all right.

…I wanted to complain about how unfair it is that I feel hungover when I didn’t even drink, and I thought, it’s been a while since I’ve done an oversharing personal Tumblr post. Maybe writing an oversharing personal Tumblr post will make me feel better. I got through this weekend without any drink at all, and I should feel proud of myself for that, but I just feel like my reward for doing well is I have to do it again next weekend and then every weekend forever. I don't even get the reward of not feeling hungover on Sunday. But to be honest, writing all this out has, in fact, made me feel slightly better.

Now I'm off to listen to the three episodes I have left of the Radio X show that has been the main thing to take over my life in 2024, or at least, it's tied for the main thing alongside thinking "I wish I could have some alcohol." So it's fun that I've spent the first four months of the year chronicling the journey of a very funny alcoholic. When I started it seemed like those episodes would last forever, now there are only three left.

While I was writing this, my roommate got back from the pub where he spent all afternoon on his own because I didn't want to go with him, because I didn't think I could do a third day of being in a pub but not drinking. And he came over to try to convince me to hang out and I can smell beer on him and it made me very much want to say I'll go have a beer in the living room even though I work tomorrow, but instead I said I have to go to bed. Is it possible that avoiding alcohol means spending your entire life just looking at other people having fun and telling yourself you're not allowed to do that too? Because that seems a bit like I might ruin my entire life. Anyway I'm going to put an amusing radio show on before I go too far down that thought path. I think that's enough oversharing for a bit; posts about how actually it's extremely cool of John Robins to carefully plan out every move on Taskmaster will resume as normal tomorrow.

[oscarswildetiger]

I am not an alcoholic by any means, but two weeks ago I drank a whole bottle of wine and about a shots worth of absinthe and I was on the couch for the whole following day with a terrible hangover (Not the worst I’ve had, not even in the top five) I couldn’t eat anything almost all day, Threw up any water I drank and felt so weak. My sister had to bring me gatorade to hydrate. It took days for me to start to feel normal again.  I’ve done sober months before (Dry Januaries, and something my friend made up called Sober Septober  Mid Sept though mid-october which is just kind of like gay lent now) and I’ve never really felt any different until I started drinking again and went “oh yeah this isn’t the best feeling the next day huh?” and just continued to do so.  However I’ve gone two weeks without drinking anything, only thinking about it because of habit of having something but stopping when I realized I really don’t even -want- it, and I may have ruined absinthe for myself all together (sad really, it was an expensive bottle) and for the past week I’ve realized on and off throughout the day “I feel good.” “I feel good about myself” “I’m happy” “I’ve been productive today” and I don’t know who this girl -is- I don’t know if it’s the warm burst of weather we’ve been experiencing or what but I really only feel like it’s related to the booze! I mean, it is a depressant, but I’ve never really correlated it with me feeling bad in general. So maybe it’s all a fluke but I’ll wait to see if anything else happens before I start drinking again. 

[writesowhatnext]

lost in translation // george weasley

Summary: George and the reader are rather… close. Fred and Ginny are very, very suspicious as to why they weren’t informed that their best friends were together.

Request: Could you write a George Weasley imagine with the couple trope "what is personal space" with a reader who is the Golden Trio's age and friend and Ginny's best friend? Thank you!

A/N: I tried so, so hard to get George to right character-wise so I really hope I did him some justice here and I really hope you like it my love – sorry it’s essentially Christmas themed

Reader: female

Warnings: none I think – very PG! Maybe British swears? A common theme I suppose… kissing?

Anyone would’ve thought you and George Weasley were dating. It was an easy assumption to make given how absolutely inseparable you were. No one knew exactly how you got so close; only last Christmas, at the Burrow, Ginny brought you home for the holiday. Somehow you went from rolling your eyes at the pranks and the schemes and the inventions in December to smiling and laughing in January. Though, there were still eye rolls when required. Honestly, Ginny and Fred were rather put out by it.

“Hey, Gin?” Fred asked, leaning forward on the desk she’d been scribbling her Charms homework on.

“What?” Ginny said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. She smudged her words with the side of her hand. Fred wasn’t paying attention, though, he was staring at the sofa in the centre of the Gryffindor common room.

George was sat at one end, face lit up like a Christmas tree and you were, well, practically sitting on him. You were facing him, knees folding into your chest and feet tucked neatly under George’s legs. His one arm was spread along the back of the sofa whilst the other he used to gesture wildly, sending you both into hysterical laughter. Fred enjoyed seeing his twin laugh like that, his head tilted back with his whole body shaking, but this was taking the piss a little.

Ginny followed Fred’s eyes to the couch.

“What is that about?” Fred rested his head on his hand.

“Y/N and George?”

Fred nodded.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, copying her brother and smudging ink across her parchment with her elbow. “All they seem to do is spend time together.”

“I’ll say. We haven’t pranked anyone in a month.” He huffed. “A whole bloody month. We have a reputation to upkeep, you know.”

“They’re so close to each other, too.”

“Too close.”

“Last week,” Ginny said, casting a glance at the way you hit George’s leg, laughing at a joke he’d made, before turning to face her quite grumpy looking brother. “I came here after Potions and they were comparing hand sizes.”

Fred’s expression turned to one of distaste. It only worsened as George pushed you off the sofa. You grabbed his arm as you fell, pulling him next to you on the ground, both your legs tangled in the air.

“Fred, you don’t think they fancy each other, do you?”

“Fancy each other?” He looked incredulously at his brother. Experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously, he frowned. “They would’ve told us, right?”

Ginny didn’t reply.

“I think it’s time for some investigating.” Fred’s grin was wicked.

You’d got very used to George touching you. He was a very affectionate person, always with the hugs and the arms and the hands. It was hard not to enjoy it, actually, because George was tall and incredibly funny. He was a genius, too; not that he’d ever let his professors know that. His laugh was infectious and you couldn’t help but bite your lip when he rolled his sleeves up the way he did. These thoughts were ones that often distracted you in the recent weeks. You didn’t know what had started it, exactly, but you knew you were definitely a little bit lost in whatever it was you felt for him. Right now, you were lost in the middle of Charms, ignoring whatever Flitwick was saying. If you’d been paying more attention, you would’ve noticed the strange way Ginny was staring at you. It wasn’t until Flitwick set you off to practice your spells that you were even remotely aware of what was happening.

“Y/N,” Ginny said, uncharacteristically softly for her.

You hummed.

“Are you going out with my brother?”

You turned to face her then, looking at her determined expression. “George? No.”

She nodded slowly, frowning. “Why?”

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time together. The only time Fred sees him nowadays is at Quidditch practice and even that’s cancelled for the holidays.”

You couldn’t help but feel bad for hogging her brother. Fred must hate you, you thought.

“We’re not going out.”

“But you want to?”

“What?”

She sent you a dry look.

“Maybe.” You sighed, rubbing your eye with your hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“And why’s that?”

You smiled at her hard expression, how bold she was, how bright her eyes were. Your smile fell.

“Well it’s not like he fancies me, is it?”

Ginny got a sharp reprimand from Flitwick for how loudly she laughed.

George, on the other hand, was much less confused about the whole situation. He had been, at least, before a choice conversation with Fred.

“George, do you fancy Y/N?” Fred asked, deciding a surprise attack in the corridor after breakfast was the best line of attack. His approach returned strange results. George laughed as he reshuffled his books in his hands.

“I should hope I do, you daft sod, she’s my girlfriend.”

“Your what?” Fred stopped in the hallway, ignoring the mutterings of students unfortunate enough to have been behind him. “You prat! Why didn’t you tell me?”

He caught up to George, hitting him in the shoulder.

“Bloody hell, Fred, I thought it was quite obvious.” George rubbed his arm with a wounded expression written across his face. “What do you care, anyway?” His face turned mocking. “Jealous?”

“Oh, shut up.” Fred murmured. “I’ll have to tell Ginny.”

“Ginny doesn’t know? They’re best mates.”

“Weird, right?”

It wasn’t until class ended that Fred found Ginny again. You and her were chatting in the corner of the common room, laughing and bickering about something or other.

“Hello ladies.” George said as the twins drew closer. “Raising any hell today?”

His eyes lingered on you.

“No more than usual.” Ginny drawled, folding her arms. “I’m sure you have a miraculously terrible plan up your sleeves, though.”

“Ah, dear sister.” George said, looking to his brother who had lit up significantly since last time Ginny had seen him.

“Just you wait and see what we have in store.” Fred’s grin only grew.

“There’ll be lights,”

“Smells,”

“Sensations beyond your wildest imagination.”

“It’ll be wicked.” They said in unison, smirking at you in front of them. You and Ginny shared a dry and wordless look.

“Anyway,” George said, offering you his hand. “I owe Y/N a trip to the kitchens to thank her for her wonderful Potions expertise. See you at dinner, you two.”

You glanced at Ginny before letting yourself be dragged along, hand in George’s warm palm.

Fred waited till you were out of earshot before pouncing on the chair opposite Ginny you’d just abandoned and leaning over the table.

“They’re going out!” he said at the very time Ginny said “They’re not going out.”

“What?” they said at the same time, again.

Ginny shushed him.

“What do you mean? She said they’re not going out?”

“He said they were!”

They both paused for a moment.

“Mind you,” Fred hummed. “Do you think George ever asked her?”

Ginny mused on it. “Very like him to just assume they were an item.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Christmas dinner in the hall was no less fun that usual; full of laughing and cheer and the general merriment you get at this time of year. It wasn’t till it was time to go to bed that anything remotely notable happened. Well, other than the exploding stink jellies Fred & George had planted as dessert

“Y/N’s staying over Christmas. Ginny invited her.” George said as him and Fred packed their suitcases, at the last minute of course. Fred nodded.

“George,” he said, standing up straight. “Did you ever actually ask Y/N to be your girlfriend?”

“What?”

“Did you actually ask her or did you just assume she knew, like me?”

George quite resembled a fish, the way his mouth was opening and closing.

“I think you might want to ask her, mate.”

You were confused, to say the least, and also slightly hurt. George hadn’t so much as talked to you since you’d arrived at the Burrow. He hadn’t touched you either; which was more of an adjustment than you were prepared for. There was something obviously wrong with him because he was quiet. Even with Fred at his usual eccentric volume, the absence of George’s voice was somehow louder. You’d asked Ginny about it but she had no idea. Fred did, though, you suspected. That’s why, when George disappeared into the kitchen before bed, you followed like a somewhat lost puppy. It was almost as if he was waiting for you, leaning against the counter with a glass of water.

“Are you okay, Georgie?”

He didn’t say again as you walked closer, your hand skimming the side of his arm as you stood in front of him. He let your hand fall into his own, fingers interlocking.

“I like being close to you.” He said sombrely, completely out of character. You looked up at him, frowning slightly.

“I feel like a right prat, actually,” he barked out a laugh. “I thought we were going out.”

“What?” you asked, voice sliding up on octave. You could feel your cheeks heat up and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Me and you?”

He lifted your hand, moving his fingers back and looking at the size of your hand compared to his. You stared at him but his eyes never left your hand.

“Would that be so bad?” he asked, finally meeting your eyes. You’d never seen him so vulnerable. A small smile pulled at your lips as you stepped in between his feet.

“George Weasley, are you asking me out?” you placed your free hand on his shoulder. “Because,” your mouth twitched “If you are,” his free hand found your waist. “You are doing a horrible job, truly.”

“Oh, is that right?” He asked, smiling now himself. He tilted his head downwards. You bit your lip as you nodded.

“Yep. A girl hopes for fireworks, roses, big grand gestures-“ You rocked your head to the side. “I get an ‘I already thought we were-“

“You are talking rubbish.” He whispered, unable to contain the way his smile lifted his cheeks.

And then he was kissing you. Slowly, softly. Your hands loosened. His dropped to your waist, pulling you closer as yours dragged up his chest, winding around his neck. You scratched the back of his neck lightly and he made an indecent noise in your mouth. He pulled away all too soon, resting his forehead on yours. Neither of you could hide your smiles. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pursing your lips.

“If you want fireworks, I’ll light you fireworks in every room of the castle.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

“One condition though.” He smirked, pulling you to his chest as you raised your eyebrows. “Be my girlfriend.”

You laughed.

“Have to get it in writing now, don’t I? Don’t want to look like a git again.”

“Oh, we are far past that.”

“You cheeky-“

You didn’t let him finish, only moving in for another kiss.

That was until you were interrupted by two very smug looking redheads.

“So,” Fred smiled, crossing his arms and leaning against the fridge.

“You two going out yet?” Ginny asked, shooting you a pointed glance, a small smile playing on her face.

“Oh, piss off.” George huffed, rolling his eyes and cupping your cheek with his hand. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss when you heard gagging noises from the doorway.

[impossible-rat-babies]

tuesday, two in the afternoon

fallen hero / 2.1k words / chargestep (nb!sidestep + m!ortega) / cw: smoking

mostly below the cut!

--

“Why did you bring me down to the beach? It smells awful down here...”

Pollux kicks a rock across the barren sand, watching it roll into the lackadaisical waves lapping at the meager shoreline. The sand squishes beneath his shoes, water leaking through the crappy canvas.

It rained not long ago—almost caught the both of them in the downpour.

His head is still damp from the few fat drops that landed from between the slats in the boardwalk they used to take cover. He runs his hand across the fresh buzzcut, forgetting for a second there’s no curls to tuck behind his ears.

“I thought you liked the beach.” Ortega comes up beside him, keeping pace as they wander through sand and rock, passing by tiny tide pools refreshed by the rain. The sun will dry what the waves can reach soon, but for now they thrive under the cloudy grey sky.

“I don’t mind the beach, but it always stinks like garbage and wet dog down here after it rains.”

“At least it keeps the place private.”

“If you don’t count the seagulls.”

“They’re worse than the tourists.” 

Ortega smiles and Pollux turns to walk backwards, cocking a brow over his sunglasses. Of course Ortega is overdressed to be taking a walk on what passes for a beach these days—a fancy shirt and slacks and the watch he’s got on costs more than four months of rent on Pollux’s shitty apartment.

(Disregarding the sunglasses he’s toting around that are without a doubt the third most expensive thing he owns and even then they were a gift. From Ortega, obviously. He disregards the invading thought that the most expensive thing Ortega has won’t ever be his clothing or a watch, but his spine. Pollux thinks *if*—not *when*—he dies if they’ll pry it out and stick it inside someone else; a replacement for an accident of their own.)

Ortega is always dressed to impress, the silly man. Pollux it’s a habit, or he doesn’t have anything else to wear that isn’t something higher class or luxury, or if he genuinely enjoys silk shirts. The tailored slacks with fancy watches and Italian leather shoes. There’s no one to impress but Pollux and he hasn’t fallen for that trick in years.

“Worried about your shoes?”

“They’re...squishy.”

“You’re gonna ruin them.”

Ortega kicks another rock off towards the waves, stuffing his hands in his pocket as an answer. Pollux snorts, rolling his eyes, and he turns back around, falling into step beside him. He’s always been a fast walker--a faster runner.

Silence stretches out between them and apprehension feels like just another word for awkward, this gap between them. The few pointed inches—enough for static electricity to jump between them, for Pollux to anticipate Ortega’s touch and deftly pull away, leaving air beside his fingertips.

It’s still so hard to let him close.

“Why did you want to meet up here?” Pollux asks just to have something to say, anything to avoid Ortega looking like he’s going to throw his arm over his shoulder and pull him in to mumble something fond, or a terrible joke.

“Just to go on a walk?” Ortega tries and oh he tries so hard. More than he used to.

“Since when did you start walking for fun?”

“When you decide to come along with me. It’s fun, Lux.”

Pollux frowns—he knows this game. Ortega’s got this little tell of looking away just the right way.

“You just wanted to get me out of the house then.”

Ortega shrugs—he’s avoiding, nor is he saying no...

“Okay so I lied. I don’t have anything to talk about. But, if I just wanted to spend time with you then you would’ve said no.”

“True...” Pollux hates how he’s right more often than not. Asshole. “So you picked the beach?”

“I didn’t plan on it raining.”

Pollux sighs, tired of the sand and he wanders away--further out of reach--towards the rocks near the pillars holding up the promenade. 

It’s deserted right now, the rain and the fact that it’s two in the afternoon on a Tuesday keeping the crowds away. Give it a Saturday on a cool summer’s evening and it’d be packed to the gills; people screaming on the small roller coasters, the stink of fresh fried food and the lights--the dizzying array of red, blue and yellow. All the people and all the thoughts buzzing through his head; there were so many bombarding him--all of them, just as aggressive as the lights. He’s braved that terrible crowd--all because Ortega asked. 

He used to do that, do things because Ortega asked nicely. Because they were fun--he had fun. Does he still remember what that felt like? Being on that promenade, breathless and young, laughing like he knew how to laugh? 

They walked down to the very end once, away from the bright lights where it was just the ocean stretching out in front of them like a black abyss. All alone. Ortega asking him, pleading for one ride on the ferris wheel. “Come on Lux just one little ride.” Pollux calling his bluff, shoving his face away because it was all just a ploy for a kiss. Like this is some snapshot romance movie still.

It’s stupid to think about bygones.

There’s no temptation to jump into old times down here, just the water swelling against the rocks and the concrete walls. Trash hiding in the crevices, old green beer bottles that will break and turn to sea glass; left to wash up on the shores of Hawaii.

The beaches there are still nice--worthy of memories. Not this smog stained grey sand.It’s just a hop skip and a jump up onto the slick brown rocks smeared with algae and something that shines like oil. It stinks like it.

Pollux stops, shaking a cigarette out of the package and he cups his hand to protect the fragile flame, watching Ortega clamber up onto the rock beside him. He flops down on a relatively dry spot, free of the worst of the gross.

“What are you doing?” Pollux asks with a faint laugh and a cocked brow, letting his cigarette go unlit. It droops between his lips.

“What does it look like? I’m sitting down.” Ortega replies, smoothing a strand of hair back into the salt and pepper waves at his temples.

“Mr. Ralph Lauren is gonna be pissed you ruined your pants?” A raise of the brow and Ortega looks up at him with a look in those brown eyes.

“My shoes are wet, Lux.” Ortega whines and Pollux is *this close* to kicking him off their rock.

“I think you’re getting old.”

Pollux squats beside him, arms draping over top of his knees.

“Now you’re just being cruel...”

Ortega adjusts, grimacing when he inevitably puts his hand on a wet spot. He untucks his shirt, and he’s rather reminiscent of those “aged like fine wine” men on old magazine covers he found in shitty motel lobbies. He’d fit right on a sandy beach in Florida. These aren’t the right beaches for any of that anymore, still mostly rock. Their original glory immortalized in photographs on the fronts of travel brochures.

But they are healing—slowly. The sand creeps up the shoreline more and more each year.

“I’m not cruel. You just an oversized sun hat and a lounge chair. Maybe a nice hot beer.” Pollux teases and Ortega grimaces.

“It’s January.”

“That doesn’t stop people in Florida or Hawaii.”

“Have you even been to Florida?”

Ortega asks so harmlessly and Pollux pauses.

He’s been there half a dozen times before—fuzzy memories from over a decade ago. Rooftop gardens on top of high rise builds off the coast of Miami, galas with thousand dollar dresses and caked on makeup in the low light from crystal chandeliers. It was all for work, watching and scanning, nimble mental fingers coaxing and teasing truth from the mind’s eyes. He would watch, take in the sights and the sounds through other people’s minds. Take the truth and puzzle over the rest. Ask the dangerous questions: why and how?

He still believes the biggest mistake they made was allowing him to learn.

“I’ve watched movies.” He says instead of lying and he knows he isn’t getting away with it. “Besides, have you ever been to Florida? Or Hawaii even?”

“No, but I���ve watched movies before.”

Ortega grins and Pollux groans, resisting the urge to yet again so shove him off his rock and into one of the tide pools below.

“You’re an asshole.”

Pollux fishes around in his pocket and grabs out a matchbook, flipping it open and fuck he grabbed the wrong one. There’s nothing but the empty packaging in this one, uneven lines from tearing out matches without much grace. He flips it over onto the back and nothing--even the striker strip is shot to hell. Fuck. 

“Are you out?” Ortega peers over and he grumbles.

“Grabbed the wrong matchbook” Pollux huffs, about to grab his carton back out and stuff the poor cigarette back in.

“Wait, I still got--here.” Ortega pulls a small matchbox out of his shirt pocket, holding it out to him. It’s much nicer than his ten cent books he frequently gets for free from the gas station because the cashier thinks he’s cute. 

“You...still carry them around?”

His voice stalls in his chest: it’s meant to be more of questioning incredulity, but it comes out much softer. Forlorn and sticky at the front of his mouth.

Ortega sheepishly looks down at the matchbox, flipping it between his index and forefingers.

“Old habits die hard.”

He ran out of matches a lot, even the crappy little packages where the matches broke more often than actually struck. Ortega started carrying them around, little inch and a half boxes of matches tucked in his coat or shirt pocket. He doesn’t remember when the habit started. But it evolved into a habit of stealing them, seeing how easily he could sneak one away without him noticing.

Ortega protested whenever he caught him and the two of them scrambling for the box until Pollux tucked it away like magic, or Ortega tried tickling him enough times to get an elbow to the nose.

He got him back: a sufficient enough shock and Pollux complained about having a numb hand for the next week.

Pollux had a little stacked collection of them all lined up against the baseboard next to his mattress. He kept the fun ones, the brightly colored and eclectically designed ones--neon blue and mustard yellow. Held onto them until they were falling apart and he painstakingly cut them apart and glued or taped them in the pages of notebooks.

Even now, seven years later Ortega still carries them around and that tugs sharp in the back of his throat and deep in his belly—a sort of nausea that stings his eyes.

He blinks several times and fuck there’s the logo of the cigarette shop Ortega dragged him to once in a blue moon. The floor was some cheap old green motel carpeting--the windows covered in layers of advertisements and wood paneling everywhere else. But god it smelled fantastic--like a humidor stuffed to the brim with anything from cheap cigarettes to fancy and illegal cigars in glass cases. 

(Fuck, it was the best place to buy cigarettes--they still had the little machines with the tokens he’d pay five bucks for at the counter.)

“Yeah...” Pollux mumbles, tearing his eyes away. “Kinda literally, you know. Dying.” He chuckles bone dry and Ortega cringes.

“You still recognized the matchbox. I can’t call you a lost cause yet.” 

He looks over at him, salt and pepper black hair blowing in the breeze, the little white spots where the scars cut through his beard. The soft smile on chapped lips. Even with all the anger in the world rushing under his skin, he can’t be mad.

There’s just that wistful empty ache and he blinks, looking away. The distant shoreline etched on the horizon of a dark ocean and the patchy grey sky above. He lights the cigarette with a single match, the sharpness of the sulfur and the sweet menthol cloud of smoke the breeze dissolves into nothing. 

“Here...” Pollux offers the matchbox back to him.

“Keep it. You need it more than me.” Ortega says, pushing his hand back towards him and he pulls his hand away.

Pollux fixes him with a with a long look before he heaves a sigh and looks back out towards the coast and the ocean further beyond. Smoking the cigarette, filling his lungs on the menthol and tobacco until it burns out at the filter. Ortega sitting beside him, bouncing a leg but he’s quiet. And he doesn’t look over at Pollux.

The sun barely peeks in through the clouds and it looks like this is all the rain they’ll be getting.