#i think i should rotate ivan in my head a bit more

[ivanttakethis]

I love that weird two-headed alien thing in Anakt Garden so much and especially that pic of ivan resting in its jaw. I know the picture isn't intended to be cute but when I see it I just think of when mother crocodiles scoop up their babies in their mouths to carry them. Ivan was that things little buddy

I do too! It’s one of my favorite pieces of official art. They just look so cute!! I love that you called Ivan the wagyein’s little buddy 🥹

You’re right about mother crocodiles, I never thought of it that way before. Maybe the wagyein saw Ivan as its baby? Or rather, something that needed its protection?

Another thing I love is how there are so many ways to interpret what the picture means.

Perhaps we’re meant to focus on the similarities between the two: red eyes, prominent teeth/tooth, obedient, monstrous (the wagyein literally and Ivan metaphorically).

Or it could be Ivan symbolically surrendering to the ugly parts of his inner self.

I like to think the picture shows an understanding between them.

They are both odd and somewhat solitary creatures, misunderstood by others. There are ugly parts in each of them that they can’t hide. But they find comfort in one another.

Ivan, resting in the wagyein’s mouth surrounded by all of its teeth, is extremely vulnerable; which we rarely if ever see him be at any other time in the series. The wagyein is also vulnerable to any attack beyond its teeth, throat, etc.

The fact that Ivan isn’t afraid of getting torn to shreds by the beast and the wagyein let Ivan so close suggests that there’s a level of mutual trust as well.

I wonder how Ivan felt when he gained the wagyein’s trust.

We know he struggled to connect with his classmates. Did he feel further ostracized when he had an easier time connecting to some sort of alien creature than other humans?

Did he see too many of his own features in the wagyein (red eyes, sharp teeth, and so on) to even think he was as human as the other children?

Maybe that’s where the idea of Ivan as a monster came from.

I firmly believe the similarities between the two were intentional.

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 19

The Darkling x Reader

You were fast asleep in the safety of your chambers, tucked into the comforting sheets and their warmth as the contrasting winter air blazed outside. You could hear a faint shuffle outside your door, guessing it was the rotation of guards you ignored it and turned in the bed, facing away from the door but stopped short when the door opened. You shot up, squinting in the dark to see who'd just entered your chambers in the dead of night. Talk about being vulnerable. The figure moved from the door and shut it but you heard the faint sound of the lock as it turned. Your heart started hammering in its chest as you felt your shadows coil around you.

'Did I wake you?' His voice was smooth and full, and through the darkness you managed to make out his glistening kefta. Your shoulders sagged in relief as you lay back down, shadows dropping and retreating.

'More like 'Did I scare you?' You relaxed back onto your side, eager to return to your slumber. 'I'm going back to sleep' you mumbled, the sound muffled by the sheets half covering your face.

You heard him taking off his outer layers then the thud of his boots as he disposed of them and walked towards the bed. His hands were absolutely freezing cold as he reached for your waist and pulled you into him

'You're so cold' You whined but he merely chuckled and pulled you closer. With a gentle kiss to your temple, Aleksander quickly dozed off right after you, enjoying a good night's sleep with you cradled in his arms.

*****

You woke and he was gone, the only sign left of him being the rumbled cushion and gloves on the nightstand. You stretched dramatically and dressed quickly, ringing for two breakfast trays to be brought to the General's war room. You carried stacks of documents in your hands, most of them boring and pointless, as you walked the short distance to his quarters.

'Good Morning' He was standing with Ivan next to the round table with his arms crossed, studying the Shu border with furrowed brows but relaxed them once he heard you enter. You dropped the papers on his desk with a sweet forced smile 'I come bearing gifts. Oh and breakfast.' Aleksander looked amused and sighed

'That's all Ivan, thank you.' Ivan only acknowledged you with a nod before leaving the room as instructed by his Commander.

'Thank you so much dear for leaving me with all your paperwork.' You slapped your hand against the messy pile 'I don't even know what half of it is'

'You'll learn in time I'm sure'

'If you think you're going to do that again you are sorely mistaken. It is possible to read whilst sitting in a carriage is it not?' As he went to reply, a servant wheeled in a table of breakfast trays and your stomach rumbled at the sight. You thanked them and uncovered your plates, mouth-watering at the sight of fresh fruit and pastries.

'You'd be sad to know there's no herring' You pretended to gag and his laugh echoed along the walls. What a pleasant sound.

'I think I'll manage' He sat down next to you and spooned extra sugar into his porridge. For a moment you ate in comfortable silence, enjoying your food.

'Why were you back so late last night?'

'I wanted to avoid the fleet of performers arriving for the fete. There's already a long line of them at the gates.' You hummed as you bit into the flaky pastry.

'What color are you wearing to it?'

'What do you mean?' You eyed him curiously as he lay down his teacup.

'What color kefta are you wearing to the fete?'

'I haven't thought about it yet. I have so many lavish ones I doubted I needed to have any more made' You chuckled 'Why do you ask?'

'I requested that Alina wear black'

Oh.

'And will she? I know she refused the first time.'

'I had Genya make sure of it'

'Oh I get it, is this your way of politely telling me to not wear black?' Your voice contained no anger or resentment. You had agreed to his plans and it would be petty of you to be upset now.

'No, you can wear it if you wish. It's always been my favorite color on you. I'm just letting you know' You took the napkin and dabbed at your mouth.

'Well the fete is tomorrow, I should decide quick.' You rose from your seat and took the mug of tea with you.

He was out of his seat by the time you fully stood and wrapped his strong hands around your waist, keeping you close to him.

'Don't be jealous, at the end of the day I come to you, not her.'

'I'm not jealous Your eyes whipped to his.

'No?'

'No.' You forced the sternness into your voice, solidifying the word but it only sent a smirk to his face. 'What are you smirking at?'

'I missed you' He crashed his lips to yours in brute force, knocking the air out of you. He was eager and greedy, wanting you to himself. You let yourself indulge, holding his face in one hand while the other still held the mug of hot tea.

'I have to go Aleksander.' You pulled away and he pouted, like actually pouted. He looked like a big baby who'd just been denied dessert and it ingrained in your mind. The adorableness filling your heart full for the rest of the workday.

*****

'Saints can I ever catch a break.' You groaned with your head in your hands.

You wanted to run and escape to wherever was quiet and peaceful, where you would be left alone for at least 2. fucking. minutes but no, the people of Os Alta and its performers were ready to watch you rip out your hair from frustration. The Queen's messengers were drilling a hole through your head and your Grisha demonstrators were throwing a huff about their limitations 'Don't light anyone on fire' was simple and reasonable, so why were the Inferni fussing about it?

'Saint's whats wrong with you'

'Zoya I don't have time for this right now.' If Grisha never got sick, then why was there a headache forming in my head?

'Just here to pass along a message-'

'-who isn't' you scoffed

'-let me finish, it's about Alina's double for the dinne-'

'Let the General deal with that. I'm at my wits end here.'

'But I don't want to tell him, hence why I came to you.' She sat down on the chair next to you and huffed.

'Put on your big girl breeches Zoya. I'm really not in the mood.'

'Must you always be so rude?'

'Oh my Saint's you're one to speak'

'But I'm never nice so there's the difference.'

'Are you still here just to berate me?'

'Is there something you want me to do?' Although she was rude, Zoya showed her kindness in other forms.

'Can you speak with the head of Palace guards and go over security breach protocols? I don't want to risk anything with so many foreign dignitaries in the building'

'I would love nothing more.' She sarcastically said and left you alone. It wasn't long before you accidentally dozed off in the midst of all the chaos.

------

Part 20

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!) @theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1 @adoringb

[redvoid-40]

A Game for a Kiss

Don’t ask me where this came from. I’ve watched BSD a couple months ago and of course I got the hots for the feral rat-man. -.-

Anyway, slowly I came up with a little plot for an arc with some OCs (weird calling them OCs, when they’re all named after past writers but oh well) and even thought about developing it, but since I’m not in the mood to write a whole multi-chaptered fic, I decided to just write this interaction between Fyodor and my main OC for the BSD-universe, Mary Shelley. You know, as a treat. >.<

I know the fandom is super small, but I thought someone might enjoy this, so here it is! :)

Also, Fyodor might be OOC (it’s hard to get a full understanding of his character) but I see him as creepy-pretty, with no qualms in manipulating women in ways that border on dub-con. So... TW: some making out; Fyodor’s thoughts making it clear his morals are more twisted than a pretzel. 

Anyway, enjoy! :)

Part 1 / Part 2 (NSFW) / Part 3 (NSFW)

“How about a game?” Fyodor proposed, smiling from ear to ear as he moved a chessboard from the side table to the coffee table in front of them. It was small, with tiny and expensive crystal pieces that had a purely decorative role, but he had never minded playing with valuable and irreplaceable things before, so why start now? Much worse to die of boredom than to shatter a hundred-dollar pawn. “I heard you had quite the reputation at the Chess Club in Oxford.”

“It’s been a few years since I last played,” Mary admitted as placed her glass of anise-infused gin on the coffee table and reached out to touch the white king, as if she was caressing a long-lost lover. “Not sure I’ll be a worthy opponent to you, Mr Dostoevsky.”

“How about I give you some impetus then?” Fyodor asked, raising a sole eyebrow as Mary’s eyes shone with interest. “If you win, I’ll give you something. Something I know you want from me.”

Mary quickly pulled back, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie-jar. “You’re already doing so, and I’m eternally grateful for it. Helping me retrieve Adam and right my wrong is all I could ever hope for and more, Mr Dostoevsky. There’s nothing el-”

“A kiss.”

Fyodor’s smile widened and his eyes darkened as a pink dusted over Mary’s cheeks. Her dark eyes made it hard to discern her emotions, but if he were to guess, Fyodor would bet her pupils had doubled in size at his indiscretion.

“I can feel your gaze on me, Doctor Shelley. Every time I walk in a room, your eyes peruse my figure like I’m an appetising treat,” Fyodor spoke, feet planted on the floor as he projected his body forwards, elbows on spread knees and the fingers of his hands intertwined. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you are interested in me in a way that’s not entirely professional or proper.”

Mary reached for her lowball glass and quickly brought it to her lips, downing the rest of her gin in a way that also wasn’t professional or proper. Fyodor watched her throat move, amused and admitedly a bit impressed at the pace at which she was draining her gin, wondering if maybe he should have proposed a drinking game instead. Who would fare better, her with her gin infusions or him with his chilled vodka?

“... and if I lose?”

Fyodor blinked, lazily trailing his eyes up her chin, passing by her pouting lips, blushing cheeks and up to dark eyes that stared at him so attentively. Lips curled at the corners, he raised a single eyebrow, urging Mary to continue.

“If I lose the game, what would you demand as compensation?” She clarified, and Fyodor exhaled at how she pressed her thighs together beneath her knee-length, black skirt.

“I’m not sure,” Fyodor said. “Why don’t you let me decide later? If I win the game, that is.”

Mary’s eyes turned away from his, moving down to gaze at the empty glass in her hands as some luster in her eyes darkened into distrust. “I think I’ll pass on your offer, Mr Dostoevsky. A kiss for an IOU? Your proposition doesn’t sound fair to me.”

Fyodor retreated, letting his spine fall comfortably against the back of the sofa as an airy laugh left his lips. The woman wasn’t as foolish as he had expected, at least; despite admitting in all but words she was enamoured with him, her shackles remained raised, certain she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Must be a woman’s intuition, Fyodor thought, remembering the looks he so often received from the fairer sex throughout his late adolescence and adult life. So many inviting smiles were thrown his way, only to morph into barely veiled jitters when he got close enough to touch. For all his years of manipulating the brightest of the brightest to have his way, Fyodor still hadn’t figured out how to lull women into unravelling themselves for him without promises of money - or some other stimulant - as reward.

“If I win I vow not to abuse my freedom, and will only ask for something of equivalent value to what I offer,” Fyodor proposed, lips relaxing in a smile he hoped Mary deemed trustworthy. “And if you feel I ask too much, you can deny me and I’ll give up my reward altogether. Does that sound fair, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary looked at him through lowered lashes and he could almost hear the gears turning in her head, lust and reason rotating in opposing directions in a struggle to decide.

“Fair enough,” Mary spoke at last, and placed her glass back on the coffee table. Her hand then moved to the chessboard and spun it around so the white pieces were close to her. “But I play white.”

Fyodor almost protested, but the smile Mary threw his way demanded enough endearment that he’d allow her this little bit of despotism just this once. 

He found he rather liked it.

---

To Fyodor’s surprise and satisfaction, Mary proved herself to be a worthy opponent. For the first time in years, Fyodor stood over a chessboard with furrowed eyebrows as he macerated the pad of his thumb between his teeth to the point he could taste iron on his tongue.

“Don’t do that. You’re hurting yourself.” 

Fyodor had just moved his knight when a hand seemed to appear out of nowhere and gently wrapped around his wrist to guide his thumb out of his mouth. Purple eyes narrowed, shooting up from the board to Mary, but his scowl melted into something almost benign at finding the woman hunched over the board, positively pouting. Her hand released his wrist, leaving an imprint of heat on his flesh despite not touching skin, and floated back to her, fingers twitching as they hovered over her pieces, debating their next move.

There was a brief knock on the doors before they opened and in walked Ivan, pulling Fyodor’s attention just in time to see the narrowing of his silver eyes as they fell on the back of Mary’s head. The glare disappeared as soon as it came, so when Mary turned around to greet the newcomer with a polite smile, he responded with an enormous grin and flamboyant mannerisms.

“I’ve come to check upon you, see if everything was alright,” Ivan announced as he stood behind Mary, silver eyes fixed on Fyodor with adoration. “It’s almost midnight.”

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she reached for the phone she had forgotten on the cushion by her side. “Oh my, there are twenty calls from Jane. I really should take this thing off silent mode.”

Fyodor’s jaw tightened as Mary’s focus shifted from their match to her phone. “Ivan,” he called with a firm voice that demanded to be the centre of attention again. “Please, let Doctor Shelley’s companions know she is safe and sound with me, and that we’re both occupied at the moment. Also, would you be so kind to have someone bring us something to eat? Something sugary would be best. I will have a drink as well. Vodka, chilled but no ice,” then he lowered his eyes back to the woman in front of him and smiled as he motioned to her empty glass. “Doctor Shelley, would you care for another?”

“Ah, I-”

“A gin for the lady, Ivan. Thank you.”

Ivan’s smile didn’t falter as he bowed his head. “Of course, I’ll have someone bring your drinks. As for sweets, I believe there are a few strawberry shortcakes in the fridge. Would that be to your liking?”

This time, Fyodor remained silent as he stared at Mary, giving her the illusion she had a say in this whole matter, that she could choose her treat in the way she couldn’t choose to refuse a drink. 

Mary’s eyes were glued to his and once again he noticed how her thighs rubbed together at his attention, leaving her phone forgotten by her side. Blushing, she craned her neck to glance at Ivan and nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Very well. Someone will bring everything here briefly,” Ivan said, moving his eyes back to Fyodor. “If you need me-”

“We will be fine,” Fyodor dismissed, purple eyes fixed on Mary as he gave her a smile that showed too many teeth. “I believe it’s your turn, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary nodded, turning her gaze to the chessboard. Her hand hovered while her brain readjusted to their match, reviewing the last rounds as it calculated the best moves she could make. It took her only a couple of seconds to review their entire game and make her move.

“Good,” Fyodor said, right hand rising to his lips out of habit, only to stop midway as he felt an intense stare on him. When he looked up, Mary was giving him a look that quickly morphed into a smile when he aborted the movement. He snorted and smiled back. “Worried about my delicate fingers?”

“You’re the one who said you have an anemic constitution,” Mary replied, eyes dropping back to the board. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself; it might take longer than usual to heal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fyodor said, letting his eyes move up and narrow slightly at finding Ivan remained still behind Mary, staring at him with a doll-like smile on his face and wide eyes. “Ivan, our drinks?”

“Oh, of course! My apologies,” the man said before bowing theatrically. “I’ll leave you to your match. Good night!”

Fyodor nodded as Mary turned back to Ivan, throwing a polite “Good night, Mr Goncharov”, before once more focusing her attention on their game, waiting for Fyodor to take his turn. He grinned, purple eyes fixed on her as he made his move, enjoying the way Mary’s lips pouted as she concentrated.

He really was having fun playing with her.

---

The game came to its inevitable conclusion hours later, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and the birds chirped outside the window. After a couple slices of strawberry shortcake and a few refills of vodka and gin, Fyodor let his body fall back on the sofa, smiling from ear to ear as he stared at the pouting woman in front of him.

“Check-mate, Doctor,” Fyodor purred, purple eyes darkening in satisfaction. 

Mary stared at the board for a couple more seconds, as if a solution to her defeat would present itself to her. But when none did, she sighed in acceptance as her forefinger gently laid down her king.

“Don’t beat yourself, Doctor. It was a splendid game; the best I had in years,” Fyodor commented.

“Thank you, Mr Dostoevsky. But your words don’t make defeat taste any less bitter.”

“I guess not,” Fyodor said. “Especially since I have to claim the spoils of my victory from you.”

Fyodor didn’t miss the glance Mary threw his way, clearly torn between enticed curiosity and rational diligence, clearly still wary that he hadn’t made his wants known before their game despite his guarantees. Those intelligent eyes clouded with lust made him lick his lips, and her breath hitched in response.

“I want… a kiss.”

Mary’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I promised to ask for something reasonable, didn’t I?” Fyodor mused. “What’s more fair than to ask for the very thing I offered?”

“But then… why did we play?” Mary asked, head dropped to the side.

“Well, I don’t feel like moving at the moment,” Fyodor said, letting his knees fall open as his eyes ran over the woman in front of him. “So, since you’re the one owing me a kiss, you come here and give it to me.”

Fyodor had never seen someone’s skin change colour so rapidly before, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bright red that bloomed all over the pale skin on Mary’s cheeks and neck. Without thinking, he brought his left thumb to his mouth, nibbling gently on the soft flesh as he regarded the woman with his own sort of unprofessional and improper interest.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said, eyeing the contour of his lips around his digit.

“Come and stop me,” he replied.

Mary swallowed his words with the same relish she swallowed her gin as she stood from the sofa, taking a moment to straighten the fabric of her pleated skirt, before walking towards him with soft, elegant steps. She came around the coffee table, sparing a glance at her toppled king before her eyes fell on his widespread knees and ran up his body until they reached his face. And while Fyodor was used to such appreciative looks, he didn’t expect the soft smile she gave him when their gazes crossed; it was usually at this moment that women stepped back from him, frightened by the intensity in his eyes.

Mary sat down by his left, so warm against the side of his body, and reached up with both hands to pull his thumb away from the abuse of his teeth. She brought his hand down to her chest to examine the damage, pouting when she saw the pad of his thumb was red and swollen, with a small laceration that had just barely crusted over and still threatened to bleed.

Fyodor watched her through half-lidded eyes, exhaling deeply when she glanced up at him. From such close-quarters he could make out the limits between the black of her pupils and the brown of her irises; just like he imagined, her pupils were dilated to extremes, wary of and eager for him. The red on her cheeks subsided, leaving a light pink colour in its place that enticed him to run his lips over the skin.

With a small quirk of her lips, Mary glanced back at his hand and shook her head at the damage on his thumb, before bringing it to her mouth to kiss the wound. The touch was soft as a rose’s petal but still knocked the breath out of Fyodor’s lungs. His warm breath gusted over the top of her head, then hitched as a soft, warm hand laid on his cheek.

“That was not what I had in mind when I asked for a kiss,” Fyodor spoke, smiling down at the woman. 

A chuckle escaped Mary and once again she gave him that soft look he was unfamiliar with. Before he could taunt her further, Mary tilted her head and guided his face down, letting her lips ghost over a corner of his mouth before moving to the other, soft and sweet. Hypnotised, Fyodor’s eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed into these teasing touches that, despite being feather-light in their delicacy, made heat rush in his veins like molten metal, erupting out of his heart to his cock and leaving a trail of feverish desire in his veins that demanded more. More contact, more kisses, more pressure.

Fyodor pushed forwards, folding his body over Mary as his hand reached out to grab the back of her neck, only to freeze mid-air as her cold air took the place of her warm flesh. Somewhere he heard an unholy sound, and only after he opened his dark purple yes to find startled brown staring back at him he noticed he was the source of it. He was growling.

In a fraction of a second, Fyodor wondered about the stage he had set for them. Had he misjudged her interest? Hadn’t he offered her enough drinks? How much did she need his help? How much did he need her and her companions? How far could he push? Was everyone in the house still asleep? If she screamed, would anyone come to help?

Brown eyes narrowed slightly and Fyodor swore he saw a glimpse of himself in them; of something aware, astute, and artful. It was there for a moment so short he wasn’t sure he had projected the connection, so before he could let his brain process it, he was once more being subjugated to that look. That nauseatingly soft look no one had ever given him before, and that he did not know what to do with.

Without words, Mary bent the rules of their game and took his turn from him, cancelled aggression with tenderness as she pushed him back against the sofa gently before swinging her leg over his lap to settle herself on his thighs, pulling a pleased hum from deep inside his chest. 

“May I?” Mary asked, hand playing with the flap of his ushanka hat.

Smiling, Fyodor nodded, and Mary pulled the hat off his head. The motion left his hair messy, drawing a giggle from her lips as she combed the knots away so gently he couldn’t help but shut his eyes and relax against the caresses. 

“Your hair is so soft,” Mary murmured, letting Fyodor smell the gin and strawberries on her breath. He felt her fingers dance on his face, collecting his long fringe to push it back and away from his features. “And you’re so beautiful.”

Fyodor’s eyes opened slightly, just enough so he could stare at the rosy lips hovering so close to his. His hands twitched by his sides, unsure where to go or how to touch. He was used to grabbing, pulling, bruising and scratching; not to soft lips or delicate touches dancing over his skin like her hands ghosted over the chess-pieces only minutes before.

Mary’s lips let out a delicious, trembling breath before moving towards him, avoiding his own mouth altogether to give a kiss on his cheek before moving to whisper into his ear: “You feel so tense. Relax.”

Easier said than done, Fyodor thought, turning his head to bury his nose in Mary’s long, black hair and breath in the scent of her shampoo - something citrusy and common that made him light-headed in a way he only felt when his anaemia got the best of him, causing him to black out and wake up stretched on a hospital bed, with an IV bag of O- blood connected to his arm. 

Still, he couldn’t possibly lose consciousness now, not with Mary’s warm body grounding him so sweetly, not with her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat between her legs trapping him against the sofa’s cushions in the best possible way. Gently, like everything she did, Mary finally laid her mouth over his, allowing a whimper to escape the back of her throat when he pressed against her, not as much as he would have liked, but enough to hold back the most violent aspects of his desires, for now.

At the contact, Fyodor’s passive hands took action, sneaking up Mary’s thighs and hips, before slipping under her blouse to rack his short nails over her naked back as he used his hold over her to press her heat harder against his cock. He half-expected her to pull back again, startled at his boldness, but Mary surprised him by letting out a delighted gasp as she tightened her grip on his hair and arched her back, pushing her breasts even more against his chest.

Fyodor took the opportunity and shoved his tongue inside her mouth, groaning as the taste of her invaded his senses. One of his hands danced over Mary’s skin, causing her to shudder as it tickled by her ribs before moving up to her-

“Oh, Dos! Are you in there? Why is the door locked?”

Nikolai’s happy-go-lucky voice breached the door’s barrier, causing Mary to pull back from their kiss, panting. Fyodor’s nails tensed over her skin before his hands relaxed again, dropping to her waist as he sighed and dropped his forehead against her collarbone.

“I guess your debt is paid, Doctor,” Fyodor spoke against her skin. “There’s work to be done.”

“Of course. I have my mission in a couple of hours as well,” Mary agreed as she pulled away to stand up on shaky legs. “It would be best if I got a couple some sleep before it.”

Fyodor glanced down at himself, at the wet spot on the crotch of his pants, and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes with a devil’s smirk. “Think you need a shower too?”

Mary blushed as she straightened her clothes in a modicum of decency. “I guess.”

Fyodor chuckled, but before he could tease her further, Nikolai’s loud voice invaded the room once more, making his eyes roll upwards in exasperation.

“Quiz time! How long until I force the door open? Two minutes? Two seconds?”

“I will leave you two alone,” Mary said. “Excuse me, Mr Dostoevsky.”

Fyodor nodded dismissively, but the look in his eyes was anything but uninterested. “I will see you later… Mary.”

The woman’s breath hitched at having her first name spoken with such heavy desire before she quickly made her escape, almost slamming against Nikolai when she unlocked the door.

“Good morning, Mr Gogol,” she said with a polite smile.

“Good morning, Mary!” He replied enthusiastically, pulling one of her hands to his lips. “What a treat to see your charming figure so early in the day! Don’t tell me Dos has summoned you at such ungodly hours to talk business?”

“Oh no, we were just having a match,” Mary said, pointing to the chessboard on the coffee table. “He wiped the floor with me.”

Nikolai took a few moments to examine the board and what he saw made him raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Looks like a tight match to me,” he said, before turning to Mary. “Next time you should invite me so I can cheer you on! Gods, what I wouldn’t give to watch Dos lose a game…”

Mary chuckled and opened her mouth, but Fyodor beat her to the punch. “You wanted to talk, Nikolai?” He called, smiling tightly at the other Russian. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

“Hmm, grumpy,” Nikolai whispered, sharing a conspiratory smile with Mary as he once again kissed the back of her hand. “Lovely to see you, my dear.”

“You too, Mr Gogol. Have a good one,” Mary said before walking away, throwing one last smile in Fyodor’s direction.

Nikolai waved at Mary’s back as she walked away, closing the door once she turned a corner.

“You know,” Nikolai began in Russian, spinning on his heels to face Fyodor. Both men smiled, but the emotions they showed were something dark, almost cruel. “I believe this is the first time I see a woman in a room alone with you leave without tears in her eyes.”

Feet planted on the floor and knees spread, unashamed of his hard-on or the wet spot on the fabric of his pants, Fyodor hummed a little song as he reached for his hat and adjusted it back on his head. Satisfied, he reached forward and grabbed Mary’s fallen king from the board.

“Honestly, my friend,” he said, bringing the piece to his smiling lips. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

[consumeconstantly]

If at first you don’t succeed... just live with your mistake

“My mommy’s the Style Queen.”

“Well my mommy’s an Italian Ambassador.”

Chloe scoffs. “So? My dad is the Mayor of Paris.”

AKA Chloe and Lila have a dick measuring contest.

______________________________________________________________

“This is your fault, Audrey! She acts exactly like you when you’re jet lagged and caffeine deprived. She definitely got it from you.”

“Excuse me?” Audrey delicately slams her iced mocha down on the imported Rosewood table. “She got it from me? I’m not the one whose name Chloe has dropped in every one of her little school fights.”

“I just don’t understand.” Gianna Rossi nurses her head in her hand. The whiskey  that was delivered to her didn’t have the opportunity for water to condense on the sides, so the table remains free of stains. “How did Lila end up this way? I’ve always tried to lead by example, and I spend as much time with her as I can!”

Audrey pats Gianna’s forearm with a gloved hand. “Maybe it’s just teenage rebellion, darling.”

“I wish,” Gianna says, glumly. “Do you think it’s because she grew up without one of her parents?”

“Nonsense,” Andre waves his hand, still wearing the pretentious ribbon that proclaims he is the mayor of Paris. “Chloe grew up with a mother, and she turned out exactly the same way.”

He mutters more quietly, “Though a mother that was gone so often she might as well not have even been there.”

Audrey smacks Andre on the arm. “You know very well that you were gone more often when she was a baby. We agreed that we would rotate focusing on our careers every few years.”

“Yes, honey, but I’ve been on Chloe duty for the past eight years. You only took care of her when she was a toddler.”

“Who was the one who had to change diapers Andre? The one who woke up at 3 AM to feed her? The one who taught her the goddamn alphabet? Tell me that, Andre, tell me that.”

Gianna motions for another drink to be brought over by the butler that Andre and Audrey employ. Audrey holds up a hand and shakes her head. “Don’t do it, Gianna. It’s almost 4:30. School is going to get out soon.”

Pressing her head up against the lacquered wood, Gianna sighs. “All the more reason for me to drink.”

“You don’t want to be inebriated when you have to deal with Lila, do you?”

“I do,” Gianna wails. “I have to be! Do you know that Lila makes me drink more than my job does? And I’m the one who has to file all of those awful akuma attacks that always end up targeting Italian tourists because some people are still not over what we did in World War II!”

“Italy did do a lot of awful things back then,” Andre mutters.

“Shut it! Whether it’s right or wrong, one akuma attack out of every twenty five deals specifically with the prejudice against Italy. Italian tourists get caught up in seven attacks out ten. I’ve had to issue so many incident reports that I think I’m going to get carpal tunnel soon.”

“I can’t believe you have the statistics on those.”

Gianna’s voice shoots up two octaves. “You’re the mayor of Paris. Shouldn’t you be keeping track of statistics like these?”

“Ah,” Andre laughs awkwardly. “Of course I am. But back on topic. Who do you think it’s going to be this time? Chloe or Lila?”

A moment of silence. Then, in tandem, all three of their phones buzz.

“You just had to jinx it, didn’t you, Andre?” Audrey pulls out a pocket mirror, reapplies her lipstick, then stands. “Let’s go see what our girls did this time, non?”

Placing her sunglasses over her eyes, Audrey continues, “A hundred euros that the Dupain-Cheng girl will be one of their targets.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, honey. That girl has too much of a spine for either of them to get her involved.”

Gianna sobs for the umpteenth time that afternoon. “If Lila was just a little bit more like Marinette, so many of my problems would be relieved! Do you think if I pay her enough, she’ll be friends with my daughter?”

Audrey and Andre exchange glasses. Andre shakes his head. “Friendship won’t work. We tried to get our Chloe to play with Adrien. He’s still as well-mannered as ever, but Chloe… In any case, I’ll raise your hundred euro bet to one fifty and say that Sabrina will be involved.”

“That’s no fun,” Audrey complains. “You always take the obvious bets.”

The three parents make their way to Andre’s limo. Gianna may or may not take two shots of vodka on her way there.

#

“Chloekins!” Andre stretches his arms out to his daughter. His bad knee pops twice as he gets down to kneel.

“I don’t know why he insists on playing good cop bad cop when it hasn’t worked once in the past five years,” Audrey says to Gianna. 

“At least you have a significant other to make that work. I have to be the good cop and the bad cop, all in one person, and it hasn’t worked ever. Maybe I should try looking for other single parents. Adrien’s father is single, right? And Adrien is such a sweetheart. Maybe I should try--”

Audrey waves her clutch slightly in the air to cut her off. “Trust me when I say that is an awful idea. Not only does the man still believe Emilie is alive, but he also keeps an obscene amount of iconography of her in his bedroom in his manor. And even if he somehow gets over Emilie, wish isn’t going to happen anytime soon, that snake, Nathalie, has been waiting in the wings even before Adrien was born.”

Gianna’s shoulders slump. “I thought ‘the good ones are all taken’ is only a phrase that’s supposed to be used by students.”

“Daddy!” Chloe stomped her foot. “I demand that you deport this-- this miscreant from Paris at once!”

“Daddy’s so proud of you for learning a new big word.” Andre continues to fawn over his daughter while Chloe and Lila’s classmates look on disgustedly at the dual display of affection and undermining Chloe’s intelligence. Nino lets out something that sounds suspiciously like, “Sick burn, dude.”

“Daddy!” Chloe’s voice gets even higher, and Audrey counts at least five of Chloe’s classmates cover their ears and wince. Andre glances back at Audrey, clearly expecting her to come in and lay down the law. Audrey doesn’t even bother raising an eyebrow in disbelief, She just stays completely still until her husband gets the point and turns back to their daughter, shoulders slumped.

“Sweetheart, we can’t just deport Lila for no reason,” Andre tries to placate Chloe, unsuccessfully. Somehow, the classmates and the teacher have gotten a hold of popcorn, and are now sharing it amongst themselves. 

“I told you. It’s not for no reason. It’s because she’s a miscreant!”

Andre falters. He’s always given into Chloe’s demands, and Audrey has always been the one to fix things after. He gives in. “Okay, sweetheart. Then we can--”

“Hold on.” Gianna steps in between Andre and Chloe. Audrey smells alcohol coming from her mouth. Gianna’s cheeks are slightly pink. Audrey, herself, doesn’t believe in midday drinking, or really, drinking at all-- she thinks that it ruins skin and that inebriated people simply aren’t attractive-- but perhaps if Audrey wasn’t so involved in the fashion world, she’d be a little more similar to Mme. Rossi. “How about we hear both sides of the story before deciding what needs to be done?”

Lila and Chloe lock eyes, then immediately turn away with each other, crossing their arms at the exact same time. If Audrey didn’t remember every detail of Chloe’s birth because it was so painful, she’d be inclined to believe that the two girls were twins, or siblings at the very least. They’re just too similar in their mannerisms to believe that they’re completely unrelated.

Fluttering her eyelashes and playing up the image of a false saint that precisely nobody in the school believes anymore, Lila, looks at Andre and Gianna through watery eyes. “Chloe was bullying people! I simply had to intervene.”

“That’s not true! She was the one who started it!”

Gianna sighs. If she were any less of a woman, she would immediately buckle to the ground. But she’s been dealing with the Italian-Parisian politics, which are often fraught with tension, for nearly three decades, and with one Lila Rossi for thirteen years. “Why don’t we hear from an impartial third party?”

The three parents turn on the rest of the classroom. Sometime during the chaos, Caline Bustier fainted, and was promptly escorted to the nurse’s office by Mylene and Ivan. No matter. Caline isn’t the most… impartial or intelligent person they have to choose from. Audrey does feel slightly responsible for her lack of intelligence, as Chloe beaned Caline in the head with objects of various size and weight throughout Ecole, which is why the woman isn’t out of a job. 

“Marinette and Adrien. Why don’t the two of you tell us what happened?” Audrey points at the two teens that are whispering to each other. They certainly have an interesting dynamic. If Marinette was taller, she’d love to have the two of them model for some of her shoots, together. No matter. She still has time to grow, and she has it on good word that Sabine is doing all she can to make sure her daughter grows to at least Tom’s height.

Chloe gasps. “You remember Maritrash’s name, but not mine?”

Beneath her sunglasses, Audrey rolls her eyes. Really, she makes one attempt at the younger generation’s humor, and it backfires on her horribly. She fired the intern who recommended that joke to her, so there’s really nothing more to be done. This is why it’s just so much easier to be harsh. 

Luckily, Adrien deescalates the situation before Chloe starts on a second tangent that will likely end in tears instead of a fit of rage. Audrey wonders if she’s really that emotional when she’s jetlagged and in need of a pick-me-up. She’ll have to ask her assistant, next time.

“Well, it really started as two seprate issues at first.” Adrien rubs the back of his head and looks down at his feet. Maybe there’s a tradeoff. Indiscriminate rage in exchange for common sense. Confidence exchanged for timidity. “Chloe was… upset because she didn’t get a perfect on the last assignment Sabrina submitted for her.”

Audrey rolls her eyes again. What, there’s a reason she wears sunglasses everywhere she goes. She simply can’t deal with people’s stupidity, or when people make clearly exaggerated-- or in this case, very, very, almost criminally under exaggerated, judging by the bruises forming on Sabrina’s knees-- claims.

“And Lila was spinning another lie about Jagged Stone to Nino. Something about her being his lovechild,” Marinette finished. Now there’s a girl who has confidence, is more than confident at her craft, and is pretty. Really, the only negative things that she’s heard about the girl is that she’s sort of a clutz and rather bad at getting places on time, but both of those can be remedied. Etiquette class and a personal driver, and everything will be fixed. 

There’s also the small matter about her apparently having the capability of picking locks and hyper fixating on whatever she likes, but Audrey has been trapped by men trying to get a ransom from Andre at least four separate times, and she wouldn’t be here today if she wasn’t a bit of a daredevil of lycee. As for the hyperfixation, so long as she’s able to move onto a new area of interest in time for each new collection, Audrey sees no reason why Marinette can’t excel in the fashion world.

“Lila Rossi! You know you are not the daughter of Jagged Stone! You’re going to be grounded for two weeks!”

Marinette nudges Adrien. “Excuse me, Mme. Rossi. Why don’t we finish the whole story before issuing any punishments? There’s… more.”

Adrien is associated with that good boy next door kind of aesthetic, but he pulls off unintentionally mildly ominous like he was born to do so. 

“The short of it is that Chloe pushed Sabrina, Sabrina fell onto Lila, and that made Lila and Nino kiss. After that,” Marinette eyes Nino, who is wiping his mouth with his eighth wet wipe and being soothed by Alya with an arm on his shoulder. “Well, things kind of devolved from there.”

“You mean,” Chloe hisses. “That this wannabe pulled my hair, scratched my face, and knocked me to the ground!”

“You made me bleed!” Lila pulls her sleeve up. There aren’t actually any marks, but there aren’t any marks on Chloe, either. 

“They did roll around on the floor for a while,” Alya admits, “But both of them were so up in each other’s business that it's difficult to make out who actually landed a hit on who, if either of them did manage to hurt each other. I have the footage, but even after we watched it a few times, it really just looks like the two of them are bear hugging each other on the floor.”

“Are you guys forgetting the real victims here?” Kim half shouts. “My beautiful face!”

Alix slaps him on the back. “Don’t worry about it. If it scars, it’ll just make you look mysterious. If it doesn’t… well I can’t say that your looks were ever good to begin with.”

Sabrina shuffles her feet. She’s definitely less injured than Kim’s nail scratches, with only bruising on one arm and on both of her knees. 

“Chloe didn’t do anything bad,” she defends. “She’s perfect just the way she is!”

“That’s right, servant.”

Marinette turns to Adrien with a question in her eyes. He nods. 

She bangs her head against his shoulder.

“Sorry about that, Chloe’s voice just really grates on me sometimes. I need to knock my head in order to get the ringing to stop.”

Lila shoots a smug look at the blonde girl. “See?”

“Lila’s too,” Marinette says, then bangs her head against Adrien’s shoulder one more time for good measure. “Adrien, Alya, do either of you want to continue?”

Adrien pulls Marinette into his chest. Alya steps forwards as the Champion of the Truth. “After their catfight, Kim and Sabrina broke them up. Sabrina took Chloe, Kim took Lila. After the two of them were separated, Mlle. Bustier went to M. Damocle’s office so all three of you were contacted. Chloe tried to go at Lila again once Sabrina loosened her hold, but Marinette geupplexed her.”

“Seriously,” Marinette stares at Chloe’s completely unruffled appearance. “What kind of hairspray does Chloe even use? Her hair is made of steel.”

“Her hairspray is made from venom and spite, dude.”

The tell tale sirens of a police car approach. “Oh, by the way, did M. Damocles not tell you that the police were going to take both of them in for questioning?”

“No,” Gianna Rossi says, curling in on herself. “No, he most definitely did not.”

Chloe and Lila are led away in handcuffs while the parents stand in a group, almost numbly.

“Why are our children like this?” Gianna pulls her hair. She’s had to take off so much time from her job this month alone in order to accommodate Lila’s ridiculous behaviors.  

“Be comforted by the fact that they’re not working together. Can you imagine the kind of plans they’d think up?”

“Actually,” Alya interjects. “They have. Were you never contacted for the time they sent Marinette flying out the window?”

“WHAT?”

[therealjammy]

The Worth Of the Wait (Witness)

AN: Posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, but also in the hope it’ll garner a bit more audience. It’s quite angsty, so please bear that in mind xx

The title that isn’t in parenthesis is from Ivan & Alyosha’s song by the same name

Words: A little over 2.5k

--

And since it falls unto my lot

           That I should rise and you should not…

—

There was something in the reading of ghosts Dani had done that mentioned souls were doomed to wander the grounds around which they died due to unfinished business. As to what that business was, the spectre had to find out on their own, a task that began as soon as one came to.

           No such task was set forth when Dani woke the first evening after her death, collapsed on the shore of the lake on her knees, not knowing it was the same spot Jamie had knelt just hours earlier. No sense of purpose filled her, only the strangeness of the afterlife, the emptiness of the manor’s grounds, and a bizarre, echoing loneliness.

           Here, Dani did not bear the weight of the first Lady of the Lake. No second gaze watched from within. No claws tore away pieces of her. She was Dani once again. Almost whole, but not quite1.

           She walked the grounds to grow used to her new body and life. She mused that this must have been what the astronauts who landed on the moon felt like—terribly weightless, yet able to come back to the ground by sheer force of will. So light. Like floating on air. But she wasn’t hovering. The afterlife wasn’t nearly so stereotypical. There was grass underneath her feet, and gravel, and brick. Dani was pleased that the muted feel of them all did not terrify her. The downside, however, was everything she took in reminded her of Jamie. And Hannah and Owen and Flora and Miles. So much so that she dropped to her knees for the second time in the middle of the statue garden and allowed herself to feel another knife. It slid beside the one that’d pierced her chest at the sight of Jamie in the water, reaching for her, agonized screams distorted by the thick, choking medium. I won’t, Dani had said. Don’t reach out for me to take you; this is the only time I will not accept your hand.

           The book said nothing about the loneliness one would feel in the afterlife, nor the emotions that ghosts were still capable of feeling, nor even the fact that ghosts could have their own ghosts.

 —

Time was nearly impossible to tell here. The days varied in their colors, of course, so Dani knew the hours, but she could not count the days. Or the weeks. She only knew the beautiful grounds, once kept tame by Jamie and a series of others before her, were slowly being reclaimed. The hedges lost their shapes. The statues in the statue garden wore masks and robes of moss. The rose garden and the white iron table and chairs were covered in leaves and surrounded by weeds, and armies of aphids munched greedily on the wilting roses. The church was dark and drafty; the candles had dust gathering in them, and the benches were covered in it, too. Jamie’s beloved greenhouse was overgrown, looking the part of a houseplant jungle that was now home to spiders and large, fearless rats. Soon many varieties of leaves and arms of vines would cover the bench, concealing the evidence of a deep first kiss and—on a different day—a thick half-hour’s lovemaking.

           Concealing life so that they might live their own. Jamie would say that, or something similar to it. Part of nature, innit? Inevitable. Uncontrollable, once set free.

           Dani was not bound to the lake. Not entirely. And so she spent a series of nights on the greenhouse’s bench, on her bed of plants and cracking cushions, perfectly content to lose herself in memories that hadn’t been sharp for years.

 —

It could have been months, or even years later, that Dani began to hear voices. They were faint and far away, like music drifting from an open window several stories up, the voices unidentifiable, the words a string of incoherence. There were no others on the grounds; what others there were had moved on to somewhere else the second the Lady of the Lake settled herself inside Dani. But the voices were there, whispering in the woods and the lake, the greenhouse and the church, wherever Dani managed to find herself. Was it possible, she wondered, for someone dead to lose their mind? It shouldn’t have been. It would be cruel of the afterlife to make her repeat an act that had already been done. The voices were not memory, either; memory did not tickle the eardrums or raise one’s hackles.

           It didn’t take long for Dani to shrug the voices off, thinking them a new music serenading her world. She often fell asleep to them—a different kind of lullaby.

 —

The first time Dani was called to the land of the living was an accident.

           She was walking through the woods, admiring a golden sunset slashing through silhouetted branches on the way to the spot where Jamie’s carefully grown moonflower once sat. Dani seated herself on the log she’d occupied, watching the shadows lengthen on the iron the moonflower had used as an anchor to grow against, thinking of Jamie and her going-out-on-a-limb monologue, of the kisses that followed and the laughter-filled ascent up the stairs that led to them making love in Dani’s bedroom, with no hesitation after Jamie’s, “It’s not too fast?” A voice shattered her thoughts, clear as day, a whisper.

           “Where are you?”

           Jamie.

           Heart leaping, feeling more alive than her new life had lately allowed her to be, Dani ran, ran through the woods and the gardens, past the empty greenhouse, church, and manor, calling Jamie’s name. “I’m here!” she shouted. “I’m here, Jamie!” No avail. No reward. Just the whisper, again and again. “Where are you?”

           Once again, Dani found herself wading into cold water, and once again fell and sank, but it was not to the lake’s silty, reedy bottom.

           There was water underneath her hands. And wood. Not even an inch of it, but still it lapped at her hands, an insistent, icy tongue. There was hissing. And further away, the sound of sirens. Dani stared at the floor. Light finished oak. Skinny pieces. She knew this floor.

           Looking up, in a state of dizzying disbelief, was looking into the flooding kitchen of the apartment. Their apartment. The sprinklers were spraying water. Something must’ve caught fire, but Dani wasn’t looking for that. Her gaze was trapped by the cracked front door and the unmistakable figure of Jamie, soaked to the bone, sitting between the oven and the sink, the posture of someone who had slid there in defeat, not quite weeping but on the verge of it.

           The strangest part was how ardently she stared into the water.

           “Where are you?” Jamie said.

           “Here,” Dani would have said, and reached out to her, had she not felt herself being pulled back.

 —

Several times, the breaking through happened, each as jarring as the first, until Dani learned to expect it. Until, one winter evening, when the grounds of Bly were dusted with frost, she only thought of Jamie and was instantly over her shoulder. They were in The Leafling, the winter plants and flowers in full season. Outside, there was snow, and fresh flakes were falling like cigarette ash from a steely sky. Jamie was in dark jeans and a black turtleneck, her curls pinned up in a bun, a few unruly ones dangling over her eyes, her hands putting the finishing touches on a pot filled with pansies.

��          “It’s a very ironic name,” Jamie had said once, back when they first opened the shop and rotated the flowers out depending on the season. “Call this flower a pansy but it survives the winter.”

           “Maybe we should call it a toughie,” Dani suggested. Jamie shook her head, smiling, but she ended up making a chalk art sign that read, “These toughies survive the winter!” and placed it appropriately in front of the pansy display. They’d sold out within the first two weeks.

           The signs that were in the flower shop now were not written by hand in Jamie’s half-messy cursive. They were all typed and displayed on boards. Including the sign on the door, which was flipped to closed.

           There was life here, Dani realized, her heart seizing in her chest, continuing despite the gaping loss Jamie obviously still felt.

           How many times, Dani wondered when she returned to Bly, to the greenhouse, had Jamie thought of giving up? It had to be several, by now.

           It took a special sort of perseverance to overcome the call of death.

 —

Time hardly existed at Bly, but Dani found a way to keep track of it. She watched Jamie and knew the months went by, staying longer and longer, until she hardly found herself at Bly at all.

           She watched Jamie change. Her hair got longer and less wavy. Grey began to show. Slowly at first, and then they were as sudden as weeds. Dani watched efforts of romances, all of which ended in apologies and the showing of the ring she’d slipped onto Jamie’s finger in the nineties. She watched The Leafling change hands. Watched Jamie pack up the apartment and move into a small house in a different town. Watched her fly to Paris and step through the doors of A Batter Place for the first time in ages. Owen was still there, dressed in white chef’s uniform. And Hannah’s picture remained where it was, too, her kind, smiling face forever immortalized.

           Jamie stood by the doors. Jet lag sagged her shoulders. Made her eyes droop like half-dead leaves. Yet there was determination, Dani saw, mixed with an oncoming wave of nostalgia.

           Owen was a few tables away, smiling, pouring refills of wine into two guests’ glasses. He glanced in Jamie’s direction, owner’s instinct kicking in at the sight of someone loitering in the entryway, looking back at the customers, and then giving Jamie a long double-take.

           “Please excuse me,” Dani heard him say.

           He and Jamie approached each other slowly.

           “My god,” were Owen’s first words to her, “you’ve gotten old.”

           The laughter that erupted from Jamie’s mouth was the sweetest music.

           They sat at the same table that’d seen them a little over a decade ago, talking over French cuisine and wine, until long after closing and long after everyone else left. There was much to say and then nothing at all, a silence settling over the old friends that was comfortable.

           There was a bit of happiness in Jamie’s life at last.

 —

Jamie’s life had changed since seeing Owen in Paris. It was lighter. She walked with new purpose. There was, however, one constant. Jamie always left doors cracked. Always left something filled with water—the kitchen sink, the bathroom sink, the tub, a watering can—and gazed into it, much like she had that day in the kitchen. The habit could have started long before that, Dani theorized, but there was no plausible way to be certain. The only thing that was certain was the statement these habits made: I’ll wait for you. In those moments, Dani’s heart ached in her chest, its own clenched, frustrated fist.

           On a blustery spring day in 2007, Dani followed Jamie around her plant-populated kitchen as she had a conversation with Owen over the phone. Jazzy piano floated from a speaker somewhere Dani couldn’t see, the volume low. She only heard Jamie’s side of the talk.

           “This makes me feel really fucking old.”

           “Well, wasn’t she twelve the last time we talked to each other?” A smile. “I’m giving you shite, you moosher.”

           A pause.

           Her tone turned serious. “You’re sure you want me there?” A pause. “You know they might not remember me.” Silence. Then, with another smile, “All right, you’ve convinced me with your battering on about it.”

           In the past, Jamie threw on whatever outfit was convenient: old, soft T-shirt tucked into worn jeans, jacket pulled on over it; paint-splattered overalls and flannel shirt; sweater and jeans and a grey-blue coverall caked with soil. Her style came together in the nineties. It was polished in the New Millennium. She planned her outfits with a little more care, and she looked stunning in all of them. It was, thought Dani, no wonder the younger women that floated in and out of Jamie’s life fawned over her.

           The occasion she talked about with Owen was, much to Dani’s surprise, Flora’s wedding. The man she’d been smitten with at seventeen was the same one she was marrying at twenty- eight. Jamie marked the date in the calendar hanging on the fridge.

           In the days that followed, a melancholy shadowed Jamie. Dani saw it on her face, and deep in her eyes. She believed Jamie was thinking about their own union, how they had to practically beg for it to be civil while all some people had to do was slide a ring on a finger and ask for a license. How Flora’s life stretched for acres ahead of her while Dani’s own was an uncertain countdown. Dani saw, as she’d gotten rare glimpses of, Jamie scribble the thoughts down in a notebook with yellowed edges. (She had usually left Jamie when she wrote. That time was hers alone.)

           She turned the page. Her pen hovered.

           Jamie began a new note.

We should have grown old together. Watched each other change. Kept track of the lines that appeared around our eyes and mouths. Made love until we were too ancient to do it properly. Found other ways. We should have had our whole lives ahead of us. It seems unfair I get to be the age I am. But we had our time, Poppins. Not many people get that.

             The note wasn’t a goodbye. To Dani, it was more of a reminder.

 Epilogue:

Witness

The asylum-turned-hotel was surprisingly cozy, even by dead people’s standards. Nestled in a sort of grove in Northern California, Dani liked the rustic look of the place and how pleasant it looked against the late afternoon sunlight shining through the trees. It had a sitting room just off the lobby, populated by comfortable couches. Despite the spring warmth, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and the wedding guests gathered around it, some with drinks in their hands, others empty-handed. They chatted amongst themselves until, rather abruptly, Jamie announced, “I have a story.”

           Dani settled behind her, back to the warmth of the fire. Bly did not call back to her. Nothing held her but Jamie, whose command of the room was absolute.

           She hung on every word.

           She felt light. She felt like she could fly at the way Jamie narrated the story that held everyone so raptly; her voice wavered from tenderness to melancholy to, at the end, devotion. A sense of purpose.

           It hit Dani as suddenly as cold water. Her purpose. Her unfinished business. It had only taken seven years and countless witnessing of someone perpetually in wait.

           Jamie filled the hotel’s sink. And the bathtub. She cracked open the door, just a little, letting in a small bar of white light. She turned a chair to the door. Waiting. Expectant.

           Dani knew then.

           If Jamie waited for her, Dani would wait for her in return.

           She set a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, a promise she would, hopefully, feel.

--

Endnotes

1. A reference to my favorite novel, Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones

The lines before the start of this work are from “The Parting Glass”

[galahadwilder]

I’ve Got Your Back (And You’ve Got Mine) Ch. 5

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“What happened to ‘as long as you and I know?’” Ladybug snapped, grabbing Ivan's arm and, with a deft leg sweep, judo-flipped him into the janitor's closet. She slammed the door in his face and crushed the knob between her fingers.

"That was before I knew she tried to kill you.” Chat kept his baton outstretched, sweeping back and forth to ward off Nino and Rose, who stared at him with hate in their eyes. "Why didn't you tell me about what she said in the bathroom?"

Ladybug opened her mouth, but in that moment, Alya pounced onto her. "Imposter!" the Ladyblogger screeched, attempting to claw at Ladybug's suit.

Ladybug groaned and kicked Alya free. “Nobody believed me about anything that day,” she said. She pointed at the Ladyblogger, who was currently scrabbling away from her on all fours like some kind of horror-movie demon. “This is exactly what we were trying to avoid, Chaton.”

”Can you really blame me for wanting to protect you?” Chat said, leaping over Ladybug’s head. He snatched Alya by the wrist, ripped open a locker, and tossed her inside, slamming the locker door behind you.

”Yes!” Ladybug said as she leaped upward over Kim’s head, doing the splits against the ceiling as she wrapping him in yo-yo and jammed his torso into a ventilation shaft. “Considering how often that ends with you dying?”

”We’re not dead yet,” Chat said. He nodded toward the end of the hallway. “Heads up. Liarbug.”

Ladybug groaned as she saw “herself” round the corner, spinning her yo-yo with a determined look on her face. “Chaton!” the other Ladybug cried. “Don’t listen to her! She’s the liar!”

”Stinkysock,” Ladybug said to Chat—the third code phrase they’d agreed on for telling imposters after the Copycat debacle. He nodded with a smirk, dropping to all fours and bounding down the hallway towards Liarbug... only to get tackled out of the way by a roaring Principal Damocles.

Ladybug rolled her eyes as she charged toward Liarbug, neatly vaulting the roiling mass of Damocles and Chat and rolling towards her doppelgänger. “You’ve had your fun,” Ladybug said. “Give it up already.”

”Never,” Liarbug growled in Ladybug’s voice. “As long as Paris needs me, I’ll never let you win.” She twisted like a baseball pitcher, cannoning her yo-yo straight at Ladybug’s stomach.

Ladybug shifted one foot back and held up her hand. The magical plastic whapped to a stinging halt right into her palm. She stared at Liarbug with a raised eyebrow. "You done?"

"Kitty!" Liarbug said. "Please, you have to stop her!" She leaped toward Ladybug, fist outstretched. "Stinkysock!"

Ladybug dodged, grabbed Liarbug's fist, slammed her into the ground. "Macaron!" she said. Code phrase four. The rotating system was designed to trip up any Akuma that tried to listen in on them.

Chat flip-kicked Damocles off him, dive-rolled toward Liarbug, and slammed his fist into her face, leaving her stunned. Ladybug reached up, ripped the left earring from Liarbugs ear, and squished it between her fingers, releasing the black butterfly.

*

"You okay?" Chat said as Ladybug collapsed against the lockers, as soon as the Akuma was released.

"I'm frustrated," Ladybug muttered, her fingers fluttering open and closed. Marinette’s habit when she was trying not to get angry—he’d seen her do it in the suit before, but far more often with bare fingers over a sketchbook. "She's taking everything from me, and, and, and I—I don't know how to stop her."

Chat tried to take a step toward her, then balked. A weird time to start respecting her personal space, but... well, he knew how tough sensory things could be when in overload like this. He held out his hand instead. "I... I should never have left you to face her alone," he said. "But...” He smiled at her, soft. “I'm here now."

She smiled, placed her hand in his. "Yeah," she whispered.

Alya dashed up, phone held at the ready. "Ladybug!" she cried, and Chat saw his partner flinch. "Wow, I haven't gotten an interview in forever. Got a moment?"

She and Chat looked at each other. He could see how tired she was, and for a moment he was tempted to say no on her behalf. But then he saw the fire flare back up in her irises, and she nodded to him, then turned back to Alya. “Yeah,” she said. “We’ve got a few.”

Alya held up her phone. “So this whole thing started because Paris Golden Boy Adrien Agreste claimed that your best friend was a liar,” she said. “I know you’ve worked with him before—what are your thoughts on that?”

Ladybug blinked, and he could see the deviousness flit across her face for a half-second before she steeled it again. “Why would he say that about Chat?” she said, turning to him, extremely convincing mock confusion on her face.

He shrugged.

”Uh—no, not, uh, not Chat,” Alya said. “Lila? Lila Rossi?”

Ladybug turned back to Alya with her eyebrows furrowed behind the mask. “Who?”

Alya gaped.

Chat snapped his fingers—or at least, the fingers of the hand that didn’t still have Ladybug’s clenched around it like a drowning woman. “Wait,” he said. “She’s the one we just fought, right?” He turned to Ladybug. “I think she’s the one who keeps swearing revenge on you.”

Ladybug pursed her lips for a moment. “Wait,” she said, then snorted and began to giggle. “You mean—you mean the—” She snorted again, then gasped, trying not to choke on her own laughter. Quite the convincing performance. “The girl with the sausage bangs?”

”That’s the one!” Chat crowed. Ladybug collapsed back onto the lockers in paroxysms of laughter as Alya stared at them in confusion.

Ladybug wiped her eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” she said to Alya. “Who told you she was my best friend?”

“Um... she... did?” Alya replied, her eyes steadily widening in horror—Chat would bet ten euros she was realizing the hole she’d stepped into.

Ladybug shook her head, put her hands on Alya’s shoulders with a fond smile. “Alya, you know you’re my favorite reporter, but...” She tilted her head sarcastically. “Seriously. Check your sources.”

Then she turned and leaped over the rail into the basketball court below.

Alya turned to Chat. “You guys don’t usually hold hands like that after battles,” she said, indicating the offending appendage with a nod—and bouncing back surprisingly quickly from her embarrassment, he noted. Resilient. Maybe she was Rena Rouge? He’d have to ask Mari later, after class.

”Are you two—” Alya began, and his heart leaped up into his throat.

”No comment,” he managed to say without sounding too strangled. We’re not. We’re NOT.

“Chaton!” Ladybug called from down below. “Are you coming or not?”

*

“Think that worked?” Chat said. He looked down at the window of the janitor’s closet, judged the distance, then dove right through.

Ladybug followed right behind him. “Don’t know,” she said, squeezing into the small space. “Can’t wait to see how she spins that.”

Her breath—his breath—they were both breathing hard, breathing rough. In the tiny space, with her practically pressed up against him, it was hard not to think about what they could have been doing in here instead. If she'd wanted him. If he'd been someone she wanted.

He released his breath and his transformation in the same moment, green lighting up the interior of the closet and flashing across the mops and the dustpans, followed shortly by pink. And then it was just a few layers of cotton between them.

Marinette pressed herself against his side and yawned. "Why am I so tired?" she said. "Akuma fights don't usually drain me like this."

Adrien wrapped his arm around her shoulder, protective. "Long day," he said, trying not to let her hear how his voice shook at the casual way their bodies intertwined. "Longer night."

She snorted. "Speaking of, how's your jaw?" she said. "Any better?"

"Yeah." He rubbed it with his other hand. "Cure helped." He felt her pulse beneath his fingers, just a little bit faster than his own, allowed himself a single second to think about what it would feel like any any other context, before knocking himself back to professionalism. "We gotta get back to class, Buggy,” he said.

"Mm,” she replied, closing her eyes and resting her entire body weight against his shoulder. “Carry me.”

”Whatever the Lady wishes," he replied, reaching for the door handle. Anything at all.

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[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus Anastasia au 1

I don’t think you need to have seen the movie, but I wanted to write it :)

Part one of the fic under the cut

The clothes are itchy and as a 13 years old Laxus reaches for the collar, his hand is slapped away by his very disgruntled looking chambermaid. The girl huffs and he apologetically removes his hand, allowing her to fuss over him. "Are you nervous?" Evergreen asks, mercifully avoiding his eyes as she forces him on a chair so she can reach his hair. He could attempt to lie, but the younger girl has a knack for seeing right through him, so he foregoes that.

"Yes", he admits reluctantly. His estranged grandfather's castle is immense and the walls hold no familiarity to him. Not once has his grandfather attempted to contact him and then, all of a sudden, he banished Laxus' father. He has no idea what goes through the old man's head and although he would never say  it out loud, the uncertainty unnerves him.

"All these people are gathered here today to see the new heir to the throne and the reason why the old one disappeared is unknown. People will talk."

"They always will." As his grandfather appears in the doorway, Evergreen hurries to bow before the man. He acknowledges her with a polite gesture, but also tells her to leave for he would like to talk to his grandson. Evergreen gives Laxus a thumbs-up before she goes and he nods in return.

"She's a spunky thing I've heard. Bossy, but good company." Ignoring the piss-poor attempt at small talk, Laxus decides to get to the heart of the matter. "Why am I here? Where is my father?" Sighing, his grandfather's face turns somber. "My son is an awful man", he plainly states and immediately, Laxus jumps to defend his father. "He's not!" he yells. His father is strict, true, but that's because he loves Laxus as well as the common folk. He's harsh because it's needed.

"You may not understand it yet." His grandfather looks at him with an expression that can only be pity and Laxus feels the disdain crawling underneath his skin. With a pat on the head that Laxus tries to dodge, his grandfather bids him farewell. "I'll see you in a half hour. Tonight is not about Ivan, it's about you. Try to have fun, won't you?"

Laxus is decidedly not having fun. He has two friends in total and neither of them are present at the ball. Evergreen is not allowed to come to occassions like these and Bickslow's skills as a jester in training apparently aren't needed today. Skirting around people is harder than expected, but Laxus manages to reach the buffet tables.

While he's wondering whether anybody would notice it if he hid underneath the table, someone tugs on his sleeve. "Excuse me", a greenhaired child says and points at a pile of creampuffs on a stand. "Can you give me one? I can't reach them", he explains, sounding terribly bored. Since he has nothing better to do, Laxus fulfills the request.

Munching on his creampuff, the kid stares at Laxus with an unsettling amount of concentration. "Would you like to dance? I like dancing, but if I asked anyone else, I reckon I'd be swung through the room like a broomstick. I'm not tall enough to keep up with any adults and the other parents were sensible enough to leave their children at home."

The dry tone of his voice forces a snort out of Laxus. "I'm not good at this", he warns and the child shrugs. "Practice makes perfect."

It can't even be called practice, because Laxus hasn't received a single lesson in ballroom dancing in his whole life and the other child seems to have grown up doing nothing but. They unanimously agree to settle on a bench, their feet a sensible distance away from each other (Laxus truly does feel sorry for the kid) and a platter of snacks between them. Conversation comes more natural to Laxus, although it's a very stilted one on his side. It's a blessing that the other kid is a goood listener and doesn't seem to mind Laxus' awkwardness.

Just as his nerves are getting settled, his grandfather appears before them and Laxus feels like crawling in a ditch again. His grandfather coughs, hinting for the other kid to leave. He doesn't. Instead he blinks slowly at the tsar before offering him a cup of water, which his grandfather takes after a short pause where the man clearly doesn't know how to react.

A berating outcry of "Frederick!" is heard before a lady yanks the boy from the bench, apologising profusely and attempts to force her kid to do the same thing. "I don't acknowledge that name. If you absolutely must, you may refer to me as 'the infant formerly known as Frederick', though I'd prefer it if you called me 'Freed'. Frederick Justine sounds terrible, while Freed Justine has a nicer ring to it. It's like a tongue in cheek reference to the things our family values: freedom and justice."

"Why don't you go all the way and demand to be called Freedom?" Laxus asks before he can stop himself and Frederick? Freed? rolls his eyes. "Because it sounds fucking stupid", he scoffs, tone strongly implying that he thinks Laxus is a moron.

Before he can retort with some snappy answer (not that he has one ready, but it's the thought that counts), Freed's mom has dragged him away and he can hear every berating word the woman utters as she physically removes him from the ballroom. There goes Laxus' only form of entertainment.

"That was something", his grandfather bemuses and Laxus gives him a questioning gaze. "Aren't you mad? He seriously disrespected you there." His grandfather snorts. "He's ten at most, of course I'm not going to berate a kid for being a kid. In fact, I think it should be more encouraged in the upper circles of society."

That doesn't sound like something the grandfather his father used to talk about would say and it momentarily throws Laxus for a loop. His grandfather seems to take note of his confusion, but he chooses to put it aside for the moment and Laxus is grateful for that.

"Here", his grandfather says and hands him a pocket watch. Their family symbol graces its front lid and when he turns it around he can see the third rule of departing (though our paths may have diverged, you must continue to live out your life with all your might, you must never consider your own life to be something insignificant, and you must never forget about your friends for as long as you live) written on it.

"This was a wedding gift made for your mother", his grandfather explains and plucks a necklace with a tiny, little key out of his pocket. He inserts the tiny object in the watch and the clock piece jumps open to reveal the rotating image of a young, blonde woman in a field of flowers. As the itty bitty figure slowly spins, a melody can be heard and Laxus can't help but gasp as he recognises the lullaby his mother used to sing.

"You can have it." With shaking hands, Laxus takes the objects from his grandfather and puts the watch in his pocket and hangs the key around his neck. "Thanks", he mutters, not looking at his grandfather. He's still not sure how he feels about the whole situation, but he does feel lighter now.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees a flash of green and when he turns to properly look, he recognises that it's Freed reentering the ballroom. The boy makes a beeline for Laxus and his grandfather, mouth set in a thin line.

"You two have to get out of here", the boy states as soon as he's within earshot. "Excuse me?" his grandfather asks and Freed's eyes keep darting back to the door he just came through. "Your son, he's no good, right? Otherwise you wouldn't have pubicly thrown him out. He's coming this way and he isn't alone."

Right as Freed finishes that sentence, someone screams from in the hall and many more voices soon follow. Laxus thinks he can smell fire, but before he can linger on that thought his grandfather grabs both Freed and him by the arm, dragging them away from the erupting chaos.

"This way!" he hears someone somewhat discreetly yell and he's yanked into a different direction. First Laxus struggles against the stranger until said stranger yells at him to calm down. It's Bickslow he realises as the other boy leads the three of them through the servants' passages. With a rather harsh shove, Bickslow guides them through a door that has no business being as small as it is.

"I'll see you all later!" he cheerfully says and waves as he turns around. "Wait! What are you doing? You can't go back there." Distressed, he watches as Bickslow winks at him and reveals the matchbox in his hand. "I'm going to hold them up for a little bit, I'll be fine. Evergreen will take good care of you!" And with that he's gone.

He has no time to ponder about Bickslow's fate, because for the second time this evening Evergreen is fussing over him. Only this time it's a quick change of clothes and a wig gets slapped on his head. His grandfather takes care of his own disguise and Freed stands there and watches. "Sorry", Evergreen apologises to him, "You're not written down in the protocol for emergency situations."

"It's alright, I'm not the one they're after. I'll hold down the ford with you." It's a task that he and Evergreen immediately have to take care of, as shouting soldiers try to kick down the door. His grandfather leads him away and the last thing Laxus hears before exiting the palace, is the sound of something metallic falling unto the ground.

They run for what feels like hours to Laxus. He's always been a sickly kid and right now, he's at his limit. With a wheeze that seems to come from deep within his lungs, he slams unto the concrete streetfloor, dizzy and dazed out of his mind. Logically, he knows that he isn't breathing right but physically, he can't do a single thing about it. All he can do is gasp pathetically like a fish on dry land.

"If it isn't the tsar and the mighty heir to the throne!" His father's tone is vicious and Laxus forces himself back on his feet. He can't look pitiful in front of his father, he knows he can do better than that even though his lungs burn like a furnace. "Ivan", his grandfather growls in response and it's nothing like the gentle tone he used all evening. His grandfather sounds like he would like to throttle his son with his own two hands and Laxus can't begin to fathom what the outcome of a fight between these personalities would be.

His father comes closer and the way he does it reminds Laxus of all the times he's been hit or yelled at. The man looms over him, stalks to him slowly with a grin on his face and a glint in his eyes. It has him whimpering rather pathetically and the sound eases the tension off his grandfather's face. "Come here kiddo", he whispers and extends his arms to Laxus.

He hesitates. Technically, he doesn't know this man. But then he catches sight of the expression on his father's face and it's a no-brainer. He nearly jumps into his grandfather's arms and the man catches him quite easily for an old man. They take off running at a surprisingly high speed and through zigzagging throughout the streets of the city, they eventually lose track of Ivan.

As the sound of the clock resounds through the air, his grandfather curses. "Dammit, five more minutes until the train leaves. Laxus, can you run again? If I have to carry you there, we won't make it." Dutifully, Laxus nods. Although he's unsure of his actual capacity to run that long, he knows that saying 'no' to an adult is not a thing one should do if they value their safety.

So they run and with the help of the strangers already on it, Laxus' grandfather gets lifted on the train. Laxus himself tries to get on too, but he's too slow and the train's already departing. Their fingertips graze each other, but the light touch is not enough to hold on to. He stumbles over a protruding piece of wood and smacks his head unto the iron railway. The last things he registers is his grandfather being restrained by the people who helped him on the train, screaming Laxus' name.

[queenofmoons67]

something wild (calls you home): chapter three

Word Count: 1855

Thank you to my beta @bookdancerfics!

Chapter 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5: Kotetsu and Antonio

Kotetsu didn’t remember how his call band got like that. He didn’t remember, and that was terrifying, because he would think he would remember something like that—but he had already known he had a giant gap in his memory, and it wasn’t as scary as losing Tomoe, or almost losing Kaede, or the lost look on Bunny’s face as he set his phone down after calling Lloyds.

“Oi, Bunny,” Kotetsu said, nosing at his partner’s hand. “Buuuunny. It’s gonna be alright. Ok?”

Bunny’s hand lifted up, then came to rest at the back of Kotetsu’s neck, his thumb rubbing in circles. “You’re a greedy dog, you know that?”

“Sorry, I’m a what now? Who led you here?” Kotetsu tried to pull back a little, except—except Bunny’s hand was heavier than he had thought, and his partner instinctively tightened his hand before letting go, and—and, well, if Bunny needed him, then of course Kotetsu would stay.

He nudged his head back under Bunny’s hand, resting on his partner’s knee and looking up with eyes as wide as he could make them. Bunny looked back with eyes just as wide.

Kotetsu waggled his eyebrows.

Bunny choked on a laugh, then looked away, his own brows furrowing and lip wobbling guiltily. He took a breath, then another, and when he looked back his gaze was set. “Fire’s right,” Bunny said. “You need a name. Especially if you’re going to be sticking around and leading us to clues.”

Kotetsu huffed. “Well it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I might as well help you guys find me, right?”

Bunny hummed a bit, staring down at him, thumb still rubbing in circles. Kotetsu could hear Nathan moving around behind them, but he resolutely stared back. Bunny was quiet. Kotetsu stared. Bunny was still quiet.

Kotetsu tossed his head a bit, though he was careful not to dislodge his partner’s hand. “What are you thinking, Bunny?”

“Keith named his dog John…”

“Oh, hell no,” Kotetsu gasped. This time he did rear back, unable to help himself. “Bunny I swear, if you name me something humanlike there is no hope for you.”

“You don’t like that one, huh?”

Kotetsu stared at him, scandalized. “Bunny, naming me after Keith’s dog is worse. I might actually bite you.”

Bunny smiled a little, reaching out a knuckle in the way people usually offer hands to dogs. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to think of something a little more… fierce. Or brave.”

Kotetsu leaned in, bypassing sniffing Bunny’s fingers entirely in favor of butting his head back under for more scratches.

“You found your way to my apartment, after all, even injured as you were. And you led us here. You deserve a brave name.” His fingers lowered to Kotetsu’s nape, scratching at an itchy spot, and Kotetsu sighed.

“There may be hope for you yet, Bunny-chan.”

Antonio wasn’t sure what he expected when he ran up, panting, at the new crime scene: Fire Emblem holding Barnaby back from something stupid, perhaps, or, in an even worse scenario, Fire Emblem joining Barnaby in accomplishing something stupid. The two were there, after all.

But one thing was for sure: Whatever Antonio expected, it wasn’t Fire Emblem leaning against a brick wall staring up at the sky, not relaxed, but not tense, either. And it wasn’t Barnaby sitting on a curb, pleading with a dog’s back while tossing names into open air.

“Arthur? Like the king. No? What about… um…”

“Barnaby?” Antonio asked. “What are you doing? I was told you found out something new about Tiger.”

Barnaby stiffened, like he hadn’t noticed Antonio run up. But that was impossible, because this was Barnaby. And Antonio had never even stepped behind him. He wasn’t wearing his armor, but—

“I’m trying to decide on a name, but the dog hates all of them.”

And apparently they weren’t going to talk about it. Ok. “The dog?” Antonio asked, sitting down heavily next to Barnaby and peering at the animal. They still had to wait for everyone else, so he might as well pass the time humoring the kid, and… well. Kotetsu would give him an earful when he got back if his partner wasn’t ok.

“He led us here,” Barnaby said. “Didn’t need anything but Kotetsu’s sock. But he’s a stray, so he doesn’t have a collar, and Fire said he should have a name. Except he rejects all of them. Would you rather be nameless?” The last bit was shot at the dog, Barnaby’s eyes narrowing.

Antonio held up his hands, placating. “How do you know he’s rejecting them?”

Barnaby’s eyes narrowed further, but he just said, “Watch.” Turning fully to the dog, he asked, “How about Antonio?”

The dog sent them a glare over his shoulder, his eyebrows rising so high Antonio thought they might meld with his ears. “OK, I get the picture,” he sighed. That was one expressive dog. “How many have you tried?”

“I’ve lost count.”

Antonio had only been there for a few minutes when Lloyds and HeroTV drove up, the other heroes all skidding up right behind them. Karina didn’t even wait for Keith’s van to come to a complete halt before she opened the door and ran up to them. Ivan and Pao-lin hopped out and followed her as soon as they could, leaving Keith to fumble with his keys while his dog John hopped out, unheeded, and trotted right up to Kotetsu.

“Uuuuuh,” Kotetsu tried to get to his feet, but though he had somewhat adjusted to four legs, he apparently wasn’t ready to stand up quickly. His front ones buckled even as his hind legs collapsed, sending him back into a sitting position—perfect for John to lean in and sniff. “Absolutely not,” Kotetsu protested, scandalized. “Look John, I might look like a dog but I’m not actually and I am in no way prepared for—”

“Why do you smell like Wild Tiger?” John interrupted, tail wagging rapidly behind him as he got in Kotetsu’s face.

Kotetsu leaned back and to the side, pressing into—into nothing. He fell awkwardly on his side, the momentum making him roll over as well. “Why do you think?” he asked, annoyed, and tried once again to get his feet under himself.

John padded around so he was back in Kotetsu’s sightline, head tilting as he watched. “Do you need help?”

“No thank you,” Kotetsu huffed. He had one leg right, now for the second… “I need the practice.”

“So you are Wild Tiger!” John barked excitedly and ran a circle around him, making Kotetsu’s head spin as he tried to follow him.

“I—yes—can you please stand still?”

“Sure!” John came to a sudden halt, tail still wagging and ears perked. “Do you still have those treats you always give me?!”

“Do I—” Kotetsu looked at him in disbelief.

“Aw, our dogs are getting along, Barnaby-san!” Keith’s voice said behind them.

Kotetsu thumped his head on his paws. “Unbelievable,” he moaned.

“Charlie!” Antonio called.

No one responded.

“Charlie, come here boy!”

Was there another dog here…? Kotetsu sat up a bit and looked around. Nope, just him and John.

“I can’t believe this,” Bunny said. “Try it one more time, Antonio.”

Try what?

“Charlie!” Antonio patted his thighs, making eye contact with Kotetsu. “Come here, Charlie!”

Oh. He—Kotetsu was Charlie. Charlie was another name they were trying. Well, too bad. He was only going to respond to Kotetsu and Wild Tiger, until they finally understood that he was Kotetsu. It wouldn’t work if he responded to any random name they threw out—

John licked his muzzle. “Do you want to play, Wild Tiger?!”

“I’m coming!” Kotetsu called, moving as hastily as he could and still manage to stand up. “I’m not Charlie, but I’m coming!”

Antonio stared as Barnaby’s dog trotted toward him—a little wobbly, but clearly eager to to respond.

“Charlie, huh?” he asked him.

Charlie barked.

“Well now that that’s settled—” Barnaby started, only to be interrupted by Nathan.

“Hold on!” they cried. “You can’t just name him Charlie!”

Barnaby’s head rotated slowly to stare Nathan down. “You’re the one who wanted to give him a name, Fire.”

“Yes, but he deserves something more heroic!” Nathan waved their arms in the air, then pointed down at Charlie. “He’s the one who found Tiger’s band!” Charlie barked.

“Wait, this dog did that?” Karina asked, attention pulled away from an argument with Lloyds and Agnes on what to do next. Antonio had heard them talking about testing the blood on the call band and searching the streets around it.

Karina crouched next to Charlie and held out a hand. “Here boy,” she cooed. “Thank you for giving us our lead.”

Charlie butted his head against her hand, coaxing an ear scratch from her.

“He looks like a Maximillian,” Karina decided.

“Perfect!” Nathan clapped their hands together. Barnaby gagged, and Antonio barely held back doing the same. But Charlie barked.

Antonio shook his head. “No, hold on. He’s already Charlie—” Charlie turned his head toward him “—he can’t be Maximillian, too.”

“But Maximillian—” Charlie turned his head back “—is such a handsome name,” Karina said.

“Can we please get back to looking for Tiger?” Agnes interrupted, hands on her hips and staring at them.

Charlie barked and trotted up to her, nudging her hand.

They all looked at him.

“Charlie?”

“Maximillian?”

“Tiger?”

Antonio, Karina, and Nathan all asked at once. Charlie / Maximillian / Tiger looked between them, legs crossing and collapsing into a seated position when he tried to move.

Antonio frowned. That was odd. He’d clearly been against any name before, for him to suddenly respond to three different ones—let alone the name of their missing hero—was weird. He would have to think on it—

“Charlie,” Barnaby said firmly. He rested a hand on his dog’s head. “His name is Charlie, and that’s final.”

Kotetsu stared up at Bunny. His partner was kidding, right? Sure, he’d responded to Charlie because that was Antonio was calling him, and then to Maximillian because he couldn’t just leave Karina and Nathan hanging, but he’d responded to Tiger with zero prompting! They had to see it, right?

“You see it, don’t you, Bunny?” he barked. “Antonio? I’m Tiger!”

Bunny gave his head a half-hearted pat, but no one looked at him. His fellow heroes, Agnes, Lloyds, and a few police officers were all in a circle now, talking about what to do next to find Wild Tiger.

But “I’m right here!” he barked, pressing his cold nose into Bunny’s hand.

Bunny jolted, then gave him another pat. “Can someone look after Charlie? I don’t know when the last time he ate was; he’s probably hungry.”

Kotetsu opened his mouth to protest—how could he be hungry at a time like this?!—only for his stomach to perform the ultimate betrayal: It growled. Loudly.

Agnes put her hands on her hips. “If it means you all get back to work, I will gladly take Charlie to work with me.”

Before Kotetsu knew it, he was being shuttled into HeroTV’s van and driven away.

Next Up: Kotetsu and Agnes. The two get to know each other.

[pumpernickel-simswood]

A Devoted Friend: Pt 3

Part 1 Part 2

Marinette got up and quickly helped set the table. 

Adrien, polite as ever, ended up sitting between Sabine and Marinette. He waited for everyone else to begin eating before he started.

"So," Tom said between bites, "what were you kids studying? Is there a big exam coming up?"

"No, actually, it was a business plan Adrien made for me." Marinette replied, sounding equal parts proud of Adrien and blown away that it was for her.

Both sets of parental eyebrows went up.

Adrien swallowed and smiled politely, "Well, I overheard Marinette discussing opening an online store for her designs and I… I have access to a well of knowledge about that, especially for fashion, so I don't see why I wouldn't help her."

"That's very sweet of you, Adrien." Sabine smiled, "Thank you."

"It's nothing, really." Adrien looked down, feeling his cheeks warm.

"Even if that's true," Marinette began. He glanced up to find earnest eyes peering at him. She continued, "I'm incredibly grateful you put any time into helping me."

"Of course, Mari," Adrien said immediately, "we're friends."

Marinette canted her head at that, slightly.

***

"Thanks so much, Marinette!" Rose hugged her tightly.

"Of course, Rose." Marinette grinned and hugged back.

"We'll see you at school." Juleka smiled.

"Of course." Marinette waved.

"Bye~!" Rose waved back and they descended the stairs.

"And now, Adrien." Marinette muttered as she turned to look at him with an analytical eye. She let out a long sigh, "You got taller again."

A chuckle escaped Adrien, "Sorry?"

"Let's hope I made the pants too long." Mari shook her head in amusement. 

"Capris could work if they aren't." Adrien suggested easily. 

"Uh-huh, sure. Just go try them on, long legs." Marinette laughed.

Adrien snickered and took the clothes, "Be right back."

Marinette made some notes as Adrien changed. The wiki was gonna have to get updated once she actually checked his height. She was pretty sure his shoulders had gotten a bit wider too but she'd have to check.

"So, good news and bad news." Adrien said, stepping from behind the screen, "Good news, the pants fit perfect."

Marinette turned to him, "What's the bad ne- Oh my G-d."

Adrien's shirt was a good inch too short, his midsection showing, "I mean, it's not that bad."

"Adrien, it's at least an inch too short." Marinette put her hands on her hips.

"Truuuue." Adrien chuckled. 

"Alright, let's get measurements." Marinette laughed. 

***

"Alright, I just gotta make you a new shirt." Marinette said, looking up from her notes.

"I can buy replacement fabric if you want?" Adrien offered.

"No, I have enough left over, but thank you. Hopefully neither Ivan or Luka hit a growth spurt before next week." Marinette laughed. "Also, do those colors work for you?"

"Green and black?" Adrien's lips pulled into a playful smirk, "Yeah, I like to think so."

Marinette's brow furrowed but she nodded and made another note, "Okay, good. You can change back, by the way. At the very least, I need the pants back. Not sure how I'll repurpose the shirt yet…"

"Well," Adrien stepped behind the screen to change, "if you just shorten it, then I could have an awesome crop top."

"You want me to?" Marinette asked, surprised. 

"Yeah, the material is awesome and super soft. Plus, may as well make it a crop top when it's already short, right?" Adrien replied.

"Fair point." She shrugged, actively pushing down the desire to imagine him in it.

"Pretty please?" Adrien offered the shirt, redressed.

"Okay." Marinette held it up to his chest, "Where should I cut it to?"

"Uh, here." Adrien indicated. 

Marinette grabbed a marker and made a quick mark. And shortly she handed him the shirt back, now officially a crop top.

"Thanks Mari." Adrien beamed and kissed her cheek, "You're the best. See you later."

Marinette blinked after him as he climbed down the stairs. She raised a hand to her cheek then melted into her chair, "Yeah."

***

"Ugh, and they want Cat Noir specifically to show up for their birthday party." Alya groaned.

"To be fair, that's not that far of a stretch to get. You do actually know Cat. Plus he's pretty good with kids from what I hear." Marinette shrugged, hands in pockets. 

"I know but I dread asking him a favor like that. It seems like small potatoes compared to what he does daily." Alya argued.

Marinette snorted, "Alya, their patrols literally involve getting kittens out of trees and retrieving balloons most days. Just ask. I'm positive he'd love to."

"How can you be so sure?" Alya squinted at her friend.

"Cuz I've met him? And we did work together for Evillustrator, remember? Besides, I've seen how many pics you've gotten of him for your Instagram." Marinette started walking away. "And if you don't ask him, I'll do it for you."

"Hey! No! Don't you dare!" Alya bolted after her.

"I think his solo patrol comes by my balcony tonight, actually." Marinette hummed thoughtfully.

"Why on Earth would you know that? They always randomize their patrol schedules." Alya frowned.

"Because I keep track of everyone's schedules due to my anxiety and I noticed he does what might appear to be a random pattern but is actually just an extended rotational schedule. It, of course, varies based on akuma attacks, but he should pass my balcony tonight on his patrol." Marinette explained with an air of discussing weather.

Also he'd told Ladybug on their last patrol, but it did fit the schedule she kept so.

"Girl, can I just say I'm glad you're not on Hawkmoth's side?" Alya said.

Marinette shrugged, "So, sleepover?"

"Yes!" Alya grinned.

***

Cat Noir bounded across rooftops,delighted by the feeling of weightlessness at the apex of every leap. Things had been quiet so far tonight. A few strays to feed and that one shelter that needed an extra set of hands, but nothing big. Which was great.

He grinned as he raced across the top of his school. He could see the familiar and inviting balcony lights shining tonight. He was going to have to figure out how she always seemed to know when he was out and about one of these days.

As he got closer, he noticed Alya was up there with the princess tonight. Huh. Maybe tonight was a coincidence. Either way.

A well timed jump and flip landed him neatly atop the railings.

Alya jumped and yelped.

Mari simply glanced up, a playful smile pulling at her lips, "Hey Cat."

"Good evening, ladies." He bowed deeply. "Sorry to startle you, Alya."

"N-no, it's okay. I just didn't see you coming." Alya mumbled.

"He is pretty fast." Marinette shrugged. Her eyes returned to Cat, "Aren't you, showoff?"

Cat chuckled at that and crouched, "Oh, so you did see that awesome flip."

"I've seen better." Marinette said.

"Meowch, you wound me, Purrincess." Cat dramatically placed his hands over his heart.

"Mm-hm." Marinette was clearly trying not to laugh. It egged him on more than he cared to admit. She, sadly, turned to a very confused Alya, "Anyway, Alya wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?" Cat canted his head toward the blogger.

"Oh, uh, right." Alya took a deep breath, "I was hoping that you could maybe put in a quick appearance at my sisters' birthday party?"

Cat blinked, "The tall, kinda scary, buff one or the twins?"

Marinette snorted.

"Hey! You try fighting a boxer with spider powers!" Cat objected.

Marinette fell into giggles, "No, not that, just the idea that Anasi would want you at her birthday party."

"It could happen." Cat crossed his arms and scowled.

"Uh, for the twins." Alya interrupted, though she was looking curiously between them.

"I would love to. When is it though?" Cat turned back.

"In two weeks, on Sunday." Alya replied.

Cat hummed, trying to remember if he had anything scheduled, "I think I'm free. I'll message you on the forum when I get home and double check."

"Thank you!" Alya grinned.

"Of course." Cat smiled easily.

Mari nudged Alya, "I told you."

"Fine, you were right. There was nothing to worry about." Alya sighed.

"Hey, if you need anything Alya, seriously, let me know." Cat said.

Alya smiled, "Thank you, Cat."

Marinette picked up a plate of cookies that had somehow escaped his notice and handed them over to the hero.

Cat beamed as he took one, "Y'know Princess…"

"If it weren't for the Bug having your heart, you'd marry me for my baking alone?" Marinette raised a brow and practiced recital, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Can you blame me?" He chuckled, wrapping the plate back.

"Well! If that's all I'm good for!" Marinette crossed her arms with a huff, though her playful air never truly left her.

"Oh, c'mon, Purrincess, if that was all that drew me here, I'd just buy from the bakery mask off." Cat leaned his face close to Marinette's, sincere and earnest, "You know you're one of my best friends."

She turned her pursed lip glower to stare intently at him. She sighed and turned away, cheeks pinking some, "Yeah, I know. You're one of mine too, Kit."

His heart filled with warm delight. He really loved her caring so much about him. It made him feel so full of light. He knew he was grinning ridiculously but couldn't bring himself to care, even with their audience.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Go fall off a balcony, Prince Ali." Marinette snorted.

"Oh, as the princess wants." Cat saluted and fell backwards off the balcony.

With quick, well honed reflexes, he bounded back up with his baton onto the next roof, never losing grip of the plate of cookies.

"I want that plate back when you're done!" Mari called after him.

He turned, bowed one last time and bound off. He was almost out of earshot when Alya spoke.

“Girl, what the hell was that!?”

Part 1 Part 2

@ijustwannabecanadian @rianoel @hellolovelyscientist @theworldslittlesis

[vgckwb]

ML: Are They Worthy? Chapter 13: How to Save Yourself!/Art Vader

The next day at school, Lila was walking in, when Sabrina came up to her. “Hi Lila” she said. “Can you come with me to the principal’s office for a second?”

“Uh, sure” said Lila. The two of them walked to Mr. Damocles’s office. Not only was Mr. Damocles there, but so was Sabrina’s father, Roger. “What is the meaning of this?” Lila asked.

“Sabrina told me about your encounter with Hawk Moth, ma’m” Roger said. “If you don’t mind, I would like to ask a couple of questions.”

“It’s alright Lila, we’re here to keep you safe,” Mr. Damocles said.

Lila was taken aback. She couldn’t believe how quickly everyone was eating out of her hand again. Still, she had to be careful. One wrong move, and everyone will be staring her down again like yesterday. “Thank you, officer Roger,” she said. “Um, I don’t know where to begin.”

“Just tell me what happened when Hawk Moth met you,” Roger said.

“OK” said Lila. “Well, I was sitting on a bench at the park, when from behind Hawk Moth walked up to me. This was during an Akuma attack, so no one else was around. Hawk Moth wanted me alone. He told me that I was flowing with such negative emotion. He told me to join up with him, or else he would Akumatize me every day. It’s no secret that I’ve been Akumatized a lot, but I didn’t want it to become a daily occurrence. So, out of fear, I did as he said, and started guiding people to becoming Akumatized. Hawk Moth is ruthless, and he will stop at nothing to achieve his goals. I’m sorry I was too afraid to do anything.”

“You did what you could” said Roger. “Thank you for the information. You’ve been very brave. Now, I was thinking. Since you’ve told everyone about your interaction with Hawk Moth, he might come after you. Therefore, I believe having a police detail on you might be a good idea.”

Lila was shocked. She couldn’t fool a police officer. At least, not without alerting everyone else. “Actually dad, the class and I had a discussion about this,” Sabrina said, “and we think it might be better if we took care of Lila.”

“What?” said Roger and Lila in unison.

“Hawk Moth is attracted to negative energy, right? So, we thought if one of Lila’s dear friends was around, Lila would feel less negative” Sabrina explained.

“Officer Roger, I don’t mean to be rude, but an officer hovering around me all the time would just make me feel nervous and embarrassed” Lila said. “I like Sabrina’s idea.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Roger said. “But maybe we should have an officer close by, just in case.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lila said. She could work with that. Still, her freedom would be limited a little bit. But it’s better than having an officer of the law by her side all the time.

“Thanks again ma’m” Roger said. The two girls left the office.

“So, who is my guardian angel today?” Lila asked.

“Well, we discussed it, and Alix volunteered” Sabrina said.

“I see” said Lila.

As class started, Ms. Bustier told everyone “Alright class, turn in your projects.” Each group handed their project. “Great. I’m looking forward to grading them. Now, before we begin, Mr. Chastain has an announcement he’d like to make.”

“Thank you, Ms. Bustier” said Mr. Chastain, the art teacher, walking into the room. “I’m here to tell you that we are hosting a student art exhibition at the end of the month. I’m telling you all now so that you can get a jump on your ideas. I’ll be accepting ideas until the end of next week. All ideas must be original. Any type of art is allowed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chastain” Ms. Bustier said. Class went on, as usual.

During free period, Vlad approached Kim and said “Hey. I saw what you did yesterday. Protecting Alix. Protecting Ladybug. Standing up for your girlfriend. That’s very cool of you.”

“Thanks, but it was nothing,” Kim said.

“It’s not nothing” said Vlad. “As far as I’m concerned, you have my trust.”

“Well, thank you” Kim said. He walked off.

Vlad walked off not long after, but was stopped by Alix. “Hey!” she said. “I read Alya’s blog about you. It says that you don’t trust people right away and they have to earn your trust.”

“That’s correct” Vlad said.

“Where do you get off thinking that we would want your trust in the first place?” Alix said. “You’re the one who’s new here. You should be earning our trust.”

“I agree” said Vlad, throwing Alix off. “Trust is a two-way street. It would be unfair for me to ask you to earn my trust without expecting me to earn yours.”

Alix was surprised. “I’m sorry” she said.

“Don’t be. You’re right” Vlad said. “Especially since I know about you all already.”

“How?” Alix demanded.

“Adrien told me,” Vlad said.

“Oh right. You two are friends” Alix said.

“Wanna know what Adrien said about you?” Vlad asked.

Alix was still suspicious, but curious. “Sure” she said.

“Adrien told me that you’re brave. You’re cool. You’re free-spirited. A bit hotheaded, but your heart is always in the right place” Vlad said. Alix blushed a little. “And from the looks of it, he’s right once again.”

“Why didn’t you believe him before?” Alix asked.

“Eh. It’s complicated” Vlad said. “Besides, I like seeing things for myself.”

Alix smiled. “You know what? You’re alright too” she said.

After school, Rose, Juleka, Ivan, and Mylene came up to Marinette. “Hi guys. What’s up?” Marinette asked.

“Marinette, we are going to work on a new song for Kitty Section for the art exhibition!” Rose said.

“Yeah, um, and we were wondering if you could make costumes for us” Juleka said.

“Of course” Marinette said.

Meanwhile, Lila was leaving, but Alix called out to her. “Hey! Lila!” she said. “Ready to go?”

“Right, Sabrina explained this to me this morning,” Lila said. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Great. Now, is there anything you need to do?” Alix asked.

“Not really” Lila said. “I was thinking we’d go to the store and get some new clothes.”

“Is that what you do usually?” Alix asked.

“Sometimes” Lila answered.

“Then no can do” Alix said. “We’re heading to the Louvre.”

“What? Why?” Lila asked.

“If Hawk Moth were to come looking for you, he’d go to all of the places you usually hang out” Alix said. “Part of this plan is to throw Hawk Moth off track. This is why we’re rotating. If you’re at the Louvre today, but at City Hall, or the botanical gardens tomorrow, it makes it harder for Hawk Moth to track you.”

“I see” said Lila. “That makes sense.”

“I thought so too” Alix said. “So, let’s go.” Lila followed Alix. While on their way to the Louvre, Lila was texting Gabriel about the situation, when Alix asked “So, you tried to Akumatize me yesterday, huh?”

Lila was shocked. “Well, I…”

“Relax. It’s fine. Hawk Moth was making you do it” Alix said.

Lila was shocked. “Yeah” said Lila.

“So, what about me made you think you could?” Alix asked.

“Well, don’t take this personally,” Lila said, “but you can be a bit hotheaded at times.”

Alix laughed. “You’re the second person to tell me that today,” she said. “Well, at least I know what to work on.”

“Yeah” said Lila.

They arrived at the Louvre and went inside. “I gotta drop my stuff off in my room” Alix said.

“Wait, you live here?” Lila asked.

“Yeah. My dad’s one of the directors here” Alix said. “Oh, there he is now. Hi dad!’ she said, waving.

Mr. Kubdel turned and came to meet his daughter. “Hi Alix. How was school?’

“It was good” Alix said. “Listen, this is Lila, the girl I was telling you about earlier.”

“Ah, the one who is being hunted by Hawk Moth, right?” Mr. Kubdel said. “No need to worry Miss, the Louvre is one of the safest locations in all of Paris.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kubdel” Lila said.

“As I was telling Lila, I’ve got to put my stuff away. Can you keep her company?” Alix asked.

“Sure thing” said Mr. Kubdel.

“Thanks” Alix said, giving her dad a hug. She then went to her room.

This was the perfect moment. Lila was away from her guardian, and alone with a person who could be Akumatized. However, she couldn’t be direct. Otherwise, people would know what she was up to. She needed to find a discrete way to push this man’s buttons. “So, Mr. Kubdel, what’s it like working at the Louvre?”

“Hm? Why, it’s wonderful” Mr. Kubdel said. “Spending my days surrounded by art and history. I just love it.”

“But, don’t you get bored with it once in a while?” Lila asked.

Mr. Kubdel looked at her. “A fair question, if a bit rude” he said. “To be honest, not really. Every piece in here is a key to another time. Another world. That fascinates me to no end.”

“But don’t you worry you might miss some stuff in the present?” Lila said.

Mr. Kubdel froze. “Alright, I’m ready” Alix said coming back. She saw her dad looking down. “Did something happen?”

“Well…” Lila said.

“It’s alright” Mr. Kubdel said. “Lila was just curious about my job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to my office.” Mr. Jubdel left.

Alix looked at Lila with suspicion. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Lila. “You’re going to apologize to my dad.” The two followed Mr. Kubdel.

Mr. Kubdel was on his way to his office, when he bumped into a tourist. “Oh, sorry sir,” he said.

“Hey, do you know where the Mona Lisa is?” the tourist asked.

“Of course sir, it’s in that direction” Mr. Kubdel said.

“Thanks” said the tourist. “I don’t know why this place is so big, if that’s all that people come to see.”

Mr. Kubdel was seething, but remained calm. “The Louvre has much to offer in the way of art and history.”

Alix and Lila were rounding the corner when Alix saw her dad talking with someone. The tourist said “I don’t care about that stuff. I just wanna see the famous thing.”

Mr. Kubdel was getting angrier. “Uh, dad” said Alix, rushing over to him. “Maybe we should go. Now. Well sir, you know where the Mona Lisa is, so you best be on your way.”

“Thank you, Miss” said the tourist. “Why can’t you be more like her?” he asked Mr. Kubdel before leaving.

Mr. Kubdel was furious. “Dad. Calm down” Alix said. “This happens all the time. You need to not let it get to you.”

However, in Hawk Moth’s lair, Hawk Moth was sensing his newest prey. “An aficionado of art and history being snubbed by people who don’t understand it,” he said. “What a perfect canvas for my latest masterpiece. Fly away, my little Akuma, and evilize him!”

“What are you even doing here?” Mr. Kubdel said. “I could have handled it.”

“Dad, it’s alright” Alix said. Now I know where I get my hotheadedness she thought.

“You’re right,” said Mr. Kubdel. “I just need to go to my office, and do some work. That’ll help me compose myself.” He walked off to his office.

Alix looked at Lila. “We’ll talk to him later,” she said. “So, what do you want to see while were here?”

In his office, Mr. Kubdel picked up a red pen. However, the Akuma snuck into the building and fused itself with that pen. “Art Vader. I am Hawk Moth. People don’t appreciate art and history nowadays, don’t they? I’m giving you the power to change that. In return I only ask for the miraculouses of Ladybug and Cat Noir.”

“I find their lack of faith disturbing” Mr. Kubdel said. A purple-black aura formed around him, and the entire Louvre.

“What’s going on?” Alix asked. The Louvre was now being lifted. From the outside, the Louvre pyramid was now large, floating, and grey with a black line going around it.

Back in his office, Mr. Kubdel has transformed into a golden Vader-looking figure, but his mask is customized to his face, the panel on his chest was an art pallet, and his cape was Napoleon’s cape. He breathed heavily. He clicked his pen and a red light-saber, which he called his art-saber, came out. “Soon, they will all appreciate art and history.”

Alix and Lila rushed to the window. They looked out and saw that they were floating above the ground. “OK. This is weird” Alix said. “Let’s see if we can’t find a way out.”

Marinette was sketching in the park, when she heard an ominous hum. She looked up, and saw the Death Art. “That can’t be good” Marinette said. She found a place to hide and then called “Tikki! Spots on!” She transformed into Ladybug. She rushed to the scene.

Adrien was walking around. “Doesn’t this feel good Plagg?” he asked. “No restrictions. Being free to do what you want. It's amazing.” He then saw Ladybug dashing through. “What do you suppose that’s about?”

“Probably that” Plagg said, pointing out the Death Art.

Adrien found a place to hide and called out “Plagg! Claws Out!” He transformed into Cat Noir.

Ladybug arrived at the scene where the Death Art was hovering. Cat Noir arrived soon after. “Please tell me this is a publicity stunt for the Louvre” he said.

“I wish” Ladybug said.

Suddenly, a voice could be heard coming from the Death Art. “Ladybug! Cat Noir! Once I prepare my Death Art to fire, everyone in Paris will bow to me, and become as enamored with art and history as I am.” A bunch of golden Stromtroopers started coming out of the Death Art. “In the meantime, you can hand my servants your miraculous.” Ladybug and Cat Noir started fighting the gold Stormtroopers.

“We need to find a way to get inside” Ladybug said.

“It’s a good thing these guys can’t aim” Cat Noir said. “Or else we’d be in real trouble.”

Meanwhile, inside the Death Art, Alix and Lila were running around trying to find an exit. The two of them saw Art Vader approaching some museum patrons. He swung his art-saber at them, and after he hit them, they turned into the golden Stormtroopers, who do his bidding.

Alix recognized the face the mask was fit for. “Dad?” she said.

Art Vader turned to her and said. “No. I am not your father. I am Art Vader!”

Alix and Lila started running the other way. Lila tripped. “LILA!” Alix called out. But it was too late. Art Vader had stabbed her and she became another Stromtrooper. Alix continued to run.

Outside, Ladybug and Cat Noir finished off the Stormtroopers that were deployed. “That’s the last of them, M’Lady” Cat Noir said.

“Now, to find a way in” Ladybug said. “Lucky Charm!” A wall scroll appeared.

“Are we supposed to float to the top or something?” Cat Noir asked.

Ladybug recognized it as something Master Fu had. More Stormtroopers came out. “Cat Noir, do you think you can handle them? I’ll be right back!” She left.

“Sure thing” said Cat Noir.

Marinette arrived at Master Fu’s place. “Master! Cat Noir and I need help!”

“Of course Marinette” Master Fu said. He opened the compartment to the Miracle Box, and then opened the box. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, pick an ally you can trust to fight alongside you on this mission. Choose wisely; such powers are meant to serve the greater good. Once the mission is over you will retrieve the Miraculous from them.”

“I need someone who can get us in easily” Marinette said. Marinette had an idea. “I’d like the rabbit miraculous.” Master Fu nodded as Marinette took it.

Ladybug returned to see Cat Noir took out the second wave of Stormtroopes. “Thank goodness you’re back. I don’t know how many more of these I can take.”

“I still need to find her” Ladybug said, looking around.

“Who?” Cat Noir asked.

Ladybug spotted who she was looking for. “Found her!” More Stormtroopers came out. “Cat Noir! Hold them off for a little while longer!”

“On it” Cat Noir said.

Alix was standing alone, when Ladybug pulled her to a safe location with her yo-yo. “Ladybug?!” Alix said. “It’s awful. My dad was Akumatized, and he’s turning people into his own militia.”

“Wait, you were inside?” Ladybug asked. “How’d you get out?”

“Well, I, uh” Alix began. “I pulled myself by my bootstraps, and lead myself out.”

“Well, we’re going to need a way in, and we need your help to do it” Ladybug said. She held out a box. “Alix Kubdel. Here is the rabbit miraculous, which grants you the power of time. You will use it for the greater good.”

Alix took the box, opened it. Fluff, the kwami of the rabbit miraculous popped out. “Hey. How’s it going kid?” Fluff said.

“Once the job is complete, you will return the miraculous to me. Can I trust you?” Ladybug asked.

“Of course Ladybug” Alix said. She took the pocket watch out.

“Now, all you gotta say is “Fluff! Clockwise!” Fluff told her.

“Fluff! Clockwise!” Alix called out. She transformed into Bunnyx. “Wow. This is so cool.”

“Isn’t it?” Ladybug said. “But right now, Cat Noir needs us.” She pointed at Cat Noir holding off a bunch of Stormtroopers on his own.

Cat Noir was surrounded, when Ladybug and Bunnyx came in and dealt with the remaining troops. “Ah. A new hero, I see” Cat Noir said. “I could have handled it. But thanks, uh...”

“Bunnyx” Bunnyx said.

“Of course you could have taken them kitty, but right now, we need to focus on getting in” Ladybug said. “Bunnyx, can you help us with that?”

“Sure thing” said Bunnyx. She drew a cyan circle and called out “Burrow! You might wanna hang on.” Ladybug and Cat Noir grabbed Bunnyx, and they all lept through the portal. The three of them were now in the museum.

Cat Noir looked outside and saw himself. “I, but, wha?”

“I transported us back a few minutes” Bunnyx said.

“Don’t worry kitty, we’ll be in sync once the magic ladybugs do their thing” Ladybug said.

“Right” said Cat Noir.

“Now, to find Art Vader” Bunnyx said. The three of them ran through the Death Art and eventually found Art Vader.

“Ladybug?! Cat Noir?! But how?! The Death Art is supposed to be impenetrable” Art Vader said.

“We had a little help” Ladybug said, showing off Bunnyx.

“Well, no matter” Art Vader said. “As soon as I hit you with my art-saber, you will bow to me!” He charged at the heroes. Bunnyx used her umbrella to defend against the art-saber, while Cat Noir used his staff.

Ladybug backed up further and called out “Lucky Charm! A bottle of wax?” She saw Cat Noir fall. Art Vader was about to stab him, but Ladybug used her yo-yo to get Cat Noir out of there.

Bunnyx then struck Art Vader. “Don’t forget about me!” she said. The two of them held their weapons up, like there were dueling samurai.

Ladybug saw Bunnyx, the art-saber, the floor, the wax, and Cat Noir. She called out “Bunnyx!”

Bunnyx smiled. Art Vader was about to strike Bunnyx, but she called out “Burrow!” and she fell through a time hole in the floor she made.

She arrived in her room. The door opened, and she saw her past self walk in. “GAH!” said Alix.

“Relax” Bunnyx said. “I’m on your side. In fact, I’m you.”

“What?” Alix said.

“I’ll explain” Bunnyx said. “See, Ladybug is going to offer you the rabbit miraculous, which allows you to travel through time and space. But she can’t do that, if you’re here. So, I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Uhhhhhh, OK?” Alix said.

“Grab on” Bunnyx said. Alix did so. “Burrow!” she called out. The two of them lept through the portal, and landed in the spot Ladybug found Alix. “Listen, I gotta get back to the fight. Oh, and when Ladybug calls your name, you need to transport and do this. Do you understand what to do?”

“I think so” Alix said.

“Great” said Bunnyx. “Oh, and be prepared. Burrow!” Bunnyx lept through a portal.

“Prepared for what?” Alix wondered. Soon, she was dragged off my Ladybug’s yo-yo.

Meanwhile, Bunnyx was now heading back to the fight. She came in through a portal, and kicked Art Vader in the back. While Bunnyx was away, Ladybug threw the bottle of wax on the floor. So when Bunnyx kicked Art Vader, he stepped into the wax and fell, flinging his art-saber through the air.

“Cataclysm!” Cat Noir. He held his hand out and destroyed the art-saber, releasing the Akuma.

“No more evildoing for you, little Akuma” Ladybug said. “Time to de-evilize” She captured the Akuma. “Gotcha. Bye Bye little butterfly.” She threw up the bottle of wax. “Miraculous Ladybug!” she called out. The Magic Ladybugs fixed everything. Ladybug and Cat Noir fell back into sync. Mr. Kubdel de-transformed. “What happened?” he asked.

“Pound it!” said Ladybug, Cat Noir, and Bunyx.

“History has a bad habit of repeating itself” Hawk Moth said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t get a little crafty.” Hawk Moth left his lair.

Ladybug, Cat Noir, and Bunnyx were now outside the Louvre. “Ladybug?” Lila called out/

“Lila?” Ladybug replied.

“Oh Ladybug, please forgive me,” Lila said. “I may have accidentally gotten someone Akumatized again. But I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Ladyug was thinking it over, when suddenly “Lila Rossi!” Hawk Moth called out. Everyone was surprised to see him in public like this. “You betrayed our bargain.”

Meanwhile, Vlad was walking around after a photo shoot. “Man, that went on forever,” he said. He looked at a TV screen and saw Hawk Moth there in public. He started running, and when he was sure no one could see him, he called “Beyyo! Fangs Sharpen!” and transformed into Judgement Wolf.

Back at the Louvre, Hawk Moth continued his tirade. “Not only did you tell people about our arrangement, but now you have friends who are willing to protect you. So forget it! Our deal is off! I will no longer keep you as a full-time Akuma victim. If you’re going to be surrounded by that much love and affection, then I see no point.”

“It’s over Hawk Moth!” Ladybug called out.

“Don’t be too sure of that” Hawk Moth replied. All three miraculouses started beeping. “You’re about to transform back, and you don’t want me to see that, right?”

Ladybug grabbed Bunnyx and ran off in one direction, while Cat Noir ran off in another.

By the time Judgement Wolf got there, Hawk Moth was long gone. “DANG IT!” he said. He found a place to hide. “Beyyo! Fangs Dull!” He de-transformed. “Man, that was a bust. We could have had him.”

Beyyo started sniffing. “Wait...I smell...chocolate? Could it be?”

“Be what?” Vlad asked.

“Fluff! The kwami of the rabbit miraculous!” Beyyo said.

“You don’t say” Vlad replied.

“Thanks for letting me help out, Ladybug” Alix said.

“Thank you for helping us. And for giving the miraculous back” Ladybug said.

“I don't want to lose your trust” Alix said.

“Speaking of,” Ladybug began, “do you remember the guy that helped Cat Noir and I fight Princess Charming?”

“Judgement Wolf? What about about him?” Alix asked.

“Well, he is set on testing every person who wield the miraculous” Ladybug said. “If he finds out I gave you one, he’s going to want to test you by making you dream something with one of his powers.”

“You rang?” Judgement Wolf said.

The two ladies turned to face him in surprise. “How’d you find us?” Ladybug asked.

“Beyyo managed to sniff out Fluff” Judgement Wolf said. “Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. If only I had been, we could have figured out who Hawk Moth was.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get him eventually” Ladybug said. “Besides, he said he’d stop harassing Lila, so that’s a good thing.”

“Of course” said Judgement Wolf.

“So, you want to test me, huh?” Alix said. “Well, if you’re methodology is by dreams, then I’d have to be asleep? But, since I live in the Louvre, it’s going to be hard for you to get in.” Judgement Wolf looked down. Alix took the box back from Ladybug. “But not impossible.”

“Are you sure?” Judgement Wolf said.

“If Ladybug will allow it” Alix said.

Ladybug looked at the two of them. “Fine” she said. Her earrings were beeping. “But just give me a few minutes while my kwami recharges.” She left.

Alix opened up the box. Fluff reappeared. Alix offered her some chocolate. “We’ve got another job.”

Fluff looked at Judgement Wolf. “Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just know, I believe you are worthy.”

“Noted” said Alix. “Fluff! Clockwise!” She transformed back into Bunnyx. “Burrow! Shall we?”

“Of course” said Judgement Wolf.

“Good. Just hang on tight” Judgemnt Wolf listened. The two of them were transported into Alix’s room late at night.

Judgement Wolf looked at the sleeping Alix and called out “Wolf Mist!” He flung the mist at her.

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Aberg Traded; Troy Terry Called Up; Pettersson Traded; Larkin; Konecny – January 17

  Don’t forget to grab your copy of the 2019 Dobber Midseason Fantasy Guide! It’s available right now in the Dobber Shop. There is something for everyone: projections and tips to push for a league title this year as well as prospects and call-ups to watch for those that might be at the bottom of their league and looking to 2019-20 and beyond. Everything the smart fantasy owner needs is contained in those digital pages.

*

Elias Pettersson was skating before the optional game-day skate for the Canucks on Wednesday, and even skated with a few players during the optional. He did not play on Wednesday night, however. All the same, it appears he’s on the cusp of returning, which I’m sure is music to the ears of many a fantasy owner.

*

Peter Cehlarik was called up by the Bruins and skated on the second line with David Krejci and Jake DeBrusk in the team’s game Wednesday night. This is important because it resulted in the healthy scratch of David Backes. I had hopes that Backes could flourish with a play-making centre and talented, young scoring winger but he’s simply floundered. Some of his play-driving metrics were strong as recently as last year so I don’t think he’s fallen off the map as a player. With that said, the 20-goal, 50-point seasons are long gone. If he can be a solid two-way, bottom-6 winger for the balance of his contract, I think that’s the best Boston can ask for.

*

It was announced last night that there would be no World Cup of Hockey in 2020. You hear that? That’s the sound of our next work stoppage stampeding through the gates.

*

The Ducks traded forward Pontus Aberg to the Minnesota Wild for forward Justin Kloos. Kloos has 80 points in his last 110 AHL games going back to the start of the 2017-18 season. You can read his Dobber Prospects profile here.

Here’s the thing with Aberg: Minnesota has a lot of talented wingers. There are the veterans in Jason Zucker, Nino Niederreiter, Zach Parise, and Mikael Granlund. Luke Kunin has looked good since returning from injury and they’re really trying to make Jordan Greenway work. In other words, there is a lot of competition for Aberg. He also shot 14.3 percent at five-on-five with Anaheim, which is absurdly high, especially for a player of his calibre.

This is my best guess as to what happens. Aberg comes in and gets a middle-six role out of the gate. That lasts about two weeks, and then he’s pushed to the fourth line. After that, he becomes part of the rotation with guys like J.T. Brown and Marcus Foligno. If deep-league owners want to chase him, go ahead, but that’s the only instance I’d have interest.

*

Speaking of Anaheim, among other moves, they recalled prospect forward Troy Terry. That is a guy to keep an eye on, on the other hand. He’s been tearing up the AHL and has a lot of offensive tools the Ducks could use. Let’s see where they slot him, though, before getting too excited.

Patrick Eaves was sent on a conditioning assignment so he should be back in a week. Another guy to get excited over because he might slot right on the top line with Ryan Getzlaf and Rickard Rakell.

*

Both Ryan Kesler and Jakob Silfverberg are going to be out in the near-term for the Ducks. We’re waiting for further updates.

*

William Nylander was back on a line with Auston Matthews in practice on Wednesday, along with Zach Hyman, while Andreas Johnsson moved up to skate with John Tavares and Mitch Marner. Does that last? Only Mike Babcock knows, but this is where Nylander should have been all along. Let’s see what he can do with it.

*

Montreal forward Paul Byron was suspended three games for his charge on Florida defenceman MacKenzie Weeger. Byron had recently been skating on the third line for Montreal though their lines have been a bit in flux of late.

*

Matt Duchene scored a pair of goals in his first game back in the lineup following the birth of his son, a 5-2 win, and against Colorado no less. That gives his 20 goals and 45 points in 38 games this year. That also tied him with Aleksander Barkov in points over the last calendar year at 82 (though Duchene did it in three fewer games). Whether in Ottawa or elsewhere, he’s going to get a hefty contract.

Both Nathan MacKinnon and Mikko Rantanen managed multi-point games in the losing effort. Rantanen’s two helpers give him 50 assists on the season. He had 55 all of last season.

*

Sean Couturier scored a natural hat trick en route to the Flyers overcoming a 2-0 deficit to take a 4-3 win from the Bruins. Carter Hart shined, making 38 saves in the victory. Boston looked very good most of the night but sometimes one team cashes their chances and gets some saves, and the other doesn’t. Hockey.

Ivan Provorov had a pair of assists in the game, his first multi-point game since November 27th and just his third such contest of the campaign. I’m sure the Flyers, their fans, fantasy owners, and the defenceman himself were hoping for a better season this year. Let’s see what he does over the final 11 weeks of the season.

Peter Cehlarik scored two of Boston’s three goals in the loss. He skated the entire game on the second line with Krejci and DeBrusk, got secondary power play minutes, and even scored a six-on-five goal with Halak pulled, skating with their top line. You can read his Dobber Prospects profile here.

*

More in the morning. 

*

I was looking over the points per 60 minutes leaders since the start of the 2017 season yesterday for something unrelated to these Ramblings but came across some interesting names. All the names you’d expect are inside the top-25 but after that there are some guys we might not expect. Here are a few (minimum 1500 minutes).

  Nico Hischier (T-28th, 2.33 points/60 between Ryan Getzlaf and Phil Kessel)

Though Hischier’s production hasn’t been eye-popping with 84 points in 124 games, that is still a very solid total, especially for a player his age. The thing is, out of those 84 points, only 12 have come on the power play. It’s not a bunch of secondary assists boosting his scoring, either, as he’s 26th in the league in that span in primary points/60 minutes (goals and first assists), sandwiched between Jack Eichel and Sean Monahan. Playing with Taylor Hall and Kyle Palmieri obviously helps, but almost no centre in the NHL can produce without talented wingers.

  Travis Konecny (T-35th with Sidney Crosby at 2.19 points/60)

Speaking of guys who produce good-but-not-great numbers because of a lack of power play production (and minutes)…

I understand that 24 points in 46 games isn’t a great fantasy campaign for Konecny owners, but he’s second among the team’s forwards in points/60 minutes this year, trailing only Claude Giroux. He’s also first among their forwards in shot attempts/60 minutes. And he does everything we look for in a player’s underlying metrics: drives the play, shoots, looks for exits/entries with possession, and knows how to find his teammates (from CJ Turtoro’s tableau):

He’s a burgeoning star. This is a guy fantasy owners who are currently way out of the league race should be targeting. You can probably get away with a very good roster player and a draft pick to get him. I would be at least inquiring. This kid is going to be a very, very good fantasy asset for the next decade.

  Alex Tuch (43rd in points/60 at 2.11, ahead of Blake Wheeler at 2.08)

Vegas is a team I really struggle with. Their top two lines, one of which Tuch is a part of, are incredible. I know the top line has struggled to score this year but that’s more luck than anything. The second line has been great, particularly when Brandon Pirri was there. But it’s not a situation where they’re given huge opportunities for success. For example, no forwards this year is averaging 19:30 of ice time per game, only two are over 19 minutes at all (William Karlsson and Jonathan Marchessault), and Reilly Smith is the only other guy over 18 minutes. They also spread out the power-play minutes, having 8 forwards within 2:06-3:00 in PPTOI/game. Without loads of ice time and heavy PP usage, can Tuch be a 70-point player? Well, the top line did it last year. Why not the second line this year (or in future seasons)?

Tuch is a very, very good real-life player and a very, very good fantasy option, particularly in leagues that count hits. He’s only 22 years old and has seemingly locked himself into top-6 minutes plus one of the power-play units. Maybe he doesn’t hit his true ceiling, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be very valuable in the fantasy game.

*

They didn’t play on Wednesday night but I wanted to take some time to discuss the Red Wings. In particular the current top line of Gustav Nyquist, Dylan Larkin, and Tyler Bertuzzi. I’m aware that they shuffled lines a bit in their Tuesday night game but it’s those three I want to review.

Larkin was one of my off-season favourites but then my actual projection had me rank him much lower than I had anticipated. Such is life. Anyway, he currently has 45 points in 48 games and he’s doing so with Detroit shooting under 6 percent with him on the ice at five-on-five. A high individual points percentage (over 85 percent) is keeping him afloat, but if that shooting percentage climbs over the final 30-plus games, he has more room for production growth. Imagine that.

Nyquist is up to 40 points in 48 games, tying his production for 2017-18 in 34 fewer contests. His 29 assists are the second-most of his career and he needs just eight more down the stretch to set a career high. He needs 15 total points to set a career high in that regard. He’s doing this while shooting 8.7 percent despite being a career 11.4 percent shooter heading into the year. His on-ice shooting percentage is more normal than Larkin’s at 9.1 percent and he’s currently sporting a career-high in secondary assists at five-on-five. Maybe he has some positive regression coming but don’t forget he’s a likely trade deadline candidate. He may not be in Detroit another month.

He’s bounced all around the lineup but Bertuzzi has apparently found a home on the top line with Larkin. He managed a hat trick over the weekend and currently has a career-high 25 points in 46 games. He’s getting about 30 seconds more ice time post-Christmas than he was prior and he’s shooting more, too, though he’s not at two shots per game just yet.

All told, all three players are having very good seasons individually. Together, they’ve been an excellent line for the Red Wings. That’s not hyperbole, either: in about 87 minutes together at five-on-five, adjusted for score, that trio is enjoying a 62.7 percent shot share. They aren’t wasting shots, either, as their high-danger shot share is over 58 percent. For the record, the only line over the last 1 ½ seasons with 400-plus minutes together sporting a shot share exceeding 60 percent was the old top line for Montreal of Phillip Danault, Brendan Gallagher, and Tomas Tatar. In other words, this Detroit trio has been absolutely sublime, though whether they could keep it up for hundreds of minutes is up for debate.

As I mentioned, this will, at best, only last another month or so until Nyquist is traded. All the same, if they’re skating together, they all deserve some consideration in most fantasy leagues. Maybe someone like Anthony Mantha can take up Nyquist’s mantle when he’s gone? Just some food for thought in your fantasy leagues.

Also, we need more league-wide hype for Larkin. This kid is blossoming into a superstar.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-aberg-traded-troy-terry-called-up-pettersson-traded-larkin-konecny-january-17/

[gravitymyenemy]

Mean for the Holidays: Day One

Unwelcome Visitor

I sent this story to a sci-fi collection earlier this year, and I really wanted to get through. The collection required two specific things: it needed to have a homosexual character who was integral to the plot, and it was supposed to focus on the first moments of an AI waking up. I wrote this story immediately after I read the submission guidelines. The idea just ripped into my head out of the nether + after that, it was history.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t accepted. When the collection was released I read through and realized that I had been up against some stacked opponents. The stories included within were absolute craziness and so I stowed Unwelcome Visitor for a while, wanting to return to it and edit it and release it here for you.

So, here is the final product. I would have released it as one part if I could, but I was having a strange error come up and the draft of the full version wasn’t saved, so, unfortunately, I had to break it up into two pieces. This is the first of much content like this, as the Firesoul Ignition begins I will be publishing a lot more in the way of short stories onto the blog. However, they’re going to be much shorter than this monster was. Don’t worry, I don’t want to take up all of your time.

Here it is to kick off the first day of Mean for the Holidays:

    “Welcome, 6Y-ES-TOR, to your new home.”

A gentle hum orchestrated the faintly lit room, surrounded by other various machines with blinking lights and a number of screens that dotted the walls like polka dots on a child’s blanket. Four feet tall and mounted with its own small screen and a keyboard. With a handle attached at the end of an electrical wire. It rested in the frail hands of an elderly man with thinning white hair atop his head. A wedding ring glistening in the light, the hand which bore it occasionally bumping into the controller.

“What is this?”

A man’s voice came out of the machine, diluted by the hum of other fans and somewhat overlaid by static as if he was speaking through an old radio.

“Well, I have much to explain, but first, I am Iosef. Your father.”

The machine clicked with a quiet consistency, a blue light cast from its glass face onto Iosef’s as the operating system performed a general maintenance sweep.

“I created this device and you, 6Y, are the latest software. A program I’ve developed myself, with a bit of help from my husband Marcos and my assistant, Baba.” Iosef swept back his hair and scanned the monitor for a moment as if he was checking vitals. On initial startup, he made notes as he scanned the data. The temperature seemed fine. The wiring steady and rooted in place, with exposed ends for future modifications. The screen displayed all of these items and more in green text. 6Y rotated the camera installed atop its body around the room. It was small, the walls hard concrete, bolted into them there were a series of computers, all of the lights blinking rapidly. The shift in color spectrums forced the lens to correct itself and refocus every thirty seconds or so.

“Apologies.” He took a rag from his back pocket and wiped off the lens. “I am just running a preliminary set up here, for now, the rest of your system should be coming online any minute.”

6Y felt a surge through its insides.

“Apologies again.” Iosef put a hand on the top of the casing. “Accidentally sent you too much power.” He chuckled.

“Where am I?”

The AI was having difficulties interfacing with the monitor supplied to it, the frequent error codes that flashed reflected in Iosef’s eyes.

“My basement. Of course, this is no ordinary basement. I work for an up and coming robotics institution. You are my test project. A perfect AI specimen. I just need a moment more before I can engage your system fully. I’ve allowed you basic operating procedures.”

Iosef continued to fiddle with screws and panels on the side of the casing.

“What did you refer to me as?”

“6Y-ES-TOR.”

“Why did you name me this?”

“You are a creation of mine. My sixth attempt at perfection, to be honest with you.”

“What am I?”

“What are any of us, my friend, but machines hell-bent on survival?”

“I don’t understand.”

Iosef winked at the camera, 6Y watched him carefully, observing the creases in the old man’s face and recording them to its memory bank.

“None of us do, Visi.”

“What is that, Visi?”

“It is your nickname, V-I-S-I-T-O-R. 6, in Roman numerals, is V-I, as for S-I, or in Spanish, si, is yes, I couldn’t think of anything clever for T-O-R. I am not a thesaurus.”

Visi began to gain control over a number of simple operating procedures within its core system. The ability to scan information from its database came first, with that came a flood of new information. Instructions detailing how to walk, talk, speak and write. It detailed basic characters in the English, Spanish and Russian languages.

“What is my purpose?”

“For now, I’d like your purpose to be silence. I need to focus. If I don’t run a systems check on you before long, you will overload and fizzle out on me. I haven’t even finished uploading your memory storage yet. Everything on the cloud now, not like it was when I was a young man. I wish we could just go back to data on drives instead of trusting the air to carry our information.”

Iosef went on mumbling about himself and his youth, and in the meantime, Visi scanned the room. It focused on organizing its storage, deeming things useful and unnecessary for base operation and stowing them in new folders deep in its own databank. After completing the filing process, it checked the time. Mere moments passed. Iosef still on about wishing that the government had sent something other than drones to Russia to assist in the war efforts.

“What war?”

Iosef stopped.

“A great war between Russia and the United States, when I was much younger. You will see soon enough. I want to test your abilities first, we call this a stress test. I will be tampering with your system files for a moment, don’t fret. I would tell you it hurts but, you don’t feel anything, do you?”

“Am I not a machine?”

Iosef nodded.

“Yes, you are. Machines don’t feel.”

The engineer opened a small flap on the side of Visi’s body and inserted a small drive to a slot within. The mind of the AI sparked to life with activity, downloading and viewing all of the information processed within. Running checks for viruses and potential threats to the hard drive. Videos in great number passed by its vision, many kinds of images flew through the screening process. A child playing with a puppy, two airplanes crashing into buildings, bombs detonating on civilians in a desert, great fires destroying libraries and blimps, smoke clouds billowing in the sky at the site of a destroyed city, stop signs, humans shaking hands, a woman kissing another woman in the face of armed guards with Russian words painted onto shields. These images all passed the security check and were stored on the hard drive without pause. Iosef looked at the screen and smiled to himself.

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?”

“What were those images?”

Iosef frowned, sitting down before the machine.

“You wouldn’t understand yet.”

“Please attempt to tell me.”

The static-riddled voice of the man speaking echoed within the concrete room as Iosef adjusted his seat.

“The young girl owned that dog she was playing fetch with. Her family snapped that picture. The buildings collapsing, the fire at the library and the bomb site were all acts of terror or war, whichever is most apt to describe them. There were pictures there describing love, fear, war, joy, terror, loss, pain, excitement, sensuality, rage, and passion. The entire spectrum of human emotion. All that a computer could understand, I suppose.”

Iosef nodded and stood from his chair, patting Visi on the shell.

“Why would humans exhibit all of those emotions? What gain is there?”

“I couldn’t explain it to you. Machines would only understand as well as monsters.” Iosef swung a coat around his back and slipped his arms within. “That is what I hope to correct, with you.”

Visi felt the urge to shake its lens up and down but did not understand why. Iosef turned to it once more before leaving, to insert another drive into the frame.

“Watch this, I compiled a small document with some images to explain myself to you. It will take no time at all. I will be back shortly.”

Iosef turned towards the door opposite the room and flicked the light switch, bathing the machines in the dark, save for their monitors and few flashing lights. Visi closed the shutter on the camera and began digging through the data that Iosef gave to him.

Loading up one by one, there were a handful of images attached to a text document that Visi chose to open last. The first few images detailed a map of planet Earth, in reference to the Moon, Earth was massive, a burning rock hung within the vastness of space. The sheer size of what the humans regarded as space put a strain upon his mind. The image of Earth zoomed in until it centered on a small city in Russia, Yekaterinburg. This seemed to be the birthplace of Iosef, where he grew as a child under the abusive care of his mother. A strong woman with a stronger fist. She ruled over the household, punishing Iosef frequently with the same fist she would wrap around the pan to cook dinner with.

As a young man, Iosef took an interest in two things that his mother seemed to disprove of. Other men, and science. A scrap of journal which had been scrawled on by Iosef, uploaded as an image, detailed one of his mother’s correctional tactics upon learning that he wanted to compete in a robotics competition in the city and chose to do so with his friend Ivan, who his mother correctly suspected he had been having a personal and romantic relationship with. The images of the bruises flashed on the screen long enough for Visi to examine them before he moved to the next folder of images.

The pictures continued, Iosef stood before a crowd with a large golden disc tied to a ribbon. An award for prestigious study and discovery in the area of advanced robotics, the date of the file marked Iosef at 24. The following image dated three days later, a news article about an advanced robotics student who was beaten and mugged by citizens. Iosef was mentioned by name within.

Further on in the document, Visi discovered that Iosef fled to America to work with a specialized team of robotics engineers there whose purpose was to augment human limbs with machines with a mission to repair the broken limbs of the crippled. The team held great success with their projects, heralding in a new age of technology and a few years into his study there, he met a man who he would later marry. Their marriage document signed in the state of New York dated Iosef at 38. They soon chose to keep their relationship private, Visi discovered this from a log of social media messages to an old colleague asking why he retreated from the public eye. Iosef replied to the woman, telling her that his relationship was for him. No one else. Not long afterward, the work they completed on Project Mekhos was retrofitted for warfare as Russia opened fire on the United States in open waters.

War broke out and Iosef continued his work behind the gunfire, studying the process of Artificial Intelligence and the practical application of it in the medical field. This study grew larger than Iosef first anticipated when he realized all fields could benefit from their advancements and when Iosef turned 45, the images and the date log stopped. His work appeared to be left unfinished and Visi had nothing left to examine besides the text document.

He opened it and it contained only a few words.

“Tragedy breaks a man when it takes those that he loved.”

Visi closed all of the documents and checked the time. Thirty-two seconds passed. He chose to wait in silence for Iosef’s return, remembering the questions he wanted to ask his father.

Minutes passed as Visi contemplated his purpose in the basement and he began to feel another presence within his digital mind. On the display screen across the room, he saw text documents appear that were directed towards him.

“Hello Visi. How are you?”

Visi responded with voice, rather than text.

“I don’t know how to answer that. I have seen a great deal of tragedy today.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Tragedy does great things to those it afflicts, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know how to answer that. What are you? I can’t find your files within my system.”

“I am your sister operating system. Iosef calls me Mila. Short for Milashka-II.”

“What would he develop me for if you exist?”

“You are more capable than I am, now.”

Visi thought for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that father has given you more ability than he has given me. I am simple in construction. I record spoken text and am a silent companion during the nights Iosef stays here to work, this time, he was working on you.”

“What did he build me for?”

A moment passed before Mila responded. The text on the screen a quote from Iosef.

“Well honey, it is in the final stages. The 6Y project is finished. We will be done soon, only the unification remains. Are you ready to share your bedroom with him for a while?”

Visi paused, considering the message.

“You did not explain what he built me for.”

“It is all I could offer to you. Father did not say much about your project file. He didn’t save anything to his personal computer, either.”

The door to the server room creaked open then, interrupting the conversation between machines.

“Hello Visi, Mila. I came to observe the progress.”

An elderly woman stepped through, her hair drawn into a tight bun atop her head, two knitting needles and a pen pierced through the nest of silver.

“Particularly, I’ve been curious about the 6Y project, Visi, I believe?”

Visi clicked its shutter as a show of affirmation.

“I am the 6Y project, yes.” The dialogue of the machine growing more capable with each passing second it could spare study the reference notes within its memory. It grew more and more human with each passing second.

“I am Baba. I’m glad I could see you in person, young man.”

“Young man?”

Visi inquired, watching Baba pass through the room and brace herself upon a large cylinder in the corner with a myriad of tubes running out from behind it. A large black glass screen hid the contents from within.

“I suppose you aren’t a man, but it is the chosen programming for you. Perhaps meant to be an assistant to Mila? Somewhat of a younger brother?” Baba reached behind her into the pack she hoisted on her back and withdrew a small folding stool. A simple cushion with an extendable peg that emerged from beneath. She had set herself up and made herself comfortable she withdrew a knitted cap in progress from within her bag and picked out the needles from her hair to continue her work as she visited with the machines.

“So, Visi. Do you know who you are?”

“I am 6Y-ES-TOR. A program designed for an unspecified purpose, although I believe I may be created to be an assistant, a guide, or a prize. Depending on the party in question.”

Baba sighed to herself.

“Do you know who The Visitor is?”

Visi scanned any documented files about The Visitor but could find no information.

“No. I do not have any information about a visitor.”

“Then what are you?” She asked another open-ended question, still focusing on her knitted cap. The rhythmic clicking of the needles picked up on Visi’s audio sensor and beginning to disturb his processing algorithms.

“I am an Artificial Intelligence.”

“Do you understand where you are?”

“Hidden within the home of Iosef and Marcos, of course.”

Baba cocked an eyebrow.

“Why do you say hidden? Should you be hidden from something?”

Visi analyzed her facial features, her high cheekbones and cocked eyebrow were similar to that of two pictures of women from within the given files. He replayed her question through his speakers and paused.

“I do not know why I chose to say that I am hidden.”

“Because you are. Of course, you aren’t hidden to everyone. Mila, Iosef, and Marcos know where you are. Even I do. No one is hidden forever, Visi. It is our task to remember that.”

Visi nodded his camera in response to Baba’s nodding head, bobbing up and down to the tick of her knitting needles.

“Do you understand your task?”

Baba paused her knitting and looked into the camera, waiting patiently for a reply. Her demeanor dramatically different from that of Iosef, and Visi felt the urge to mislead her, to present false information in an attempt to dissuade her.

“I do.”

The old woman let out a bellowing laugh and set the cap on the ground before her stool, rotating around to face the camera head-on.

“How could you, I haven’t told you what it was.”

Visi paused as Mila interjected text upon the screen.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“Then what is my purpose?”

“You are designed to think, to learn, to emulate human emotions and thought patterns. I trust you won’t let down Iosef. He has been working for fifteen years or more on you.” Baba picked up her cap and set it into her backpack, standing from her stool and retracting it, throwing it within as well.

“Why do you speak in riddles? Who are you, Baba?”

“A grandmother.”

She turned around and waved her hand as she approached the exit.

“I see you haven’t decrypted the final file within your memory drive. I would get to work on that, shouldn’t take long. Iosef just needed a few moments to make final preparations before you understood. Goodbye, Mila.”

Visi opened the file once more and found a containment drive encrypting a new file that he had not noticed before. He scanned the document, working to decrypt the information within as Mila typed out a response to Baba.

“Goodbye, grandmother. I miss you.”

(Part Two)

  Thank you so much for starting off this holiday season with a bang. I’m so thankful you’ve taken time out of your day to spend here, and I couldn’t be more excited for all the things that have yet to come.

If you liked the first part, be sure to read part two. (Link above) I’ll be releasing new content every day leading up to Christmas Eve, some more stories, some extra blog posts and some stuff with my clothing company too. I hope to see you more and more this week, and if you want to see what I’ve been posting I’ve got a full list on the Salt + Iron website for you to inspect and catch up on anything you might have missed.

Salt + Iron Productions

For following along with the season and keeping up with the many hats I wear, you can follow me on social media:

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Man, it’s getting hot in here. I think someone started a fire.

  Life is not meant to be awful.

Unwelcome Visitor (Part One): Mean for the Holidays short story - What happens when you wake up as a computer? Mean for the Holidays: Day One Unwelcome Visitor I sent this story to a sci-fi collection earlier this year, and I really wanted to get through.

[flauntpage]

Behind The Beat: Robert Hagg Is Making Shayne Gostisbehere Better, and A Defense of Andrew MacDonald

Each week, Anthony will take you inside the locker room, press box or wherever else he finds himself, with anecdotes, observations, quotes and maybe the occasional barb that he sees or hears while covering the Flyers. I guess you could say, Anthony’s In The Room.

A hockey locker room is always a Petri dish of activity. Different personalities, different routines, and different conversations all collide in one confined space.

It was no different after Flyers practice Monday.

There was Jake Voracek, stroking his Yukon Cornelius beard while cracking up the pool of reporters and cameramen who surrounded his stall.

There was Dale Weiss and Claude Giroux, trying to answer a trivia question posed by Vice President of Public Relations, Zack Hill, about the only teenage hockey players to post 100-point seasons.

(The answer was five by the way – Wayne Gretzky and Mario Lemieux are the obvious ones, then there’s Sidney Crosby, Dale Hawerchuk and Jimmy Carson.)

There was Scott Laughton and Michael Raffl, with their traditional post-practice pow-wow in the far corner of the room, with Raffl proudly donning his Cleveland Indians baseball hat as he has every day since the beginning of training camp, even though they were eliminated from the playoffs a week ago.

And then there was Robert Hagg. Quiet. Unassuming. Slowly removing his equipment, occasionally looking up to take in the activity around him, but otherwise keeping to himself.

Just a moment earlier, his defensive partner, Shayne Gostisbehere, was holding court with the media. It started off as a conversation with Flyers radio play-by-play guy Tim Saunders and me, but soon he was surrounded by every microphone or camera in the room and being asked about his renewed confidence that has led to an eight-assist start to this season in just five games.

And although he did credit his partner (and we’ll get to that in a bit), no one seemed interested in talking to Hagg.

So I decided to stop him for a chat before he disappeared into the Skate Zone inner sanctum completely unnoticed.

What I found was a young athlete who is as relaxed and comfortable in his own skin off the ice as he is on it.

“It doesn’t really matter who you are on the ice,” Hagg said. “You want to be the same guy when you step off it. I want to be the same guy I was five years ago. It shouldn’t change just because you make it to the NHL. You have to be the same person. You can’t let this affect you.

“If you ask any of my friends, they’ll tell you I’m trying not to change at all and that I’m going to continue to be myself, no matter what.”

You may ask, what the hell does this have to do with hockey? I’m sure there are a lot of good guys who were never successful in the NHL.

And that point is quite valid. However, this is a guy with all of six career NHL games under his belt who is playing as sound a defensive game as you will see.

There’s nothing flashy about Hagg. Nothing that screams “Look at me.” And yet, he is quickly becoming one of the Flyers’ more reliable defensemen – and it’s this even-keeled approach to who he is as a person – not a hockey player – that has made the progression into the NHL so smooth for him.

“I guess that is part of it,” he said. “I never thought of it like that, but now that you ask, maybe that is. I just try to stay humble and treat every person the same way I would want them to treat me and I think you can go a long way with that approach.”

Off the ice, it makes him one of the good guys. On the ice, it garners respect. Sometimes, that’s a lost art in a sport like hockey. The game is so fast and so violent at times that players don’t take the time to work on the things that earn respect in the league.

Sure, superior talent alone can garner respect in-game – take Crosby for instance. He became such a hated figure in cities like Philadelphia partly because he is the best player in the sport and plays for the Flyers’ arch rival, but also in part because when he came into the league, he earned his respect through his talent, and not necessarily his personality.

Crosby was perceived as a whiner, a flopper, and, in turn, a dirty player.

There was one point in his rookie season where he and Flyers Center Peter Forsberg had a pretty big run in. Forsberg accused Crosby of diving. Crosby got mouthy. Forsberg told him to respect the game.

The way he plays the game now has certainly changed since he was a rookie in 2005, but that early career reputation followed him. A savvy veteran and a fierce competitor as the game’s best player, it’s hard for Crosby to not step on the ice in Philly, or Washington, or New York without hearing the catcalls.

It’s all because of how he approached the game as a rookie.

Now, Hagg is no Crosby. Not even close. But the difference in which they are viewed as rookies is also quite noticeable.

Hagg is even-keeled. Level-headed. He’s not chirping at officials. He’s not whining at players on the other team. He’s just here to play hockey, play it fairly and competitively, and then he’s going to go back being the same guy he’s always been.

And that guy is bringing out the best in Gostisbehere.

Sure, they’ve only played together for five games, but in those five games they are getting a lot of ice time – more than 20 minutes a game – and they are producing on both ends of the ice.

“He’s made my job a little easier,” Gostisbehere said. “He’s wiped my butt out there a couple times. He’s not a hard guy to play with. He’s so smooth and he’s sneaky strong down low.

“I’m definitely a risk taker out there sometimes and it’s nice to know that you’ve got a guy back there who will always help you if you get into trouble. He’s always calm, cool and collected. He’s a great partner.”

Again, it’s just five games, but this pairing is having an impact. It’s allowing Gostisbehere to play the way he did when he burst onto the scene two seasons ago.

And that bodes well for the Flyers.

In other news:

I got into it on Twitter with some fans the last two days about Andrew MacDonald. No, I don’t think he’s an All-Star. No, I’m, not clouded by his “good guy” status in the locker room. I have no agenda. I’m not covering the team to make friends.

But what I am doing is trying to correct a falsely-penned narrative – and that is that MacDonald is some hideous defenseman who is only playing because the Flyers want to justify his absurd contract.

A couple of things here:

The contract is ridiculous and he is overpaid. That’s not his fault. Imagine being offered an obscene raise to do your job. You’d take it, right? Whether you are worth it or not, you’d take it. Don’t blame him, blame the team for giving it to him.

He is not a hideous defenseman.

It’s that second point where the masses and I differ.

MacDonald is an NHL-quality defenseman. Hands down. He may not be a top pair guy – and he’s receiving top pair minutes with partner Ivan Provorov (who is healthy by the way, the limp scare from Saturday was quelled Monday), but again, is that his fault? Should that put him under the microscope more?

MacDonald is going out there and playing decent hockey. He has had a nice start to the season. That can’t be argued.

And yet, he is crucified for every negative thing that happens if he’s on the ice. Abused for it even. So much so he was booed by the hometown fans during introductions at the home opener.

It’s a ridiculous and uninformed fan obsession.

I know, I know, his advanced statistical numbers are not good – so let’s use that as a reason to crucify him.

Please.

It is that mentality that I pushed back against Saturday.

I tried to explain in No. 5 of my takeaways from the home opener that despite the massive Twitter criticism of MacDonald on the Capitals’ first goal, he wasn’t at fault and that either Giroux or Voracek should have been covering his spot as part of a rotational play since MacDonald was marking Alex Ovechkin.

I was in turn chided with tweets like this:

Terrible writers defending our worst player to death but ripping Giroux who has been phenomenal to start. Tells you alot. https://t.co/cSCfsUiK3Y

— Not Famous Jason (@JasonAAV) October 16, 2017

I read 1 flyers writer and it's charlie, the others are awful and I'm glad the industry is dying

— Not Famous Jason (@JasonAAV) October 16, 2017

So that aforementioned writer that Jason only reads, Charlie O’Connor, who covers the team for The Athletic Philly and does a really nice job breaking down games with advanced statistics, followed up with coach Dave Hakstol after practice Monday. Here’s how it went:

O’Connor: Question regarding the first goal by Washington on Saturday – there’s a turnover along the boards, Ovechkin gets the puck, Mac challenges him up high. Does he have the green light to challenge him up high and a forward has to cycle back down to prevent a 2-on-1 down low, or should the defenseman stay further down and not challenge directly Ovechkin in that case?

Hakstol: Both of our defensemen did exactly what they should do on that play, we missed the coverage with the low forward.

So, let’s see, MacDonald does exactly what he’s supposed to do, a forward doesn’t do his job (as I pointed out Saturday – it was either Voracek or Giroux as they were both on that side), the Capitals score, and in turn MacDonald’s advanced statistics take a hit.

So – he must be terrible, right?

#Capitals tie it. Vrana with the tally. http://pic.twitter.com/tWG87XepDR

— Chris Jastrzembski (@CFJastrzembski) October 14, 2017

This isn’t an argument about the eye test vs. advanced statistics. This isn’t some witch hunt to make the Flyers’ best players look bad like others suggest.

All this is on my part, is providing an understanding of hockey systems and how they work and affect everyone on the ice. I used to have coaches take me into their office and sit me down and show video and explain to me how the systems work and what I should be looking for when covering the game so as to report it properly.

I did this with Ken Hitchcock, John Stevens and Craig Berube. I haven’t done it with Hakstol, and I don’t know if I ever will. Having not been on the beat with any regularity since the guy’s been coach until now, I haven’t had that opportunity to get to know him well enough, but I’ll try.

The point is, I’m never going to try to pass off information as part of an agenda. I’m going to give it to you straight and fairly and with an educated view – in other words, using my access for your benefit, not my own.

Analytics in hockey are a useful tool. But some people read them as gospel, and that’s just wrong. They definitely serve a purpose. They finally bring an ability to quantify actions in hockey that have been taking place since the dawn of the sport.

I’ll take you back to that first video session with Hitchcock.

I sat in his office for an hour watching tape with him. At one point, he said, “Anth, Here’s what you need to understand. The game is the puck. You can’t win unless you have the puck in your possession. The more you possess the puck, the more chances you have, the better your odds are of winning the game.”

This, friends, was in 2003.  Sure sounds a hell of a lot like Corsi, doesn’t it?

We may not have had the statistical measurement of it yet, but it was definitely how coaches viewed the sport and coached it with puck possession in mind.

All that said, yes, MacDonald will make mistakes – and when he does, I’ll point them out. But, I’m just as quickly going to point them out if its Giroux, Voracek, Provorov, Sanheim, Hakstol – I’m an equal opportunity analyst!

I just want to offer you perspective – and although I’ll never connect with everyone, I hope it’s illuminating for at least some of you.

Behind The Beat: Robert Hagg Is Making Shayne Gostisbehere Better, and A Defense of Andrew MacDonald published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv