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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers Part 2: The Ballad of Duke Balloney or “I’m Flintheart Glomgold and I Always Will Be!” (Commission for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people. I”m Jake, I review stuff and today continues my look at Ducktales season 2 story arcs, of Moons, Millionares and Mothers. And while this arc as a whole is paid for by WeirdKev27, due to the Arc’s length, 17 parts including 15 episodes and 6 comics (2 of which will be in the same review), this one’s special as he’s using his patreon review every month to do so. If you too want me to review something of your choice simply hit up my ask box or join my patreon at patreon.com/popculture buffet. You get access to my discord, to pick a short when I do a group of them for characters birthdays, help me hit neat stretch goals like my next which is reviewing a darkwing duck episode a month, and best of all EXCLUSIVE REVIEWS. And I just added one this saturday of a carl barks story centerting around wigs, legal battles and attempted murder, both by our villian.. and by our heroes...

I will never get tired of that panel nor the boys inexplicably finding a blowgun. Point is it’s there if you want it at THIS LINK, but enough plugging so I can help pay the streaming bills and keep doing this... let’s get to the meat of things shall we?

This episode begins the second arc of this retrospective, The Glomgold Arc. And this arc was inevitibly going to come to this blog for two reasons. The first is that I have made no secret, in fact i’ve shouted it as loud as I can the neighbors are concerned, that I fucking love the 2017 Version of Flintheart Glomgold.

Glomgold is Keith Ferguson’s best role, tied with Lord Hater obviously, but it is indeed a tie. No one but Keith could’ve pulled off glomgold’s combination of ego, ham, and batshit insanity. He just makes the utterly stupid and wonderfully ludicrious things that come out of the mans mouth sound so damn natural with such an unearned confidence. It’s very clear that Frank had Keith in mind when putting this version of everyone’s faviorite South African Billionare pretending to be a Scottish Billionare and wisely built the characcter around him and his immense talent. I was not familiar with Keith at all, wasn’t even aware he voiced hater before this show but damn if that hasn’t fully changed.

Glomgold was also just in general a brilliant update of the character: While I know a lot of duck fans weren’t happy with this version at least at first. As the action figure sitting on my shelf that once road in a car with my david hasslehoff baywatch funko pop I have entirley due to my love of baywatching, this insane music video hoff did in the early 2000′s, and just in general how gloriously rediculous the man’s life is when you stop and think about it for a second from a pay per-view concert that ended up falling on the same night as The OJ Chase, to his kung fury cameo , to his weird insetence they never had sex on baywatch desspite mounds of video evdience and the fact the show was buit around the bulk of it’s cast’s sex appeal, to the fact the model of his pecs used for the spongebob movie was sold in an auction and on and on... I was going somewhere with this...

Oh right as the action figure, and previous praise, shows I am not one of these fans: The original isn’t bad, in fact one of my faviorite life and times chapters that i’ll be covering this week and talking about later in the review has him as the main antagonist and a pitvitol figure in Scrooge’s life in the worst way possible. Rosa GETS what’s needed for Flinty to feel specail: to have him be an evil mirror to scrooge, what he could’ve been had he kept down the path he started down in Africa. A ruthless, amoral asshole who will do ANYTHING to get rich.

It’s just often that isn’t emphasised enough and he’s instead just another one of the millions of generic assholes trying to get scrooges money sometimes with hired goons...

Not only that but Frank really COULDN’T have him at full effectivness. See an arch enemy in the Silver Age, which STARTED the same year Glomgold Debuted no less, wasn’t a big deal. They were still considered your deadliest foe but they’d often, much like Flinty be shuffled into the rogues gallery, show up for an issue to meance the hero, then either escape, get thrown in jail only to escape from that easily later, or be presumed dead. The last one I bring up because it happened to Magneto a LOTTTT pre-claremont. For Fuck’s Sake Charles have those teenagers train to look for a body once in a while!

Original Flinty was built for that, and brilliantly so as Barks had a talent for it , as seen by the fact The Beagle BOys, Flintheart and Magica have stuck around ever since and even in comics overseas where Flintehart is replaced.. it’s by Rockerduck who Barks ALSO created. The 87 Show followed the same formula, which was just as standard for 80′s cartoons. It’s why Megatron took until his toy was canceled the movie to shoot starscream in the face.

The problem is villians evolved and the expecation became more that a true arch enemy had to be a true threat. While Frank and Matt COULD’VE made Flintheart a real and honest threat, he also would’ve had to make him a Big Bad. The probelm was those seats were clearly taken: while i’m pretty sure some ideas came as they went, the main story beats were clearly planned out well in advance: Webby being a clone was always the plan, as was FOWL, Darkwing being a fan of a fictional Darkwing who became the real thing, and Della being on the moon. So he presumibly carefully choose each season’s big bad... and thus Season’s 1-3 would be full up wise. Season 1 had Magica, who he made into a TRUE threat, yet left the door open for her to return as she did, Season 2 had Lunaris who even if they hadn’t fully thought him up, they probably had thought up the moonvasion, and Season 3 was what they’d built the series towards with FOWL.

Details probably changed, it’s very clear to me they were likely going to have all three buzzards be important and ended up deicding to pivot to it just being Bradford over time. But given how well they though tout the general framework, I highly doubt Flinty was ever considered as a seirous big bad.. and I know i’m saying this in an arc that tried to set him up as one, but i’m getting there simmer.

So they could wait for a season 4 that might not happen.. or make him a recurring villian. So Frank and Matt decided to do that and leaned into comedy. Centering him around keith who Frank worked with previously on Wonder and thus knew he could play a hammy manchild like no one else, they simply leaned into the goofier aspects of his personality. His being similar to scrooge became him being an intentional and blatant knockoff. As Scrooge himself perfectly summed up in episode 1 “The poor man’s version of me.. which to be fair still makes him insanely rich”.

It’s another reason to really love this version as while yes, they did make him a bafoon.. he’s a wonderfully, redicuously layered bafoon: He still contrasts scrooge perfectly, manically hammy to Scrooge being calm, especially around flinty, blantatly crooked to Scrooge’s died in wool honesty, and wasting money on revenge instead of spending it on his actual company. There’s more obviously but some i’m saving for the review.

Not only that but his insane schemery has a rhyme and reason to it: He attacks Scrooge every week like the saturday morning cartoon villian he is, but his schemes are always unwieldly and massively stupid, and he always goes with the first draft. It’s something the team enforced: the first version is what they role with because that’s how his sad brain works. He also is obssed with sharks and explosives, the former being given a suprisingly heartfelt and unsuprisingly insanne origin story towards the series end, and works them into every plot no matter how much itm akes no sense. He’s pure ego, pure stupid and pure fun.

So yeah circling back to him being the big bad, I felt he was made one for this season for two reasons: the first is while a lot of fans (raises hand) enjoyed this version, some didn’t like how inept he was, so this would give them a breif bit of Flintheart being a genuine threat again. The other was frankly... they didn’t want to play their hand. Lunaris WAS the big bad... but fans would get supscious if there was seemingly no true threat on the horizon. Magica popped up in episode 4. We didn’t know her full plan yet true, but all we needed was lena SAYING HER NAME and fans of any other version of teh Disney Ducks would instantly go “Oh shit there she is”. So fans would now have the expectation of a main antagonist.. but would be instantly supscious of Lunaris and Penumbra if there wasn’t one for the first third of a season it took to them, and it’d leave a gap in the story to not have someone driving the plot on earth.

So Flinty got an upgrade.. a slight one and we’ll talk about the eb and flow. And thus he got a proper origin. Now granted they could’ve planned this too, but this one’s harder to tell as the curse you me gag could’ve been a clever setup or could’ve just been a one off gag they somehow turned into an entire episode. So Flinty got an arc.. and a comedic foil, the other reason this was inevieble, and Kev’s faviorite character, Zan Owlson. So how did it work out for them? Well we’ll begin that journey under the cut.

We begin our story a few months ago.... on every level really: the months ago shadow war aired when this episode originally good, the months ago I reviwed Shadow War (which via counting I found out was my 200th episode not counting Patreon. Nice), and most importantly for this story, the four months ago before the present day of Season 2.

Glomgold saying curse you me as he fell into the bay during the Shadow War.... only for once in his life he dosen’t somehow get out of it unscathed and instead passes out, almost drowning. He’s found by Fisher and Mann, two fisherpersons... Mann is specific about that due to being a woman despite the obvious irony. It’s a good gag. Flinty acts like he normally would.. hostile, demanding that they know who he is.. and while they don’t.. neither does he.

Cue credits and cue present day. Via a newscast with Roxanne we learn what I mentioned earlier: It’s been four month and Glomgold’s been missing. The general mood.. has been about what you’d expect.

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Yeah Roxanne turned on him real fast. I genuinely wouldn’t be surprised if it was because he later openly bragged about stealing scrooge’s money during the shark thing on live tv at some point, making Roxanne look terrible for enabling him and for blatantly supporting him earlier. I mean.. how else do you get a corrupt journalist to do anything decent.

But with Glomgold gone SOMEONE’S gotta replace him.. and that someone is Zan Motherfucking Owlson. Top of her class at Mouseton Univesity, Owlson is the show once again updating things: previously they added Mark Beaks to the Rogue’s Gallery as he contrasts the 50′s (scrooge ) and 80′s (glomgold) idea of billionares from previous versions of the property being a modern tech weasel. Though instead of just one thing Owlson represents a few: The most obvious is she’s a woman of color: Having a black woman in such a high position of power is something disney would’ve outright vetoed in the 50′s and 80′s. Here it’s well accepted as it always should have been. It also feels like a delebrate move on Frank’s part: There weren't’ any major african or african american coded characters in season 1, despite the show being very open and accepting, so that needed to change. The other is frankly outside of Brigtaa MacBridge, whose also weirdly absent from this series for some reason and has taken Fethry and Rockerduck’s place as the most major overseas duck character to never get adapted, there are hardly ever any females on Scrooge and his richer foes level. He’s had the occasional female rival or suitor, but only Brigittta had staying power and while I love the idea of her, another person as rich as scrooge whose willing to spend more and has a crush on him, she badly needed an update as she’s essentially Adventure Era Amy Rose in a grown ass woman’s body.

Owlson also provides a diffrent dynamic in that she portrays the ideal of what we’d want from a ceo: She’s honest, works hard, earned her way as square as scrooge did, gladly donates to charity and is extremely charismatic and intelligent. Granted most CEO”s are nothing like this but still, she’s what we WANT them to be. Using the money not for themselves or taking big paychecks but to help people. She also provides something Glomgold needed: a straight man. While he has one in Scrooge at times, Owlson unlike both of them is a fully functional resonable human being. Scrooge, while a good person deep down, can be reckless, impulsive and greedy, and Glomgold had a tarzan like experince with sharks, goes on to name his dummy son sharkbomb, and tried to murder Scrooge on live television twice that we know of. She’s the calm, snarky, put upon sane person trying to reign in the crazy shark explosion man.

Owlson dosen’t get a ton to do here, but that will change and she does get a decent amout in the final scene. But what she does here establishes who she is and how sh’es FIXED Glomgold industries; She’s shut down the vast number of money sinking scheme related departments, set ups everal charities, and is even setting up a new one with Scrooge, Dimes for Ducklings. In short she knew exactly what was needed to fix the company and it’s image and did so in FOUR MONTHS. Probably even less given they had to be sure Glomgold wasn’t coming back right away. I guarantee he’s faked his death like 10 times just to try and kill scrooge. They have to make sure it’s real first. As one last note before we move on, Owlson is played by Natasha Rothwell, a producer and writer who i’ve only seen outside of this in Love, Simon and Sonic the Hedgehog.. that is a weird combo of things that mean a LOT to me I haven’t been able to bring up here again.

We find the tv this was all playing on on the docks with a non-anthro segull pecking it while a bunch of fisherpersons go about their day. We also get this guy.

Add him to the list of spinoffs I want THE LIST OF SPINOFFS JAKE WANTS: 1. Darkwing Duck 2. Donald, Daisy and the Kids 3. The Sabrewings 4. Tailspin Reboot 5. The Flintheart Glomgold Show 6. A Sequel Movie 7. This Guy Punching A Fucking Fish

So you might be wondering when any of our main cast are going to show up.. and why the fish puncher isn’t in said main cast. Well that’s about now as Webby and Louie are fishing. Well okay more acuratley webby is fishing because she genuinely enjoys it and Louie is tagging along so he can nap on a boat while Webby paddles him around. That plan is threatnned by her spear fishing and he suggests using rods instead, but they need bait for that.

Naturally, given we need to get this plot going our heroes run into Duke Baloney, aka an amnesiac Glomgold. Understandably, both of htem think this is some sort of scheme at first because waiting for someone related to Scrooge to stroll by his fish stand for some sort of shark themed trap, especially since he’s right near the water so he dosen’t have to worry about keeping them hydrated like that time he dropped one from a plane onto scrooge’s board meeting with two chainsaws strapped to it. But .. it’s not. While we the audience saw him amnesiac, and at first I thought that spoiled the episode... it really dosen’t. He still ACTS like himself on instinct, so your not sure if he faked it as part of some elaborate scheme or is really gone till this scene shows that, no he really isn’t there. And the how is simply in knowing the guy: Glomgold is not good at subtley. He has disguises and such, but their never remotely convincing. He could NEVER pull off actually being a humble fish monger nor have gone four fucking months without yelling at scrooge or remotely contacting him. There’s also the fact Fisher and Mann 100% belivie in duke and back up his very real story of being dredged out of the bay. There’s also his south african accent, which actors including David Tennant himself have admitted is one of the hardest to pull off but Keith does swimingly, which is a hint.. but only on rewatch or for those who know his comics origins.

Louie isn’t convinced which is fair: even if Glomgold isn’t good at this sort of thing, he’s still tried it a lot. Webby however correctly figures he has amensia. So the two simply try talking to him. Fisher and Mann do get a bit dickish laughing off the idea he’s possibly Glomgold.. despite the fact you know you dredged him out of the fucking water 4 months ago.. and if you actually looked at the news, would see Glomgold disappeared around the exact same time you found Duke. It just annoys me because otherwise these two are great characters: Friendly loveable fisherpersons who love their job, have no comeptiviness and genuinely want to help their friend duke. The encounter does have them seeing a fancy money clip Duke has but with no other options they leave for now.

But while Duke has forgotten who he was... bits of glomgold still stir within him. And that starts when Duke spots the McDuck Industries fishing boat, the best fishing boat on the sea, something his friends are okay with.. but Duke naturally isn’t. So while Duke was a calm sane fisherman before the true glomgold in him is on full display as he comes up with insane schemes involving fish and explosives, before presenting a rather insane scheme to his friends involving getting engineering degrees and other stuff.. it’s as poorly drawn and wonderful as you expect from him. But what’s telling is that he reigns it in when his friends show obvious concern with his actions... something Glomgold would NEVER do. For one he dosen’t have friends. For another, he doesn’t care about anyone else’s feelings or thoughts.

By now Webby is also championing that Duke is a diffrente person.. which is true. Duke is Glomgold stripped of his hate and resitment towards scrooge. He’s who the man COULD’VE been had he not sworn eternal vengeance on Scrooge. Louie is doubtful that he’s amnesiac still.. but neither can quite figure out the full story so it’s time for research.. and for Webby to accidentally knock Louie into some lobster traps.. which given he’s spent the entire episode assuming an amnesiac man isn’t that despite all the evidence to the contrary, he earned that. That said these two were the perfect choice for it: All of the boys have a bit of skeptic in them, and we already had a plot with Huey being skeptical.. and even he would’ve given up by now as would dewey since he only has a pinch at best. Webby.. has none. She can question motives and stuff sure, but at her heart she’s a kind forgiving soul who belives the best in everyone. And.. its’ paid off fo rher. Look at the whole Lena situation, she believed in her, even while Lena was actively manipulating her,.. and it truly changed her, convinced Lena to do the right thing despite the cost, to choose love over the abusive monster who made her. It’s the only missed opportunity in the episode for me. Character wise it has exactly the 8 it needs to tell the story and focuses heavly on the five it truly is about. But not having Webby bring up Lena when we don’t hear her mentoined AT ALL during her absence (though to the shows credit they did a good job showing Webby still had never remotely given up), and it made the wait more agonizing and would’ve made her motivations hit even harder: that she belives in duke because she believed in lena and it was real. And while this thank christ isn’t remotely romantic, the point does stand: She wants to see the best.

Louie is a conman by nature so he only sees the worst, the weakest in people, the things he can use to take htem down or take hteir money. He can’t fathom someone doing good because he can’t fathom HIMSELF being good. And that.. says a lot.. but he’s accepted himself as a shady conperson who cares only for himself.. even if that’s not the truth. His inclusion here enhances his own arc much like Huey’s role in quack pack enhanced his. It shows that deep down Louie dosen’t think much of anyone.. and probably not himself. That he has to be shady and greedy to survive when that’s not tru. Sharper than the sharpies yes but also square.

One last bit before we moved on I just found out though: The Crew originally had this as a straight up origin story: no kids, none of the rest of the duck family, except presumably Scrooge’s parts here, just Glomgold’s struggle with amensia and his past leading to who hei s now. Honestly I think that version could’ve worked, but likely given disney seems TERRIFIED of making a show starring an adult without a chlid and had to be talked into the child light Golden Lagoon, that was a non starter but I think it still works fine. I also foudn this out via a twitter thread of Frank’s rewriting history that goes in deep on teh production of each episode. Had I known this existed before writing this one, I would’ve used it for the other two arcs and most dangerous game night, but I intend to read through it so I have everything on the table from here on out.

For only the second time in her long career of researching stuff though, Webby has hit a dead end. Mostly because she couldn’t find anything on Duke.. and NOTHING on Glomgold’s past pre-Duckburg. The most she has is his visa...

I want to frame this on my wall.. and someone is actually seling id cards out there, so I want this one at some point. It’s not Disney because they don’t care about fan merch like this, but then that just means they don’t get the money because they didn’t think of it or put the work in then huh.

But yeah with nothing else our heroes go to the only person they know who knows him well... Scrooge.

Meanwhile Duke has .. this... I just.....I can’t put words to this truly bizzare surreal dream sequence.. it involves Glomgold going insane, the kids dancing on a bagpipe, and owlson is there.. despite the fact that Glomgold should have zero idea whot hat is. I think the kids mentioned here but even then, he somehow knows exactly what she looks like.

Otherwise good stuff and it’s raining hard as Duke goes in. Fisher and Mann have formally added him to their sign, and warmly welcomed him in and Duke says “this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me I think” which is probably true. and makes what’s coming all the more heartbreaking.

But before what’s coming Duke has another thing coming.. Scrooge who the kids brought to talk to him. The two talk casually, the kids watch not knowing.. and then Scrooge comes back to them. Turns out Webby was, unsurprisingly right on the money, Flinty does have amnesia, and unlike what Louie thought.. he isn’t inherently evil. Duke is just duke.. and Scrooge has no intention of fixing the amnesia. And while that SOUNDS bad.. his intentions are noble: Glomgold.. was a throughly miserable person. He was never happy and never would be till Scrooge was dead by his hand and that was never going to happen. It isn’t even taking an enemy off the board: Flinty is only a threat on occasion. Scrooge clearly ENJOYS their conflict: it may annoy him from time to time, but he clearly enjoys upstaging the guy. And as he points out, it’s not a brain injury or anything: Glomgold is practically immortal as Louie put earlier, and Scrooge outright mentions Glomgold’s taken a LOT of explosions to the face. So he’s in no real danger physically or emotionally.. he’s happy. He has friends, a calling he truly enjoys. There’s another reason too but we’ll see that in the final scene.

So Duke is finally happy... but it doesn’t last... the kids go out but a storms a coming, and Duke selfleslly heads out to save them.. only to get hit on the head and fall in the ocean again.

It’s here we get the 2017 version of Glomgold’s origin story. We did kinda get one with life and times, as we saw his first meeting with scrooge and why he hated him, long story short with the long story coming later this week Glomgold left Scrooge for dead and Scrooge’s response was to come back, kick the fuckers ass, tar and feather him and utterly humilaite him, leading to Flinty swearing vengance.

But while I love that version..t his one is just as awesome if not better. And it’s without having Scrooge ride a lion. Here we instead meet Flinty as a child Scrooge’s age... and as a shoeshine boy. Yup just like Scrooge Duke, Glomgold’s birth name, was an industrious young boy with big dreams. He also had unwieldy schemes from minute one, but Scrooge saw in this lad the same fire he had and tried replicating his own origin.

The problem was... the different context ruined it. Scrooge was paid by an equally poor ditchdigger the us equilvent of his pay: still useless in scotland, but a good lesson in hard work and not being swindled. Scrooge tried that... as the richest duck in the world and without giving flinty the same amount of money.

So Duke/Flinty took umbrage at this yelled at scrooge.. and pick pocketed his money clip. In the only bit taken from the rosa version of their first meeting, Scrooge never realized he’d met flinty already. There and then duke came up with his first true, and first insane scheme: Save the money and use it to mold himself into a richer, more scottish version of scrooge dedicating his life to one upping him and killing him. A “single white female” type thing as Frank put it.

It’s.. utterly brilliant... taking Glomgold being a knockoff as mention and just running with that... making Glomgold a LITERAL knockoff. This was indeed the plan all along: A way to have him be both south african and scottish and it was brilliant. It also gives him more depth and more tragedy: He COULD’VE been the next scrooge.. but instead of being his own man or learning any of the hard lessons scrooge did he doubled down on never learning anything and getting vengeance on an old man’s well meant but accidently classist gesture.

So Glomgold reawakens and while it first looks like he’s going to save the kids... he instead throws Webby into the raging sea, and steals their fish. Webby is heartbroken and Louie asks him “what about duke.” His response is heartbreaking as it is character defnting

“I”m Flintheart Glomgold and I always will be!” the lightning shot, the cackle..i t’s just such a damn good moment that underscores the tragedy of the episode as Glomgold’s new friends are horrified by what he is now and what he was always meant to be and Glomgold leaves to go stalk scrooge once again. He indeed is Flintheart Glomgold and always will be.. because he threw the decent person he could’ve been away. He’s miserable.. because he can’t let go of his rage or ego and just move on from something that happened to him when he was ten! He has to be in his 60′s now! Glomgold may think Scrooge is his worst enemy.. but it’s really Flintheart Glomgold.... and it always will be.

So naturally his first actoin is to storm into his company and scream at scrooge. How he found him there... honestly not a huge suprise it’s his company and he likely knows how to find scrooge anywhere because he’s a creep like that. Scrooge and Owlson’s reactions are both worth a look at:

Given Glomgold bursts into an already annoying meeting of Scrooge trying to get the dimes part knocked down to nickles (and likely lower before that given he mentioned Pennies earlier), to accuse Scrooge of trying to trick him by appearing as a boat in his dreams her bafflement is both understandable and hilarious. Like she probably HEARD what Glomgold was like but gennuinely didn’t belivie it and her face is just now frozen in a look of “oh my god they were not exagearating what fresh hell is this”.

She tries to be professional and introduce herself but he just brushes her off and yells at Scrooge blaming him for being forgotten (”You literally forgot yourself), with Owlson also considering calling security. She only dosen’t because Scrooge points out he’ll tire himself out eventually and as usual for their jousts, is not remotely threatened or worried. He’s just..sad. And getting back to his reaction.. that’s what’s telling about his plan. He probably KNEW this would happen. He in his heart knew Duke Balloney would be gone soon, and he’d have to deal with Glomgold again. It helps soften the implicatoins: it wouldn’t last and fraknly if it did Scrooge would probably have people check on him regualry to make sure he was okay. He’s not a monster.. he just wanted Flinty to be happy for five minutes and to not ruin that out of some misplaced sense of right and wrong.. when the right thing was to simply let the man be happy till it inevitably blew up.

Glomgold however, furious at being forgotten and cast aside has decided to take a huge poorly thought through gamble and challenges scrooge to a classic Scrooge comics trope between the two, but with higher stakes: A contest to see who will be the richest duck in the world by the end of the year.. and given Christmas happens right after this i’m just assuming he means a year from now. Winner gets both companies and fortunes. Scrooge scoffs at this.. till Flinty pulls out the clip, taunting him with how he did it and “If I can beat you once scrooge i’ll beat you again”. And this, Flinty revealing he stole from him and he NEVER KNEW it or realize it, enrages scrooge enough to agree and to take him seriously... meanwhile Owlson.. just tries to get actual work shit done and just forges their signatures. Look she is a woman of color in the business world with genuinely good motives... she’s probably used to using white nonsense to get things past two idiots having a peeing race.

Final Thoughts:

This episode is truly excellent and like Most Dangerous Game Night! i’d forgottne just HOW good it was. The pacing, the comedy, and the character work is all on full blast and i’ve gushed plenty enough about how great an origin story is. it’s a character piece that explains why this doofus is the way he is and that is what holds him back.

Next time on MMM: Louie’s back as he pulls a ghostbusters to make quick money and Storkules starts rooming with Donald with predictable results.

If you liked this review consider joining my patreon and i’ll see you at the next rainbow.

#ducktales #flintheart glomgold #scrooge mcduck #the ballad of duke balloney #webby vanderquack #louie duck #fisher #mann #fishing #weblena #disney plus #disney xd #disney channel

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werezmastarbucks · 5 years ago

Text

Whitmore Guy - the ghost

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Kai Parker x fem!Reader slowburn

whatever gifs I’m going to use on this one, I hope the creators are okay with that

word count: 2044

warnings: none

“Have you seen the new IT guy yet?”

“The uh- what?” Ric was trying to consume a chocolate bar without taking his eyes or hands off the paper he was grading. Y/N sighed patiently – or, rather, to gain some patience. Every time she felt like yelling at Saltzman she took a deep breath and travelled down the memory lane back to the times when he was just a history teacher at school. Back when they were all teens with awkwardly round faces and acne, trying really hard to impress each other, and survive ‘animal attacks’ that just started happening in the town. She recalled thinking the new teacher was actually a vampire. The sheer stupidity of her, while Stefan Salvatore was literally sitting next to her.

Back then, Ric was still youthful, energetic, even handsome, as some girls claimed. Y/N always perceived him as a parent figure, the uncle you may bump into in a bar you go to with your mates to pretend you’re old enough. To think that this grumpy, scruffy grandpa thirty-hundred years old used to be that energetic, bopping teacher they could all trust…

“I’m saying, have-you-met-Mal-yet?”

“Huh?” Ric looked up to her, and his hand inserted the bar into his mouth quickly, so that he could start chewing.

“Are you doing okay, mister Saltzman?”

Y/N called him that when she was trying to be ironic.

“We got a new IT guy? Where the hell is he? I’ve been struggling with this thing for ages”, Alaric pointed at his laptop, safely shut, after it had vomited a siren-like crackling earlier that morning. God only knows what kind of websites Ric has been visiting.

“He’s been in for like, couple of days”.

“Yeah, that’s when the password changed, I saw that”, Saltzman frowned, “that note on the first floor, on the notice board, said that there was a treasure map or crap like this. The whole place has been running on mobile since Monday. Is he toying with us? Who hired him?”

“It’s ‘revenant94’.

“What?”

“The password”.

Y/N settled her coffee mug on the desk and stretched her back, checking the room for people simultaneously. They were alone in the teacher’s space; Y/N liked sneaking in here for lunch breaks or when she just felt overwhelmed, to socialize, bizarrely.

“Anyway, I’ve met him the other day. And he’s weird”.

There it is. The magical spot to hit, to light that hunting spark in Alaric Saltzman’s light green eyes. He has always been an adventurer first and everything else second. Vampire hunting was just a necessary measure in the dire conditions given to him at the point of his life.

“Bad-weird?”

“Weird-weird”, she still wasn’t sure they were completely safe chatting about this in here. She got up and closed the door gently. Then Y/N started pacing lazily between the unevenly placed desks, standing checkers to chess, in a mysterious pattern.

“He looks too good, and he acts too friendly. He is…” she tried to find the word, it was on the tip of her tongue, and yet, it escaped.

“Weird”.

“Your notoriously inaccurate gut feeling once placed an innocent man among monsters”, Ric reminded her.

She recalled that. That one time she was completely sure her neighbor Bruce killed her father, for reasons she wouldn’t be able to awaken anymore. In reality, they still didn’t know who did it, but it wasn’t Bruce as the man was away from the town the night it happened.

“Don ‘t you allow that maybe you think he’s weird because he’s cute? Sometimes you say weird when you mean adorable. Or angry. Or upset. You just generally like labeling people freaks”.

“Okay, you’re not taking it seriously”.

Ric threw himself back in the chair and sighed noisily. He studied the ceiling for some time.

“In our life, Y/N, we have every right to be paranoid about good things. After everything that’s happened every nice thing comes across as a warning. That’s a normal reaction. But if you think he’s off, I’ll check on him, sure. I mean, I will meet him inevitably, right?”

They looked at each other. Y/N shrugged.

______________________________________________________________

Ric wasn’t able to get ahold of Mal for the whole of next week, in fact, and it was strange how for the first seven days of Mal’s working Y/N was the only person who’s been talking to him. The guy even complained once that he felt like a ghost, which sparkled the whole new package of fiery theories in her. Then, the next day, she saw Mal chat with the English major student. In a rather flirtatious way, mind you; but it at least proved he was real.

Alaric was left a little puzzled after Mal had fixed his barely breathing laptop; but mostly annoyed.

‘How fast is this guy talking? Does he ever breathe or something?’

To her question, whether he was able to place Mal among any species of supernatural creatures, Saltzman replied something along the lines of yeah, a sickeningly energetic young man with ego, which in his language usually meant abnormal, but not alarming. Y/N was more than sure that Ric gave up on life and just tried to get away from the IT guy as far as possible. What happened to the previous one anyway? Some people said he’d left. Others claimed he just disappeared after Friday’s party at the Craze, a new bar opened almost on the border with Mystic Falls. Nobody really cared. Mal managed to charm just about everybody – that is, when people finally started seeing him – except a few very exhausted individuals who refused to enjoy life.

The feeling Y/N was getting about Mal was inexplicable, good, too good, in fact. She was torn between enthusiastic and careful; one feels that way when a person calls you in the middle of the night and tells you that you have won a billion dollars. How come you don’t remember buying the lottery ticket?

The fact that he had a girlfriend wasn’t all that important – Y/N craved companionship, not romance; her friends were enough but they were all carrying weight of, well, ten years of fighting this damn town. Mal didn’t have all that. He blasted music in the basement where he had built himself a mancave using old boxes and discarded cupboards from the science floors. He always smiled. He was smart. He didn’t take any shit from anybody. And for some uneven reason, he treated Y/N like she was his partner in crime. Maybe that was the most suspicious thing. Y/N always wanted an older brother, and all male figures she chose to act in that character, pushed back.

_____________________________________________________________

Damon weighed the glass in his hand lazily.

“Caroline’s been livid with you about the dance party?”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her knee. Ever since Caroline graduated, she’s been delegating her tasks to Y/N, who apparently had nothing better to do than organize two celebrations every month. No wonder she completely forgot about the selection of music for that one party that was supposed to happen at the end of the month, vaguely described as a nostalgia flick. Many times Y/N got ready to say, hey, Caroline. I have my own shit to do. If you want these events, come back to the college, get a job and do it yourself. I have tons of crying young adults every day whimpering over their dead dogs and burnt deadlines, and frankly, I deserve four holidays a year.

But she never said it, somehow.

“I am turning into a pusharound”, she realized, as she stood up, walking to the Damon’s sacred alcohol table. She took a glass which burst in a welcoming ringing, and poured herself a little of smelly golden liquid.

“I thought you liked organizing things. Whatever happened to ‘I’ll make them all dance to Stevie Nicks until their butts fall off?”

“It faded, Damon, it went down into my shit storm of a work. I am drained. I’ve been feeling completely lost for the last six months”.

The vampire’s sharp eyebrows made a gracious swing. Every time Damon did his trademark face of an Italian statue Y/N couldn’t help but remember the years when she’d been helplessly in love with him. She and her knee-length socks, and lots of jewellery, and bravery of a suicidal teenager, she thought that was enough to win his love. The disappointment was bitter.

“Why’s that?”

“Eh”, she brushed it off, relaxing deep in the sofa, outstretching her feet, “autumn was nasty, you know that kind of seasonal decline, and then, no snow in winter, and bang, it’s cold spring, and you gotta not eat again because nervous… and it felt like it’s been two days since Matt died, but when I look at the clock, it’s already mid May, and I can’t believe it. I feel like I haven’t processed his death properly, and it’s tugging on me. But I don’t really know what to do at this point. Everybody’s moved on”.

Damon drowned his face into his glass with that preoccupied look he wore when he couldn’t cope with what he started. Sometimes, he could only listen. That was the least he could do for the girl. Listen to her babbling away, and remember that it could have been much worse, she could have been much further away from him.

“Thank God I have my buddy now and I even almost figured out what to do with this shit faced party. No more parties after this one… I’ll tell her I won’t organize stuff people don’t appreciate, I mean…”

“What buddy?” Damon intervened passively.

Y/N jumped up, balancing the glass in her hand, and decided it would be best to down it until she poured it all on Damon’s couch, and he tore all her hair out. She gulped whiskey in two breaths, trying to clench her teeth so that she doesn’t puke it all back. As soon as the drink flows down and reaches whatever cells there are, it will soothe her, and clear her head. She sat on her legs, piercing Damon with a concerned look.

“There’s this new IT guy at Whitmore. He’s too cool to be true, and everybody loves him, except for Ric, and I’m sure you’ll absolutely hate him, too”.

“Why’s that?”

“He’s very chatty and charming, like a complete psychopath. He’s got dead eyes but he’s incredibly funny, and we listen to the same music. He’s always up for anything. He’s too…”

The look on Salvatore’s face said he understood exactly the type of person this guy was. Damon met many a folk like that; take Kol, that idiotic creature that was draining life of every party of people. Or early version of Jeremy, depressed yet too loud, craving attention. Or even Forbes herself; now she’s a friend, but back in the times, she was unbearable. Damon still had vague nightmares in which Caroline was trying to get him to go on a picnic in her usual commanding squeaky voice.

“So, steer his energy in doing this dance for you. And go easy on yourself, little one”.

When Damon called her that, Y/N felt like she was sixteen again, laying at the den of a tiger, if tigers dug caves or, like, very complicated dungeons, with skulls of their enemies scattered and the suggestive fires blazing along the walls. She shivered internally, asking herself, how she had managed to finally escape Damon’s glamor. She remembered being completely heartbroken, and then suddenly, she wasn’t. Good for her.

“Yeah, I’ll get him to help me. But I would be stoked if you could examine him. Ric couldn’t take him, the guy’s too colorful. I have a weird feeling about him”.

“What kind?”

She was tired of shrugging with confusion.

“Just do it. You’ll see. There’s something wrong about him”.

“Do you always hang out with people you deem suspicious?” Damon sounded painfully familiar. Ric and him, they became almost like a married couple over the years. Same old narrative, sung in slightly different tempos.

“Okay”, he gave up. “I’ll come to your nostalgia flick dance thing, and I’ll take a look at him. Will that make you happy?”

She looked at the alcohol sanctuary again.

#kai parker #kai parker imagine #kai parker x reader #damon salvatore #vampire diaries #whitmore guy

82 notes · View notes

cle1024 · 5 years ago

Text

dead loss | hhj

member: hwang hyunjin

genre: fluff, angst

summary: life was an exhausting and pointless ride for hyunjin, but you managed to make it a little more bearable while you could. delinquent!au, friends to lovers!au, coming of age!au

warnings: smoking, alcoholism, swearing, violence, death, drug-dealing (no usage), lots of illegal stuff my dudes

disclaimer: there are ships within this story. i am NOT trying to force these relationships on any of the boys, nor am i trying to use them as anything other than an aspect of the story. these are purely fictitious scenarios and relationships, i feel the need to add this disclaimer because some people take ships w a y too far (insisting they’re real to the point where it’s uncomfortable and borderline fetishising) and i don’t want to come across as one of those people.

a/n: anyway i’m gonna go disappear for another 5+ months

Life in a small town was peaceful in the outsider’s perspective ― everyone knew everyone, there was a strong sense of community and unbreakable bond built on reliability and trust. People who believed that shit clearly��didn’t live in a small town, or at least not your small town. No, in your hometown everyone was a stranger. If you look at them for too long ― alternatively referred to as “looking at them the ‘wrong way’” ― they wouldn’t hate to get aggressive, borderline violent or just straight up violent. There was no trust in this town, how can you trust a stranger? It was a shady and hopeless area that people struggled to escape. Many of you have accepted your future, stuck in this abysmal hellhole, but some things just aren’t easy to come to terms with―especially when you hate the future you’ll inevitably be trapped in.

A slight metallic scent tainted the air as Hyunjin leaned against the wooden planks of the treehouse, a huff passing his busted lips. He had managed to drag his sorry ass back to the rickety treehouse after sending a simple text to you ― something optimistic and charming: “im going to fucking die. treehouse” ― in the hopes you would come fix his wounds. That’s what you always did after Hyunjin had been in a fight, regardless of whether he asked you to or not. Though he had to ask you this time, even if it was the ass crack of dawn, because he genuinely thought he was going to die any second now. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d used all of his energy in the fight, his wounds bled too much, or the result of not sleeping in thirty-seven hours. Hyunjin didn’t think he really cared about dying, everyone has to go at some point, but he did care about whether he would be in pain or alone when he died―and right now, he was both. There was a faint pattering of footsteps in the dewy grass, growing louder until they were gently working their way up the wooden ladder to the treehouse. Hyunjin opened his eyes lazily, watching as you pulled yourself up and into the structure. He smirked slightly and wheezed out a chuckle, “on a scale of one to ten, how dateable am I right now?” You stared at him blankly, scanning over his injuries before huffing slightly and shifting towards him.

“Losing fights isn’t a personality trait, dipshit.”

“Yeah, but it makes me seem like a bad boy, huh?” Hyunjin chuckled hoarsely at your immediate eye roll, tilting his head to give you better access to his bleeding face wounds. He winced softly as pressure was applied to the bloody mark on the top of his cheek, a fresh bruise blooming under his soft skin. He couldn’t see all of his wounds, but he could undeniably feel them. His cheek was bruised and bleeding, his bottom lip was busted with blood seeping into his mouth occasionally―he was just loving that―while there were numerous pains to his abdomen, mainly in his ribs and lower stomach.

“Jeez, you need to stop picking fights you can’t win,” the corners of his lips twitched upwards momentarily, a tinge of smugness painting the action.

“This is the prime of my life, darling.”

You scoffed at his excuse, “yeah, you’ll only be young once but you’ll be stupid for the rest of your life, Hwang.”

“Touche,” he shrugged nonchalantly as your eyes widened in mock offence.

“Oh, do you want to bleed some more?” The two of you chuckled at the threat, though Hyunjin’s sounded much more breathless and painful than yours did.

“Nah, only other people are allowed to hurt me. How else would I get your attention at night?” Hyunjin’s comment elicited another eyeroll and soft smile from you. He knew you’d drop everything to be with him, regardless of how sleep-deprived it made you, because that’s what friends did.

Hyunjin is a delinquent, down to the very definition: “(typically of a young person) tending to commit crime, particularly minor crime.” He does that a fair bit, stealing from different shops run by tired and aging people who can’t be arsed to chase after the mischievous teenager. He smokes, despite his youth, but won’t take a swig of alcohol ― something Jisung often laughs at him for, but that boy was a borderline alcoholic. The tall boy also happened to be involved in fights at least one a fortnight, you sometimes have the displeasure of witnessing them and almost always have the duty of taking care of him afterwards―no one else was willing to do it. You don’t approve of Hyunjin’s lifestyle, frankly you never have, but you know he has his reasons. Besides, he’s a stubborn boy and wouldn’t change even if you tried to force him. He’s reckless and usually impulsive, which became undeniably obvious when he was fifteen, stood in front of a train until the last second so he could dodge it, all with the undying support of his former enemy Jisung ― “You got this, man!”

“All he’s got is a one-way ticket to the afterlife,” you’d deadpanned, earning a scoff from the other boy.

“As Teddy Duchamp once said, ‘train dodge, dig it’.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t stay around long enough to dodge it, nor is he a real person!”

At the end of the day, it really didn’t matter how Hyunjin acted, he would still be your best friend. He’d filled that position since the two of you were kids, it came naturally when you lived one street away from each other and had fathers with a similar friendly relationship―until work got the best of them. Now they don’t have enough time for their children, let alone each other. They differed in some ways: your father harbours expectations far too high for you, meaning he spends most of his free time reprimanding you for not trying hard enough, whereas Hyunjin’s father was always busy and didn’t really care for his son. As a result, Hyunjin spent most of his time away from home, locked inside that treehouse his father built for him and his childhood friends ― many of them had moved on to other things: moved away, became too good for him, or died, but you and Minho always stuck around, later adding Jisung to the bunch when he and Hyunjin outgrew their petty mutual hatred. Smoking, playing cards or watching scenery while he played with a lighter, it was enough for Hyunjin.

Sometimes you think about Jisung and Hyunjin’s weird friendship, it’s an evolution you all laughed about from time to time. When the pair were younger, the age of twelve during middle school to be exact, they harboured a burning mutual hatred that continuously burdened their mutual friends ― namely upperclassman Lee Minho; at least, he was the only one of the bunch who stuck around. There was an incident where the pair were ready to throw hands at one another, but Minho and some of his older friends stepped in and told them to squash it, even if momentarily. After Jisung aided Hyunjin in a fight with some older boys from the next town over, the two sparked a short-lived ‘frenemies’ type of relationship ― of course the older boys weren’t scared of two kids who had only just figured out the ego-boost of developing muscle, they were more fearful of Jisung’s older brother as they knew damn well how ruthless he could be; they didn’t want the risk of dealing with someone from the same genes, but Hyunjin and Jisung maintained it was their intimidation that warded the boys off. Jisung initially brushed off Hyunjin’s thanks, but there was a definite shift in their relationship: their sharp insults became sarcastic remarks that garnered a teasing response after the other, then after one incident they were friends. Hyunjin never told you the specifics of the incident and you never pushed, but it was essentially Hyunjin paying back Jisung for saving his ass ― though you later found out the only threat to Jisung at the time was himself. Regardless, Jisung and Hyunjin had discovered their compatibility and Minho had never been happier to see drama fizzle out. He wasn’t a fan of such petty disagreements, “all problems can be solved in this world, either with a fist or verbal expression.”

“Are you recommending violence?”

“It’s still honest communication.”

Lee Minho was truly one of a kind―all three of them were, but it was their varying ability to believe in themselves that set them apart the most.

The Hwang boy was smart, but he had no faith in himself. At the age of fifteen he’d already accepted that he wouldn’t go far academically, telling you “I’ll become one of those tradies that gets wolf whistled when I’m trying to do my job, and no one will say a damn thing because I’m a male,” you could remember him taking a short drag of the nicotine stick, “that’s my inevitable future.” That was one of the many ways you contrasted Hyunjin. You wanted to make your father finally accept you as his child again, and the only way to do that seemed to be success ― but at this point you weren’t sure what that looked like in his eyes; everything you perceived as a success was a comical failure to him. You didn’t smoke ― you tried once when you were fourteen and found it dreadful ― and you certainly didn’t shoplift chocolate bars or ‘train dodge’ like Hyunjin, but you still had your downfalls. Rather, you bury yourself in work you couldn’t understand, got pent up over the possibility of failure, and then turned it all in like nothing ever happened―nothing’s wrong. There was a lot wrong, Hyunjin and you both knew it, but neither ever voiced it. All you wanted was to make your father proud, but you always wanted to run away from this godforsaken town and never come back. Hyunjin wanted you to stay around, the kid couldn’t afford to lose another person in his life, but he knew it was your choice at the end of the day―you had to do what was best for you. It was just difficult to accept. It was like life had kicked Hyunjin and rolled all over him, yet you managed to bring a tiny little spark of life in his soul, something that brought him to carry on. You were his rock, you understood him more than he understood himself most of the time. He loved you, not romantically, but in the way people who have no one else who get it love each other, you know?

He realised he loved you in that way when he was thirteen, after he had his first existential debate with you ― it became a monthly tradition after that: one night you’d silently climb into the treehouse with puffy eyes and a red-tinged face, and he’d never question it because he knew you’d tell him it was fine. Then you’d wonder what happens after death and where you went. Hyunjin had always been firm on the idea there was a Heaven and Hell due to his long standing religious beliefs, and he always assumed he was going to Hell, but those midnight talks always made him realise just how unsure he was about everything ― he didn’t know what or who to believe, but he eventually decided he probably didn’t need to.

Hyunjin realised he had fallen in love with you when you were sixteen, after Jisung and Minho had convinced the two of you to spend your Saturday doing an ‘adventurous hike’ with them ― you didn’t know it at the time, but the two had found out some pricey drugs had been dropped in the woods, and neither of them were in a situation to refuse the money that would come with selling those substances. The two boys were energetically bounding ahead of you and the tallest boy, Hyunjin and yourself dawdling on the train tracks to avoid any shattered glass mixed in with the gravel surrounding the rails, trying your best to avoid being cut through the thin and worn soles of your shoes. Hyunjin squinted at the sunlight, distracted by his own thoughts and daydreams, too distracted to realise Jisung and Minho had stopped dead in his tracks. He bumped into the older of the two, startling him back to reality with confusion, “dude, what the fu―” his voice trailed off as he watched five men ― as in full grown, adult, ‘probably from a gang’ type of men ― snarl at the four of you. Though, their eyes seemed to be trained on Minho.

“Lee Minho. You said you wouldn’t come around here anymore, didn’t you?”

For the first time in his life, Hyunjin saw genuine fear on Minho’s frame as he shifted his eyes and gulped softly; clearly they’d made a grave mistake.

“Y-yeah,” for you, that was the moment you became alarmed. Lee Minho, the self-proclaimed ‘King of Confidence’, doesn’t stutter, “I know, man. I-I must’ve lost track of where we were, you won’t see me around here anymore. I’m not here to cause you any trouble, nothin’ like that,” he spoke rapidly, desperation seeping through his usually nonchalant tone. One of the men eyed the four of you suspiciously, straining his vision on you for far too long―Hyunjin sensed it, pulling you out of his line of vision with a glare. He was always one to protect his friends, reckless enough to put himself in danger to do so, it was nothing new for any of you.

“I better not see you around these parts anymore, Lee. You got it?” Minho nodded firmly, “good. Now go,” the man waved his hand in a dismissive motion, “run along with your friends.”

To Hyunjin, Jisung and yourself, that was your que to turn around and never look back; but Minho knew these men, you didn’t. The oldest knew it would never be that simple, and that became evident when he saw the shining tip of a dagger being pulled from one of their pockets. The four of you reacted fast, running purely on fear; Minho frantically pushed whoever he could reach, without looking, in the opposite direction, urging you to run as fast as you could to get the fuck out of there. Hyunjin grabbed your wrist securely, tugging you in the other direction and refusing to slow down for a second, even when he heard Minho and Jisung yelling distantly. Your legs slowed down slightly until the both of you stopped in your tracks, much to the dismay of Hyunjin.

“Hyunjin, we have to go back.”

“They can handle themselves, Y/N.”

“We can’t just leave them!” You pleaded, gesturing to the distant figures of your two friends.

“And I can’t lose you!” Hyunjin yelled back, startling you into a momentary silence. It was built on uncertainty, confusion and hung heavily in the air for a few seconds, until the sound of approaching footsteps, the sound of frantic running to be exact, and Minho’s frantic yells of “move your fucking asses! Run!” broke the tranquility.

You didn’t find out what Jisung and Minho had argued about until you were twenty-one years old and attending Minho’s funeral: “When I was sixteen, he was going to risk his life to save myself and my two other friends. We yelled at each other; I couldn’t leave him behind to get beat up or blatantly killed by the people who confronted us, but he couldn’t let me in harms way. I only found out why he cared so much and risked his everything, all the time, three years after it happened. But, that’s a secret we all promised to take to the grave.”

All four of you promised to keep that secret ― you’d all promised Minho that you wouldn’t out him, have his parents disown him during or after his life, and you all took that to the grave. Jisung lost the ability to love romantically when he was twenty-one; he’d given it all to Minho and allowed it to be buried with him. He wouldn’t have it any other way, though.

You were officially eighteen and two months, not that the months meant anything. Both you and Hyunjin were anxious about turning nineteen, yet he didn’t want to voice it and destroy the wall he’d built around a certain part of himself―his fears. Being nineteen meant he had to act like an adult: get a job, support his family until his parents found out he had enough money to survive on his own and kick him out, settle down and have his whole life figured out. Nineteen would mean the death of his youth: no more skipping chemistry because it was insufferable or only showing up for woodwork classes, no more train dodging because it was ‘immature’, no more stealing or the shop owners would actually make an effort to ensure his actions had repercussions since he was no longer a delinquent teen. The worst of all was the thought of losing his friends; he already saw Minho significantly less than he used to due to his two jobs ― a barber during the daylight and a bartender during the hours between ― Jisung would probably continue secretly writing poetry ― though the three of you secretly knew he did it ― and work as a truck driver, or something, to escape the dullness of your hometown for a little bit. You, Y/N the bright one, would probably go on to do great things with your life and be added to the list of friends he lost due to not being good enough anymore. Hyunjin wasn’t sure whether you or Jisung felt the same ― Minho excluded since he was already passed nineteen, with Jisung endearingly referring to him as ‘hag’ ― and a part of him didn’t want to know because he didn’t really want to think about it. Of course, that didn’t stop it from being the only thing on his mind twenty-four-seven. Hyunjin groaned inwardly; losing friends. You were just a friend. Hyunjin couldn’t help but scold himself. He could steal from stores without a second thought, stand in front of trains without fear, yet he couldn’t admit his feelings to you. Then again, your friendship spanned across most of his life, and losing that would mean he would lose you. And, frankly, you were the only thing that mattered to him in life. His parents neglected him, other friends had abandoned him over time or just failed to be there for him, but you never left. You stayed, even when you became far more intelligent than him and practically radiated potential. No matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn’t dare risk losing that. He couldn’t lose you, he’d told you that before ― although, when he thought about it, and he absolutely thought about it, he’d lose you regardless of what he did or didn’t say.

But, he had to put those thoughts aside. It was a fresh summer, after all, and there was supposedly no room for sadness in summer. There was only room for happiness, laughter, good vibes, getting high on the good vibes, or just getting high and conforming to the sickly summertime syndrome people were often infected with. Thus, Hyunjin had tried to spend the new season conforming to such a syndrome―excluding the fight where he was beaten within an inch of his life and had you fix him up, that probably didn’t fit the mold of a fun summer. It’d been successful to an extent ― the local pool had far too many people, including neglectful mothers attempting to flirt with the underage lifeguard Kim Sunwoo, and the beach was littered with shattered glass, plastic and cigarette ash mixed amongst the sand ― but the weather was still nice, and Hyunjin did play a soccer game in the park last weekend. That was it, though. The rest of his time was spent mowing the lawns of other houses for some extra cash, pocketing cherry lollipops and dealing decks of fifty-two cards for games that would be inevitably cheated in―like you were now. Hyunjin, Jisung and Minho were in a heated game of Go Fish, a cigarette dangling from Hyunjin’s plush lips and intoxicating the midday air, while you half-focused on the game in amusement, half-focused on the dusty comic book you’d flicked your way through. It’d been buried under many other prints of various comics, all neglected as time and puberty had lowered your interest in the bright illustrations. You couldn’t remember ever reading this one though, it was probably one of the rare collections Hyunjin refused to share through his childhood. A huff passed the lips of the oldest as he lost yet again, mumbling something about disrespectful youths and how they had obviously cheated. Jisung snickered, earning a wack in the gut from an agitated Minho. He scooted over to sit beside you, reading over your shoulder in an attempt to show his disinterest in the card game ― though it really just made him look like a sore loser, and it was quite clear he had zero interest in the childish story you held. A frustrated groan sounded as he threw his head back against the wall, as dramatic as ever.

“I want to go outside,” he complained.

Hyunjin scoffed, “there’s the door,” gesturing to the entrance with sass.

“No,” Minho hissed and narrowed his eyes. Man, he was really spending too much time with those cats, “I want to go outside outside. Like, camping or something.”

Jisung threw his hands up in defeat, “well, why didn’t you say so!” He exclaimed in exasperation, “I’ve got everything you need to go camping! No one in my house uses it.”

Oh, Jisung’s house. What a nightmare that was―or, rather, looked like. It was dilapidated with a rusty truck parked in the driveway, a large shed in the back acting as storage for years of hoarding, of course there’d be something for camping in there. Jisung had once told you that most of the stuff in the shed belonged to past owners who never returned to get it and he’d, for some reason, seen it as a tradition that has to be carried through each owner. You didn’t press the idea or criticise it, the boy seemed really excited about it after all.

“Welcome to my shed of wonders!” Jisung introduced. It was so, so, dusty. You were almost certain some of the junk within the metal sheathing dated back to the 19th century, maybe the 18th if you really analysed the dilapidated furniture and crumbling artefacts. Jisung hummed in thought, “there’s gotta be a tent in here somewhere…” He strolled into the shed, seeming to know exactly what to move and how far. The rest of you stared at the collection in awe―you kind of understood why Jisung prided himself on the contents of his shed, some of those things would make a good buck on Antiques Roadshow and keeping them must’ve given Jisung some sort of positive emotional release, perhaps a feeling of “I have a get rich quick scheme, I’m just choosing to be poor”. Probably made him feel better when people gave him crap for not being able to afford cool toys as a kid. You’d never seen the torment Jisung received, nor did he ever desire to speak about it, but Minho had been vocal numerous times in his distaste for the way the younger was treated. Jisung had a heart of gold, something Hyunjin could acknowledge even when they didn’t get along. He was the kind of boy who deserved nothing but greatness; he was destined for greatness. You could always pray the town didn’t suck the potential out of him, as it did to most others, but you knew those kinds of prayers go unanswered. Jisung’s epiphanic “a-ha!” derailed your thought train, your eyes shifting to see the brunette male pulling a large tent from one of the many, almost overflowing, storage units.

Hyunjin squinted his eyes in confusion, “how did you even find that?”

“It looks a hundred years old,” Minho added.

The youngest male rolled his eyes at their comments, dusting off the green tent. An excited smile graced his face as he turned to face the three of you, “alright, where should we go?”

The sun beat down on you, a light sheen of sweat glistening over your burning skin. How long had it been? Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours? You hadn’t a clue. The last time you ventured down railway tracks you ended up running in fear of men who had a vendetta against Minho―for reasons you’d soon find out. The oldest had evidently learned his lesson, guiding everyone in the opposite direction and away from any men with reasons to stab him for walking in their ‘territory’. Hyunjin dawdled beside you, eyes trailing the railway the four of you walked along. Minho was leading the group, Jisung chewing his ear off in a conversation that probably didn't interest the older, something about the spirits in the woods you were approaching. You could barely make out the faint scoff that passed Minho’s lips, but the younger seemed to hear it clear as day.

“I’m serious! If we don’t get murdered in our tents then we get murked by demons in these damn woods!”

“Is there an outcome where we don’t die on this trip?” Hyunjin questioned with amusement, effectively closing the younger’s mouth and halting more words from spilling out. Minho rolled his eyes at the short bickering, trudging through the forest with an impatient yell, “come on! I want to get there before the sun sets.” It was a dark and dank environment, the air felt musty and thick around your lungs. Trees were overgrown, roots seeping along the dirt trail and serving as tripping hazards. Light dimmed under the cavern of green leaves, yet shadows still managed to dance in the slivers of golden rays. It was tranquil, but also unnerving. In retrospect, it was probably the childhood tales of drug deals gone wrong that put you on edge. Even if it was pure fiction, naive belief was enough to trick your mind into feeling unsafe, watched, hunted. If you ventured alone your fear would have pushed you to the other side of the trail at a much faster pace than you currently maintained, but, of course, you weren’t without company. The aura of discomfort and fear gently wafted in the air ― stronger from the likes of yourself and Jisung, though minimal to non-existent from the two other males. Those two had been fearless since you met them―Hyunjin stood in front of trains for an adrenaline rush! Then again, you weren’t entirely sure as to whether that was fearlessness or recklessness. They were one and the same to that boy.

The group passed through the forest until you found a clearing, a large field with a distant fence to halt you from further adventuring. It appeared to be the outskirts of town, past where anyone would travel for purposes other than hiking or illegal business. Hyunjin stood still with his hands rested on his hips, observing the area, “oh, this’ll do. This’ll do just fine.”

Your eyes rolled at the antics of your best friend, trust Hyunjin to say something straight out of an 80s movie―at least, it sounded like it would be. Jisung strolled ahead, hot on the heels of Hyunjin as they ventured through the long grass. Minho eyed the ground suspiciously, hesitance floating through his orbs before mumbling, “there better not be any snakes around here.” His words clearly weren’t as quiet as he had hoped, as Jisung stumbled away from the grass with a sharp gasp at the announcement. A huff passed Hyunjin’s lips at the other boys’ dramatics, causing you to shift an eyebrow in question―he had no right to be judgemental, he was the most dramatic of all.

“Chill out, you buffoons. There’s short grass ahead, we’ll set up there,” well, that made sense. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Jisung stumbled to his feet and worked to catch up with Hyunjin’s footsteps.

The process of setting up a tent had been… difficult, to say the least ― “Jisung, how the fuck do we set this up?” “Just read the instructions?” “They’re in Russian!” ― though the four of you eventually managed to successfully pitch the tent. Though, in all honesty, the sun had started to set by the time it was standing. That was at least an hour ago. Now, you lay still in your sleeping bags and mumbled descriptions of distant memories and under-developed universal theories.

“Hyunjin, move your irritatingly long legs so they’re resting somewhere other than my feet,” Minho grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Your mind wandered back to the adventures of that day, dawdling across train tracks and praying none of the smoking vehicles came running up behind you. The memory struck you like lightning; you remembered the time you dawdled down the wrong train tracks and ran for your life. A slight laugh passed your lips at the image of your younger self frantically running, “hey, do you remember when we tried to almost got murked by that gang on the outskirts of town?” Hyunjin mumbled an agreement, a fond smile on his face. Jisung piped up to laugh about how he almost ‘shit his lungs out of his ass’. Although you were able to laugh now, you all knew there was nothing funny about the primal fear you felt in that moment. The fear of the unknown; of death. Silence settled over the four of you momentarily before Minho voiced new information softly.

“I almost killed one of them.”

Jisung just about shot up in his sleeping bag, “what?” he exclaimed.

Minho maintained his characteristic calm composure as he explained, “yeah, it was a few months before we went down there. I was still hanging out with Hongjoong and that gang,” ah, the days of Minho being a gang. They were fond―somewhat fond―memories, “one of them had beat up Mingi, got the wrong guy or something, so Hongjoong and I went after him.”

In all honesty, you never knew Kim Hongjoong very well, nor did you remember much about him. You were never close with him and he’d moved away before any sort of friendship could bud, but you knew Song Mingi well―rather, you knew of him. He was a bubbly kid, tall and friendly with a goofy smile. There was something about him that exuded innocence and happiness, like he was crafted by embers of the burning yellow ball in the sky.

“We didn’t mean to get him that bad, but we couldn’t stop ourselves,” Minho mumbled softly, his mind wandering off to a different space as he blurted out the words, “Mingi didn’t do anything.”

The three of you shared a look before turning back to focus on the oldest, his face blank as his eyes clouded over with thought, concern, nostalgia. Hyunjin cleared his throat awkwardly, “well, it’s in the past now. We learnt to never travel down those tracks again,” he shifted around in his sleeping bag and closed his eyes.

Jisung had proposed the idea of keeping someone on lookout, claiming he didn’t want to get “fucking murked by a coyote or something”. There was the initial suggestion of taking shifts, but Jisung didn’t seem willing to take up the role and Minho said he was “too old to skip sleep”. Hyunjin didn’t give you a chance before saying he’d stay up all night ― of course he wasn’t actually planning on staying up all night, just until Jisung had knocked out for long enough to be unaware of the lack of surveillance. It didn’t matter, though, you both ended up out there after you tossed and turned for a solid thirty minutes. The wind was howling, the tent thrashing from side-to-side at the sharp movements of air. Hyunjin sighed with discontent, “why didn’t we check the forecast before we left?” A light chuckle passed your chapped lips.

“Because the forecast is never correct,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes at your matter-a-fact tone, a slight smile gracing his moonlit features. It was very clear in that moment — and many others, if you were being honest with yourself — why so many girls had thrown themselves at him over the years. All of that started in your first year of school, when a pigtailed girl claimed it was Hyunjin’s neat cursive writing that attracted her, not his cute face—of course that was a crock of shit, it had always been about Hyunjin’s face. It shouldn’t have been, but people were shallow like that.

His visuals had never crossed your mind, not until your early teenage years at least. You were thirteen when it first struck you, bundled up in sleeping bags in your best friend’s lounge room watching some teen movie. It wasn’t something you focused on, your eyes had drifted to your giggly friend and refused to move. His hair was black, dark eyes curved into crescent moons as he attempted to stifle laughter at the current scene. Skin smooth, blue winter pyjama shirt buttoned up to the collar and a pillow clutched between his arms. With a tilted head, he turned and stared back at you with curiosity, “what is it?”

You look perfect. “Nothing,” you smiled tightly.

“What are you thinking about?” The question passed Hyunjin’s lip in a voice of honey and warmth, comforting in the midst of the vicious whipping wind.

You shrugged slightly as you formulated an excuse, “just the future. What I’ll do after school,” Hyunjin hummed solemnly. He didn’t like talking about the future, mainly because it brought in thoughts of losing everyone and everything he’s ever loved. He didn’t want to think about a world where that happened, even if it was inevitable, though the words manage to spill out before he could catch them.

“Will I ever lose you?”

You were dumbfounded. Lose you? Of course he’d never lose you, “how could you ever lose me? I won’t let you, Hwang,” you attempted to brighten the glum atmosphere.

Picking at his cuticles, he shrugged his shoulders slightly, “I’m not good enough for you, I’ll never be enough for you.” A frown formed on your lips at Hyunjin’s pessimism, eyebrows furrowing in satisfaction and sadness. You never knew he felt so little of himself.

“Hey,” the word was spoken gently from your lips, hands reaching out to cup Hyunjin’s face and turn him towards you. He still had a scratch on his lip from that last fight he was in, “you are more than you think, Hyunjin. So much more,” the glaze of your eyes held such sincerity and honesty, “you can do anything you want, man,” yet Hyunjin still couldn’t make himself believe you.

Eyes downcast, “yeah,” he mumbled distantly, “anything.”

The four of you walked home in a comfortable silence the next morning, accepting it would be the last time any of you felt this free.

At the age of twenty-one, Jisung became distant. It was understandably so, Minho had been found dead and was buried within a week of the discovery. There was no proper time to grieve about the loss, everyone expected you to go back to work as if nothing had changed—nothing’s wrong. Everything was wrong, so fucking wrong. Jisung and Minho were never ‘official’ because neither of them had the bravery to face discrimination for being something other than straight. You never knew whether Minho was homosexual or bisexual, even pansexual maybe, but it never mattered. All you could wish was that he was happy, at least once, before he was laid to rest. Jisung closed himself off, became a silent and reclusive man who lived on the outskirts of town. He was a truck driver, swinging between different towns before inevitably returning to the one that seemed to have something against him. It sucked the life from him, it took everything from him; he hated that fucking town. You didn’t see him after Minho’s funeral, not in the way friends see each other, at least. Of course you’d spot him in town occasionally, exiting his house or driving back home after weeks away. Yet, you never spoke a word to him. Never said a ‘hi’, never wanted to speak in case it pushed him too far—broke him, if you will. Rather, you let him seclude himself and suffocate in loneliness; if only you didn’t make that foolish mistake.

When you were twenty-three you bid your goodbyes to Hyunjin, planning to move away and pursue a career that, frankly wouldn’t make you happy, but it would give you enough money to pay rent for a good place. That’s all you really needed, you supposed. Hyunjin bid his last goodbyes with a letter. It was written in his beautiful handwriting, the calligraphy style he liked to brag when he was younger, but seemed to have forgotten about as he emerged into his teenage years — he never forgot, he still prided himself on such perfect penmanship. It was a letter that contained words you never expected your best friend to say, though always secretly hoped to hear. It was a letter that slapped you across the face for being so blind and cowardly. It was a letter about how he fell in love with you, too hard and too fast, and how he always knew you’d be too good for him, one way or another. You hated when Hyunjin put himself down with such words, but you hated knowing that you caused most of them. The boy was incomparable, so unique and one-of-a-kind. There would never be another Hyunjin in your life, never one to take your heart and treat it as his own. Hyunjin was more than he thought. So, so much more.

“I love you, more than you know. In more ways than a platonic-friendship-type of love. The kind of romantic love that’s, probably, unrequited,” Hyunjin, you foolish boy, your love has never been unrequited.

Perhaps you were the fool, not Hyunjin, for keeping your mouth shut about your secret attraction for years. Heaving a sigh, your hands folded the letter closed, you were such a fool.

In your life, you had three great friends that taught you many lessons — many lessons they failed to learn themselves.

Minho often preached about staying true to who you are, exuding confidence in your identity and being fearless of others. Yet he failed to accept who he was, though that was fair enough in your opinion. He had his own struggles, many struggles, but never wanted to confront them. Minho never wanted to confront, let alone accept, the possibility of being subjectively weak; he struggled under the pressure to conform to masculinity—no weaknesses whatsoever. Gosh, that boy was one of the strongest you knew. One of the kindest, too, a heart of gold, truly. That boy didn’t deserve to die, none of your friends did.

Jisung often told you to be careful with your feelings, yet easily gave his away to Minho. The boy had always had an eye for detail, noticing the veins in leaves and miniscule dirt stains on a vintage photograph in his shed, but he tended to overlook the bigger ideas. The things that were right in front of him, you supposed. He failed to notice how he gave away his feelings to one person so easily. He never noticed that he left no room for the regrowth or reacquisition of those feelings, but maybe he just didn’t care. Minho made him feel so peaceful and at ease, how could he find it within him to care?

Hyunjin, where did you start with Hyunjin? Your friend since childhood, your first love, someone you’d never be able to forget—someone you’d never allow yourself to forget. He taught you to be bold, a little reckless to spice up life — though not ‘stand in front of a train’ type of recklessness. He spent years teaching you to overcome your struggles, though you felt as if you failed to tend to his. Of course, he’d never see it that way, but he was head over heels for you. Just as you were for him. The boy had always been talented, insanely so, with perfect handwriting and a unique perspective on the inner workings of life, ambitions and dreams. There was so much potential held inside his body, marked with scars and bruises from the fights he’d had through the years. He’d always told you to never settle for anything less than perfect. Perhaps that’s why he never wanted you to settle for him: he never saw himself as perfect. You wanted him to do the same, go as far as he possibly can to fulfil his limitless potential. But, that didn’t happen—life could never treat him kindly. Hyunjin never made it out of that shitty town. It pained you to think about it — he could’ve been anything, anyone. He had so much potential, yet that place sucked it away and kept him in an iron grip. When you thought about it, you realised none of your friends got lucky like you. One way or another, they all stayed in that town—dead or alive, it didn’t matter, they all remained. Many would’ve seen that as luck being on your side, but without at least one of them by your side—without Hyunjin by your side—what was the point of going?

Walking back into that town had never felt so eerie. Nothing was the same as you remembered. Visually, nothing changed, yet at the same time everything had changed. You were no longer a young adult searching for opportunities, no longer a teenager stressing over school work, or dragging yourself to the treehouse in the middle of the night to tend to Hyunjin’s wounds. You wondered if that thing was still intact. That’s not why you were back in town, far from it, but something ate away at you. Was your rickety hangout still standing? Or had it fallen apart after all of you left, in more than one way.

There was no noise coming from within the wooden confines of the treehouse. You were glad it was still there, even if no one used it. It felt like you were running on autopilot, your feet guiding you up the ladder as you opened the hatch to pull yourself into the space. You swore it was bigger than this. Eyes darted around, taking in the old drawings on the walls, outdated comics and dusty packs of cards. Nothing had changed. You gasped, startled, as you made eye contact with another person, sat in a slightly slumped position across from you. The corner of their lip was slightly bloody, a cigarette dangling from the other side. A reminiscent smirk crawled on their lips, it couldn’t be.

“Long time no see, darling,” he hadn’t changed one bit, “and just in time! You can patch me up before the service.”

There was a bitterness in his tone, one you could taste on your own tongue as you contemplated the right words to say. It was mockingly cheerful, like he knew everything was falling apart and there was nothing that could stop it ― who are you kidding, that’s exactly what was happening ― “because that’s the only reason people ever return to this town, right? To mourn the ones that’ll never leave.”

Words couldn’t pass your lips. There was so much you wanted to say: questions, nonchalant agreements, apologies. It was bittersweet, really, to be meeting like this. It was like old times. A bloodied Hyunjin sat against the wall of the treehouse, nonchalant in the pain of being beaten up, fully prepared to be patched up by your delicate, unbruised hands. But everything was different. Minho no longer whinged over losing a card game, Jisung no longer cheated his way to success in said card games. They’d stopped doing that years ago, and it was an activity they could never engage in again. Hyunjin noticed the despair clouding your gaze, guilt etching your face. A frown creasing his face as he caught your train of thought―you had a habit of blaming yourself, feeling guilty about nothing.

“It feels weird, doesn’t it?”

You nodded slightly, “almost... wrong.”

Hyunjin tossed aside the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe before he opened his arms welcomingly. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed him until the moment you crawled into his arms―you missed all of them. All you wanted was to say one last goodbye to Minho, one last goodbye to Jisung. To thank them for everything, tell them how hard they worked, how incredible they were to be around. Fuck, you missed them so much, you couldn’t help it. Tears were already falling and staining Hyunjin’s t-shirt before you could even attempt to keep them in. A solemn sigh passed his lips, hand stroking your hair as a form of agreement. He’d always fantasised about having a solid friend group that lasted into adulthood, then into the elderly ages. A part of him knew it would never end that way, but he didn’t think this would be the outcome of your friendship circle. When he pondered the potential loss of contact he always assumed it would be a result of moving on to better things, better places and people. He couldn’t help but think back to that camping trip; it was the most carefree time in his life. None of you could’ve ever imagined this outcome ― you could imagine moving away and losing contact over time, you couldn’t imagine being pulled apart by something out of your control. You didn’t want to, but who would? The idea of your friends being taken before their time―before you deemed it to be their time―was almost as upsetting as it actually happening. Life and death, it was a torturous cycle for everyone involved. Hyunjin squeezed his eyes shut as fear bubbled in his chest, the fear of losing you all over again. He tightened his grip on you, what tragic lives we’ve led.

“And then there were two.”

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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 6 years ago

Text

Jaime Lannister was Personally Victimized

and so was I. An essay. Subtitled how we were wronged, how he was wronged, how Brienne was wronged, how Braime was wronged, and how years of development was wronged.

Let’s begin.

Now couple of things: I don’t read the books (plan to now.) so I’m just mostly going off the show and specifically this season, because this season had 2 Jaimes. This is probably not academically sound, or too terribly coherent, but I frankly just want to get my thoughts out there, because I was plump bamboozled with “The Bells.” Not just because it ruined so many seasons of juicy, believable, utterly transformative character development for my personal favorite GOT character, (and many others as well.) but considering the episodes that came before this one, it made zero sense. Because let me tell you, in 8 x 02, this lowkey Braime shipper was turned into major Braime shipper in the span of one hour, and I was literally made to believe they were endgame. Maybe not ride into the sunset with a bunch of kids on Tarth endgame, but made explicitly clear without a shadow of a doubt that Brienne was Jaime’s soulmate, true love...or whatever you want to call it.

All of this... all for this to culminate in him going back to Cersei. All for all those seasons of change for him to revert to season one, episode one, the things I do for love Jaime. From a storytelling perspective, there is no satisfaction. and it makes NO sense. Now of course D&D are all about “subversion,” but what was done to Jaime was not a witty or clever subversion of a redemption arc, but a complete and utter cancellation of all those years of hard work that they put in and that Nik put in, in order to get us to like Jaime. Jeremy Jahns in his review on YouTube said it best: Jaime Lannister was stabbed in the back. Furthermore, what they did to Jaime, (and let’s face it, he’s not the only one in this catastrophe that was personally victimized.) basically posits the really terrible message that “you can’t change your nature or where you came from or be different from your parents. (Which is what happened in Dany’s case. To be clear though, I think the signs were there for her, but it was poorly executed.)

Either way, such a great message. What happened to Jaime also made no sense from a character perspective. Sure, Mr. I don’t care about innocents. ha. ha. ha. I also totally stabbed a guy in the back when I was 17 because he was going to kill innocents, thus giving me my name and eternal shame. Ha ha ha, look how consistent I am.

You’re not the Jaime Lannister that came to Winterfell. Jaime Lannister died in Brienne’s arms one night and a robot was sent in his place to go to Cersei.

Now this post won’t be talking about the major character inconsistencies (sure you don’t care about innocents Jaime SURE.) or go more into the terrible messages one can get out of this season (and Game of Thrones in general) or go into more detail about how subversion and spoiler culture is ruining good storytelling, but I will say that it reads to me that because such a common theory before Season 8 was that Jaime was going to kill Cersei, D&D thought to themselves hmmm better not do that because that’s what people expect, and in wanting to shock and surprise they invalidated his growth and development by making him die with her. Oh look, D&D. So clever. Yet in stroking your ego you gave the people that once trusted you a taste of ashes. Like...people figuring out where things are going to go is actually GOOD storytelling.

More so though, this will focus on how the episodes before this one were framed and how the tone was set up. Because watching episode 2, 3, and most of 4...they made me believe Braime was endgame. They really did. Then they turn it around and make me expect it was always Cersei?

Utter garbage. Jaime was wronged. So was Brienne. that’s another post though. (so is Missandei, and Dany... and heck we can actually talk about who WASN’T wronged this season.) But with the Kingslayer, let’s get started and discuss how everything, literally everything, was set up in favor of Jaime’s redemption and endgame with Brienne, all for it to get, quite literally, squished.

(sorry if that was a bad joke considering)

Now into the meat and potatoes. First of all, let’s talk about Jaime’s look this season. Is he even blonde anymore?

Both he and Tyrion, who symbolically abandoned the Lannister crest seasons ago, sure aren’t sporting that golden blonde look anymore. I mean Tyrion kind of is, but compared to Cersei:

it’s nowhere near it for both these boys. (heck, I would even argue Jaime starts to lose his signature Lannister look when he meets Brienne.) However, if Season 7 Jaime chooses to hide his golden hand, the Jaime that walked into Winterfell with darkish hair, beard, and cute bangs is really, really removed from his Lannister golden lion look. Furthermore, he even said in 8 x 02 his golden lion days are done. Now why. Tell me WHY we do these things in the costuming department all to send him right back to the lioness? WHY

Now I said I wasn’t going to talk about the terrible themes and messages D&D are positing with this season, but I do have to say that considering episode 4, with Jon talking to his sibling-cousins, and Sansa, Arya and Bran’s discussion about not trusting people, and then Jaime going back to Cersei...the writers are really out here saying that family is all that matters. Literally all. And sure, I love my family, I have a great family. But sometimes, like with Jaime and Cersei, families are toxic. Sometimes the bonds you make with others that aren’t your family are more meaningful than the ones you have with blood. Sam and Jon are like brothers even though they’re not related, and Jaime’s bond with Brienne was far, far more meaningful than with Cersei. It was Brienne, not Cersei that elevated him into wanting to be a better man.

But lol, guess not. it’s like what that one guy from Aladdin yells at Aladdin, “YOU WERE BORN A STREET RAT, YOU WILL DIE A STREET RAT” except with Jaime it’s “YOU WERE BORN A LANNISTER YOU WILL DIE A LANNISTER” except Jaime didn’t get an Aladdin moment where he proves the snooty prince wrong--he just regressed and left his Jasmine all alone crying.

Another thing: ignoring the awful character growth invalidation, if Jaime was going to go back to Cersei just to be with her (and not kill her/convince her to stop as a lot of us, including me, thought in 8 x 04), there just wasn’t enough buildup for him to make this change in episode 4 come “The Bells.” He was happy with Brienne, smiling with Tyrion, (above gif) then he gets news from Sansa and he’s like nah I better bounce? I could buy Jaime thinking he has to save Cersei at least for the sake of the baby, an innocent life. I can even buy Jaime with a guilt complex, thinking he doesn’t deserve his happiness with Bri and it’s in his place to be by her side because of family and the things Tywin used to tell him...IDK there’s a lot we could speculate. But I cannot buy that the same man who walked out on Cersei in season 7 and then STAY AT WINTERFELL FOR A MONTH WITH BRIENNE would just be like...in the span of literally five show minutes with no real good explanation go nah it’s always Cersei when he showed it WASN’T. Now call me crazy, but this could have, could have been done in a believable way if we had seen the spiral. but we needed more with Jaime and Brienne, more hints with maybe his struggling to be happy but being guilty and him realizing he did have a child on the way, wanting to do better for that baby than they did to the others. Just a kind of ambiguous glance at Brienne after a session of sex (after their first time, which he was very enthusiastic about BTW) isn’t enough to convey such a drastic one eighty, nor is him looking pensive after another night with Brienne. (and you know they totally had oathsex that night. Bri was naked it looked like and she came out in robe.)

Now had this happened, I would have still hated it for the terrible message about “always go back to your toxic family,” but it would have played out much more like a Shakespearean tragedy than a random and giant middle finger to Jaime’s arc and Brienne’s character for the sake of a subversion. And heck, I could have forgiven this too if “The Bells” played out differently, and Jaime, realizing Cersei is too far gone, does what we always thought he would do.

*sigh*

Now let’s talk about him and Brienne and how it was filmed/framed. Now either I’m just naive or a big sap (truth to those statements), but it seemed to me that Braime was purposely filmed as though they were the OTP of this final stretch of Game of Thrones. episode 2-half of 4? this disaster human was all BRIENNE BRIENNE BRIENNE. All for it to go CERSEI CERSEI CERSEI.

Episode 2 Jaime and episode 5 are not the same person, at all. FROM THE VERY BEGINNING in episode 2, this man looked at Brienne of Tarth like she was the sun,the stars, his everything, casting glances at her during the whole “trial scene.” Talking to Tyrion, he plump ignored him to stare longingly at Brienne from the ramparts. He knighted her with such beautiful ceremony, and the way they looked at each other after?

A knighting? A marriage? both?

these people all think they’re going to die, but instead of lamenting Cersei, “all that’s mattered” at least according to “the bells,” (LOL) Jaime Lannister wants to give Brienne of Tarth this beautiful act of love. and symbolically marry her And then he looks at her and he’s THAT devoted and such a smitten kitten.

Episode 3. He never left her side during the whole battle. He saved her, then she saved him. Then this shot:

and the other shot of them, fighting side by side? this is literally a fic trope.

Ok so then the oathsex happens but before it happens, there’s a shot of oathkeeper in Brienne’s room, AKA the symbol of their bond and their love. Then they do it, and I know some people have mixed feelings about it, but I personally liked how it happened, even loved how it happened. It was awkward. Jaime said “I don’t want things growing on me” (though he’s made it pretty clear someone has grown on him, great line.) He liked it when she took charge. He reminded her it was a first time for him too. And then they have a kiss that really, in my opinion, culminates the years of bickering and sexual tension. It was my personal favorite GOT sexy scene, because it felt so real. He sleeps with her and they live like lovers for a month. They ARE lovers for a month or so.

and then he leaves and that look he gave her?

that was the look of a man who thought he had to give up on his beloved. Not a man who didn’t love this woman anymore. He’s defeated and broken but he is not not in love.

basically, all the clues (and just THIS SEASON) led to Brienne being his true love. Not Cersei. In Jaime choosing Cersei over the woman who he looked at like he saw the sun not only has made the writers make some really unfortunate implications about toxic relationships, but they’ve also said that people can’t change. They’ve completely disrespected Brienne in the process, making her seem like she was just a blip on his radar... when she wasn’t. She was so much more.

Now maybe all along, Jaime’s arc was not a redemption arc, but choosing who you want to be. Well, if that’s the case, it’s also a bad message. Apparently to D&D you can never change, you’re always doomed to head right back to square one, right back to “the things you do for love” and your toxic roots. If that’s the case then all Brienne was this season was a dangling carrot, a oh look what Jaime could have had if he wasn’t so addicted to Cersei.... sad sad SUBVERSION too bad he’s an ADDICT though!

there’s no empathy. No respect.

I have a bad feeling Bri’s pregnant too. And if that’s the case...if all this woman was supposed to do this season was carry the baby of a man who broke her heart just so the wheel wouldn’t truly break? They’re going to make Brienne just a vessel for a baby, making that Jaime’s “redemption?”

so in conclusion: I was not only infuriated because D&D invalidated so much growth in favor of witty subversion that’s not witty and actually tastes like ashes and proports a toxic message, but what was done tonally made no sense, because Braime was filmed like they were “right.” They also wrote a Jaime that’s more akin to Season One Episode One Jaime, and not the one that came to Winterfell because he made a promise.

I have almost no hope he is alive, D&D said so... but hey stranger things have happened. Nik is being quiet and hasn’t said goodbye to his character like everyone else has whose died already, but maybe he’s just salty/had time to process what happened/just busy right now/ waiting until the last episode to make a final statement. I mean this guy is kind of a troll, but he’s a classy dude and did an amazing job. But if it’s true, if Jaime’s end was to die under a rock, to go deeper and kinda soften this, I do think the Jaime that “died,” wasn’t a Jaime that romantically wanted Cersei, but a Jaime who loved her, finally, like an actual brother and not...the stuff before. There was no kiss, just an embrace. Someone trying to make an ending not so scary.

either way, I never expected or even wanted Jaime to survive Game of thrones until it freaking looked like that he was for a hot minute and get that good sweet ending with the one woman who he truly loved. But if he died,I wanted something better than what he got. I wanted Jaime to die as someone who did do something for love, but for a love that wasn’t a destructive one, or a regressive one. Not the same love as season one episode one, but a transformative love. Someone who did the right thing. For someone who made such an impact on so many people, he deserved better.

And I hear rhetoric from some, mostly not on tumblr, that I should have expected a fan favorite character like Jaime to get a shitty end, because GOT is about subversion. But GOT, above all, has to succeed as a satisfying story for the thing as a whole, and for the characters. It has to make sense. This makes NO sense. And Jaime, such an important character in the mythos, shouldn’t go out like that. Neither should Cersei TBH. She deserved more than standing by a window.

George. Give Jaime better. Please. Not necessarily a ride into the sunset ending with the one who transformed him, but one where he knows he’s a better person and has been transformed. One where he knows he’s changed for the better.

*peace*

#game of thrones critical #got spoilers #jaime lannister deserved better #jaime lannister #game of thrones spoilers #braime #ugh now I can move on #write my fix it fic #got critical #peace

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sixinsultsago · 6 years ago

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i hold it there in my hands

domestic andreil again because i do not quit. post-canon, fluff.

read on ao3

Like a snake, my heart has shed its skin. I hold it there in my hand, full of honey and wounds.

The trick to loving right Andrew Minyard is, surprisingly enough, expectation.

Andrew has an ego that demands he stay one step ahead of the competition, but that’s for threats. When you’re on the correct side of him, he craves to be anticipated. Andrew makes it embarrassingly easy. After a childhood being overlooked — or worse, noticed for all the wrong reasons — Andrew kind of… crumbles when another person sees him. It’s how Renee secured him as her best friend without a deal. It’s how Matt inducted himself into the Monsters in his senior year.

It’s how Neil is sitting cross-legged on a pretentious marble counter-top, eating crunchy peanut butter from the jar.

Andrew is facing the stove top, his strong back covered by a typical black shirt. Every time he moves Neil can just about taste it. He might as well be shirtless for all the good the useless fabric is doing for his modesty.

Okay. Neil needs to not think about that.

Andrew purposely bangs his spatula against the side of the saucepan, fed-up. “Don’t you have anything better to do?"

The idea of Andrew feeling Neil’s gaze is almost embarrassing, just not enough for Neil to look away. “I don’t have eidetic memory; I need to take the time to memorize you.”

“You did that enough during college.”

“You look different from then,” Neil protests. Andrew is broader, thicker in his arms and stomach and thighs. His hair is longer, the scowl lines around his mouth less pronounced. Neil doesn’t love Andrew any less now than when he regularly pulled knives on their teammates, but he can’t deny a certain fondness for an Andrew who lets himself smile when he texts Bee about Halloween costumes.

Andrew doesn’t deny it. Neil smiles around his spoon. “What are you making?”

“Sandwich.”

“Why are you frying it?”

“Nicer this way.”

He flips the sandwich. Something sizzles. Neil doesn’t think it is oil. The smell is — putrid.

And familiar.

Neil’s stomach turns at the same time he realizes what that smell is. “Fuck. Are you eating that stupid maple syrup and cream cheese toastie garbage?”

Andrew throws him a flat look over his shoulder. “Why do you sound offended. I am not making you eat it.”

The ‘stupid maple syrup and cream cheese toastie garbage’ is a Andrew Minyard special. He puts maple syrup in a pan, brings it to a spitting boil, and fries a cream cheese sandwich in it. The first time he made it, he happened to do so in front of Kevin. Kevin dry-retched so bad he ended up crying. Allison had it on camera.

“Andrew,” Neil starts, incredulous. “There’s no way your nutritionist approved that!”

The blond shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up and eat your peanut butter, hypocrite.” He slides the toasted sandwich out of the pan and pulls it apart into skinny, little pieces without waiting for it to cool down. It clearly hurts. Andrew doesn’t stop doing it, because he is as stupid as the people he surrounds himself with.

Neil’s stomach shrivels up and dies when Andrew meets his eyes and takes a pointed bite. He chucks his spoon into the sink and declares: “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Andrew points at him with two fingers, directing him to look at the lounge set-up behind Neil. “That is your problem, Neil. Go into the other room and eat alone if you must.”

“You’re going to have a heart attack.”

“And that would be my problem to deal with. See how this works?”

Andrew eats slowly deliberately these days, mostly to prove he doesn’t have to choke down whatever is put in front of him before it’s taken away. Neil resents the practice for the first time in months. “We’re going grocery shopping when you get back from practice tomorrow,” Neil decides. “You know, I don’t want to be eating peanut butter out of the jar, but your cupboards are bare. How do you live like this?”

Andrew freezes mid-chew. His eyes narrow subtly. To anyone else it would be a warning. Neil recognizes the expression as exasperated.

“Neil,” Andrew starts.

Oh no, thinks Neil.

“You were arrested last month because an officer thought you were homeless and sleeping on a park bench. However bad you think I am, I can guarantee you are exceedingly worse.”

That had happened. Neil was tired after his run, saw a park bench, and decided to rest his eyes. The next time he woke up, a concerned mother was watching him, clinging to her child, hiding behind a police officer who genuinely did try to arrest Neil. Ironically, it was a first for Neil, who’s been homeless plenty of times before and got away with it, but actually wasn’t the one time he was caught.

“At least I have food in my fridge.”

“Take-away,”

“I have other things.”

“An unnecessary amount of fruit.”

“I eat it,” says Neil defensively. Andrew looks at him like Neil admitted to murder. Except not at all, because if that were the case he’d be marginally more turned on. “We’re going, Andrew. It'll be good for us, and I'm not eating peanut butter for the rest of my vacation. Abby would drive over specifically to kick your ass.”

“Ha-ha,” Andrew replies, emotionless. “What would I do with groceries.”

“Cook them. I think.”

“You think.”

“Shut up. This isn’t a discussion. Wal-Mart, tomorrow, get excited about it.”

Andrew, finished with his unholy meal, sets his empty plate in the sink and slinks forward. He puts his hands on Neil’s thighs and lightly traces them down until they catch in the crease of his knees. One quick tug unfolds Neil’s legs, allowing Andrew to slide in close. Andrew tips his head back. His nose barely brushes Neil’s chin.

Neil bites on his bottom lip to smother his smile.

Here’s the thing. Andrew looks very comfortable having Neil an extra couple inches above him; it’s amusing because he frankly cannot be as happy about the new height difference as he’s pretending.

He’s angling for something. Neil doesn’t care what: he’ll play along if it keeps Andrew right where he is.

It is nice having the bed to himself, sure, but Neil notices Andrew’s absence like a missing limb. It aches all the time. He gets phantom pains everywhere. He turns around at practice to meet eyes that are not there; twists around in bed searching for his warmth; at one point Neil bought a pint of ice cream just to fill the empty space in their freezer. Nicky assures him it will ease, that sometimes he will forget he needs Andrew around constantly. It hasn’t happened yet, that brief stretch of time when Neil doesn't miss him. Neil’s nervous for when it will hit. If it ever does. Even if it didn't seem unfair to Andrew not to want him twenty-four seven, Neil just isn't sure he is capable of being completely happy with this distance between them.

Like Andrew can hear his thoughts, he tips forward and presses his mouth to Neil’s neck. Resting there. Staying close. His lips barely move when he says, “Your heart is racing.”

Neil closes his eyes. He catches Andrew’s wandering hands and tangles their fingers together. He can’t imagine letting go for anything.

“Andrew,”

“Mm?”

“Andrew. Look at me?”

With a begrudging sigh, Andrew pulls back. He freezes when Neil catches his face and smacks a sloppy kiss to his nose. Neil feels Andrew’s cheeks start burning hotter, experiences his own heart swell twice its usual size.

Andrew’s eyes go wide and exceptionally golden when he’s happy.

Neil does it again and again and again. He kisses Andrew’s chin, cheekbones, both eyelids, along his jawline. He punctuates his journey with a final press to Andrew’s forehead, drawing back with a grin so wide it hurts old scars. Andrew huffs impatiently, pushing up onto the tip of his toes. Neil allows their noses brush, then leans away.

“I’m not kissing you properly, not when you just ate that shitty toasted sandwich.”

Andrew stares at him. He covers Neil’s hands, gently framing his neck, with his own. He guides them down to lay flat on the counter. They stay there.

“I am not going to Wal-Mart.”

“Okay. Walgreens?”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

Andrew glares. Instead of repeating himself, he says, “I’m going to call Nicky.”

Even though Nicky would be thrilled, Neil feels obliged to step in. “He’s going to notice you’re all…” Neil doesn’t know how to say ‘spoiling for a blow job’ without triggering Andrew’s pettiness and getting himself quarantined to his own side of the bed. At a loss for words, he gestures at Andrew expressively, which seems to communicate his point. Andrew pinches his thigh, unimpressed. “What?”

“You are not nearly as cute as you think you are.”

“Pretty sure I’m as cute as you think I am.”

Andrew looks prepared to walk out of the apartment altogether. “One day, you’ll learn to stop talking,” He says wistfully. Two fingers press down on Neil’s lips on the edge of too rough. Andrew strides into his bedroom, the door hanging open behind him. Neil hears the tingy sound of a Skype call ringing out, followed by the pop of an answered call.

Seconds later, Renee’s warm voice is saying, “Oh! Hello, Andrew. This is a surprise. Is Neil there?”

Andrew doesn’t answer. Renee explains without being asked: “You get a certain look on your face when—”

“This was a mistake,” says Andrew. Neil guesses the only thing that keeps him from hanging up is Renee’s sudden cresting laughter. She continues unhindered, “No, no, I was just kidding. It really is nice to see you! Neil? Neil, are you there?”

“Hi, Renee.”

She somehow hears him, calling back, “Hello! It must be nice for you to two to be together again. Well, what are you doing, Andrew? How is your practice going?”

Andrew proceeds to talk to her in a near whisper. Neil lets his rising and falling murmur slow his heart rate down. Once the giddiness leaves his head, Neil finds his feet again. He cleans up the kitchen so Andrew won’t need to do it later, then starts his hunt for a scrap of paper and pen.

It was time to draft his first ever shopping list.

#aftg #tfc #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil fic #my fic #jesus I LOVE MY MARRIED ATHLETES?????????#THEY'RE IN LOVE?#in case it wasn't clear andrew is graduated and neil isn't #and yes andrew has a pretentious and expensive apartment in new york #no there isnt rooftop access but that's relative anyway. he's on the roof #the foxhole court #if you're curious yes neil texts kevin the health food guru for advice on how to fucking survive...

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

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Endanger the kids in your care and pretend that’s you doing your job? Nah!

This is a long one.

I work in the special education setting, and have worked with kids with autism, Emotional Behavior Disorder, and other diverse needs for 5+ years now. Not a huge profile, but I like what I do. I have a BA in English (with a focus on Editing, so it helps teaching kids grammar). I am a Special Ed para who works with EBD mostly.

Over the summer, teachers and paras (me) don’t actually get paid (in most districts), so a lot of us find other work. I worked for my district’s summer care as an “Inclusion Staff” AKA person-who-deals-with-behaviors. I was assigned to a group of 5 separate kids with a variety of needs and told to spread myself out between them. I was given a “get to know you sheet” for each kid from their parent or teacher explaining their needs and what I could expect to see. They were not extensive, and parents will either downplay or exaggerate their child’s needs.

After week 1, I learned that all of the sheets could have “downplayed” written on them. Awesome. It was WORSE then herding cats, because you can YELL over cats. But when 13 kids are all screaming and 3 of them hate loud noises and then escalate and punch another kid, you’ve got A BIG PROBLEM.

So, I went to my supervisors—the Youth and Family Coordinators and the Inclusion Liaison—and laid down the sitch. “I need some help with my room, Myself and the two activities leads are having trouble just controlling the room and any ideas would be great,” I said. The Coordinators asked if we tried a few things (we had) and then the Liaison looked at me and said “Well, it looks like you have your job cut out for you. I thought you said you know two of those kids? This should be an easy room then” and returned to her computer. She will be called B*tch from here on out.

B*tch continued to do this whenever ANY inclusion staff asked for help. A 19 yo girl got STABBED by her kid, with a sharpened pencil, and the B*itch asked her why she aggravated him. She avoided helping or just said the same thing over and over - “visual schedules and sensory items!” Yeah, um, these kids aren’t all autistic and not all autistic kids like/need those things. Some kids need a motor break, or not to be in large groups, or sometimes they seriously just need some one -on-one time with someone who is willing to listen to them. Two kids I worked with that summer really needed that: one’s stepfather who he was close to had just died six months prior and the other was having issues in the home. But we weren’t allowed to give them the help they needed, despite that being LITERALLY in our job description.

Halfway thru the summer I was transitioned to a one-on-one with a child who—frankly—we were not equipped to handle in our program. He was very violent, a runner, and non-verbal to the point of cognitive disability. But B*tch greenlit him because it would be good for her program. This child had burnt through two other staff members already, and my boss decided it was my turn. I said no-I cannot handle him on a physical level. I have a back problem and I cannot keep up with him if he sprints. He told me I would have help; I was not alone.

This was a lie. I was very much alone. In fact, I was SOL FML.

This child hit, punched, and kicked me daily. He threw his food at me. He ran away from me at the pool and jumped in when he couldn’t swim (thankfully only into 4 feet of water). I had to keep him constantly entertained because if he got bored he’d yell “ GO HOME!!!” And either punch a kid walking by or ram his own head into a wall. I didn’t have Restraint training at the time so legally, I wasn’t allowed to stop him. Also, another reason why I should NOT have been his staff.

Now- I’m not saying this is new for me, but it is not part of this summer program, and the other staff who endured this were NOT equipped with my para training. These were high school kids getting beat up by an 8 yo because they asked him if he wanted a corn dog. They didn’t sign up for this. They signed up to help calm down a kid with anxiety, not someone who is trying to literally assault them. So, while I did my best to handle this, what really angered me, is that I watched HS kids get beat up by younger kids and when they asked for help, they were told “visual aides!” B*tch never once stepped in to help these kids hands on. Never once MET half of them. She didn’t visit classrooms, she didn’t KNOW their ticks. Just “visual aids!”

After a long, enraging summer, I had enough. This wasn’t my first rodeo with a supervisor that needed to be taken down, so I had kept a log the entire summer. Every incident, every snide comment she made about me or the other staff, and ever single time I asked for help and didn’t get it were all written down in a Moleskine. She endangered staff and other children (whom had been hit and kicked by the kid I had to deal with) by her ego and inaction.

I sent a long email and my evidence to the Director of Community Education- her boss. He replied within a day, saying that he was very upset that this was going on, and he was on it.

Later was I to discover, he was very much on it.

I refused to actually work for the program as a full Activities Assistant and became a sub for JUST my para student during the school year on his drop in days. (I haven’t been called in 😈) I spoke with the Site Lead, who I’m cool with, last week and I found out some DELICIOUS things that made my revenge complete:

1) 2 hours after my email to the Director, he sent out a survey to all site Coordinators and Leads asking about the performance of their Inclusion Liaisons. It was a Yes/No survey with 3 questions, one being “Was your Liaison hands-on or office bound?” (Check OFFICE-BOUND)

2) My site Coordinator had then received a call asking for all the incident reports that involved SpEd kids and the child I had to deal with, or Staff. ALL OF THEM. There were more than 100 for our site that fell into those specification. (That’s too many) I would know, I wrote more than half of them.

3) THIS IS THE BEST ONE! The B*tch got demoted. They made it a requirement to have a Bachelor’s Degree in SpEd/Education or similar field in order to be the Inclusion Liaison. B*tch does not HAVE a degree- not even a two year. She is now basically a Site Lead over at one of the schools that needed one.

So! when you’re putting kids in danger, and I ask for help, you better damn well get off your sorry ass and give it to me. Otherwise, I’ll have your fucking job.

Tl;dr You literally put kids in danger with your ego and ignorance, and I kicked you off your high horse. Bye B*tch.

(source) (story by theChristinaStory)

#prorevenge #by theChristinaStory #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10

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antialiasis · 5 years ago

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The Neverending Story

(Speaking of dark children's books...)

A couple of months ago, we watched the 1984 film adaptation of The Neverending Story, and it was bad and just made me desperately want to reread the book, so I did.

I first read the book when I was about eight years old, at the recommendation of my best friend; it was her favorite book. I can't even begin to describe how this book made me feel back then. It was the only time I remember where I stopped reading a book for a while (it was probably only a couple of days, but it felt longer) because I was genuinely afraid to see what would happen next. It's incredibly intense and bleak and terrifying and tackles mindscrewy existential themes, including humanity and losing one's humanity; there's a sense of imaginative whimsy to it too - arrays of quirky fantasy creatures and reality working by whimsical, arbitrary rules - but the atmosphere is one of looming, oppressive dread throughout.

The book opens with our protagonist, Bastian Balthazar Bux, about ten or twelve years old, fat and pasty-looking, running into a second-hand bookstore to hide from the kids who bully him at school. After a conversation with the store's proprietor, who hates kids and tells him frankly that he's a weakling and a coward for not standing up to his bullies, and a "failure all along the line" because he got held back at school last year, Bastian steals a book he's strangely captivated by, titled 'The Neverending Story'; he beats himself up about it, feels like he can never go back home now that he's a thief, and ends up taking the book to the school attic alone and starting to read it there.

We spend the first half of the book reading, along with Bastian, about the adventures of a 'Greenskin' boy named Atreyu, who is sent on a great quest to find a cure for the illness of the Childlike Empress, ruler of Fantastica, the world where the book takes place. Because of the Childlike Empress's illness, this beautiful land of fantasy and whimsy is slowly being consumed by an ever-expanding threat called 'the Nothing' - chunks of land simply vanish, leaving nothing behind but an emptiness that makes you feel as if you're blind, and creatures who get too close to large expanses of Nothing feel an uncontrollable compulsion to jump in and destroy themselves as well. Atreyu travels through a swamp that makes his horse depressed and causes him to stop and let himself sink and die; he speaks to a giant turtle, so ancient that she's completely indifferent to the fate of the world; he learns that he can only find his answers at the Southern Oracle, which is much too far away for him to ever get there in time; he lets a horrible bug hivemind monstrosity poison him because while having this poison pumping through your veins you can wish yourself somewhere else, and in his desperation he figures there's no other way to get there than to hope it’s telling the truth. He gets to know a gnome scientist studying the Southern Oracle, which is guarded by magical gates; the first either lets you through or freezes you on the spot to contemplate every riddle in the world until you die, depending on the whim of two statuesque sphinxes who seem to act entirely randomly, no more likely to let you through if you're a good person, or have a good reason to be there, than if you aren't and don't. There's a running theme of... let's call it a world that doesn't care. The Childlike Empress is explicitly without moral judgement: she loves all creatures of her domain equally, no matter how horrible. Atreyu is protected by her emblem (respected even by the cruelest of monsters specifically because the Empress respects them back) - but that doesn't protect his horse, or make Morla the Ancient One any more helpful, and the sphinxes just don't give a damn. Things in Fantastica are big and incomprehensible and cold and uncaring.

When Atreyu does make it through to the Southern Oracle, he learns that the Empress is dying because a human child from outside of Fantastica must give her a new name - and the Oracle is dying too, about to be lost to the Nothing, rendering all the scientist's tireless research pointless. With the help of Falkor the luckdragon (who was about to be eaten by the hivemind monstrosity, and no amount of pleading from Atreyu would stop it, except that Falkor then just happened to overhear the bit about the poison allowing him to wish himself somewhere else), Atreyu tries to find the borders of Fantastica; the four winds tell him there are no borders. He falls into the ocean and washes up on the shores of a city full of ghouls and monsters that's about to be swallowed up by the Nothing, the inhabitants forming a mad, suicidal procession to throw themselves into it, that Atreyu only barely resists. He finds a dying werewolf chained in a backyard, who tells him that the only way to the human world is to jump into the Nothing - where the inhabitants of Fantastica will be fuel for human lies and deceit. As the Nothing closes in, Atreyu is saved from its deadly pull only by the fact the werewolf clamped his jaws onto his foot as he choked and died, so that he's unable to jump into the void before Falkor finds him and saves him.

They return to the Childlike Empress crushed and defeated, and Atreyu reports that he failed on his quest - only for the Empress to explain that he has in fact brought a human child with him, who has been with him this whole time, and all he needs to do is give her a new name and say it out loud.

Bastian realizes in disbelief that they're talking about him! But he's afraid and embarrassed - if he were to show up there, being who he is, surely they'd think he's pathetic and a disappointment, no kind of hero. There's an extremely meta bit where, when Bastian doesn't say the name, the Childlike Empress sets out to find the Old Man of Wandering Mountain, who continually writes everything that happens in Fantastica - into a book called The Neverending Story, of course - and makes him read it out from the beginning, at which it of course turns out he's reading the actual Neverending Story book as it starts with Bastian bursting into that store, and they go through the whole book until again they reach the part where she tells the old man to read out the book, and he starts all over again in an endless vicious cycle... all the way until Bastian finally blurts out the name Moon Child, and suddenly he's in a soft, dark void with the Childlike Empress. She gives him AURYN, her emblem, which in addition to protecting him like it did Atreyu will also grant his wishes, and tells him to "Do what you wish".

...And from there, we move into a hair-raising deconstruction of wish-fulfillment fantasy. Bastian recreates Fantastica according to his own imagination - and also transforms himself into a handsome, athletic prince, and in the process forgets about ever having been ugly and weak. We follow him childishly wishing to be the best, strongest and most admired, meeting his heroes Atreyu and Falkor and hanging out with them - and then realizing Atreyu is a bit less impressed by his feats when he learns Bastian can wish for whatever he likes. He increasingly becomes preoccupied with being perceived as awesome and mighty, especially by Atreyu and Falkor, and his self-serving, ill-thought-out wishes begin to have less than pleasant consequences: he makes up a backstory for a city that immediately turns out to be true, involving the ugliest creatures in Fantastica, Acharis, who spend all their days crying but create beautiful delicate silver filigree structures... but later he meets them, and feels sorry for them in their constant misery and wants to be seen as their great kind benefactor, so he wishes for them to turn into lighthearted, ever-laughing butterflies... which they do, only the butterflies are horrifically obnoxious, casually destroy the Acharis' silver creations, and in the end are left bored and unhappy. In a grand tournament he wipes the floor with a knight who had been head over heels in love with a princess who doesn't want him now that it's clear he was only second best, leaving Bastian sort of responsible for his misery... so in order to solve the problem he wishes into existence a horrific dragon who kidnaps the princess, so that the knight can go and rescue her, and as they walk on they see signs of all the destruction and horror caused by this dragon (who, once he wishes it, has always existed).

Meanwhile, Atreyu and Falkor start to grow concerned, especially when it becomes clear that Bastian loses some of his human memories every time that he makes a wish, slowly shaving off pieces of himself - and those tend to be exactly the pieces that made him who he was, human and sympathetic and kind. But when they bring it up with Bastian, he becomes angry and upset - he's so caught up in his power fantasy that the idea of giving up AURYN and the power of wishes feels like an attack on him. He wishes into existence an evil sorceress who kidnaps and tortures some of his friends, just so that he can rescue them and singlehandedly take down her army of hollow suits of armor; she theatrically repents and offers to be his slave, and because she flatters his ego he lets her join him, and snaps at Atreyu for pointing out the obvious signs that she's manipulating him and he's walked right into it, because he can't let Atreyu win, he needs to prove that he's right and no one will stand against him and even this sorceress fears and bows down to him.

Eventually Bastian stops wanting to ever go home at all, Atreyu and Falkor try to steal AURYN as a last resort and Bastian banishes them, and Bastian tries to crown himself the new Emperor of Fantastica, stopped only by Atreyu leading a literal army against him and a bloody battle where at the end he rides away swearing to take revenge on Atreyu and Falkor...

...and that's when he happens upon the City of Old Emperors, full of humans just like him, who had once come to Fantastica, gone on their own power-fantasy wish-fulfillment sprees, and crowned themselves emperors, or tried to. In the process, they had lost the last shreds of their human memories and become completely self-absorbed, uncommunicative, unmotivated husks, reduced to performing pointless repetitive actions or mindlessly playing the monkeys-with-typewriters game for centuries or millennia. (And this does shock him out of it, and his remaining wishes go into grasping to heal and recover his humanity with the little he has left.)

When I was a kid I didn't fully get it. Today, rereading it, it's achingly clear to me how Bastian's wishes are self-absorbed from the start, stemming from a bullied child with a poor self-esteem's desperate desire to be someone, be able to do anything and be respected and admired and even feared by everyone, immune not only to jeers and taunts but to all criticism. But when I was a kid it didn't feel that way. Bastian was established throughout the first half as really normal and sympathetic and I rooted for him, and him getting to be cool and handsome and the best at everything was awesome and satisfying. Only then it just started to go wrong, in some horrible, insidious way, and watching this character I'd cared about and identified with slowly turn into a monster was more unsettling than any of what Atreyu had encountered in the first half. I think the point where I had to stop reading for a bit was when he shouted at Atreyu and Falkor for questioning his decision to bring the sorceress into the fold, and the chapter ends with saying that was when he forgot about ever being a child in the human world. I wasn't afraid of the sorceress, I was afraid of what was happening to Bastian and where this horrible evolution was headed. At eight, I sure hadn't read anything like it, and even now at almost thirty, I still can't really think of any other fiction that makes me feel quite the same way. (Though maybe one day I'll reread and ramble about Momo, Ende's other long famous serious children's book, which I actually considered my favorite over The Neverending Story as a child.)

(Today, I do notice amusedly that oh, hey, my more recent favorite work of fiction also involves an initially sympathetic main character slowly transforming into a monster.)

The 1984 movie very obviously only gets the book on the most shallow level: it's apparent that they liked the meta twist and thought it was clever, but the rest of the main themes just clearly went way over the heads of everyone involved. It essentially takes just the first half of the book, the Atreyu-centered portion, and tries to make a fun fantasy adventure out of it, playing up the quirky whimsy with big puppets and significantly toning down the soulcrushing atmosphere that actually defines the book. Artax the horse dies, sure (though they made him nonverbal so he just kind of stops and stands there as he slowly sinks), and Gmork the wolf is there, and there's an actually fairly emotional added scene about the messengers from the opening of the book - but meanwhile Morla is comically sneezing constantly, there's triumphant heroic music, the Nothing is just some roiling clouds, and of course we spend some time on look how fun it is to fly on Falkor. None of the elements that are there are actually very interesting or unique the way they're presented in the film; it just feels pretty generic and kludgy. Leaving out the second half misses that Bastian isn't just a cool meta framing device for Atreyu's adventures; he really is the main character, and his journey is the more important one. And then the end... Bastian wishing to fly Falkor over to the real world and chase his bullies down into the garbage is presented as a happy triumphant ending, and this is just the very antithesis of the book's central thesis.

All in all, I really cringe to think that this is all most international audiences know of this story: a kind of generic, clumsy 80s fantasy except the kid reading the book is the one who saves the world in the story. There is so much more to the book than that, but based on the film I never would've given the book a chance. If that's you, please reconsider. It's a really good book and the film is a travesty of an adaptation. I rather hope that now in the golden age of TV somebody will eventually do it justice in some kind of miniseries - I doubt you could fit both halves into a movie without making one or the other come out rushed, but the story really deserves to be introduced to a wider audience in its proper form.

#the neverending story #review #ramble #adaptations #children's fiction #bastian balthazar bux #character analysis #okay that's one down from the post backlog

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snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales · 6 years ago

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Full Circle

A/N: This just hit me. I hope you like it. 2,486 words. Feels good to write again. I had to get it out.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

I am sleep deprived. I hope I make sense. Haha!

Warnings: Some language. Mostly just fluff, though.

Anon said: Hey, I love your writing so much. I was wondering if I could get a Reader X Derek Hale, where the reader is the older sister of Stiles and she has returned from somewhere (up to you where) and meets Derek accidentally in the woods or something and he realises she is his mate, only to meet her again when Stiles brings her to a pack meeting. Stiles could make lots of jokes (or something) about how Alpha Derek is trying to act to impress his sister? You don’t have to write it if you’re too busy xx

Xxx

“Stiles, I’m gonna kill you!” A feminine voice lilted through the air before the mashing of a phone screen sounded, clearly ending a call, and frankly surprising Derek that he didn’t hear the glass of the screen start to shatter under what felt like a large amount of pressure due to the seething rage in her voice.

Approaching the sound for some unknown reason, he smiled at the groan of frustration that left her lips next, feeling a connection with the sound on an intimate level. There was a type of exasperation only Stiles could induce, and it was part of what bonded him to you. He was invaluable to the pack, and a great friend to have at your back, but sometimes you just couldn’t deal with his sarcasm.

Shaking his head, Derek cleared all thoughts related to Stiles and stopped just short on the edge of the clearing that contained your voice. He stared. A pull deep in his gut made him want to run to you, stick his nose in your hair and take a deep breath, and never let go.

The word ‘mate’ floated around in his head, a guttural growl slipping past his lips before he could stop it, and he almost literally reached for it desperately once it had slipped out, staring at the ground before him forlornly only to have his face go blank when he lifted his eyes to meet yours, their bright yellow glowing due to the small sound just out of your line of sight.

Being an omega had never been easy, deciding to leave home shortly after your mother died and just before Stiles started high school, you thought it was for the best, keeping your family a safe distance from all the supernatural crap that had infiltrated your life.

The boy you had been pining over from afar hadn’t seemed to notice you yet, anyway, and at the time had become involved with a beautiful girl who played the cello, so when the only instrument you could think of to compete for his affections was the simple triangle, you gave up, and after graduation, left town. It was just after leaving that word drifted back to you that the girl had died tragically followed shortly by a large chunk of his family in a house fire, and you nearly went to him, but you weren’t even sure he knew your name, and being another face in a line of ‘sorry’s just wasn’t what you wanted to be. Not only had she died tragically, it was one of the infamous ‘animal attack’s that had plagued Beacon Hills lately, and admitting to him, even eventually, what you were, you were nearly certain he would only see you as a monster.

Running through the woods to come to your brothers aid was the last place you expected to see that face again, even through the years, the beard, and the massive amount of muscle now cloaking the boy you loved in high school, his bright eyes still shown with the light that drew you to him in the first place, an unknown feeling cinching your gut, and seemingly pulling you towards him, though you fought it. Because though those eyes still shone so brightly with that vibrant spirit of his, the bright red that accompanied it knocked the breath out of you, and despite the instinct to come closer, your nature was telling you to run.

So willing your feet to obey the opposite of what they were being told by half of your brain, you turned and bolted, running even faster with a smile when you heard the primal roar he let out behind you before heavy footsteps gave chase, and everything just felt right. When the footsteps stopped and you felt the distance growing, you slowed and turned, taking a few steps backward before stilling as the hairs on your neck stood on end, every bone in your body vibrating at the sound, as the most forlorn and sorrow filled howl met your ears.

Turning and jogging back home, you hesitated before you knocked, knowing once you took the final step back into your previous life, into your childhood home, things would change forever. Letting a shiver run over you as it creeped up your spine, you tried to shake off the feeling of needing to be back in the woods and answer the call with a resounding howl of your own. But instead you just steeled yourself against your very nature, and took the final step forward, back into your old life, your old house, your old room, where you stared at the ceiling all night long, wide awake, not daring to look at your alarm clock as it blinked the night away, the red glow of the numbers reminding you too closely of the eyes that haunted you when your eyelids were closed.

Scott was the Alpha in town. Odds were you wouldn’t see those eyes from the woods for a very long time, if ever again. You could only hope. But if it was hope you would or hope you wouldn’t, you couldn’t tell, and the inability to tell only added to the sleepless night.

Xxx

That same lurch in your stomach appeared when the door to the loft slid open. You felt like you were walking into your destiny, but at the same time, along to your doom. Whichever came first.

Locking eyes with a set that flashed bright red but did not belong to Scott McCall across the room did nothing to set you at ease, in fact it only worked to set your feet into place and your mind to running a million miles a minute.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the name floated through your head, the talk of your class years ago, and the talk of your little brother day in and day out, usually the butt of a joke, or used as a comparison to how much something new they were dealing with terrified him. Also, whenever someone glared at Stiles, as they tended to do, he would mumble something about being a sourwolf, and in that moment, as the person you recognized to be Derek Hale rolled his eyes and glared at your little brother, you knew what Stiles had meant, and you couldn’t help your little grin.

Chancing a glance back at broody face, he was staring at you with a small grin of his own, and for a minute the two of you stood there, stuck in the moment, looking like love struck fools, no doubt, but an abrupt and loud comment from Stiles broke the stare off and caused you both to turn your best sourwolf glare on the teen. And he only smiled back.

Fate had a cruel sense of humor, setting you across the table plotting strategies and plans with the person you had simply wanted to know what it felt like to kiss only years ago. To hold his hand. To simply be on the receiving end of his hello.

At the moment they were plotting some invasive breakin to a vault that was holding some pack members these last few months. Stiles gave you a sideways look with a just as crooked grin, before wiping his face void of all emotion and trying to convince Derek there was no way he could punch through that wall.

“Come on, make a fist. Big ole’ fist. Let’s see it. There ya go.” This wasn’t going to end well. “Now that gives you about three inches between you and the wall-” he wiggled his hand briefly to indicate it was playing the wall, but the wiggling soon turned to flying as Stiles was launched across the room as Derek landed a punch to his palm.

The sounds Stiles made sounded like a dying pterodactyl, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that came out, smiling widely when you saw Derek shooting you a grin of his own.

Scott looked between the two of you and shook his head before looking back down to the map, ignoring the moaning of his friend somewhere in the back of the loft.

Jogging over to your brother who had more of a wounded ego than anything else, he pulled his bruised hand away from you as you tried to inspect it.

“Don’t touch me!” He cried, like a petulant child, using his other hand to wave you away like a bad smell.

Standing still for just a moment, using your speed to your advantage, you grabbed the undamaged hand and pulled him in, twisting him and rubbing his hair into a haphazard mess, ignoring his cries of protest, and half hearted threats.

“Just because there is sexual tension between you two doesn’t mean my hair should have to suffer.”

Stilling, you pondered his words before launching him forward onto the nearest couch. “Sit.” He went to stand up but a small nudge from you and he complied, looking up to you in bored interest. “Explain.”

“Come on, Y/N! I may have only been however old, but I knew you liked Derek forever ago. Why do you think I called you? We have been handling things pretty well so far-”

Scott’s scoff could be heard across the loft and it received daggers of a glare from Stiles before he continued.

“But Mr. Alpha Derek over there,” he pointed that direction lamely, and Derek stood up straight before turning around to see what conversation he was missing out on that involved him. “Well, he is just going out of his way to impress you. Cleaned his loft,” you looked around and noticed the sparse furniture, so there wasn’t much cleaning to be done, “made sure he had clothes that were unbloodied,” the rise of Derek’s eyebrow skeptically as he looked at his own shirt made you bite your lip to keep from laughing, “decorated,” at this point, both Scott and Peter had joined you and Derek at peering over at Stiles with knit eyebrows at the odd conversation, “invited you into his home and showed his strength by flinging mighty ole’ me across the room, no small feat, mind you,” you just pursed your lips and nodded to appease him on this, earning a small laugh from Scott before he turned back to the maps, “all to look good for ‘the one that got away’.”

You stared at your brother, arms crossed before calling, “Bull shit.”

“Only slightly,” Peter chimed in from the staircase. “Derek wouldn’t shut up about you in high school. These last few weeks have been like reliving it.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Everything else he just said is complete and utter bull shit.”

“It takes a bull shitter to know one!” Stiles didn’t even look at Peter as he yelled the insult, his eyes only slightly directed in his general direction.

“Which is why you know I speak the truth.”

Stiles opened his mouth to refute the older werewolf, but realized he had backed himself into a corner, and snapped his mouth shut, earning laughs from all in the loft. “It’s not his fault he leads a simple life.” His voice was soft, and he reached for one of your hands, which you offered. “His life has been very complicated, and if he wants to live in a sparse, dank, cavernous loft, so be it. He deserves it.” You smiled. “You have my blessing.”

“Not that I needed it, but okay,” you said on a laugh. “Thank you, Stiles.”

He grinned until he saw Derek approaching where he sat and his features turned aloof. “What do you need, Hale?”

“I don’t need it, and it doesn’t really matter, because I will do what I want, anyway, but,” Stiles huffed, “I was going to ask for your blessing as well, or at least if hers extends to me.”

“Why?” Stiles looked extremely suspicious, his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Because I realized the other day when I bumped into your sister in the woods that she is my mate, and you really don’t have a choice in the matter, Stiles, but I’m offering you one.”

Stiles blinked a few times and you found yourself taking in a small audible gasp, wondering why you hadn’t put the pieces together sooner.

“I have read enough werewolf stuff to know that this concept makes me uncomfortable, because now I know the two of you will be hormonal halfwits in every dark corner you can find, so I want to say no because she is my sister and ew.” He sighed. “But who am I to stand in destiny's way?” You leveled a look on your brother. He only grinned. “Fine. Go frolick, or whatever the hell you guys actually do that all the books got wrong, just wait until I am out of earshot.”

“Then why don’t you just leave?” Derek asked in a completely innocent way.

“Rude.” Stiles shout back.

“Hello! Planning to save lives over here! On a time table!” Scott sounded overly annoyed as he tapped his wrist like he were wearing a watch.

You looked at Derek, smiling as he took your hand in his. “Go save the world. I’ll stay here and keep mini Stilinski and big Hale in check. I’ll be right here when you get back.” He gave the most breathtaking smile you had ever seen, giving your hand a squeeze. “Just get back. Okay?”

“Bank vault walls couldn’t keep me away.”

The whole loft groaned at the pun, but it melted into laughter as you turned to Stiles and asked innocently, “Care to give me another demonstration?”

Glaring at you, trying to hide his smile, Stiles mumbled, “I hate you. Already I hate this situation. The two people in this world who can be my best friend and my worst enemy at the same time merging into one power. We are all going to die. A slow and sarcastic death, with lots of glares, and longing looks, and finding the two of you in broom closets and scorching our corneas-”

You grabbed him by the ear and hauled him gently over to the table. “Help. Plot. Go be a hero, Stiles.”

“Go be a- But I’m staying here with you and Peter to be babysat!”

You shooed him away. “Fine. Then go help. Plot. Scheme. Do your thing.” You grabbed Derek’s hand where it rested on the table near the maps, “Just leave my thing alone.”

“Ew,” all three males voiced, making you and Derek laugh.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Stiles mumbled.

“Now why couldn’t you have shown up sooner?” Derek asked you quietly. “I’ve been trying to get them to leave me alone for years.”

You laughed.

“Believe me. I’ve been here the whole time. Sometimes we just have to come full circle to see what was really there from the start.”

Xxx

Tags: @evyiione @thats-music-to-my-ears @palaiasaurus64 @shydinosaurcandy @lucyqueenofthestars @c-breanne1999 @l4life What’s this?

#derek hale imagine #derek hale x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x reader insert #derek hale x reader insert #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall x reader #peter hale imagine #peter hale x reader #scott mccall x reader insert #peter hale x reader insert #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x reader insert #teen wolf fluff #teen wolf #fluff #tw fluff

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falseroar · 6 years ago

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Dark Laughter Part 1: What Dark Saw

((This is a continuation of Can You Wake Up?, a Who Killed Markiplier-inspired fan fic, set in the present day where Y/N has escaped from the mirror and more or less settled in with (Actor) Mark and his egos. This particular story does veer into horror, and while I try never to go into too much detail, it does make occasional references to blood and violent/uncomfortable situations.))

Dark paced the halls of the egos’ house. It was a nightly habit he had taken up over the last few months, ever since his exile from and return to the house. Before, he had so much to do: the egos looked to him for guidance, for direction, and he provided it, and more. He was the one with the plans, with goals, with the vision that they could be more than just cheap knock-offs of their creator. They could have been useful. They would have been lost without him in the beginning.

How easily they chose to forget that.

Now, he was tolerated. He was mocked. He was forgotten.

Dark passed by the dark and empty conference room, his reflection in the glass walls catching the double and triple afterimages that followed in his wake as the memory of how the egos currently treated him piled up, one after the other. His reflection caught the moment that a sneer twisted his mouth and the afterimages echoed the gesture.

They might forget, but he wouldn’t.

After all, he knew better than anyone how power shifted, how the right words in the right ears could change everything. And he knew just the person to start with even if it took time. He had been patient before; he could do it again, if it meant regaining control and his rightful place at the head of the house. Then the fun could really start.

A sound that he did not quite catch seemed to answer that thought and Dark looked up and around. He had thought he was alone on this floor, but now he saw a figure standing at the end of the hall. A figure he could recognize anywhere—it was almost as if you had heard him thinking about you.

“Y/N,” Dark started, but his prepared, easy smile died before it even reached his lips.

There was something wrong.

You stood there, at the end of the hall, head bent at an angle Dark now realized wasn’t quite right. While you were too far away for him to make out your face, he could clearly see the scarlet stains on your chest, on your hands, in the drop that fell in the sudden silence.

“Y/N?” Dark moved forward, hand reaching out instinctively, but you turned away from him.

Why were you walking away?

Dark’s aura surged around him as he moved forward, allowing him to clear the distance to the end of the hall in the blink of an eye.

And you were nowhere to be seen.

“Darkiplier appears in the middle of the hallway, blocking the Host and Google’s path as he appears to be looking for something. Google begins to speak, but Darkiplier interrupts him and says—”

“Where is Y/N? Which way did they go?” Dark turned toward the stairs, but there was no way you could have made it that far, not that quickly and not in that condition.

“I am no longer allowed to accept queries for information from you,” Google answered in his usual flat monotone. “But it is within my parameters to give you one of these.”

Dark scowled as the android flipped him off but he didn’t have time for this. “Y/N, you must have seen them, they were right here a second ago!”

“Darkiplier is incorrect,” the Host responded. “Y/N is staying at Markiplier’s house tonight.”

“I know what I saw,” Dark said, but that didn’t answer his questions.

What had happened to you? Where did you go? How could you disappear so quickly?

Dark glanced down at the carpet, remembering the blood that dripped from your hand, but there was nothing there.

“Perhaps Darkiplier is seeing things,” Google said. “I am given to understand that human bodies are susceptible to stress, and your current heart rate and blood pressure appears to be well over—”

“I know what I saw,” Dark repeated, his words punctuated by the ring of his aura. “Host, tell him.”

“The Host does not take orders from Darkiplier. The Host does not know what Darkiplier is talking about, and frankly, the Host does not care.”

Google smirked and Dark had a sudden urge to rip the head off the android that he quelled, with effort.

“Something is wrong, if you would just listen to me and get your head out of your—”

The android grabbed Dark’s wrist before he could lay a hand on the Host, the ‘G’ on his shirt glowing as a red light appeared in the brown of his eyes. “Darkiplier is in danger of enacting the Wilford Protocol if he continues on his current action.”

“You actually call it the Wilford Protocol?” Dark asked, his disdain not quite covering up the frustration as he felt the android’s grip tighten. Google was hardly a threat even with all his units gathered together, but if Wilford were to get involved…

“Yes, we do. We find it…amusing,” Google answered, releasing his grip with another grin. “Would Darkiplier like to enact it now?”

“…No.” Dark spat out the word, his aura tossing and heaving in a spiral of red and blue afterimages at the insult to his pride.

He stepped aside and allowed the two egos to pass. To his surprise, the Host did pause and say aloud, “Whatever Darkiplier thinks he saw, it was not Y/N.”

“Yes, you said,” Dark muttered, and watched as the Host and Google walked down the stairs.

Once they were out of sight, he turned again to take in the hallway as a whole. From the direction Google and the Host came from, he could see a long stretch of hall with no room for anyone to hide. Even the walls were bare. A mirror had hung here before, but you had broken that with your arrival over a year ago and the replacement found its way to the first floor after the Host expressed some distaste at the idea of putting it back here. There was no way the Host or Google could have missed you if you went this way.

Dark remembered how he saw you: the tilt of your neck, the blood. He had seen it before, here, over a year ago. Now that he thought about it, even the clothes were the same.

But he knew what he saw.

Dark pulled a cellphone out of his pocket and dialed a number he never expected to call, especially not like this. The voice that answered on the other end was heavy and slow from sleep, but Dark did not waste time on waiting for him to wake up.

“Is Y/N there?”

“What?” Mark asked, barely able to hold back a yawn.

“Is Y/N there? Are they okay?”

“Dark? Is that you?” Suddenly Mark sounded much more awake as he asked, “What’s going on?”

“Just check on them,” Dark said, and as an afterthought added a slightly gentler, “Please.”

On the other end, Mark stood up and made his way across his dark room, Dark’s questions sparking a shot of anxiety even as he said, “They should still be asleep, they went to bed hours ago. Let me check their room first.”

“Where else would they be?” Dark asked, but he sounded more frustrated at waiting than sarcastic.

“Sometimes they sleep in the Barrel,” Mark said, lowering his voice as he made his way down the hall.

“That old van? Why?”

“They have nightmares,” Mark said as he stopped outside of your room and knocked gently. When you didn’t answer, he opened the door and peered inside.

At the sight of you deep asleep in your bed he breathed a sigh of relief even though he wasn’t sure why and whispered, “They’re fine, they’re just sleeping.”

He heard an identical sigh on the other end of the line. After a pause, Dark said, sounding much more like his regular self, “What do nightmares have to do with the van?”

Mark started to answer and thought of the first time he found your room empty in the middle of the night. It couldn’t have been more than a month after you “arrived”, and he had seen you emerge from the van often enough in the morning to know where to look.

“Y/N?” Mark asked as he looked into the back of the dark van.

You barely stirred at the sound of his voice and he shivered, standing there in the cold garage. How long had you been out here?

After a moment to consider, he climbed inside the van and came out a minute later carrying you, his awkward hold still not enough to wake you up completely.

Or at least, that’s what he thought until a couple of steps away from the garage door, when you suddenly gripped the sleeve of his shirt, twisting it in your hand as you said, “Please.”

“Y/N?” Mark tilted his head to look at your face, but your eyes were barely open. You were still dreaming?

“Please, I don’t want to go back in the house.”

Mark still felt the ache in his chest as he remembered how he softly said, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” as he took you back to the van, his reassurances as he found another blanket to keep you warm and you fell back to sleep. You never said anything, and he doubted you even remembered it the next morning, but that was the first and last time he tried to bring you back inside before you were ready.

You shivered in your sleep and Mark remembered exactly who he was talking to. “You should know why. You caused them.”

Before Dark could answer, Mark turned off his phone and went to get another blanket.

On the other end, Dark stared at his phone and felt the circuits crackle and fry from the intense interference of his aura as it spread out and covered the hall.

“I know what I saw,” Dark said aloud to the empty hall, but the third time the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

((End of Part 1. Thank you for reading!

Usually I’ve tried to post a part a day, but with this story I think I’ll try to go for a new part every other day. There’s a couple of reasons why, including because some of the parts are going to be on the longer side to avoid splitting them up. Hope that’s okay.

And here’s the link to Part 2: I’m Trying.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist ))

#markiplier #who killed markiplier #fan fic #Darkiplier #wkm y/n #wkm mark #the host #googliplier #dark laughter #I know what I saw #The one at the end of the hall #But you didn't see #How it smiled back at me

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star-anise · 6 years ago

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So. I’m currently reading Arrows of the Queen, by Mercedes Lackey, since it was finally released on audiobook this year. Re-reading, in fact; reading these books as a 31-year-old therapist instead of a starry-eyed 13-year-old.

I ranted the other night about the book's depiction of Elspeth as "spoiled" instead of "abused", and @feathersescapism (as part of the post's excellent and thoughtful contributions) said this about Mercedes Lackey:

It’s so effing messy for me because like on the one hand she saved my life. She was the VERY first place I saw loving, validated, celebrated queer relationships and ironically Vanyel was the first time I saw an example of someone who was angry and hurt and messy and bad at people and bullied but not a passive victim be portrayed as fundamentally loveable. As in fact valuable enough, worthy enough to be PURSUED, even, to have someone make the effort to get past his hostile defense behaviors. That was priceless to me. Unfortunately it’s like….it was water when I was dying of thirst but it turns out it was water laced with heavy metals that then did a lot of long term damage.

Which is partly just a concentration thing; if you are drinking from many wells, having one be poisoned won't damage you as much overall. But if it's your only source of water, even trace amounts get dangerous. And, well, we were Eighties babies, mentally ill queer kids with access to small-town libraries who ducked guidance counsellors who pushed conformity as the path to happiness.

So I just found a scene that I think really shows that Lackey was writing from a specifically 80s understanding of psychology, before we knew almost anything about trauma; as considered today, it's bad practice on multiple levels, and can point to some of the underlying problems with the Valdemar worldview.

TW child abuse, child neglect

So in this part of the book, 13-year-old Talia, who was rescued from her awful abusive life among the Holderkin by a giant magical horse, is settling into her new life as a Herald-trainee. She attends classes during the day, and then sleeps in her own room in a dormitory wing of her fellow trainees. Her teachers know that she displays all the symptoms of an abused child, and that she's from an extremely insular and rigid culture.

Her teacher, Teren, asks her to stay after class, and she does, wary and panicked because she doesn't know what's going on. He explains that the Heralds sent a letter back to her family to explain that her disappearance was because of the magical horse choosing her as a future Herald, and they get half-taxes that year and she's going to be very important. Her family, however, replies to say only, "Sensholding has no daughter Talia." Because she ran away instead of staying and getting married, she is disobedient and bad, and therefore totally shunned by her entire community.

She didn't realize she was weeping until a single hot tear splashed on the paper, blurring the ink. She regained control of herself immediately, swallowing down the tears. [...] It was odd, but when she'd chosen to run away, their certain excommunication hadn't seemed so great a price to pay for freedom; but somehow now, after all her hopes for forgiveness had been raised only to be destroyed by this one note-- Never mind; once again she was on her own--and Herald Teren would hardly approve of her sniveling over the situation. "It's all right," she said, handing back the note to the Herald. "I should have expected it." She was proud that her voice only trembled a little, and that she was able to meet his eyes squarely. Teren was startled and slightly alarmed; not at her reaction to the note, but by her immediate iron-willed suppression of it. This was not a healthy response. She should have allowed herself the weakness of tears; any child her age should have. Instead, she was holding back, turning further into herself. He tried, tentatively, to call those tears back to the surface where they belonged. Such suppression of natural feelings could only mean deep emotional turmoil later--and would only serve as one more brick in the wall the child had placed between herself and the others around her. "I wish there was something I could do to help." Teren was exceedingly distressed and tried to show that he was as much distressed at the child's denial of her own grief as with the situation itself. "I can't understand why they should have replied like this." If he could just get her to at least admit that the situation made her unhappy, he would have an opening wedge in getting her to trust him. [...] "I'm going to be late--" Talia winced away from the outheld hand and ran, wishing Teren had been less sympathetic. He'd brought her tears perilously close to the surface again. She'd wanted, above all other things, to break down and cry on his shoulder. But--no. She didn't dare. When kith and kin could deny her so completely, what might not strangers do, especially if she exposed her weaknesses? And Heralds were supposed to be self-sufficient, self-reliant. She would not show that she was unworthy and weak.

What I took away from this book, at 13 and during most successive readings, was that the fault in this situation is Talia's unwillingness to trust Teren and break down. It is her inability to open up emotionally to her deep, vulnerable feelings that causes problems. I suspect that my reading is not terribly far off the narrative's own perception of the central problem. In the 1980s, psychology was very based around the individual, the dance of the id, ego, and superego. Talia's problem is that she has an overactive superego, which prevents her from expressing her natural feelings in a healthy way. She uses unhealthy coping mechanisms, which must be overcome to achieve health and full congruence with her feelings. This runs very much on the catharsis model, where emotions build up like a boil, and must be lanced; once someone "vents", they feel better.

Now, at 31, and trained to help vulnerable 13-year-olds, I can see a lot of differences in how I'd assess the problem now. The trauma field especially has come to understand that humans are essentially relational beings; our brains are born in relationships. We function best in relationships. We need, more than anything else, to feel connected and understood. And then, above that: we are beings in brains and bodies. Our consciousness is limited by the hardware it runs on. If our body is dedicating all its resources to fight-or-flight, we cannot be rational, logical thinkers. We need to understand how to regulate our own emotions, both by personal actions and through relationships with others, to achieve health. It takes repeated, patterned practice to master the skills of understanding and moderating those emotions. Coping mechanisms may be unhealthy, but as I was taught in grad school, "All psychopathology was adaptive once." If you're going to take away someone's unhealthy coping mechanism, you need to have first replaced it with something healthier.

So looking at this scene now, I can point out that Talia represses her emotions instantly because in her family of origin, she got beaten up for crying. Her teachers have already observed that she has the defensive and startle-reactions of an abused child. It should not be very hard for Teren to put two and two together and think: She has been systematically trained to view emotion as unsafe.

He could, at this point, make the rules of their current situation clear: "It's all right to cry. You don't have to put on a brave face for me." This would let Talia know that she won't lose support or status if she cries. But that assumes, frankly, that she can cry; that the experience of being vulnerable in front of another human being wouldn't be too overwhelming, perhaps terrifying, for her to bear. He could also validate that, and let Talia know he sees her and understands. "It'd be all right if you let that guard down, but it looks like you've got a lot of experience with dealing with hard knocks. If you ever do want to talk about it, I'm here."

It's important for him not to try to force her to show feeling the way he thinks she should. He doesn't actually know that it's safe, or that he's safe. Traumatized people need, more than almost anything else, to achieve a measure of control over their own emotions and bodies. They need to be able to make themselves calm when they need to be calm, and not to be ambushed with sadness or fear out of the blue. It should be, more than anything, Talia's decision of when and where to express her emotions. Is bottling it all up unhealthy for her? Oh, probably. She might get depression later this month, or heart disease in 40 years. But being forced to cry when she's not ready to can leave her feeling violated and retraumatized, right here, right now.

The thing that makes crying comforting for most people is that they have a very deep pattern etched on their brains: They cry, someone comforts them, their pain recedes, they feel calmer. It's the pattern of a thousand hungry wakeups as a baby where someone was gentle and kind and fed them. It's skinned knees kissed and broken toys mended. But Talia probably doesn't have that; her experience of crying has been that she's punished and abused for it, and as an infant whose mother died in childbirth, she probably wasn't adequately nurtured either to build those good associations in the first place. Crying just takes her into a deeper place of loneliness and self-hatred. So for her to soothe herself, she might need to be taught very basic ways of doing that--to take a break, to do something she loves, to get a hug from a friend. Her traditional reaction has been to mask her emotions, and to self-isolate and let those feelings of pain and alienation swamp her.

What he could even do, as I sometimes do as a therapist, is respect that repression as a way of coping and roll with it. If someone can only bear the most glancing reference to their trauma? Then glance. Use black humour or obvious irony to acknowledge the situation without engaging with its emotional depth. “So, you know, no big deal. I bet that’s what you’ve always wanted.” So long as it’s paired with other kinds of real caring--especially useful, immediate help and close emotional attunement--that’s not out of place.

One thing he seems to have assumed is that of course, if your family is awful and devastating, you get to take the morning off to cry. I can only assume that's why he's pushing her to cry at the end of class, when she has another one to go to right after. But she might not know that. Certainly her familyexpected that if they did something awful and devastating, Talia needed to get back to work as soon as possible. Teren doesn't discuss this, and I think it's important; Talia goes to something like four other classes, has lunch, and reads for an hour before she finally gets to do anything relevant to taking care of her emotions. Implicitly, the idea that schedule and routine supercede emotions, and that emotional work takes second place, gets reinforced by the system that thinks it's "saving" her.

The other thing traumatized people struggle with, next to control, is connection. Trauma is hugely isolating; it reroutes resources away from the parts of the brain that foster social connection, so people literally lose track of anyone who might be loving and supportive, and it's hard to make ordinary people understand what you're going through. This is part of why Teren showing Talia all his distress isn't really good for her; he's overloading her still further with natural empathy for his emotions, increasing the weight she has to carry mentally, but not reinforcing her connections. He doesn't remind her that other Heralds are her family now, nor does he give her help in how to reach out to anyone.

Who might Teren remind her of? As much as he's taking on the role of The Person She Can Be Emotional To, he's hardly ever in her life; this is the last day of their week-long class where he met her for one hour a morning. He could encourage her to talk to one of her regular teachers, including his twin Keren, who teaches her equitation, or the cook, in whose kitchen Talia is most confident and in her element. If her dormitory had older Heralds who lived there in a kind of supervisory or mentoring role, spending hours of unstructured free time with the trainees, he could direct her to one of them. He could even direct her to her age-peers, with whom she lives, who might not be the most emotionally attuned but certainly seem to be the group with whom the Heralds expect her to do most of her emotional bonding.

Or he could--now here's a thought--suggest she spend the rest of the morning with the magical psychic horse who can beam rays of love and devotion directly into her brain.

But he doesn't. It is only after Talia has attended classes on history, geography, mathematics, etiquette, and archery, eaten lunch, read for an hour, and cried in the back of the sewing room, that she finally sees her magic horse. And she does feel a bit better! But by then, her major adrenaline has worn off, and with it the ability to etch memories deeply into her brain; the first hours after her shock were spent ignoring her feelings and being disconnected from people who didn't notice she was in pain, thus reinforcing all her old traumatic impressions.

So the book sets up a recurring number of incidents where Talia's loneliness and isolation is reinforced by the world around her; where no one provides her the necessary scaffolding to help her build bridges with other people and develop the skills to be healthier; and then, as happens throughout the series, when something bad happens to her, she is blamed for being so isolated and repressed.

When I was 13, I had no framework to understand any of this. On the schoolyard, I'd been taught many of Talia's lessons about the dangers of showing weakness, and in the classroom, about the importance of repressing emotions; I used her as an emotional model. (Later in the books, Talia lbecomes an Empath and Mind-Healer, which hugely impacted my decision to become a therapist.) But then, when her loneliness turned into defencelessness and her lack of emotional control turned into instability, the narrative said it was her fault for not being healthier. And so I thought: Yes. It is completely reasonable to provide a young person with no emotional support at all, and then get mad at them for being fucked up.

And so there's lead in the water.

#staranise original #therapisting #valdemar revisited #child abuse tw #child neglect tw #trauma tw

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j-k-notrowling · 5 years ago

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Untitled

Hi there! Spoilers up front: this is a gratuitously long-winded “thank you,” not an Ask (also I’m 31 and don’t know how to Social Media so apologies if this is the wrong page/tab/link/widget).

--(oh actually it’s a blog post now because of course I can’t send an “Ask” this stupidly long see? wasn’t kidding about that Social Media thing...)--

I started writing my first book in the Fall of 2016. Before that I’d only written songs. One day I got an idea which didn’t fit within the usual rhymes or rhythms. I tried and tried, but kept on hitting a wall. In addition, I was fed up with the whole “business” of music—the fragile egos, the politics of being in a band, all that. One morning I sat down at my HP desktop computer (again...31) and opened up a blank Word document. I stared at it with murderous intent for a long time, but nothing happened. So I grabbed the nearest book off the shelf (Crash by J.G. Ballard), opened it, and began to type out the first paragraph, copying the sentences line by line. I wanted to see what it felt like — my clumsy fingers pecking at the keyboard, observing how the words fell into place with a musical cadence and tempo almost prophetic, as though the ink were destined to dry in this exact form upon the page, the machinery of its tumultuous birth and impeccable design skillfully concealed. I paused and looked out the window. There was a squirrel on the deck, I remember. And then I saw it. Not outside but inside my own head, behind my eyelids. The song, the one I’d been struggling to write, I saw that it could be a story. I saw it had a clear beginning, middle, and end. I saw a world of characters opening doors to other worlds, other stories, other characters. This was life-changing shit. Suddenly I was a little boy at my first baseball game, drinking my first ice-cold Coke, surrounded by old men chain-smoking Marlboro Reds and muttering dirty words I’d never heard before about the [EXPLETIVES DELETED] on the opposing team. I’d discovered a fire fueled by the psychic anarchy of its own discovery, a Moebius-strip of dramatic invention, a repository for all the pop-cultural turds floating around inside the cracked porcelain toilet bowl of my skull. I wrote prose every night after work. I never thought about what I was doing. I never once stopped to check word counts or page counts. I never thought about sticking to an outline, making sure my story adhered to a specific plot structure, none of that. I wrote like a man in love. Delirious, overheated teenage love. Wear-my-ill-fitting-letterman’s-jacket love (is this also A Thing™️ in Canada?). Stupid stupid stupid love, naive and hormonal and precious and retrospectively mortifying. I’d turn off the world, turn on the music, sit back and watch the words sashay straight into my lap. It took 2-3 months before the ruthless scourge known as Self Doubt farted in my private elevator. Am I doing this right? How many words are in a book, anyway? How many pages? How long is this going to take? Is this an effective way to impress women and/or get laid? Am I writing a novel or a novella? The fuck is “flash fiction”? Are you allowed to write actual books in Microsoft Word? Does it matter that my free trial version of Microsoft Word expires in 30 days? They’re bluffing, right? And so on. I compared my own writing with that of authors I admired; subsequently, I couldn’t get out of bed for a week. I watched 40+ hours of “Kitchen Nightmares” reruns (it’s. the. same. fucking. formula. every. single. episode.) and nursed my shame with bowl after bowl of strawberry ice cream. To think — I’d TOLD people about this fool’s errand, and sooner or later I’d have to show them precisely how awful a writer I was... I turned to the Internet for advice. At first, it seemed like a godsend. There was such a litany of knowledge, so many pro-tips and life hacks and proven formulas for success. This was how I stumbled across your channel. I found other channels which offered more straightforward “DO IT LIKE THIS YOU FUCKING IDIOT” instructions, but I still enjoyed yours the most. I lol-ed at your jokes. I remember a few videos where you spoke highly about All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, which remains among the most achingly beautiful books I’ve ever read. Also you’re Canadian, and you guys just generally Human better than we (Americans) Human. ...and here my troubles began. See, the more I tried to adhere to word count goals, the more I tried to properly organize the scenes on my Scrivener™️ virtual cork board, the less I enjoyed the actual process of writing. So I tried other things, based upon other writers’ suggestions: cut the adverbs, write in the morning, write at night, write during your lunch break, write an outline, stick to the outline, write x amount of pages per day, write x number of hours per day, spend x amount of hours drafting and x amount of hours editing, etc. But nothing I tried made me feel confident in my writing. I started actively hating it, to be honest. I dreaded the cursor and the infinite white void. Then I would watch more writing videos and feel guilty about my lack of ambition, my inability to accomplish simple tasks. It’s only a few thousand words, dude — just get in there and do it. Eventually I would. I’d grumble and feel miserable and stay locked in my little writing dungeon all night, ignoring my friends’ texts and phone calls, and the next day I’d hate everything I wrote, trash it, and start over. Then, when I had no more writing left to hate, I started hating myself. The words in my head turned malignant, putrefied into spongy, black tumors. I’d spend all day at work consumed by thoughts and ideas and goals! goals! goals! for my book, then I’d come home and stare at a blinking cursor and wonder why I was such a worthless failure. I couldn’t write the way these other writers did, no matter what I tried. But I still wanted to write. Needed to, in that yearning, terrible way I suspect you understand. I don’t know why The Internet subconsciously invites us to flay ourselves before total strangers, but it does. So I will. Shit got Dark™️, Shaelin. I gained 50 pounds, started living like a hoarder, stopped hanging out with my friends, stopped leaving the house altogether. I kept the curtains closed so my neighbors wouldn’t see the piles of empty take-out boxes stacked up on the kitchen table. I traded the pleasures and contradictions and beguiling enigmas of women for the 24-hour neon distraction of cheap porno. My cat Maggie, basically the only friend I had during this time, got cancer. I watched her suffer and waste away because I couldn’t bear the thought of putting her to sleep and coming home alone to an empty, filthy house. Eventually she died and I hated myself even more for not being able to save her. I wore the same pair of pants for six months. I’d go to work and sit at my desk all day and do absolutely nothing (I was the accounting manager at a small company, technically my own “boss,” so I got away with this for a shocking, frankly heroic amount of time). Then I simply stopped going to work. And I kept torturing myself with those stupid goals and word counts, never happy with the end result, resigned to feel like a failure every day. I remember watching your “Spill the Tea” video back when it was initially posted. Watching it now is eerie, because you describe exactly what I was going through, what I was feeling. Like, to the “T” (see what I did there? #WordPlay #LitPuns101). I’d never experienced anxiety/depression before, so I didn’t really understand what was happening to me. Not that it mattered, because by that point the damage was done. I couldn’t recognize and isolate the real problem. I’d given up. Even though you said a lot of things in that video I desperately, desperately needed to hear, I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen to you, because you were one of Them™️. Your eyes were bright and your voice sounded friendly and encouraging, but your name wasn’t McCarthy or Pynchon or DeLillo or Nabokov. You were just a kid. What could you possibly know that I didn’t? In January of this year I called a local psychiatric hospital and told them I was planning to kill myself. I never harbored any true intentions of doing that, but I figured they’d offer me a nice three-week vacation in a padded cell. Considering the circumstances, it honestly seemed like a relief. I ended up quitting my job, selling my house, and moving back in with my parents 300 miles away. I started seeing a therapist once a week (still do, for the record). So far I’ve lost 30 pounds of the 50 pound surplus I acquired. I kept watching your videos, even though I was no longer in the market for writing advice (#JustHereForTheSnark). You kept me lol-ing through some bad days and weeks and months. I’d listen to you talk about problems with the writing community and nod my head like an old woman in church (#ShaelinSermons™️ #SheTeachesANDShePreaches), but I still hadn’t made the connection with my own issues. I swore off writing completely, went back to playing music. Cover songs in coffee shops and family restaurants. It was fun for awhile. I genuinely felt happier. But my story was still an old pebble poking around in my shoe...calling out, issuing playground taunts, drawing hairy cartoon dicks on my forehead while I slept. About a month ago I stared down another blank page, my first since experiencing that fun-sized nervous breakdown earlier this year. I closed my eyes and heard your voice in my head. “You can do whatever you want.” I had no goals, no arbitrary quotas to meet. I wrote a few lines, stopped, fixed a couple things I wasn’t satisfied with, and then went on with my day. I thought about what I’d written, sure, but I didn’t worry or spend the whole day stressing out. The next morning I read over what I’d done, and I didn’t hate it. I thought it was actually pretty good, funny and off-kilter and a little/lotta fucked up. So I sat down and wrote some more. Took some things out, re-worded stuff, dressed up the bones in silver and pearls. Addition and subtraction. Before I knew it, I’d finished a whole page. Then another. And then the hair on the back of my neck stood up, because I remembered: This is how it felt at the beginning. Back when I was young and love-struck and writing only to catch those moments of pure levitation, that devilish tickle, that rush of blood propelled by my own wild heart. It’s been a rough road, but I finally found what I’d lost. I figured out how to write again and enjoy it. And ultimately, the best writing advice I received didn’t come from McCarthy or Pynchon or DeLillo or Nabokov. It came from a young woman in another country with a camera and a nose ring and a big tapestry and bigger dreams which run parallel to my own. So thank you. Thank you for taking time out of your busy life and braving the Steaming Pile™️ that is The Internet to offer words of empathy and encouragement to complete strangers. Thank you for the wisdom you share. Thank you for being who you are. Know that tonight the stars shine brighter as a result. They do for me, at least. (Also I’m sincerely sorry about the absurd length of this “Ask” wherein no actual questions were posed and nothing substantial was communicated beyond a simple yet torturously delayed “thank you” kthxbye #longlivethenewtapestry

—Justin)

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jbuffyangel · 6 years ago

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Isn't interesting that KC was noticeably absent during SDCC? If the upcoming redemption for BS and vengeance for Quentin aren't something talked about at sdcc, could it be that BS/LL 2.0 aren't going to be relevant storylines going forward?? Or is it just wishful thinking that KC might be leaving the show, 2 years since her character was killed off?

Anon asked: Hello Jen just saw the s7 sizzle reel and confused and a bit annoyed that the writers are dragging along another season with BS. It seems she is still pretending to be LL and in what seems to be 1summer has gotten a law degree. So how do you think this redemption arc is going to work? BS is seeking absolution as someone else? Makes no sense. The one character that connects her to the narrative is dead, now she’s seeking vengeance for QL. How they twist the plot to fit BS? What’s ur take on this?

Anon asked: Hello Jen - Big fan of your blog and all your insights. I just read that they’re bring back KC as a regular next season. Why is it harder to get rid of L*rel/not L*rel from Arrow than getting gum off one’s shoe? I still love Olicity but after the loss of Thea and Lance, I’m definitely not too excited for next season. Your thoughts?

Uhhh… when was the last time KC’s character was relevant? When she died?

I don’t know the reason for KC’s absence, something about family commitments. I don’t think it’s a tip off that she’s leaving the show like it was at SDCC 2015. The lack of discussion around her character says to me she’ll have as much relevancy as she’s ever had, which ain’t much.

If the season theme is redemption then I’m sure BS will be trying to redeem herself to honor Quentin’s sacrifice (still so much ridiculousness). Quentin died for BS because he wanted to die for his L*urel, but couldn’t.

What the man really needed was copious amounts of therapy, but what’s done is done. Arrow killed off the one character BS shared the most screen time with so I anticipate she’ll be playing a smaller role because of it. I’ve been wrong before, but time will tell.

Do I think it makes sense for BS to stick around and pretend to be LL? No. Quentin was her last “familial” connection in Star City and it was tenuous at best. I’d prefer to see BS on Legends and watch Sara grapple with the woman who wears her sister’s face, but is nothing like her. I’m sure I’m in the minority though.

I think the BS redemption will be a cycle of ups and downs. Sometimes she’ll be the better person and sometimes she won’t. The only real interesting element to the character is that she is evil - that she’s not Laurel.

So, I think it would be a mistake for the show to ignore that completely and I don’t believe they will. From my perspective BS is the new Malcolm Merlyn. Merlyn always promised he changed, and every so often even did the right thing, but more often the character was working an angle that benefited him. And Oliver Queen never trusted Malcolm Merlyn.

Beth did say a little something about Bl*ck S*ren’s storyline at SDCC:

“The demise of her father’s Earth-1 counterpart is a huge story point moving forward. She will try to live up to the L*urel L*nce legacy to make him proud. But her alter ego, Bl*ck S*ren, has her craving vengeance.”

Source: @legends-of-today

The real question for me is where does BS start the season? If she’s been on the straight and narrow for the last five months, pretending to be LL, then she’s starting out high. The pendulum will swing the other way. So, her arc could be trying to be a better person, but ultimately failing by season’s end. Just because the season’s theme is redemption doesn’t mean everyone will achieve it. This would be the more interesting route to me because it keeps the evil angle in play.

Look at it this way - what happens if Arrow fully redeems Bl*ck Sir*n? Her character arc is over the same way LL’s was over once she became Bl*ck C*nary. The writers are right back where they started, which is why they killed her off in the first place.

So, this redemptive tug of war is one of the few storylines that keeps Bl*ck Sir*n interesting. Possibly.

Quite frankly, I was woefully disappointed in her character arc in S6. We started off with a bang in Season 5, but ended in a whimper. The writers relegated a powerful meta human to a damsel in distress. Bl*ck Sir*n was a ping pong ball Lance and Diaz batted between them. It was bizarre.

And let’s keep in mind Bl*ck Sir*n’s need for revenge is a primary reason Diaz is free. She screwed up Oliver’s plan something big, so now his family is in witness protection while he sits in prison absolutely powerless to protect them.

BS isn’t winning any popularity contests with Team Arrow, no matter how many law books she crams or nice suits she wears. She’s an uncontrollable element, an X factor. That’s the only way she adds drama to the show. Remove that and there’s not much else.

Also, if you are expecting her ability to practice law to make sense may I remind you the writers thought LL was ready to fight crime after a couple boxing lessons. After they completely erased LL’s self defense classes, of course. Don’t try to make sense of it. Logic doesn’t apply to any version of this character.

Of course, my investment in Bl*ck Sir*n is biased because I am thoroughly apathetic about the character, just like I was with LL by the end. I own that. But let’s address what the LL fans really want. They want Bl*ck S*ren to be redeemed and become LL 2.0, take back the mantle of Bl*ck C*nary, and be in a romantic relationship with Oliver.

1) Bl*ck S*renwill never be L*urel L*nce because she is a different character.

She comes from a different world with an entirely different life experience. I’m not just saying this because it’s a LL doppelganger. If another Roy from a different earth arrives in Star City would we say that’s our Roy? OF COURSE NOT. Our Roy is off living his happily ever after with Thea wiping out Lazarus Pits. Is Nazis Oliver the same as our Oliver? NOOOOO!

BS is a different character because it’s a different character. Anyone who cannot accept that can’t accept logic.

2) Bl*ck S*ren will never be Bl*ck C&nary because Arrow already has a new Bl*ck C*nary (Dinah Drake). PIPE DREAM.

3) Forget all that for a second. Let’s say Bl*ck S*ren becomes this unattainable 2.0 version of LL as KC fans desire. Let’s say she takes back the Bl*ck C*nary mantle. Oliver Queen wouldn’t touch BS with a ten foot pole. He wouldn’t touch L*urel with a ten foot pole by the time she died.

That’s just fact. If you need additional reassurance then the writers have said many times Bl*ck S*renand Oliver Queen are never going to happen. Oliver’s endgame is and will always be Felicity Smoak.

So what’s the real impact to a BS redemption story? Not much. It’s the same equivalent of giving L*urel the motorcycle or whatever other crumbs they tossed her fans. Give it to them. Or don’t. It doesn’t really matter either way.

Arrow killing off L*urel was one of their ballsier moves, and yes it’s disappointing to see them circumvent it with this doppelganger nonsense. It lessens the impact of death which was one of the many reasons they killed LL. They needed to raise the stakes for the superheroes and show the audience they can die.

Do I think Arrow will kill off KC’s character again? No. I don’t. The writers say they have new ways to utilize the actress with this different character. I think that’s partially true. I also think KC has nine lives and a hell of a team of lawyers.

But the truth is she will never be the female lead again.

BS will continue to be a supporting character like the newbies. And, like the newbies, function best in a B (or C) storyline that ultimately supports the leads - Oliver, Felicity and Diggle.

I know there are many who are frustrated BS is still around. I know any version of this character drives you up the wall. If there are those who enjoy the character then great! For those who don’t, you can always fast forward. But her impact is null and void for me. Would it be better if her screen time went to other characters? Absolutely, but I’m not wasting my energy stressing about it. My apathy is a peaceful place.

The upside for me is the writers are never shy about directing snark at BS, which gives me a free pass to be equally as snarky in my reviews. And that’s nifty.

#asks #anti katie cassidy #anti laurel lance #anti black siren #switzerlaurel #switzerlance #arrow #arrow spoilers #spoiler theoretical #anti laurel lance meta

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perseuesjackson · 7 years ago

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seeing me

ao3 | ffn

summary It's not easy, not when you're in love with your best friend, not when your best friend is a superhero. But what's even harder than is trying to tell your best friend you knew she was a superhero, especially when she didn't want you to know.

word count 16120

a/n this is the second part to this fic. i wrote this a long time ago and never posted on tumblr, and meant to post right after i posted the first part, but five months later here we are.

hope u guys enjoy it :) have some fluff

He’s pictured finding Ladybug’s secret alter ego a million times.

Probably even more, if he was willing to admit that.

Adrien never expected Ladybug to be sitting behind him class—for years. They’ve been classmates for years and he’s never noticed.

He might have to give that to Marinette; he hadn’t noticed her without the mask. At least, initially.

But now—now, he knew.

He didn't know what to think about this friendship with Marinette.

That's a lie. He knew exactly what to think.

What he didn’t really know what to think about was this whole Marinette-is-Ladybug-but-she-doesn’t-know-that-quite-yet situation he had with her. On one hand...it wasn’t entirely his fault that he knew, when he knew that Marinette didn’t want him to know.

Oh, who was he kidding? Adrien was guilty—he felt so incredibly guilty.

The thing was, how could he not figure it out? Since Adrien became closer friends with Marinette (a feat that he is very proud of; getting closer to her is harder than one would think), he knew her better than he knew himself. The only person that could even compare with Marinette and the connection he had with her was Ladybug and—well, there’s why.

He knew exactly when his friendship with Marinette really started. A group lunch date almost one and a half years ago when Alya (later he found out, ditched) and Nino, who caught a cold, couldn’t make it. It left Marinette so incredibly awkward that Adrien took pity on her and offered to the cancel the meeting. He was a little bummed out about that; Adrien figured it was because he had really wanted to try the Chinese restaurant Marinette suggested they go to.

Marinette said no, and that encouraged him in so many more ways than one.

He had wanted to be her friend. Really, he did. It was hard for him, however, considering Marinette never seemed to be comfortable around him. He didn’t want to force himself on to her, no matter how interesting Marinette was. So when Marinette decided to stay with him, Adrien took the chance by its reins. It wasn’t easy maintaining and building the flickering friendship he had with Marinette, but Adrien worked hard, and before he knew it, she became his best friend.

(Though, that wasn’t exactly true. She was his best friend before he even knew who she was.)

He was glad Marinette was his best friend.

Adrien wasn’t even afraid to tell Nino that. Nino, forever his best—guy—friend, smiled happily whenever he reffered to Marinette as such, though Adrien thought he saw some kind of annoyance flickering in his eyes. Arien guessed it was exasperation now that Adrien had more friends than just Nino. (Though with the way Nino’s going with Alya, Adrien thought the boy had no right to complain. Really, the four of them were like a huge family. He liked to think so anyways.)

She was his best friend—he loved that. How could Adrien not? Marinette Dupain-Cheng was absolutely amazing.

He loved visiting her. In all sorts of ways, unbeknownst to Marinette. She always surprised him, and more times than not, those surprises always made him like him more.

One of his favorites is always when Marinette showed him her designs. But a particular memory that Adrien was extremely fond of involved a scarf.

His fingers drifted over the fabrics Marinette laid out for him. She was talking animatedly, a sight that always made smile. She picked up each piece, describing where she got it, why she bought it, and what she planned on doing with it.

“This one’s for Alya’s birthday. It was hard getting this color, not to mention expensive, but anything for my best friend. It’s even reversible. See?” Marinette flipped it over. “I can’t decide what to get her though.”

“I'm sure she'll like anything you make.” He knew he did.

Marinette smiled kindly at him. “Oh, I know that. But I still want to make her something that she'll like, something practical.”

He nodded with understanding. “Still,” Adrien said, fingers brushing over the fabrics she handed to him, “I wouldn't worry about it too much. Anything you make is perfect.”

He turned to see her. There—there it was. A beautiful blush adorned her cheeks. Cute, Adrien thought with rapid heartbeats in his chest. He liked seeing her like this, spending time with her like this.

(Though he didn't realize why until later.)

“Do you always stitch your signature?” he asked, fingers feeling the bumpy etch. It looked complicated, weaving the needle up and down to get every curve of Marinette’s lengthy name.

“Mm...no. Not always. It takes up a lot of effort. Also, sometimes I’m not brave enough to stitch my signature. I’m not even gradated, you know? It’s not like I’m a world famous designer anything.” She rolled her eyes, laughing. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“No,” Adrien disagreed, surprised. “No way. There’s nothing wrong with being confident. Everyone should know that you made this amazing product.”

Marinette flushed, sending him a small glance. There—one of those looks. Not quite, but a little. “Thanks, Adrien,” she said, almost whispering. “That means a lot to me.”

“Are these all your practiced signatures?” He pawed the different fabrics, all different sizes. His eyes widened with awe at a particularly intricate one, woven with multicolored thread, almost as if it were shining. Others were smaller. Some had her entire name, only a couple with the full “Marinette Dupain-Cheng”; most were simple “M” and less, though still plenty, “MDC”.

“Yeah. I keep most of them, because I like saving everything I do. Kind of like seeing how much progress I’m making, you know?”

Adrien’s glance fell on the bright blue one. He would catch that color anywhere. How many times has he hugged the fabric of the same color to his chest, cradling it as if it would provide him comfort in ways his father hadn’t been able to?

His fingers brushed over the etched signature. This fabric was longer, and Marinette practiced her signature several times. There was an unfinished “Marinet” at the top and several “M”’s of different shapes and sizes, curled and straight, near the bottom.

A cord struck. He glanced at Marinette, who was talking about some other fabric for her gift to Alya. For the first time in a while, his focus drifted away from her, and instead, towards the fabric under his hand.

Marinette wasn’t looking at him; he couldn’t read her. But Adrien was certain. He had long ago noticed the stitched “M” near the bottom of his scarf, always curious of where his father bought it if it wasn’t one of Agreste Fashion’s products.

It had to be her. Marinette had to have made the scarf for him.

The question was, why did Nathalie play it off like a gift from his father? Was it really? Was Marinette the mere designer in this circumstance, or did she actually intend it to be a personal gift for him?

He tried replaying his birthday. It was two years ago, so he didn’t remember everything clearly. The only memories that resurfaced with lucid clarity was his feeling of immense happiness when he opened the gift, and the horrible feeling when Adrien found out he was at fault for causing Nino to become akumatized.

He tried to remember. Did Marinette talk to him that day? If the gift was from her, she had to have talked to him. But he really couldn’t recall it. It was two years ago, after all. Moreover, Adrien hadn’t been close to her back then, hadn’t noticed her.

Once again, he cursed to himself. Not noticing Marinette...It was like a crime to him. Adrien’s eyes went back to the blue fabric, to all the others Marinette had laid out. They went to her room, to her. How could he not have noticed how amazing she was earlier?

Another thought struck him.

He was falling in love with her.

Adrien does like it but that could simply be bias.

Marinette’s claim that he hated fashion wasn’t wrong—he wasn’t fond of it. Modeling for hours on end, needing to skip classes in order to fit in photoshoot sessions, turning down friend’s requests to hangout—Adrien thought it was awfully fair that he didn’t love fashion. It’s been skewed since the start, and his job as a model is probably what ruined it for him.

He briefly wondered if he would like it if he wasn’t a model, if his father wasn’t Gabriel Agreste. But that’s only wishful thinking.

Either way, Adrien felt he needed to convince Marinette—who haughtily thought she won this round, that Adrien does, in fact, detest fashion—that he likes it. Adrien threw his words around, hoping it would persuade her. The only indication that he’s being compelling is the slight fall in her triumphant expression and faint flush dusting her face. He grinned mentally at that; flirting wasn’t easy as Adrien Agreste, but somehow, with Marinette, she made everything easy. Words flowed out of his mouth simply, something that he couldn’t really do with other people. Frankly, if his father didn’t restrict him so much with his words and actions when Adrien was growing up, he could be more of an extrovert than he was now, but Gabriel Agreste did, and so here Adrien was—hiding small parts of himself from large parts of the world.

Even so, with Marinette, he was able to let himself free. Sure, he was able to do so with Nino as well, but the way he acted with the designer was just completely different from the way with his best friend. Sometimes, when he was with Marinette, he was so at ease with her it’s like he’s known her his entire life. Like he knew her better than he thought he did. Like there was a part of them they both didn’t know of, secrets he thought he didn’t know—but did.

He would see this sometimes. It wasn’t often that Adrien caught it, but at moments, he would feel a catch. Deja vu, people called it, though that word didn’t entirely fit. Adrien tried to place it, but it was practically futile.

But not quite.

He was able to catch wind of when it came. Not all the time, but small occasion. Adrien would catch it when he and Marinette fist bumped after a particular victory (when he finally beat her at Ultimate Mecha Strike III or finished the killer semester project they had been put together a year ago the forced them to pull an allnighter). Adrien would catch it when they went a little crazy (when Marinette had almost lost her head laughing and jumping to her heart’s content in hat humongous jump-park in the carnival that Nino and Alya had dragged them to a couple months ago). And above all, he would catch it when she shot a flippant remark after he threw a pun (when she would smirk, her blue eyes glimmering like the heavens—and that was almost all the time).

The point was, Adrien was almost sure he knew Marinette better in aspects that he didn’t understand yet. He swore, it was just on the tip of his tongue, like the revelation was just one push from revealing itself.

Anyways, it’s not that Adrien hated fashion. He likes it, really.

Like he said, Marinette wasn’t wrong. Adrien had little heart for the fashion industry, but the girl who showered him with the ideas of her designs and piled tons of fabrics in his arms made it better. Made him want to try harder so that maybe one day, when they grew up, they could work together. (A foolish dream, but he was a child—he could dream.)

Marinette’s accusation towards his hatred of fashion wasn’t directed incorrectly, but Adrien still felt a need to rectify her. He spouted random reasons why, most of which were true, but not quite exactly the reason why he enjoyed watching Marinette work her designs through.

He wished she would understand his hidden meaning.

A roll of the eyes, a scoff. All towards his “reasons” why.

“I like fashion,” he finished. I like you, he meant.

“My best friend loves me.”

Chat Noir raised an eyebrow. Isn’t that what best friends were supposed to do? Love their best friends?

They were talking about home life—a conversation that put him on edge whenever Ladybug breathed the word “papa” with love and affection and a talk that unnerved Ladybug whenever Chat came to anything that was remotely revealing.

But for the most part, it had ran smoothly. Nothing too bad, and Ladybug hadn’t yelled at him or pulled away yet.

“Yeah, mine too,” he replied slowly, giving Ladybug a look. She snorted.

“I mean, she loves me. She’s a huge fan of Ladybug.”

“Ah.” Chat nodded. “And does she know?”

Her partner shot him a look. “What do you think, kitty?”

Raising his hands in surrender, he bent his head down, indicating his understanding. “Got it.” He set his arms down, looking back at his partner. “Do you think you’ll ever tell her?”

Ladybug was silent. It’s always like this, whenever Chat ask a huge question like that. But he knows Ladybug trusted him, that he didn’t have any ulterior motives for asking that. Chat Noir was genuinely curious.

He lapped in that silence, already well accustomed. Ladybug took her time to answer his questions, making sure everything was filtered and anything that needed to be hidden was.

“Maybe,” she finally answered. She didn’t continue and he didn’t break the silence. “Maybe,” she repeated, “maybe after years. Maybe after when this is all over.”

“Over?”

Ladybug gave him a look. “It has to end, at some point. Whether that’s in a couple years or months or decades is a different matter. But it won’t last.” She laughed. “Can you imagine a seventy year old Ladybug trying to topple over buildings?”

He chuckled with her. “I’m sure you’ll make a radiant Ladybug, even with an elder citizenship.”

She laughed harder, bordering on guffaws. “Thanks, Chat. I’m glad you think so.” They fall quiet again, the wind and faint noises below the Eiffel Tower being the only sound in their ears. “My best friend gets a lot of interviews from Ladybug.”

“Favoritism?”

“In a way. I don’t neglect her, because I know she would be devastated without getting a Lady interview for too long. But I try not to dote on her too much.” She gave him a smile, a small one, filled with secrets. “But that’s a little hard.”

“Why don’t you tell her? I’m sure your best friend would be ecstatic to know if her best friend was her idol, Ladybug.”

Her grin fell. Chat snapped his mouth shut. He crossed a boundary, he crossed a boundary, he crossed a boundary—

Ladybug didn’t explode. She didn’t leave. Nor did she stay silent. Instead, she fell down next to him, taking a spot next to his cozy, cold-metal seat. Her head leaned against his shoulder, a gesture he’s learned over the years she only did when she’s at almost complete vulnerability. His breathing slowed, his heart thumping.

“My best friend…” Ladybug started and Chat almost breathed an audible sigh of relief when he heard of the tenderness and safety in her voice. “My best talks about me—like actually. On the internet.”

Chat Noir raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say that your best friend runs a blog on her best friend?”

“I never said blog,” Ladybug said, aghast. Chat Noir chuckled. She probably meant to elude subtly to that point, but Chat—because he was so perceptive—figured it out. Judging by the mock annoyance she wears on her face, Chat didn’t need to worry about if he intruded too much.

“And?”

“And...she runs a blog. About Ladybug. She gushes about it all the time, talking about how Ladybug is courageous, brave—”

“You’re not going to tell me that’s a lie, now is it?”

Ladybug shot him a look. “Well, fine, I’ll admit I am brave. I have to be. But that’s only as Ladybug...I’m sure you’re different as yourself too, right, Chat?”

He didn’t say anything. Of course he was.

Ladybug mirrored his thoughts. “Of course you are. Having a mask...being able to start over with a new identity where no one knew you, where they hardly see your faults because you’re literally a savior... I’m different. It’s a little stressful when my best friend talks about both of us almost at the same time. ‘You’re so clumsy!’” Ladybug mimicked. “‘Oh, by the way, did you see my new video of Ladybug? She’s so graceful!’” She scoffed.

“...Is...Is that why you don’t want to tell me who you are?” he asked after what seemed like forever. Immediately, Chat Noir wanted to take it back. He felt like he was taking Ladybug’s worries and fears and turning them against her, using it to further his own desires. Of course Chat Noir wanted to know who Ladybug was, but that wasn’t the point here. “I-I-I m-mean—”

“I know.” Ladybug turned her eyes away, but still kept herself near him. “It is,” she whispered, just barely. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were having such a deep heart-to-heart or that Chat always listened to what Ladybug had to say, he might’ve missed it.

“Ladybug, I don’t know your secret identity so I may be totally baseless in saying this...but just because you aren’t graceful or a super when you’re yourself doesn’t mean you aren’t super or a grace.”

Her head snapped up, eyes locking with his. A thin coat of tears gleaned in her eyes and Chat Noir resisted the urge to lurch forward and hug her.

“Thanks, Chat,” she murmured, resting her forehead on his shoulder, “ Thank you.”

It’s a little hard to sleep. Not impossible, but difficult. Though Adrien did manage to fall asleep, and his dreams are surrounded by ladybugs and masks.

Drearily, Adrien walked into class the next morning, setting his bag down on his desk and wanting nothing more than just to slam his face on to the table to take a nap. But he had an image to uphold, and even if his father wasn’t here, Gabriel Agreste had eyes everywhere.

“Can you believe it?” Adrien heard Alya screech to her best friend behind him. He smiled faintly. The two girls always talked amiably, loudly, not caring if anyone else in the room heard, never letting anything disturb their friendship. He turned a little to glance at them. “The hit count increased like, tenfold overnight! That’s a new record. And all because Ladybug mentioned it!”

Marinette laughed. “Well she had to. Didn’t the reporter ask her…something about publicity?”

“Yeah, the quick interview after the latest attack.” Adrien noticed Alya’s eyebrows furrowing, eyes squinting. “Did you watch it? That’s surprising. I didn’t think you liked Ladybug.”

“How can I not?” Marinette said and Adrien agreed. How can anybody not like her? Maybe even Hawkmoth had a hidden admiration for her, or at least her astounding abilities; why else would he send akumas that have bitter resentment towards the fact that Ladybug and he keeps winning, never loses?

His logic is flawed, seriously flawed. But then again, he never thought clearly when it came to Ladybug.

“Just because I’m not a huge fan— ” There was a pause, and Adrien turned again to catch Marinette’s eyes roll. He’s hit with its familiarity. “—doesn’t mean I don’t watch the news. I don’t live under a rock.”

“Fair enough,” Alya grinned. “So? So?”

“So what?” Marinette asked, laughing. Alya shoved her.

“So, what do you think? My blog’s been getting so much more attention since then.” Alya gasped. “More people are going to see it. What if they’re not impressed? Do you think I should change the appearance? You have aesthetic sense; what do you think?”

Marinette chuckled again. “Oh please, Alya. Your blog is amazing! It’s perfect; everyone loves it. You write fantastic articles. Especially since you’re not professional!” Marinette poked her best friend, then crossed her arms with confidence. “You’re not bounded by large corporations so you can say anything about Ladybug! And although you want to unmask her”—the small furrowing of her eyebrows did not go unnoticed by Adrien—“you’re unbiased! Seriously, don’t even worry about it!”

“Thanks, Marinette,” Alya said, obviously relieved. “I needed that.”

“I’m your best friend,” Marinette said, jolting Adrien. “What do you even expect from me?”

“Reading my blog more,” Alya jabbed, coercing a sheepish grin from Marinette. “You say it’s great but you barely even read it!”

“I read some of it and what I read was great! I can’t help it, Alya; I don’t care much for unmasking her! I think you respect her privacy a little more. Shouldn’t that be her choice?”

The girls continue debating, with no real animosity between them, but Adrien was already lost. There was so many things that Marinette said that overlapped with his conversation with Ladybug last night. With his heart beating rapidly, Adrien twiddled his thumbs, trying to recall and match everything up with what he knew. Ladybug’s best friend, a blog, a fear of not living up to expectations—

His eyes flicked back. Marinette laughing hard with Alya now, her rich hair catching the sunlight streaming into the room from the windows perfectly.

Heavenly, Adrien remembered.

He wasn’t stalking her.

Sometimes he had a legitimate reason to be where he was. Akuma attacks and all—they were draining. Power-wise (and physically). He couldn’t be Chat forever. Adrien had to come out at some point and he need to find places to hide.

Okay, maybe Adrien was a little curious to see where Marinette was going. But he wasn’t stalking her. Adrien often just happened to be around the area where Marinette was, generally after an akuma attack, and he took the liberty of following her a couple blocks to say hi.

That didn’t constitute as stalking if they met up coincidentally right?

It’s not his fault that Marinette kept showing up at the same places he did.

Constantly. Adrien began to think it was weird, because more times than not, he would catch a glimpse of dark hair and think it was Ladybug, running away after a victorious battle, when it was really Marinette. He would catch Marinette coming out from dark alleyways, in between building walls on market streets, even behind a trash can. He would catch her eye sometimes before he even started to approach her— not stalking!—and see her eyes widen, blush building.

And what he really began to think was strange was that Marinette would stutter out something that was obviously an excuse. The way she would flush at the sight of him then respond to his question by letting her eyes dart to the side of wherever they were and picking the first thing she saw as her reason was a blatant sign. She might as well just be shouting “HEY, I’m lying about my actual situation, but I don’t want to tell you about it!”

And he got that, really. After all, wasn’t he stuck in the same situation?

But Adrien can’t help but to be curious.

He knew he should be suppressing his Marinette-Ladybug hunch. He respected his lady’s identity and now even understood why she was so adamant in keeping it so. But it’s been months since that conversation, and even longer since Adrien’s beginning to notice that Marinette showed up in all the places he’s at after an akuma fight. No matter how much Adrien tried to push away the connection between Marinette and Ladybug, somehow, it just kept coming back.

As a season passed and almost a month into the next one, Adrien realized that his Marinette-Ladybug was no longer a mere hunch, but a practical, reasonable theory.

It’s six months after his initial speculation that Marinette was Ladybug when Adrien fully realizes he wouldn’t mind that. At all.

Strangely enough, he hadn’t even really considered that. Adrien was so concerned with not figuring out who Ladybug was and pushing that conjecture to the far corners of his brain that he didn’t think about what he felt about Marinette being Ladybug.

And he felt happy. Extremely ecstatic.

Marinette was so incredibly amazing. He couldn’t even begin to list what he liked about her. They only started to get to know to each other a year ago, and only recently were they becoming closer and closer. Adrien enjoyed spending time at Marinette’s home; it was warm and cozy and so full with love that he had desperately craved. Sabine and Tom were the best . There was practically nothing bad about visiting the bakery everyday.

There was also the fact that Adrien often visited Marinette as Chat.

The first was an impulsive decision. Was it a year ago, maybe more? Either way, Adrien can still recall the memory sharply: Marinette had offered him a comforting pep talk on one of the rare days where Adrien had let his sadness show. It was one of those days where his father wasn’t able to attend any of the events he had promised to attend, one of those days where he rubbed Ladybug the wrong way, one of those days where his best friend didn’t show up to school to cheer him up.

Instead, Marinette did. And her words were different from Nino’s. Nino would tell him all the things that were bad with his father and how unfair Adrien’s life was as a neglected child. Adrien appreciated that, really he did, but sometimes he felt as though Nino didn’t really understand.

Marinette—who wasn’t his close friend—did.

She told him how it was okay to be sad, how it was okay to hate his father, how it was okay to still want to impress him despite despising his every demand. She told him that Adrien wasn’t making wrong decisions, even though he felt like it. She told him how she would always listen, if he ever needed an ear.

Her words shocked him to his core. Adrien hadn’t expected her to say such things, hadn’t expected such truthful and a little negative words to actually make him feel better. He was intrigued and just because no one was home that night, took his own expanded to a homey bakery.

He was knocking on her trapdoor before Adrien could even second guess himself.

That opened the gate to all the visits he would make as Chat Noir. Talking to her as both of his alter egos sometimes confused him, needing him to make sure Adrien didn’t let anything slip, but he loved it. He loved every bit of it.

Slowly, but surely, Adrien knew he was getting closer to Marinette. Everytime he thought of this, he needed to resist the urge to throw both fists into the air and scream “ YES!”.

Adrien also loved helping her with her projects. Adrien wasn’t a fashion designer, but he still had taste. Growing up in the world of fashion had forced him to look at things with an aesthetic eye.

And, Adrien still remembered the scarf. He confirmed it was from Marinette when he wore it during a rare dinner with his father and the man hadn’t made a single comment regarding it. Plus, when Adrien wore it to school, Marinette would always try to avoid his eyes, flushing, all more so than usual. It had to be from her. And although the thought that his father hadn’t gotten him anything for his 15th birthday or that Nathalie had lied to him, the realization that Marinette—who barely even knew him back then— made him a gift with her bare hands warmed his heart to no end.

He knew he liked her. He knew he loved Ladybug What he hadn’t realized until he was lying on his bed with his arm covering his eyes, a whole sixth month period after a deep heart-to-heart with Ladybug, was that he was in love with Marinette and Ladybug. As one entity. In his head, there was no “Marinette” or “Ladybug” anymore.

He had started to use the two names interchangeably.

Adrien was starting to understand why Ladybug was so adamant in keeping their identity a secret, their lives separate. Even though Marinette had explained it to him that one time, on the Eiffel Tower, she also implied there were more reasons than one.

Admittedly, Chat Noir had been too eager and persistent in wanting to know who Ladybug was, to reveal more about the girl he admired, to stop and really consider why she wanted to stay elusive.

Now that he knew Marinette was Ladybug, not to mention breaking her trust on so many levels, Adrien was terrified.

The first one being losing his friendship with her because he has sought out Ladybug’s identity.

There's more. He's scared that she won't like the idea of Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste being the same person. He knew the images were different. Knowing the Marinette admired Adrien Agreste enough to have clippings and magazines of his shoots put enough pressure on him. His father always wanted him to be a perfect, obedient role model child, and Chat Noir was anything but. Ladybug seems exasperated enough with Chat Noir and his (he’ll admit it) silly puns, but if she knew he was actually Adrien Agreste, supposedly cool, collected model? Adrien didn't know if he liked to find out.

The positive, sometimes more rational, side of him protested that Marinette was one of his closest friends, if not his best. She wouldn't cut him out of his life or hate him for that matter. She was nice, caring—understanding. Marinette just wasn't like that.

Still, fear crawled in his heart everytime he thought about it. The longer he delayed it, the bigger that terror grew. Before Adrien realized it, days turned into weeks and then into months and it had been almost a year since he discovered the secret.

Marinette would kill him. She would definitely kill him.

Sometimes, Adrien thought Marinette would forgive him. She was just that kind, after all. He recalled the situation with Nathaniel, and while it was way milder, it still granted him hope.

“It's okay,” he heard her say one time. This was years earlier, maybe weeks after the first time Chat Noir had ever met Marinette.

The tone contained so much concern that Adrien paused in his walking. Curious, he glanced at the direction of the sound: the classroom. Marinette must still be in there.

“N-n-no, Marinette. I'm seriously sorry!” Adrien recognized the voice as Nathaniel. Maybe he shouldn't be eavesdropping on their conversation.

But he didn't leave.

Marinette laughed, a nice sound echoing through the the closed classroom door. “Seriously, Nathaniel, I don't mind.”

“I still should've asked for permission first,” the boy mumbled. “I know some people don't like it when others draw them—”

“Nathaniel!” Marinette said, and Adrien can catch the mirth in her voice. “I don't mind! Really!”

“I also made you damsel in distress,” Nathaniel continues on, almost rambling. “That was so rude of me. I know you're brave, Marinete, a-and confident…” Adrien found himself nodding along with his classmates’s words, despite the fact neither of them can see him, considering they don't even know he's overhearing the conversation.

“Nathaniel, if you think I'm going to criticize you for wanting to seem heroic, then I'm not brave at all. I know I'd like to be a hero every once in while.”

She does? Adrien thought. He didn't think that's common for most girls. Then again, the only girl he really knew was Chloe, who always wanted to play royalty, prancing around like a queen.

Maybe she really did enjoy working with Chat Noir then. Adrien had thought Marinette exaggerated her excitement, though he had initially been excited to see that someone was so ecstatic to work with him.

“So don't worry about it, okay? It's totally fine! Though I can't speak for anyone else. You're right; some others might not appreciate it. But I do! Your drawings are amazing, Nathaniel! I only wish I can draw as half as you do.”

“N-no,” Nathaniel murmured, “you're plenty good.”

Marinette giggled. “You're too kind. I disagree, but thanks for the compliment anyways!” There's a brief pause. “Oh! I have to go manage the bakery for my parents today—and I'm late!”

Adrien heard Nathaniel's slight laughter. “Then you should go. Thanks for talking to me Marinette.”

“It's no problem. And really, I'm flattered! And you're very kind to have talked to me about this.”

They stopped talking and Adrien heard feet shuffling, papers rustling. Realizing that they're leaving, Adrien walked in the opposite direction, trying to make it seem like he was simply walking past.

When the doors slid open, Adrien's feet just walked past the classroom.

“A-A-Adrien!” Marinette squeaked. Nathaniel stood behind her, hands holding a sketchbook. Her face was flushed pink and he saw Nathaniel’s ears tinted red.

Somehow, the sight didn’t bode well in his chest.

(He doesn't figure out what that meant until later, however.)

Other times, Adrien was sure Marinette would be infuriated with him.

Something he was sure Marinette would be irked about if she knew is something he tried doing at every occasion.

He liked to be vague. It was like an inside joke he had with himself.

Maybe it would be funny to Marinette years later, after they were together (he hoped, so desperately), when he explained the situation to her. Maybe she would guffaw with him, fondly reminisce of how foolish they were.

But she didn’t know—not now.

“Good night” he would say, trying to keep his tone flat and removing any unnecessary mirth that might give him away. “See you tomorrow,” Chat would finish, even though he’s fairly certain Chat Noir won’t be visiting her tomorrow.

Adrien would be.

Marinette would nod, oblivious, and sometimes he just wants to tell her, the truth on the tip of his lips.

But of course, Adrien wouldn't say anything, at least until he cleared things up with her formally, but he still wasn't ready for that.

“Do you think girls would accept flowers and chocolate as a gracious apology?”

Nino almost spat out his drink. Fortunately, he didn’t. Unfortunately, he started to choke.

Adrien, being the great friend he is, thumped his best friend a couple times on the back, who nodded in thanks. Adrien was glad not a single drop of the soda spilled in the classroom; the professor would kill them. (Nino was secretly drinking while before the teacher arrived.) He wiped his mouth and looked back.

“What, you break a girl’s heart or something?” “Wouldn’t be the first time” he heard Nino mutter below his breath. Adrien narrowed his eyes.

“No,” he answered, indignant. “I'm just...preparing.”

“Preparing?” Nino looked suspicious. “You’re planning on breaking a girl’s heart?”

“No!” Shaking his head furiously, he denied, “No! Oh god, no. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, it seems a bit far-fetched, even for you, Agreste.” Adrien rolled his eyes at the name. Nino only ever called him that when he was joking about Adrien’s reputation.

“Okay, any ideas?”

“I think flowers and chocolate sound good. Anything romantic right?”

“I don’t need it to be romantic, Nino.” Adrien was about to remind his friend that he was apologizing when a couple of his classmates walked by their desk.

Alix snickered. “Loverboy finally making his move?”

“‘Loverboy’?” Adrien repeated.

"To Marinette, of course."

"I never said it was Marinette!" he shouted, jumping up, red faced.

"Well, it wasn't hard to guess. That's not the question here," Nino said. "The question is what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Adrien defended immediately, before deflating. Well, he did, actually.

"Yet," Alix added helpfully. "You want to ask her out or something?"

Seeing Alix's question, it's evident that she didn't hear his entire conversation with Nino, and only caught on with "Marinette" and "loverboy". Oh, she thought he liked her.

Which isn't wrong.

"I—" he stammered. Adrien's cheeks were growing hot. "I—"

He didn't have anything to say in defense. They weren't wrong. And neither was Adrien ready to admit to them he might've betrayed her. (Not that Marinette knew yet.)

Alix supplied a satisfied smirk before flicking her eyes to Kim, who looked rather crestfallen. Her fingers snapped, a harsh sound resounding through the classroom, one that made Adrien flinch, just a bit. Alix then smoothed out her fingers. With a heavy sigh, Kim handed over a couple of euros.

Adrien watched the exchange with disbelief. His eyes switched between his two classmates, continuing to go back and forth even as Alix clicked her tongue with happiness and spun away.

“You’re kidding me.”

Nino sent him a sympathetic look, but he’s also smiling. His best friend—“best” friend shrugged. “It’s been going on for a while, to tell you the truth. They also banned me and Alya from betting since no one trusted us to not have an unfair advantage.”

“They banned you—meaning you actually had something to say?”

Nino froze, then turned slowly, trying for a sheepish grin. Adrien crossed his arms. “Well...Oh, c’mon. Do you think you’re so suave with those looks you send to her every minute of every day that no one in our class would bet on you?”

Adrien didn’t respond. He was absolutely speechless.

“Bro, come on. I swear, everyone knew. I bet you that even your gardener knew.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, huh?” Adrien retorted.

Nino looked surprised for a second, then laughed awkwardly. “Thanks, but I’ve got no spare change to spend on bets.”

“Now there’s a bummer,” the boy responded, dramatically shaking his head.

“And a shocker,” a new voice came. Adrien turned to see Alya enter through the doorway. She set her bag down at her seat with a flourishing grin, one that spoke of triumph. “Agreste doesn’t have money? Better tell Marinette that she’ll be needing to start feeding her boyfriend her bakery treats to prevent starvation.”

“My father doesn’t allow me much spending money,” Adrien said stupidly, brain still not functioning. “I’m not her boyfriend.” That was a struggle to say. Even just by looking at Alya, he can see that the entire class was watching the exchange, definitely highly amused.

“Yet,” Alya added with a wink. The crowd that started to surround them chanted ooh before breaking into peals of laughter. Adrien was practically combusting on the spot.

Trying to regain some of his composure, Adrien crossed his arms, attempting to go for a nonchalant look. It probably didn’t work. “Okay, fine— I like Marinette. But we’re not dating, and there’s no saying that she even likes me.” He was still hesitant about that. Despite all signs that he had hoped were signs, Adrien still had a feeling of unease residing in his stomach. An anxious thought that he was wrong.

However, as the words left his mouth, Alya just stared at him. Nino just stared at him. In fact, as Adrien looked around, everyone just stared at him.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“Dude,” Nino said.

“Dude,” Alya continued. The word, coming from her, gave him a shock.

“Dude,” various classmates chorused along, only making Adrien more and more self-conscious. Was he not getting something?

Nino shook his head, evidently disappointed. His hand was at his forehead, like he was trying to wipe a massive headache away. “ Dude. ”

“What,” Adrien repeated, trying to echo the same tone Nino gave him, but was more than likely failing. Nerves a wreck, he was sure his voice was two seconds from cracking.

“Dude!” Nino shouted, jumping towards him and throttling his best friend at the shoulders. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What? Why would I joke about that?” He swatted Nino’s hand away. Glancing around, he noticed that the people were giving him the same look of disbelief Nino wore. “W-what, you’re telling me Marinette likes me?”

“Uh,” Alix said, hands at her hips, “duh?” She threw one hand up as if trying to wave the obvious around. And, as if they were in a movie, Adrien realized that the entire class was nodding in unison.

“Did literally everyone know before me?”

The people around him snickered. “Dude,” Nino said helpfully, “she wasn’t subtle.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. Rolling his eyes, Nino explained, “C’mon. The looks. The stares. You’re not blind, are you? ”

Alix snorted at the boy. “Out of all the thing she does, that’s what you point out?” Redirecting her attention to Adrien, she said, “The girl would shriek when you touched her. And her smile? Jeez, Adrien, I don’t know if I’ve seen anyone else wear such a painfully revealing and awkward expression.” The rest of the class nodded.

“Okay, okay,” Adrien said, trying to defend the remainder of his pride, ducking his face from the onlookers, “I get it.”

Alya grinned. “Do you?”

He looked at her.

“You realize this is the part where you’re supposed to court her, right?”

His friends live in the 19th century, if not even further past.

Courting? Were they serious?

Apparently Alya was.

“I'm not kidding, Agreste. If you don't do this properly and unnecessarily hurt Marinette, I will kill you, no matter how much she likes you.”

Nino had agreed, sending him a knowing look about the so called "plans" for breaking a girl's heart.

He wasn't sure how much of the threat was exaggerated (or wasn't exaggerated).

Truthfully, Adrien was worried he’ll hurt Marinette. There's the standard protocol of screwing up the confession or saying something he doesn't actually mean, but Adrien was mainly worried that he’s making a big mess with their secret identities.

Because he still hadn't told her. Still hadn't admitted that he knew she was Ladybug for almost a year.

To be fair, he only really knew for sure for about half a year. The first six months had him roaming around, constantly ranging anywhere from 30% to 99.99% sure that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug, before she had confirmed it firmly by talking about her best friend.

(Ladybug had always been hesitant in revealing anything personal, which was reasonable. It lead him here, after all.)

Adrien fell back on to his bed, heart a wreck. He honestly didn’t know what to do. He broke Ladybug’s trust and figured out who she was and here he stood (laid), thinking about ways to tell her he loved her—to her civilian self! From what he could gather from Ladybug’s brushes whenever he flirted, she didn’t anything closer to Chat Noir than they had right now.

Adrien groaned, rolling to his side. He was breaking Ladybug’s trust, through and through. He figured out who she was, didn’t tell her, and what’s worse, knows about her crush. In any circumstances, Adrien didn’t think Marinette would appreciate the fact that he talked about their relationship to their entire class. Alya had told him as much when she briefly mentioned that she was disappointed that the class (and herself) got to him before Marinette could.

Well, what was done was done. He shouldn’t contemplate it any longer.

But he did. Oh god, he did. Adrien would never be able to shake off the fact of how badly he broke Ladybug’s trust.

He wondered if she would forgive him if he pleaded his case of fear.

Adrien almost laughed. How ironic. Adrien, not telling her he knew his secret, out of fear, but also feared the aftermath of breaking her trust for keeping this secret of knowing her secret.

Oh, what a mess.

He caught her staring. Repeatedly.

Now that Adrien knew for sure Marinette liked him, the next several weeks that followed was coupled with his now intensified observations of Marinette. He noticed everything.

Sometimes Adrien would be able to suppress the grin that was sure to appear on his face if he was alone or something, but obviously Marinette was in proximity of him. Instead, he would give the small smiles he gave everyone and ask, “what’s wrong?” when he knew exactly what was going on.

Sometimes Marinette would blush and shout “n-nothing” in reply. Other times she would fix her longing stare into a smirk and throw back a witty reply.

He wasn’t sure he liked better.

Adrien didn’t want to say he was disheartened when he Marinette took off those posters.

Because that’s just egoistic.

Sure, he had been elated when he saw that Marinette found him attractive enough to put his modeling spreads up in her room. Adrien knew that he was good looking to some extent—he had to be, for his modeling career. But the fact that Marinette thought that is a whole new story.

So when Adrien entered Marinette’s room for the first time as Adrien Agreste, he had expected to see her decorated walls he had barely glimpsed at as Chat. He was excited to, even.

But he didn’t. He was disappointed with the empty walls glaring back at him.

Marinette asked him what’s wrong and he couldn’t have just told her he wanted to see his face in her room. That was wrong on so many levels.

Besides, that was so long ago. They were barely even good friends, let alone close enough to warrant such a strange question.

So Adrien didn’t bring it up.

But now that he knew Marinette liked him and now that he was hyper aware of her, he kept self doubting himself. Were they sure he liked him? Yeah sure...that many people couldn’t be wrong, but why would Marinette take off those posters other wise? She had to detest looking at his face to do such a thing right?

He tried to push the thought away, but it kept crawling back like a stubborn infection.

Maybe everyone was wrong. Maybe she didn’t like him anymore.

“Adrien?” Marinette shrieked. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled. Surprising her never got old. “Just wanted to visit a friend.”

“It’s—” She whipped out her phone, glancing at the clock. “—8 o’clock.”

“And time stops friendship?”

Plagg would tease him for that cheesy line, but like Plagg had any right to complain about cheese.

Marinette flushed—a pretty pink, Adrien noted, with his own heart flipping and flopping—and glanced down, suppressing a grin and gestured wildly inside. “You can come in.”

“Thanks,” he said breezily, stepping over the threshold, his hands still laced behind his back. Marinette’s home was cozy as it always had been, but the homeliness of it just always puts him at awe—and envy.

Walking up to her staircase, she warned, “Wait a sec okay? My room’s super messy.”

He laughed. “I doubt it. You’re the most organized person I know.”

Marinette’s cheeks blossom again, and she looks at him and back at the door, mumbling a quiet and strangled “t-thanks” before disappearing behind it.

“When did you turn in your essay?” he asked, as a means of making conversation. They had a paper due tonight at ten—a requirement their teacher thought would help them sleep earlier. Adrien snorted at that when the professor had explained as such. Nino would procrastinate until the last second, putting off other homework until ten. Then the boy would spend another three hours finishing it, sleeping at an early bedtime of one A.M.

Adrien expected a simple “oh, like, days ago” or a “maybe an hour ago?” as a reply from Marinette but when there’s no immediate reply, he glanced up at the girl sitting a couple meters away from him. Marinette was absolutely frozen, her arms midway between its previous stop and it’s next one, her entire body indicating that she stopped suddenly.

Seconds ticked by, seconds of such length that Adrien wondered what he should say.

“ I forgot about the essay!” Marinette shout-whispered. Her hands were slapped on her cheeks, her bright blue eyes dawned with horrible realization.

Adrien instantly shot up from his seat on the chaise and ran to her computer, turning it on and jerking the mouse, willing it to go faster. Marinette followed him, smoothly sitting and spinning around in her swivel chair and sliding over toward him. When the home screen asking for a password fired up, he automatically flipped around, giving Marinette privacy to type it.

“How much have you written?” he questioned, waiting. He heard the rapid typing, followed by a quick succession of tapping, which he can only assume is her backspacing her misspelled password. Calm, Marinette, he thought.

“Actually, a lot of it, so this isn’t as bad.” Although the waver in her voice indicated otherwise. “Just half of the last body paragraph and the conclusion and editing.” She groaned, her voice shrill.

“Okay, how about you send the file to me and I’ll edit what you have so far?”

“You’ll do that?” Marinette took a quick break from furiously finding the file and opening, looking over at him with stars in her eyes.

He struggled to keep a straight face. Clearing his throat, Adrien answered, “Y-yeah. Of course.”

“ Thank you, Adrien!” More clicks, followed by a lightning swipe of her mouse. “Okay, sent! Just read the intro and the first two body paragraphs, okay?”

“Will do,” he said, grabbing Marinette’s tablet. He quickly found the email application, logged Marinette out and himself in.

He downloaded the file. When Adrien opened it, he smiled at her introduction. For him, it was usually the last thing he wrote, because it was hard getting his words out when he wasn’t sure what the rest of his body paragraphs really said, but Marinette always wrote her first. And she nailed it. The essay started off with a bang and he was sure if it was like this all the way through, Marinette would have nothing to worry about.

Adrien sat back down on the chaise, leaning his back against it, scrolling. While he read, he thought that Marinette never mentioned difficulties in literature, so even failing this essay—even if major—wouldn’t be too big of an impact. If she didn’t do as well as she usually did, she wouldn’t fail the class or anything. Besides, Marinette’s essay, the bits he read so far, was already superb, so Adrien didn’t expect Marinette to receive a terrible, surprising grade.

Voicing his opinions, Marinette nodded, though it was obvious she was still nervous. She bit her lip as her fingers flew off her keyboard and before he knew it, Marinette was finished with the conclusion.

Adrien read it, decided it was great, and gave her essay another one over. After that was finished, Marinette said it was okay if he put the tablet away. If Adrien thought it was fine, then he didn’t need to proofread it again. However, Marinette did so, looking at it over and over again.

Then, right before Marinette was about to turn it in, Adrien asked, “You didn’t forget the bibliography, right?”

Marinette went ashen. Adrien groaned.

��It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay!” she yelled, more to herself than him. Her hands were at the mouse and keys again, opening new tabs and documents. “I pasted links to all the articles I used in my notes document, so I’ll just cite those. And I have twenty minutes. Easy!”

Even with all that time left, Adrien still offered to help, but Marinette refused. “I got this. It’s my paper anyways. And you’ve helped enough. It’s been like—” Marinette glanced at the clock. 9:38. When she turned back to him, her face wore puzzlement. “Adrien, it’s almost ten.”

He couldn’t help but say, “Your deadline.” It didn’t deter Marinette like he hoped it would. She continued to stare at him, wasting precious seconds from her essay writing.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home?”

Adrien should. Nathalie would call soon. That is, if she knew he was Marinette’s house working on her essay. But he had told the assistant that he’d be off at Nino’s for a dinner with his parents, and to expect him home late. He was older now, and with that, he had more liberties (surprisingly). Besides, his father was out of town, so he wouldn’t be personally checking up on Adrien.

If this were a couple years ago, however, Nathalie would’ve kept minute-by-minute updates for Gabriel Agreste. She may even inquire Nino if the so-called dinner was actually happening (who would still totally back him up). But it wasn’t.

“Eh,” Adrien said, causing Marinette to raise her eyebrows. “Father’s not home,” he finished, as if it explained everything.

It did. For Marinette at least. She didn’t know they had that connection that required no words when they were Ladybug and Chat Noir, but Adrien liked to think that after all these years of being friends with Marinette, they had some sort of understanding that was incomparable. Marinette nodded understandingly, spinning back around to face her computer.

Well, almost. Adrien doubted Marinette knew the reason he didn’t want to go home was because he wanted to spend more time with the girl furiously trying to finish a literature assignment.

But the tips of her ears were dipped with red and Adrien found himself smiling. Maybe she had a hunch, then.

“Can I see you newest design?”

Marinette, busy with her hands, with ten minutes left and trying to finish the bibliography for the essay on time, didn’t even glance at him. “Sure,” she said, her fingers firing off at her keys. Adrien glanced once at her fast moving fingers, picturing a machine gun, and wondered if she would need to get her keyboard replaced afterwards.

He walked around the room, touching the fabric that hung loosely against her mannequin. That one was almost finished; a flowy dress Adrien had seen Marinette work on for the past couple of months. Considering that it’s almost complete…

He pulled out the second drawer, finding fabrics marked with pins. Aha! Adrien took it out carefully with a flourishing grin. A fluttery blue overlaid with sheer pink. Great choice. It looked like a skirt, and knowing Marinette, she would create other pieces to go with it, in order to complete the set. She just started, so she might not have much, but still. Adrien expected a sketch here and there.

He rummaged in the drawer, hoping to find something more, but only got layers of unused or leftover fabrics. No in progress pieces or even sketched figures. Frowning, Adrien pulled out the first drawer, hoping Marinette had misplaced her sketchbooks in the first instead of putting them in the second.

Instead, he got his face.

His breathing stopped.

Adrien’s eyes snapped up to Marinette’s walls—her bare walls—and almost gave himself a whiplash in the process. He remembered he had a brief glance of her (amazingly) decorated walls when he visited once as Chat Noir. And the next time? Adrien Agreste met eye-to-eye to natural, empty pink walls.

She kept them.

Adrien stuck his hand under around halfway of the stack, lifting it up. A magazine from three years ago. Fall edition. Adrien remembered being particularly fond with the results; they came out fabulously and his father even complimented him for doing a great job.

There was a small sticky note on the spread, and curious, Adrien slipped out the magazine and read it. Marinette’s cute handwriting pointed to his face and said, “Great shoot! Even his father said it was good, according to Adrien.”

Three years ago. They weren’t close then, but were acquainted well enough to tell each other their ups and downs. He didn’t exactly recall his conversation, but apparently Marinette cared about it enough to write it down.

If Nino were here, he may make a light joke about Marinette being just a little stalkerish, but rather than feeling creeped out with the large stack of glossy papers with his face on it, Adrien felt his heart skip a beat. Skip multiple beats.

She still liked him.

Just thinking about it made him want to roll around in his bed.

To which, Plagg would groan and persistently whine until Adrien fed him cheese.

Marinette liked him.

A lot.

Sometimes Adrien still couldn’t believe it. Ladybug, who always pushed him away when he so much tried to hold her hand, liked him.

His heart fluttered at the thought.

Adrien rolled to the side of his bed, covering his face with his pillow. He was burning up.

He liked her a lot too.

He can’t stop staring.

He would always make sure to turn away when she gave any side of turning her head, however.

“Bro, you gotta tell her.”

Adrien sent Nino a sidelong look. “I know,” he replied. Alya was already getting on his case but he just wanted to get the perfect moment. He took another look at Marinette, who stood in the gymnasium several feet away. She caught his look and Adrien felt his ears warm. Marinette smiled and waved. He waved back.

“Dude.”

Adrien redirected his attention to Nino. Seeing his face, Adrien smiled, a little defeated.

“I know.”

“She still doesn’t know that I know,” Adrien had pointed out to Plagg when he, too, complained about his ineptitude. “I’m not ready.”

He still hadn’t told her that he knew she was Ladybug. She probably had no clue.

He wondered how badly she would murder him when she found out.

Adrien pictured Marinette throwing her yo-yo at him, tying him up and angrily yelling at him. He saw her giving him the silent treatment for a good month. He imagined her furious expression, animatedly ranting to herself, eyebrows furrowing and pinched, before looking at him.

He can’t help but to smile.

It’ll be worth it, he decided. And any longer would just multiply the damage she might inflict.

Though he knew that wasn’t really true.

Still, sometimes Adrien would get waves of panic, and instead of coming with ideas of the reveal, he would block it away from his mind. She’ll hate me. I’ve lied to her for too long.

Maybe just not telling her would be the best bet...

He should tell her.

Adrien should definitely tell her. It’s been over a year since he had a hunch about Ladybug’s secret identity. He’s completely sure by now, obviously.

But she wanted to keep it as a secret. It was plain as day how much she wanted to keep her superhero life separate.

She would kill him. She would really kill him. She might even hate him—forever.

“You know she’s my best friend, right?”

Alya stood in front of him, arms crossed. The brunette wore a disapproving glare—one eyebrow raised and a small scowl.

Adrien smiled sheepishly. “She’s mine, too,” he tried. Alya fixed him with a stare. The boy sighed. “Okay, well, I’m not going to abuse her or anything like that.” He’s afraid he already did.

Alya rolled her eyes. “Of course not. If I thought you were, your head would be twisted behind your back.”

“ Twisted behind my — what kind of movies do you even watch?”

“Ones where the best friend doesn’t betray the main character.”

“Am I the main love interest?” Alya shot him a deadpan look. Adrien held up his hands in surrender. “You’re not betraying her—”

“—I’m only giving you dirt on her?”

“It’s not dirt —”

“It’s blackmail.”

Adrien breathed in, then out.

“I just want some proof. Y’know? To give me confidence.”

The girl smirked. “A model needing confidence to know if a girl likes him?”

“You know that looks aren’t everything. That Marinette doesn’t only care about looks.”

“You’re calling yourself good looking now?” When Adrien didn’t return the joke, Alya sighed. “I know.” She cocked her head. “I never thought you would need confidence. It was never a worry I had.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You had others?”

The blogger scoffed. “You kidding me? Believe me, I have had years to run through all sorts of scenarios through my head. All sorts of disastrous outcomes.”

I bet us being superheroes wasn’t a factor, Adrien thought, still worried Marinette would hate h forever after he told her. “Do you have anything?”

“Any possible outcomes?” Alya raised her eyebrow. “You'll confess, she'll confess, you'll make out—”

Adrien coughed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Alya sent him a deadpan look. “Are you kidding me? You better kiss the hell out of her, considering the torment you’re putting her through.”

“The torment I’m putting her through ?” If only Marinette knew. She was driving him mad, what with her smiles and sparkling blue eyes and that face she makes when she’s happy...Adrien can hardly think straight with Marinette around, though he guessed that was already established.

Alya kept her arms crossed, unrelenting.

“Please? You guys all say she likes me—”

“She does . How is that even a question?”

“But I could use a little proof. You know, anything for a push.” Truth was, Adrien knew Marinette liked him. And he knew she trusted him and would never kick him out or throw him away. Of course not; this was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. But despite all that, Adrien still had that humongous fear that Marinette will never forgive him. So what Adrien was really doing with Alya was to get her to tell him something that told Adrien she would; a sign if you will.

“Proof.” The girl scoffed, blowing a little of her hair out of her face. “There is so much proof that she likes you that I don’t even know where to begin.”

Adrien stared at her patiently.

“Okay,” Alya said, looking extremely exasperated with herself. She held up a finger. “You can never tell her I told you this but you guys seriously need a push to solve that goddamn sexual tension of yours. You wanted dirt on Marinette?”

Adrien can barely follow along. “I didn’t ask for dirt—”

“She stole your phone once several years ago. That time you lost your phone for a while—she had it. She knew you were at fencing—hell, she knew your entire schedule. Her crush on you was a little out of hand, to be honest.”

He blinked. And blushed. “She knew my schedule? Why would she even steal my phone?” There were so many questions he needed to ask; half the things Alya said barely made sense.

“To get to know your shit better, what else?” Adrien’s eyes widened and Alya rolled her eyes. “She tried calling you to ask you out once. The little spaz can’t get two words out without stammering so she thought a call would be better.” Alya looked at Adrien. “You were at fencing.” She looks back at her hand, counting off her fingers, “You didn’t pick up, she freaked out, she threw your phone on her bed without hanging up, didn’t know that and continued talking to me, revealed some embarrassing stuff”—Alya shot him a look—“what else could be done to fix all that without stealing your phone?”

Adrien could only stare at her. “Is that all?” Alya smirked and crossed her arms. “To delete the voicemail?”

“You could have less sophisticated technology so it would make it easier for two innocent best friends to a crush’s phone and delete an embarrassing voicemail.” Alya brushed her hair back. “Though I did manage it.”

“That’s...uh, wow.”

Alya fixed him with a stare. “What else did you think she could do?”

“Explain the situation?” The girl shot him a look. Are you serious?

“If she told me how much she wanted it deleted, I wouldn’t even have listened to it.”

“She can barely talk to you. How do you think she would’ve managed that?”

Fair point. “Was it that bad?”

“You tell me. What did you think of Marinette speaking skills back then?”

She had him again. “Okay, I see what you mean. How does that help me?”

Alya groaned and threw her hands in the air. “Just because the girl doesn’t stutter like hell in front of you anymore doesn’t mean her feelings has changed. She still likes you. That much.” She poked him in the chest a couple times. Adrien backed away. “Even more so, now that you’re potentially stealing my spot for the best friend title.”

Adrien frowned. “I could never replace you.” Alya raised an eyebrow. “She’s your best friend.”

“Best girl friend, maybe,” she conceded, “but I know there are things she’s not telling me.”

“There are things she doesn’t tell me either.” Alya gave an unconvincing “hm”. “ Seriously,” he said. “You’re the best friend; I’m nothing more than the love interest.”

Alya shoved him. “I can’t tell if you’re giving yourself too much credit or too less. You’re important to her too. Also, you’re very smug about this whole ‘love interest’ thing.”

Adrien can’t stop the grin stretching on his face. “Yeah? Well, isn’t it expected considering how much she likes me?”

“Then you should get your ass moving. You’re doing it this weekend, right?”

“You make it sound like I’m assassinating her or something.”

“You practically are. You’re too happy about this.” Adrien opened his mouth to protest but Alya started to poke him again. “You are. And I know you can’t help it, so I’m not even going to bother to tell you to stop, because you won’t be able to. Marinette’s going to see right through that. And then she will blush. Massively.”

“That’s not bad.” Look, he finished mentally, That’s not a bad look at all.

“Yep,” Alya confirmed, eyes narrowed. “You’re too happy about this.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s okay though, since she’ll be pretty happy afterwards too.”

Adrien grinned.

“She might just murder you when you tell her.”

He tried not to let that get to him. Instead, Adrien tried to busy himself with his hands, finding his pencils, tablets, papers, anything necessary for a study session. There wasn’t any huge test or midterm coming up—only a simple quiz—but a lot of their classmates were going to join in and hit the library together. He zipped up his bag.

“I know,” Adrien said. “But it’ll be worth it.” That’s what he was trying to convince himself, anyways.

“You could’ve just told her a year ago. You would’ve been together for a year.”

“Oh, don’t give me that what could’ve been. I didn’t know her as well a year ago.”

“You still knew her,” Plaag pointed out, “rather well.”

“Yeah, yeah—oh, a call.” Adrien picked up his phone, seeing that it was from Nino. When he accepted the video call, he realized Alya was on the other side of the line, too.

“Study session is cancelled,” Nino said through the video chat. “Sucks.”

“And I really needed that review.” Alya groaned. “The quiz is on Tuesday, and I barely understand anything.” Alya’s perked up with a sudden idea. “Why don’t we just add Marinette to our video chat? We can add the other classmates too, if you want. But I think it would get too messy. What do you think, Nino?”

“I’m down.”

Alya looked at Adrien.

“I, uh,” Adrien said, “actually will go with Marinette. It’s raining, but I can still go to her house.”

Alya gave him a knowing look. Adrien hung up immediately. His heartbeat raced, pounding in his ears, and he tried to calm himself. Adrien placed a hand on his chest, feeling its thumps.

“Plagg?”

“What,” his kwami said from under the covers.

“We’re going out.”

“You’re visiting Marinette today? Weren’t you going to kiss her tomorrow?”

“I was going to tell her tomorrow, but there’s been a change of plans.”

“I’ll get the bandages ready.”

Alya was going to kill him.

After Marinette was done, of course.

He might’ve just teased her a little too much.

But that's okay, decided Adrien, as he smiled into Marinette's hair. It was worth it.

She didn’t kill him.

At this point, he knew Marinette wasn’t completely angry with him (even if he had vestiges of fear).

Marinette certainly got in quality attempts to, however.

“Should I even let you in?” Marinette hissed when he showed up at her door a couple hours ago. Adrien grinned and Marinette narrowed her eyes even more.

“I brought flowers?” he said, bringing out the bouquet from behind his back.

“Hm,” Marinette gave, turning slightly away, crossing her arms and closing her eyes. Adrien was still smiling.

“And a fashion magazine? It's a longer issue, with pages they had before editor has them removed. Small annotations, too.”

Marinette turns back to him, arms still crossed. “I might be persuaded to let you in.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, not missing the way Marinette’s eyes darted to his lips. His chest flips. “Is it a hard decision?” Adrien asked, barely aware of the words he’s saying.

She made a weird sound in her throat, her face flickering between two different expressions, fighting for victory. “Not at all,” Marinette squeaked

“I also brought a picture of me, ‘cause I don’t quite think your collection is big enough—”

She slammed the door in his face.

Maybe his girlfriend should take on Hawkmoth’s plans, because if she had taken his Miraculous, he wouldn’t be able to get in. But in the next minute, he had slid down her trapdoor and tiptoed to the living room, where he could hear she was still fuming to herself, ranting to Tikki.

“The nerve of him!” he heard her say.

“What nerve?” Adrien asked her cheekily. Unfortunately, he hadn’t caught her on surprise. Marinette spun on her heel, grabbed him by his bell, and threw him against the wall.

“Even without transformation, my lady?” Adrien whistled. “You never cease to impress me.”

“And you never cease to annoy me,” she replied, lowering her self to his eyelevel. Marinette grabs his collar harshly and Adrien prepares himself for her second hurl.

She kissed him instead.

Adrien sunk into the kiss instantly and cups her face. He also decides the transformation isn’t really needed anymore, and sees a brilliant flash of green behind his closed eyelids. He parts from her but his eyes are still closed and Marinette’s still clutching his the soft cotton of his t-shirt and Adrien really likes this, really likes her.

Then she released him and did hurl him across the room.

“You never cease the surprise me either,” he said with a flourishing grin.

“Get up, you stupid cat,” she told him, holding a hand out. He took it and Marinette pulled him up. “What are doing here?”

“I can't visit my girlfriend?” They both flushed at the word. Adrien grinned at her, his face warm, but despite being slightly embarrassed, he enjoyed every moment. He watched with delight as Marinette struggled to maintain her composure, vigorously fighting down a blush that’s creeping up her cheeks.

“Not if he can't help teasing me.” She leaned in to peck him again. “Do you want to finish this?” Marinette grabs a DVD case from the coffee table and holds it up. It’s the second of movie of the one they watched a couple days ago. Marinette’s favorite, he remembered. Truthfully, he didn’t enjoy it that much, though it was good. Just not his type of genre.

Adrien wrapped a hand around her shoulders, kissing the side of her head, his lips landing on her soft hair. “Sure,” he answered her.

Marinette giggled, dragging him to the seat next to her on the couch. He sat closer than he usually does, but considering yesterday, he’s happy he had the liberty to do so.

His girlfriend picks up the remote that she placed on the couch’s rest arm and clicks it on. Adrien snickers when he sees that it’s paused five minutes into the movie.

“What’s the point of asking me if I want to watch it if you already started? You'll just finish it anyways.”

She shoots him a knowing smirk. “I knew you’d say yes.”

“You know me well.”

“Mhm.” His heart skipped more than one beat when Marinette abruptly dragged her legs over, placing them over his lap. Adrien felt his neck warm, his ears burn.

Marinette looked at him questionably. “Are you okay?” As if she had no idea.

“Yeah,” he breathed. Marinette nodded, and went back to watching the movie.

He could barely concentrate. Which is a little disheartening because he wants to try to enjoy it as Marinette is. But between her legs wrapped over his and warm hands touching his bare arms, Adrien hardly has a rational thought.

She’s practically sitting on me.

“I have a question,” Marinette asked suddenly. Her attention is still focused on the movie, but Adrien can read from her eyes that it’s anywhere but.

“Yeah?”

“What did you think when you figure out I was Ladybug?”

He looked at her. Her eyes barely darted to him, but he was able to see it; he always had that connection with her, even when she tried hiding it. Adrien flickered back to the conversation they had a year ago: Marinette admitting her fear of not living up to expectations.

Glancing at his girlfriend, his wonderful partner, Adrien’s almost disappointed in himself that he didn’t resolve this fear of hers earlier.

“What did I think? Well,” Adrien said, smiling a little as he watches the movie, “I tried pushing away the thought that you were Ladybug.” In the corner of his eye, he saw her lips quiver. In his hands, he felt her stiffen. Marinette, he pleaded, listen, I won’t hurt you. “ You trusted me and I respected you; I wasn’t about to go about figuring out who Ladybug was without your permission.”

She looked at him. “But you did,” she croaked.

“That’s because...I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You and Ladybug—I don’t even know. You’re just so similar, in more ways than you can see. Just one day, I realized...I already saw you as one person. I’m surprised I didn’t let anything slip. With how comfortable I was seeing you two as the same person, I thought I would’ve mentioned something I told Ladybug, not Marinette.” Adrien laughed, scratching his cheek. “I mean, you are the same person, but you didn’t know I knew that.”

“So...you aren’t—”

“Marinette,” Adrien said. “You’re my best friend. You’re my partner. Don’t ever think I would be disappointed in you, okay?”

She didn’t brighten. She softened, but she didn’t relax. The tension in her face was still plainly evident. Marinette didn’t smile that smile he wanted to see, that happy face she always had.

“Marinette,” Adrien started again, feeling this immense need to make her feel wanted, special, “you said so yourself, right? I knew you were Ladybug and it didn’t change our relationship. A whole year—I’m really sorry about that. But we’re still best friends, partners aren’t we?”

“More than that,” Marinette replied, pecking his lips.

“I don’t think so. Lovers have that, yes, but I think that you and I always have each other’s backs. We’re always there for each other, right? We didn’t need to date for that.”

Marinette looked up at him then, and then—then she gives him that smile he’s been waiting for. Her lips stretch, her eyes glimmer and Adrien can’t help but to lean in. His eyes haven’t closed yet so he can count each individual freckle on her face, and there’s a lot of them. A lot of those beautiful spots marked on her skin that Adrien wanted to kiss. He might take a while just counting them all, but that’s something he doesn’t mind spending forever doing.

“But I’m still glad we are,” Marinette whispered, and all of his lingering, suppressed worries regarding her not forgiving him for keeping this secret for an entire year was washed away. He pressed in close, the same time Marinette invited him to her, and they sit on her couch, kissing, for what felt like hours.

“I have a question, too,” he told her when they part. Marinette’s eyes were half hooded, glazed over. His heart won’t calm down at the sight.

“What?” she asked.

He chuckled, kissing her nose. “What was your reaction when you found out I was Chat Noir? You didn’t figure it out like that I did and I’m sure that must’ve been shocking…”

“Hmm,” Marinette pondered, a hand at her chin. “I was a little surprised at first,” she admitted, “but even though it’s only been about twenty-four hours since I found out...I don’t feel any different.” Marinette laughed. “I think it’s because you’re my best friend and I knew you better than I thought I did. I just never realized.”

“And you’re okay with it? With liking me—liking Chat Noir…”

Marinette blinked. Then flushed—massively. He would never tired of that sight. “I—I, uh...”

He nodded a little, patiently bidding her to continue.

Marinette swallowed, closing her eyes as if to steel herself. “I liked you—both of you. Adrien and Chat Noir. I hated it because you kept on confusing me…” She looked away, embarrassed.

He smiled. Really smiled. Marinette must hate him for it because her eyes peeked at his before darting away with mortified fury.

She was so cute. Though he needed to remedy this issue.

Adrien’s knuckles brushed her cheek. Marinette didn’t flinch like he almost expected her to, but instead actually leaned into him. Adrien tried not to burst with happiness right then and there.

He loved her so much.

“You confused me too,” he finally said. She stared at him, shocked and puzzled. “I mean, significantly less, since I guess I caught on earlier. But you made me really confused. I couldn’t fathom how much I liked you.”

She’s practically burning right in front of him. Adrien didn’t bother concealing his grin.

He swooped down to kiss her again.

“I like you,” she whispered against his lips. “I like you, I like you, I like you.”

“I like you, too.” Adrien kissed her too. “I like you so much.” Feeling over the moon, Adrien held on to her hips and spun her. She giggled gleefully, face red as Marinette tried to steady him by placing her hands on his shoulders. “I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you,” he paralleled her, setting her down and connecting foreheads, “I like you so much .”

Her breath is intertwined with laughter. “That was one too many, I think.”

“Can’t be. I’m saying how much I like you.”

She blushed at his cheesiness and he did a little too. But Adrien didn’t mind. They were both hopeless romantics.

“I can’t believe this,” Marinette confessed. “That was only yesterday… ”

“Me neither,” admitted Adrien, “though according to Nino, we acted like we were already dating…”

She wrinkled her nose. “Please. I would’ve known.”

He laughed. “Really? You didn’t react to my flirtations the same way when Chat Noir flirted with Ladybug.” Marinette flushed—a lot. More than Adrien expected she would.

“That’s—that’s because Chat Noir—yo-you didn’t—you weren’t serious!”

Adrien gaped at her. His jaw literally dropped. There was a pause. A pregnant one. “What? ”

Marinette was stubbornly angry. Stamping her feet, she insisted, “You weren’t!” Her hands was whacking the air violently now.

He continued to stare at her.

“You weren’t?” Marinette asked tentatively, dropping her fire when Adrien didn’t respond to her for maybe an hour. “I mean...I wasn’t sure if you were?”

“You weren’t sure,” he repeated, incredulous. She wasn’t sure. If the entire class hadn’t asserted that they were hopelessly in love with each other, Adrien might’ve not been overwhelmed with perplexity. “You weren’t sure.”

“I wasn’t, okay?” Marinette snapped, though Adrien could tell she’s embarrassed. “You were Chat Noir and yeah, you flirted with me, but you flirted with Marinette, too! How was I supposed to know that was real?”

He groaned.

“You’re the only person I ever flirted with,” he said finally, ignoring the blush that’s crawling at the back of his neck.

Marinette whirled towards him, eyes wide.

“I admit, I flirted with you without knowing you were the same person. But you were. And I guess I wasn’t serious initially…” He scratched the back of his head, unsure how to about this. “I did like you. I didn’t know how I liked you...Not to mention, I’m more open as Chat Noir.”

“You got that right,” Marinette mumbled. He chuckled and pulled her in. She buried herself into the crook of his neck.

“Did you like me flirting with you?”

“You better shut up right now, kitty, unless you want to be thrown across the room again.”

“Ah, the perks of having a superhero as your girlfriend.” Adrien pulled away, watching her glowing face. He brushed her bangs back.

“Don’t tease me.”

“Now don’t go asking for the impossible.”

Watching her blush massively again, freckles illuminated clearly, Adrien decided that he would never tire of teasing her.

But now, now Adrien thinks he’s getting what he deserves.

He could hear Ladybug’s smirk when he exhaled, eyes closed in pleasure, and Adrien briefly wondered if this was how Marinette felt like when he did the same.

She pulled her head back and he opened his eyes to see a beautifully confident expression gracing her face, lips curled up in the corner. “Is this the part where I say ‘cat got your tongue’, handsome boy?”

It’s thrilling, Adrien noticed as his heart flips, when Ladybug utilized both his identities like that. He leaned down, lips barely touching. “It seems that way, doesn’t it?” he asked, brushing his lips over hers, but pulling away when she leaned forward. It’s a little disappointing when she didn’t flush massively like he’s used to, but it’s also exhilarating when Ladybug smirked in reply, sensually tucking one finger around his collar and pulling it towards her, slowly. His nose bumped with hers, and his heart is beating so erratically, Adrien’s not sure if he’s ever going to regain his calm.

Her breath was intoxicating. Adrien’s eyes fluttered shut when Ladybug’s mouth hovered over his and her hands crawled up his hip and towards his chest. He can’t feel the cool of her fingertips or the warm of her palm when she’s Ladybug, yet the touch of her gloves was equally appealing. He sighed heavily when she dragged a finger down his chest.

“Can you kiss me already?” he asked. Adrien was unable to suppress the slight quirk of his lips when Ladybug laughed. She pulled her hand away from his chest, which was bothersome but as she drifted her fingers lower, at an almost painstakingly slow rate, Adrien’s heart threatened to burst. He heard his sigh again and Ladybug’s fingers left him.

She brings both her hands up, cupping his face, and Adrien tilted his head, anticipating her kiss. Instead, Ladybug kept propelling her head forward, at an angle, passing his lips to kiss his jaw. He shifted his head to give her a better angle, getting just a bit annoyed now when he felt her smug lips curve under his neck.

“Satisfied, are we?” he managed without tripping over his words. Kind of, Adrien added, when a strange sound finished his question as Ladybug bit his ear gently. After she’s done with that new aspect to this innovative form of (admittedly pleasing) torture, he felt her lean up, her chest brushing his, so she could whisper, “Consider it payback.”

She pulled back, triumphant grin lighting her features and Adrien tried to roll his eyes. Or anything of the sort to indicate that he’s not completely entranced by her. But he was. Completely and entirely.

He let her roll around in her victory for a couple seconds, before Adrien decided he’s done with Ladybug teasing him, and tugged tightly on her left arm. She’s too immersed with her victory to anticipate it, and her accomplished expression dropped just a bit when Adrien successfully had her close, his left arm wrapped around her waist. He didn’t waste a single second (or give her any to plan her strategy) and leaned in to press his lips to hers.

It seemed she’s finished teasing him too, because she melted and her arms were thrown around his neck in an instant. Ladybug stepped on her tippie-toes to pull them together closer, effectively dragging Adrien down to her level.

When he stepped forward, Ladybug took one back, and they’re awkwardly fumbling until he heard Ladybug’s calf hit the edge of his bed. Adrien broke apart for a brief moment to see her. Her eyes were dazed, but when Adrien’s eyes dart to the bed behind her, Ladybug grinned widely, made a grab his collar and fell on to his soft bed, pulling him down with her.

His hands shot out frantically to hold himself, worried that Adrien would crush her under his weight, but Ladybug seemed like she could care less. She’s kissing him again before his mind even recovered from his initial concern, and distracted, Adrien’s stiff body relaxed under her touch.

Ladybug drew her head back, resting it on his covers, breathing heavily. Her cheeks were tinted with pink, not as red as Adrien was used to seeing on Marinette, but the sight still made his heart soar. He leaned down again, lips touching the area below her chin, and murmured, “How much more do I need to kiss you until you’re as red as your suit?”

He laughed outright when Ladybug swatted him. “Are you ever not going to be cheeky?”

“Hmm,” he said, as if actually thinking, eyes locked with Ladybug’s. Grinning, he pressed another kiss to the bridge of her nose. “No.”

“Ugh,” Ladybug tried, but it’s poor. There’s barely any actual irritation in it. “You’re horrible.”

“Mhm,” he agreed, though he hasn’t completely registered what she said. Adrien’s busy kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her nose again, pulling away again to get a good look of her face.

His breath hitched when Ladybug’s hands tucked under the hem of his shirt again. Her hands roamed his back. She pulled them towards his upper body. Higher up his back, his shirt riding up as she does so.

“If you want my shirt off, you can just ask.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” Ladybug raised an eyebrow. One of her hand dipped, and Adrien shuddered when her fingers crawl on the side of his torso, dancing towards his chest.

“I think you’re getting a head start,” he whispered, partly because he’s trying to be just as seductive as she was right now, but mainly because Adrien didn’t think his voice can go much louder without squeaking or something that’s just as mortifying.

“Is that your roundabout way of inviting me to go shirtless?”

Adrien burned. Ladybug was scary, almost. He didn’t expect Marinette to say something so straightforward, but Ladybug thew it out there without blinking.

“I’m just,” he begined, his words caught in his throat as Ladybug raised her eyebrow, her mask curved, expectant. “I’m just, uh, thinking that you should give Tikki a break.”

“Oh please,” she said, flicking his forehead. “You're just too undone.”

“And who's fault is that?” he asked, eyes hooded when he drops his head closer to her's. Ladybug tilted just her chin up, giving him a closed lip, chaste kiss. It's absolutely delicious.

A bright light of pink bounced behind his closed eyelids, and when he opened them, the vestiges of pretty sparkles fluttered in his vision. Adrien grinned, one Marinette returned with a beam, and he's leaning down to kiss her forehead, the skin below her brow, the curve under the waterline of her eye.

“You're pushy today, kitty,” she said, her actions contradicting her words when her fingers carded through his hair. From being with her for almost half a year, Adrien had been quite acquainted with the fact that Marinette loved his hair.

His heart thrummed. Pushing himself further towards her, Adrien hoped that it’s enough indication for what he wants. When Marinette’s hold on the ends of his locks tightened, he smiled through their kiss, humming. She knew him too well.

Adrien felt her giggle a little through her kiss, and before he was even aware, she’s pulling away and getting off the bed. Still not thinking clearly, he wantingly crawls towards where she’s leaving. Marinette noticed, laughed, and pressed another small kiss to his lips.

“Good to know, but we should probably get started.”

“On what?” he asked, still trying to pull her towards him. She allowed him, for a brief second that was. She’s far enough to avoid his lips, but close enough to tap him on his nose.

“Our project. I don’t want to fail history.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he mumbled, lying on his back in the bed alone as Marinette hopped off. She laughed again and Adrien dragged his eyes from the sight of his boring ceiling to Marinette’s back. She sauntered to his chair, spinning in it as she pushed herself to his desk.

“I still can’t believe you have three monitors. Is that even necessary?” Adrien caught her briefly scrunching her nose and tapping the desktop on. It flickered to life, shooting up the home screen as the computer slowly wakes up. He knows the feeling.

Still groggy from her heated kisses, Adrien managed to roll over to his front and sit up on the bed. Marinette’s tapping her cheek patiently as she waited for all his programs to load, for the browser to open up so they can start research.

However, when the desktop came up, Marinette’s fingers didn’t direct the mouse towards the icon for internet; instead, Marinette clicked on his files.

“What are you doing?” he asked her, still rather distracted. The girl didn’t answer him, but simply scrolled through his recents.

Adrien strode towards her, slinging his body over hers, hugging her towards him. His eyes drooped from exhaustion, ready to just take a nap standing with his arms wrapped around Marinette like this when something caught his eye.

Marinette’s cursor hovered over Pictures, and too late, Adrien realized what she’s doing.

“Wait!” he shouted, arm shooting out to stop hers, but Marinette’s a million steps ahead of him.

She gave Adrien a taste of his own medicine.

“What, you didn’t want to tell me about the thousands of pictures you have in a folder called ‘Ladybug wonders’?”

He tried to play it cool. Really, he did. But Adrien couldn’t help the flush that grew on the back of his neck and he’s almost sure his entire face was burning.

“Y-yeah,” he managed, which was quite embarrassing. He just stood there, maybe a meter away from his girlfriend of six months, who turned around from the computer and smugly reclined in his soft chair. A hand propped her chin up, and although she’s sitting in a simple, modern chair, Adrien thought that she looked like a queen.

She got up, a move that’s ten times more graceful and knee-weakening than it should be, and Marinette placed a hand at his shoulder. It practically burned him.

“Wasn’t going to bother telling me how wonderful I am?”

“I tell you that plenty,” he murmured, still completely entranced with her entire being. God—she was going to kill him.

“Hm,” she responded and flipped back, her hair smacking him in the process because of how close she was standing. Marinette sat back in her seat and selected all his pictures, previewing them. Her eyebrows raised when she gets to the pictures of Ladybug eating cookies from the bakery. She smiled a little when a particularly close up picture comes up, her bright blue eyes illuminated clearly. “These are nice pictures.”

“I know right?” he agreed immediately and Marinette laughed. She continued scrolling, almost deleting one photo of her making a silly face. Adrien’s able to stop her in time; Marinette relents, moving on to the next couple. Her face scrunched up at a particular close up of her drinking a soda; she must’ve thought she looked unappealing, but Adrien didn’t save the photo to his computer for nothing.

Her fingers keep scrolling through, viewing all sorts of photos at all sorts of angles. Newspaper headers, candid photos, posed selfies he’s managed to snag—all of them.

“Almost as good as yours,” she decided, sending him a look. “But you definitely have a lot more pictures than I do.”

He could play this game. Adrien fixed his face into a sly expression. He crossed his arms. “Oh, sure. If we’re not counting the photoshopped images you have in your edits folder.”

“Hey!” She flipped back to the computer, obviously trying to find more secrets to dig out. “That’s not fair; you infiltrated my computer.”

“Um…” he said slowly, barely trying to suppress the victory in his voice. He walked closer to the desk, arm over the chair’s back rest. Adrien dropped a little to bring his head to Marinette’s level. His breath ghosted his ear. “Like you’re doing right now?”

He affected her. Marinette shivered a little and the grin at his lips grow. Indignant, Marinette tried to focus on the computer. She’s clicked back to the previous pictures folder, scrolling through the endless file he has on his computer, trying to find some other picture file that may beat all the photos she had of him. Adrien maintained his smugness. She won’t find any; he’s won this one.

But Adrien is too fixated on his rare win that he doesn’t notice Marinette diving off his chair and for a drawer near his bed. She opens it and pulls out a pillow.

“ Ha!” she shrieked. “I win—you have Ladybug merchandise!” Marinette raised the pillow up like it’s an offering to the heavens. Adrien’s a bit embarrassed, but he realized something else. He raised an eyebrow.

“Is this really a game of who has more embarrassing Parisian superhero stuff?”

She faltered. Marinette doesn’t flush—not the kind Adrien’s expecting anyways. A red made way on her face and her face morphed into an expression that Adrien couldn’t even deem as “mild embarrassment”.

“No,” Marinette answered, putting the pillow down. She looked furious. He couldn’t really tell what it’s directed at. “I’m just...I kind of just want to prove that I wasn’t the only one obsessed.”

He frowned. That’s what this was about? He stepped towards her, wrapping his hand around the back of her left hand. She let him lace his fingers through hers and the pillow falls to the ground.

“I was obsessed,” he reassured her. Marinette’s eyes darted away. “I am obsessed. How can I not be?” Adrien presses a kiss to her forehead.

“I always feel like my crush on Adrien was way over the top. I mean”—she rolls her eyes, a little jokingly, but Adrien can see her shaking, just slightly—“everyone knew. Even you did.”

“Oh.” He coughed. “Yeah.”

Marinette looked at him. “What?”

“I...I didn’t know.”

Marinette laughs. “What?” she repeated.

“I, uh, wasn’t sure if you liked me.” She gapes at him. “ What?” Adrien said this time.

“How could you not be?”

“How could you not know Chat Noir liked you? He visited Marinette on the balcony. For years!”

“A year and a half and no, I was not counting— see? ” Marinette hollered. She covered her face with her hands. “See? I know that. I always feel like you’re the one driving me crazy.”

Did she actually believe that? How could she actually say that honestly? “Marinette,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips. She let him, pressing back, but he could taste the insecurity. “I am so incredibly crazy for you. How can I not be? How could that even be possible?”

Marinette kissed him. Very thoroughly. He had to be crazy for her because the feeling that she poured into the kiss very matched the feelings he had for her.

“Okay,” she says, her eyes brightened. Marinette is positively glowing with happiness. “Okay.”

He pecked her lips again. “Should we get started on that history project?”

She didn’t seem very into it anymore. “Mmm…” Marinette feigned thinking. She tapped her lips, something that obviously affected him insanely. “No. I’m tired. I think I’ll take a nap.” Marinette winked and Adrien’s breath caught. She didn’t actually mean—

Then, Marinette grabbed the Ladybug pillow from its fallen place on the ground and hopped onto his bed, faking light snores.

Marinette shrieked with laughter when he tackled her for the pillow.

#my fics #ml fic #ml fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #tales of ladybug and cat noir #miraculous ladybug #marichat #adrienette #ladynoir #finally posted why am i like this its legit been two years since i wrote this #ml

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