#oh I wonder who this strange post carrier is

[rspberryberet]

life as we know it. ( part three )

in which two of you and jack’s closest friends have passed in an accident and for some insane reason, leave the two of you their home and in custody of their infant daughter, josie.

sorry for any mistakes if there r any i haven’t proofread or edited this yet

“Oh come on, Y/N. I didn’t even drink that much. You need to loosen up.” He half-truthed. “No, Jack, it isn’t fair that I feel like I’m the only one whose carrying my own weight and taking a second to consider people other than myself.” Your voice began to crack, you didn’t like being vulnerable around others and especially not around Jack. But right now you felt overwhelmed and hopeless and you didn’t care who knew.

“It’s not fair that you’re the one who gets to loosen up or say you’re working and then come back drunk.” You said with your head buried in your hands. There was a tense silence that hung in the air for a few moments until Jack finally spoke.

“I’m sorry.” That was the most stable and sincere his voice had sounded all night. “I know I’ve done irresponsible things and this is probably the worst of them but it’s just hard for me to process the fact that we have a child to take care of.”

“I get to take of a child with the girl that I’ve been horribly trying to replace with girls for the last 4 years and I am absolutely failing.” You sighed, you couldn’t tell if what he was saying was true.

“Drunken words are sober thoughts Y/N,” He said as if he knew what you were wondering “I mean what I say despite what I usually do.” You remained silent, trying to stay calm as you searched for the right response in your head.

“You’ve got to act like it, Jack. I doubt you’ll remember most of this conversation in the morning but please remember that it’s not only me and you that you’ve got to maintain and keep under control. Josie is our daughter now, even if it isn’t by blood.”

Jack nodded. “I’m a father.” That was the first time he’d ever really processed that fact properly or said it out loud. He was a father.

The next morning, you and Jack were on top of things. After waking Josie up and getting her dressed, you all headed out to the grocery store. Which you still weren’t sure was the best idea for Jack because of his recent rise in fame. But he assured you, it’d be fine.

You placed Josie into the baby carrier of the shopping cart, smiling as she giggled whenever you moved. You guys strolled through the store, picking up necessities like diapers and food. ( You were tired of cooking and Jack couldn’t cook even if he truly tried. )

Suddenly, a young girl stopped Jack as you walked into the cereal isle. “Jack Harlow?!” She practically screamed. You smiled as you saw his face and hers light up. One thing you liked about Jack was even he was confident in himself and his art he still managed to be down to earth and one of the most humble people you knew.

You waited patiently for them to take their picture, beginning to walk off until the girl approached you too. “Are you Jack’s girlfriend?” You were shocked, unsure what to say. “No, just a friend of mine.” You let out a sigh of relief that he responded for you but also felt a strange feeling in your stomach at the fact that he was so quick to deny you as his partner. ‘You’re overthinking things.’ You thought to yourself, rolling your eyes.

“It was nice to meet you, Jalen but we’ve gotta go. Thank you for listening to my music it really means the world.” You two watched the girl walk off, hearing a mumbled ‘he’s so fine’ when she thought no one was around.

The two of you snickered like children, Josie confused but joining in just because she loved to giggle.

“Why is my phone blowing up so suddenly!” You groaned as you set down grocery bags onto the floor to check your phone.

‘67 unread messages on Instagram’ A notification read. “What the fuck..”

You opened Instagram, your eyes widening at the first post you saw on your feed. The shade room had posted the picture of Jack and the little girl with you and Josie in the background unknowingly with the caption ‘Jack Harlow settles down with a girlfriend and baby?!’

You groaned in frustration. Just yet another bad thing to happen to you this week. You felt like you had been cursed or like you were having a horrible dream.

[totallynotpuri]

“Hello? Is this Grian of The Southlands?” The post carrier said as they placed the pile of boxes gingerly on the counter.

“Yeah, packages for the Southland C-aha-fe?” Grian replied as he pulled the fake feather pen from his notepad and signed for the packages, “What did Mumbo buy this time?”

The post carrier did not reply. Instead, they took back the clipboard and stared at Grian’s nametag.

“So that’s what y’all are calling it huh?” they said, completely disregarding Grian’s question, “A bit on the nose with the dark oak and name, but they were never creative with this stuff.”

“What are you talking about” Grian stared at the post carrier, who just smiled and shook their head.

“Oh nothing,” they replied, “just a bit of complaining about my bosses. You know how CEOs can be sometimes with their strange plans and whatnot.”

Without waiting for a response, the post carrier turned their back and walked out the door and Grian watched as the strange post carrier climbed into their van; the bold red letters reading “W&L Delievers” being all he could red before it disappeared into the sea of traffic. 

And he all he could do was stand there, processing the strange interaction.

“Grian! Did we get a delivery?” Jimmy shouted from the kitchen doorway, shaking Grian out of his confusion.

“Yeah...” Grian shouted back as he picked up the box addressed to him and carefully ripped off the sealing tap.

Inside, gently covered by crumpled brown packing paper, was a worn, bronze spyglass.

[sushiburritonoms]

WIP Wednesday

Since my daily torture session Zoom meeting got cancelled I'm sneaking on here to post s snippet from one of my WIP. This damn fic has sat on my computer for months, so I'm putting this bit out into the world to make the rest of it write itself.

It's the sequel to Last to Know, First to Judge, tentatively titled "You Break It, You Buy It" (because I suck at titles). So it's a comedy fic, from Han's POV (don't look at me like that!)

The small village that was attacked by the Imperial remnants was mostly a pile of rubble when they arrived. There were piles of wood and metal scattered across the dirt, along with rings of ashes and barely hidden red stains. It was a familiar sight to them all, even if it had been a while since Han and Leia had witnessed such devastation first hand.

“All this destruction and the Core is completely unaware,” Leia muttered as she nudged the burnt remains of a child’s toy with her boot.  “The Senate is too busy debating synthcookers instead of this.”

“It’s the Mid Rim,” Din said softly. “I thought he’d be safe this close to the Core.”

“Yeah that was dumb. Luke can find trouble anywhere.” Han peered into the remains of a burnt house, looking for signs of life. When he looked back, Leia was frowning at him with her ‘you know better’ glare.

‘What?’ Han mouthed at her.

“He’s really upset!” Leia hissed at her husband.

Really?! Han looked back at the Mandalorian. For those like him who were unable to cheat with the damn Force, there was no way of picking up on anything from the Mando.  Plus Han was still pissed at Din, even if it was a bit irrational.  Luke was supposed to be settling down and putting this drama behind him. He should be raising little Force toadlets, not getting kidnapped or hurt AGAIN.  The kid was 30 years old now, why was he still finding new ways to hurt himself?!

Leia smacked Han with her open palm as if she overheard his uncharitable thoughts. “Ow!”

“Stay here, and be. Nice.”  She stalked off, towards a circle of burn marks scorched across what was once the middle of the town.  Chewie followed, keeping a respectful distance but openly carrying his bowcaster and snarling at any bystanders brave enough to make eye contact. Han watched as Leia knelt into the ashes and put her hand over the worst of the burn marks. Her behavior was strange enough to force Din to approach him, with Grogu perched in a carrier around his waist.

“What is she doing?” Din muttered to Han.

He shrugged. “Force stuff.” Han had stopped asking for clarification a long time ago.

There was a pause. “So, Leia is a Jedi,” Din said slowly.

Han rolled his eyes. “Nope.” His lips popped on the ‘p’ sound.

The Mando just wouldn’t shut up. “But she has a lightsaber.”

“Yup.”

“She can use the Force.”

“Yes.” Han found himself wondering where this was going, despite himself.

“She has a tendency to be cryptic, and often refuses to answer a direct question.”

Han snorted. “Oh yeah.”

“She’s a Jedi then,” Din said triumphantly.

“How many Jedi have you met where you can make that decision?” Han asked. “Also, don’t let her hear that.”

They both paused as Leia spun around in a slow circle with her eyes closed and her hands out in front of her, like she was directing traffic in the middle of a busy street. Han assumed there was a whole lot of something going on in his sweetheart’s head, but she probably looked crazy to the surviving townsfolk watching them from nearby.

“I don’t understand.”

Yeah neither did Han. “Look, Leia is more a weekend Jedi ok? She doesn’t want full custody of her Father’s Chosen One banthashit.”  Kriff Anakin Skywalker and the podracer he flew in on.

Djarin shook his head. “How is that fair?”

Han blinked. “What?”

“Why is Luke rebuilding the Jedi Order all by himself when she has the same abilities?” The Mando flung out at arm to point at Leia while the baby at his waist cooed in confusion.

“I don’t see Luke trying to build an entire government from scratch, be a mom, and lead one of the biggest refugee populations in the galaxy!” Han shot back.

“No, he’s just trying to defeat the Imperial remnants single handly and rebuild an entire culture lost to genocide,” Din countered.

Ha, Han had the winning answer to this morbid conversation.  “Leia’s planet was destroyed!”

“Well, Luke’s entire family was killed!” Din turned to face Han.

Han couldn’t believe this guy. “--So was Leia’s, you know. BECAUSE HER ENTIRE PLANET BLEW UP!”

Din paused as his brain caught up to him. “Oh. Right. Kark.”

Han didn’t need to see his face to tell he was embarrassed.  Kark was right. Although, now that they were comparing notes... “His father did cut off his hand. That’s pretty kriffed up.”

“Vader tortured Leia,” Din offered back.

“And me,” Han grumbled.

“She is married to a di'kut.”

He had no idea what that meant but his default was to take offense. “HEY, I wouldn’t talk, Mr. No Face--”

“ By the Goddess!” Leia shouted at them.  “This is not a victim competition! Will you two idiots stop comparing which twin is more miserable and come over here!”

[the-silentium]

The Lost Future Pt.1

Masterlist   Part 2

Pairing: soulmate!Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: Soulmate AU where the soulmates share their wounds. || Along with your brother, you are transported into the 1960's with a bunch of kids you don't know. Turns out they are trying to stop the 2019 apocalypse and you are playing a key part of it.

Words: 4590 words

Warnings: Violence, blood, swears, racism. 

A/N: Hi readers! This fic' was too long to be posted in one part, so I divided it in three distinct part. The next part will come out pretty quickly, seeing as it it already written but not proof read yet. Please, let me some comebacks in the comments or send me a request!

Groans erupted from your throat, a clear indication that your peaceful slumber has been disrupted by some unknown pull. Your heavy eyelids fluttered open with difficulty, the need to sleep omnipresent in your system. A bright blue light forced you to squint while tears formed slowly thanks to its harsh brightness. Before your foggy brain could comprehend what was happening, the glow intensified in a blinding flash and the sudden feeling of free-falling gave you nausea. 

The fall was brutal, your whole body crashed on the ground like an inanimate puppet. Your hands flew to your face with a pained cry, covering the painful spot that was your nose in an attempt to soothe the suffering nerves. To say that you were confused was an understatement. One moment, you were peacefully asleep and the next you were… where? You removed your hands from your face, a pounding sensation still beating under your skin and shrieked as your eyes landed on a disgustingly big spider weaving its web between two oversized blades of grass. You jumped aside, eager to put distance between yourself and the arachnid, when your eyes met the magnificent blue sky, as clear as ever, with the sun nearing its peak. The warmth of its rays touched delicately your cheeks achieving to bring a smile to your lips. It has been a really long time since you last sunbathed and today would have been a perfect day to do it if it weren’t for the strange situation you just found yourself in. 

At the foot of a nearby tree laid a brown-haired boy cursing under his breath. He must have scratched his knee somewhere, looking as he was slouched over himself trying to alleviate the pain as you did moments ago. Your eyes traveled up, analyzing the familiar form. His outfit resembled yours, his tousled hair the same shade as yours… You jumped to your feet in a hurry when his green gaze met yours. 

"Roo!" You exclaimed, running toward your twin. The teenager only had a second to prepare himself before his body was tackled to the ground by an incredible force. His yelp made you laugh before he pushed you aside, adding another fall on the list of today's activities. Once he got a good look at you, Andrew’s eyes widen. Some tears formed in his eyes, but before they could escape and run freely down his cheeks, he threw himself at your neck, hugging you with all his might. 

"Y/N!" His strangled voice was muffled by your neck. Your arms wrapped around his body, mirroring his grip. "I missed you too, Roo," You whispered in his neck. Finally, you reunited with the only person in the whole world that understood you more than yourself. 

Pushing you at arm length, Andrew’s eyes scanned you like an awk. "How is that possible?" He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. "You-" Your laugh made him jump and clearly, he was beginning to think that you came back missing some brain cells. Patting his shoulder, a smirk stretched your lips. 

"Don't sound so disappointed." You flicked his forehead, just like you used to do when you were kids and you were teasing him. "I might think that you don't like me." 

Andrew groaned and pushed you off. Getting up snickering, you brushed off the dirt on your clothes. You had missed it, this perpetual teasing. You both could bicker and argue all you wanted, but you would always recover in no time, never holding a grudge against the other without having to talk about it. 

"What the fuck!" Andrew's yell made you look up. He pulled his clothes forward, examining and patting his body like he never saw it before. "No, no, no… Why am I thirteen again?" His head shot up, his green gaze back on you showing his confusion. "What did you do?" 

Taking a step back, you put a hand on your chest. "What did I do?" You replied in a defensive tone. "I didn't do shit! Four minutes ago I was-" Your sentence died as your eyes caught on your surroundings. Old cars you’ve had only seen in movies rolled on the streets, ladies walked by wearing old fashioned dresses of various flashy colors and various patterns, different stores displayed proudly their retro signs for all to see. Were you in one of the small American towns that were stuck in time? 

"What the…" You heard your brother mutter in sync with yourself. The thought to pinch yourself passed your mind, after all, you did have some really weird dreams recently with all the stuff that happened in your life. Or maybe you watched too much Supernatural in the last months.  

Turning around to try and make sense of the scenery, you noticed high buildings beyond the line of trees. If they were anything to go by, you would say that you ended up in a urban park in some random city. The transportation method was still unknown, but that was something you could figure out later. 

Women in colorful dresses walked slowly talking to each other on a stone walkway. Some of them pushed baby carriers around while others looked in the twins direction, a hand flying to their mouth, eyes growing as wide as saucers. Looking down, you felt your heart accelerate. You were wearing a pair of black basketball shorts along with a light grey tank top that said: "If I was a bird, I know who I'd shit on". Clearly, you didn’t have the proper attire for this period of time. Andrew was in the same predicament as yourself, with his basketball shorts and his "I play hockey because punching people for no reason is frowned upon" shirt. 

Getting a hold of Andrew's wrist, you started to walk away from the outraged women who seemed to be harshly whispering between them, their manicured fingers pointed at them. Would it have been your own modern age town, you would have assumed entirely your choice of clothing, but here, where you didn’t know jack shit about how the people would react? You kept it in and walked away. 

"Hey! You two from the 21st century!" Shocked, you stopped in your tracks and turned to meet a brown-haired boy running in your direction. His school uniform was vaguely familiar, although you couldn’t put your finger on where you knew it from. "You guys got transported too!" The boy finally reached them. He was all smile and his bubbly presence made you relax immediately. You noticed six other kids wearing the same uniform walking after their comrade. It reassure you that the majority of the group seemed as lost as your brother and yourself. Maybe you could stick with them for a while. You noticed that they had an unconscious girl with them. You wondered if her state was caused by a fall or by another unknown reason. 

"Transported? What are you talking about?" Andrew stepped closer, positioning himself right beside you. He was three inches taller than you and surpassed the new boy by a good one inch. 

Bubbly guy turned around, pointing vaguely at one of his approaching friend. "Five time-traveled us here. In the past! So we could stop the a-," a hand on Bubbly's mouth prevented him from saying more. 

Before you had time to question the sanity of Five's parents for choosing such a name or ask how one could time-travel back in time, cold blue eyes glared holes in Bubbly's head while maintaining pressure on his mouth. "Shut it. We already have enough attention on us like that." True to his words, people were watching their little group intently, some of them stopping in their tracks to openly stare at them. 

The steady rhythm in your ribcage was quickly disturbed by the harsh blue gaze falling on you. A beat or two were skipped, your body too entranced to remember that this muscle was indeed vital to your survival. "We can't talk here." A smirk stretched his lips when his eyes trailed down to your tank top. For a completely unknown reason your body answered to his apparent approval by creating some butterflies in your belly. Swiftly, he removed his jacket and handed it to you. 

Eyebrows furrowed, you stared at him, then the jacket and back at him. "I'm not cold thank you." You said confused. Rolling his eyes, Smug Face kept handing you the piece of clothing. "If you walk around looking like that, you might get arrested. People in this decade aren't that open yet." He clarified in an impatient tone.

You didn’t know much about "this decade", but you can feel that he was definitely right. The people around seemed extremely judgemental and unappreciative of your appearance. Sighing, you uncrossed your arms and took the jacket, making sure to not touch the boy's finger in the process. The last thing you needed was your heart stopping indefinitely because it short-circuited at his contact. 

"Fine." The black jacket was surprisingly comfortable and light on your shoulders. The coffee scent that lingered on it was quite enjoyable and you found yourself gripping the slightly too long sleeves. Looking down, it seemed like you were wearing a weird looking black dress. If you kept your legs close to each other, that is. Smug Face looked satisfied of your appearance and nodded. His mouth opened to speak again, only to be cut by another. 

"Wait. How do we know we can trust you?" Oh, Andrew. Always there to protect you from any harm. Speaking of which, his right arm found its place on your shoulders while his query gaze was fixed to the unconscious girl in one of the boys’ arms. 

At that, Smug Face stared at him, seemingly getting colder. "Really?" He rolled his eyes once again and scoffed, turning around. He took off toward a street, muttering to the others to follow him. Some of his companions followed right behind him after sending them curious and apologetic glances. Bubbly and a girl stayed behind, waiting for the newcomers. 

The girl sighed and offered her hand to shake. "I'm Allison. Sorry about Five, he's a bit rude."  Bubbly scoffed at that, muttering something about a grouchy old man. "The girl is our sister, Vania. She fell unconscious before we time-traveled. Look, I know you don't have to, but you can trust us." Deep inside you, you knew that they were trustworthy. Anyway, if you were proven to be wrong, all you had to do was use your power and get the hell out of there with Andrew. Smiling, you shook Allison's hand before pointing to your brother. 

"That's Andrew, I'm Y/N. And don't worry," You pointed at the nosey people still watching their little group, "between the old-timers and you guys, I choose you guys." 

Allison chuckled while Bubbly, who presented himself as Klaus, cheered and led the way to catch up with their siblings. 

The walk to a small isolated house took a good 20 minutes. In this time, you talked with the rest of the group, getting to know them a bit. 

You learned that the familiarity you found in their uniform was caused by their worldwide superheroes reputation. You remember watching the news one day, 6 of them displaying in front of a crowd, proud faces daring someone or something to come at them and try and beat them. You remember feeling proud of being born on the same day as them. You were all special after all. 

However, they weren't as invincible as you once thought in your young innocence. Apparently, they failed in preventing an apocalypse in 2019 and ended up travelling through time to survive, which failed once again because you all were back in your early teen age. The idea of being stuck in the past for your whole life was weird to say the least and you hoped that you would find a way to get back home. 

Most importantly though, you learned that Klaus was your favorite out of the group. He was carefree, almost too much sometimes, and was not afraid to be himself. You laughed along with him during a big part of the walk, the both of you mocking the outraged faces of the 1963 grown-ups when they got a good look of Andrew's shirt or Allison's too short skirt for their time. 

Luther clearly didn't trust the two addition to their little group. He shot some glances your and Andrew's way from time to time, clearly trying to judge if you were a threat or not. At one point, he asked Allison to walk with him. It may have sound innocent but you knew he wanted to protect her from you. You didn't need a power to find out, his eyes were talkative enough. 

Diego was at least approachable. He didn't talk much, but didn't reject you either. He seemed funny on first glance and you hoped that you would have a chance to talk to him more. 

Finally, there was Five. For you, he was a total mystery.  He didn't turned around once, too concentrated to get to his destination and not once did he answer his siblings when they asked where he was leading them. He totally ignored the people watching him like he had two heads, sometimes glaring at those who were too close to him, but mainly kept his eyes right ahead. 

You reached a cute little yellow house with rows of beautiful purple flowers framing the door. Pansies you think they are named. You were sure that there would be a lovely old lady greeting you at the door with a nice smell of cookies floating in the air, but to your disappointment, a musty smell gripped you at the throat instead, along with dust entering your lungs. 

You coughed a bit just like everyone who entered before you minus Five. He seemed immune to his environment, still walking like he hadn't reached his destination yet. 

"Five, the hell are we doing here?" Diego's voice echoed through the silent rooms. You wandered into the little living room, barely dodging Klaus who just threw himself on the first couch he saw. A cloud of dust erupted of the old cushion, like an explosion suffocating the brunette who quickly got back on his feet. You laughed at his antics when a hand got a hold of your arm and pulled you toward a door. 

"Come on Panda. They went this way." Andrew released you when you followed after him. The door lead to a basement, where everyone was gathered around Five. 

"Thank you for finally joining us." The sarcasm caught your attention, your eyes travelling to the source only to find his gaze on you, reanimating the flutters in your belly. Damn butterflies, you'll need to find a fly swatter soon. "Now we can concentrate on stopping the apocalypse." You froze. The what now? 

"The hell?" "Did you just say a-" both yours and Andrew's voice died in your throat when Five lifted the corner of a carpet, throwing it at your feet and gripped two wood planks. If he hadn't lifted the two planks like he did, you would never have thought that they were movable. 

"Holy shit! You have your own batcave?" Klaus jumped before Five in the hole in the ground. Five followed suit, threatening Klaus of mutilation if he touched anything. Luther moved his unconscious sister in his arms and entered the hole. Your curiosity to see what was down there got the best of you, so you did one step toward the hole before you were stopped in your tracks. 

"Woa. We can't go down there. We don't know them." Roo's uneasiness was clear. He didn't trusted them and being stuck underground wasn't helping. "No offense," he watched Allison and Diego, who stayed behind waiting for them, "but you guys might be killers for all we know!" 

A blur passed in your field of vision, passing under your brother's chin and hitting the wall. 

"Don't you fucking dare call us killers. We save people." With each words, Diego got closer to Andrew, growing the tension in the room as he went. 

"And you think that they'll trust us when you throw knives at them?" Allison grabbed her sibling's arm and pulled him back, away from Andrew's face. 

"They have to if they want to come back from here." Five's voice coming from behind you made you jump. You hasn't seen him exit the hole nor did you hear his steps. "And we don't have time to waste. The clock is ticking." His tone let no place to negotiate. He was losing patience. And fast. 

"To stop the apocalypse?" The hope of returning home, to your family and friends was relieving. If you could do something to save them in 2019, you would definitely do everything to make sure that happened. 

"Yes and if we want to have a chance to do it, we must start to plan. Now." A sigh on your left made you relax. Andrew finally admitted defeat, allowing you to follow Five who disappeared under the ground again. 

You stopped in awe at the underground living room. A bunker. The perfect hideout to plan to stop an apocalypse. 

…………………………….

Your brain felt like it was going to explode at any second. After Five had thrown spare clothes to everyone, the Hargreeves had taken an hour or so to explain what happened in 2019 and you were now trying to elaborate a plan against an organisation named the Commission. Sadly, every ideas were quickly rejected by an impatient and highly irritated Five. 

Klaus' whines about his empty stomach was getting on the boy's nerves for the last half hour, but you couldn't stop yourself before finally agreeing and proposing to go get some take out. Thinking with an empty stomach was too much to ask for and by the looks of it, Five would never be satisfied by anyone's idea. 

Cheers resonated in the room making you chuckles while Five rolled his eyes. 

"I'm coming with!" Klaus cheerfully tapped your shoulder and lead the way out of the bunker. 

"Me too! You'll need someone to "pay" for the food." Allison chuckled along with you. You shot a questioning glance at your brother, only to be answered with a shake of his head. You knew he would probably use this time to snoop around the bunker and get to know who he was plotting with.  Just as you were about to exit the house with your 2 new friends, a blue flash on your right caught your attention. 

"I'm coming." Every damn time! The second you hear that damn melodious voice, your heartbeat accelerates! Were you ill? Was your body trying to tell you something? Warn you against him? 

"Believe me, old brother dear! We really don't want to know!" Hands moving in the air like a lunatic, Klaus turned on himself to face you, walking backwards. You barely had time to slap a hand on your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at the boy. "You just want coffee, say it." He added on a more serious tone. 

"I'm here to make sure that you newbies don't alter the timeline more than it already is." Allison ignored Five's irritated comment and nudged your arm. 

"Hey, sorry about Diego earlier. He really takes his vigilante work seriously." You shrugged it off, it wasn't a big deal to you. You were a bit carefree but not careless. You had good instincts and you knew that you could trust your guts telling you that they were good allies. 

"It's fine. Sorry for my brother, Roo really crossed a line, calling you killers like that." You paused, trying to find the right words to describe your situation. "He's just really confused. One minute we are relaxing at home and the next we are back in our teenage body in an old american city." You frown, looking at the ground. A delicate hand found your shoulder and squeezed softly. 

"I forgot to ask!" You jumped at Klaus' sudden exclamation. "Where are you guys from? I can't place your accent!" 

You scratched your neck, an embarrassed smile forming on your face. "Sorry for the accent." A nervous laugh escaped your lips. "My brother and I are French Canadian. We grew up learning French and English, but I'm way more fluent in French as it's my mother tongue." You were not embarrassed of your country in the slightest. You loved Canada, it was just that a certain piercing blue pair of eyes was glued to you ever since you left the house and they started making you nervous. 

Klaus gasped before reaching your side to throw an arm around your shoulder and pull your smaller form into his side. "Our polite neighbors! You don't have to worry, your English is impéccable so far!" You giggled, happy to know that your nationality won't be an issue. 

"So you were in Canada and you still time-travelled?" Five's sudden question surprised you. During the whole way to the nearest diner, he had remained silent, listening and analysing. His incredulous tone made you perplexed. Was it wrong? You opened the door to the others before answering the question. 

"Looks like i-" A fist hit the counter in front of you, making you jump. Your heartbeat accelerated for a second, the silence in the diner deafening to your ears and rising your nervosity. Every pair of eyes in the room was directed at you, more so at Allison. You perceived her anxiety and immediately, your hand found hers in a weak attempt to appease her. The way her fingers tightly interlaced with yours despite her keeping a strong exterior alerted you that she was shrinking inside. 

The looks on the patrons faces made you sick. You recognized those looks. Disgust. Anger. Superiority. For a moment, you had forgotten that a lot of people in these years hated the people of color and that they suffered great injustices. 

The clerk behind the counter with his haughty air, pointed a sign behind him. The sight made you gnash. Whites only. Oh how you wanted to show him how colourful he could get if you hit him hard enough. You opened your mouth at the same moment as Klaus, but the both of you were interrupted by none other than Five. 

"We're leaving." Your eyes went wide, quickly turning to him to yell at him instead, but were cut off by his hand pulling you out harshly along with Allison. The second you were outside, you pulled your hand back as hard as you could, nearly elbowing Klaus in the stomach when Five let you go. 

"Why are you letting them win?" You spat. Some patrons were still eyeing you through the front window, contentment dripping from their features. You nearly decided to get back inside and speak your mind. 

"There's nothing we can do about that. Drop it." Your blood was still boiling in your veins. You wanted justice. You wanted to punch the clerk's and patron's smug faces until their thick skull understood that people of color or not, everyone had the same rights. You were all humans. You were all sentient beings. 

"It's fine. Let's go." Allison's weak smile didn't even reached her eyes. As much as you hated to, you dropped it nevertheless. Pushing the matter wouldn't do anyone any good so you followed Five towards another diner, your morale at its lowest. He and Klaus went inside to get the food while you waited with Allison outside. You two settled on a bench near the diner so the boys would find you easily and started softly passing rocks at each other with your feet.  

"You must miss them." You frowned at the affirmation. 

"Who?" 

"Your soulmate and your family." Her sad eyes met yours. It was at this moment that you realised that she looked utterly tired. It pulled at your heart to see her in this state. 

"I never met my soulmate. But I do miss my family a lot." You recalled your mom who stroked your hair when your weren't feeling good, your dad who would always figure out a way to cheer you up and your dog who would always be a sunshine and sleep over your covers to keep you warm whenever you felt cold. Lowering your head because of the tears forming in your eyes, you blinked several times to subtly kept them at bay. Years of hiding your tears caused you to improve your own technique and become an expert. 

"You'll meet him, one day." You slowly nod your head, keeping your gaze low. "You say "never" like it was definitive, but when we get back in 2019, there's still a chance that you'll find him." She pat your shoulder, smiling softly. You returned her smile. You were about to ask about her own soulmate when something shiny caught your eyes. The sun reflected off a metallic surface, which you quickly attributed to a knife. 

Before you could register what happened, your brain forced your hand to move and grab the knife in a strong grip. The pain was excruciating. The feeling of a thousand paper cuts all happening at once, cutting through your flesh and leaving a burning feeling in your palms and fingers made you grunt. As much as you wanted to drop the knife, you couldn't. Because if you were to release your grip on the weapon, the moron who tried to stab your friend would get what he wanted. 

Only when he pulled back on the knife, cutting deeper into your flesh, did you screamed and fell on your knees. You heard your name but you were too focussed trying to keep the pain at bay, squeezing your wrist in vain. The burning intensified, along with your heartbeat resonating into your hand. A soft touch on your back brought you back to reality. The moron had apparently took out, leaving you with Allison, Klaus and a disheveled Five. 

"Wait, you're cut too?" 

You couldn't concentrate. Your head along with your hand were pounding, blood pooling between your fingers and tainting your newly acquired old pants. For a moment, all you could see was the deep red of your blood, slowly oozing from the deep gashes in your palm and phalanges. It was mesmerizing and terrifying. You haven't been hurt to the point of bleeding in… years? It wasn't something you missed in the slightest. 

Then your world became blue. The most beautiful and calming shade of blue you've ever seen. It happened in a flash and suddenly you were back in the bunker under the yellow house. No more calming blue, no more street, no more cars. No more bubble. 

"What the hell happened!?" Andrew's body filled your vision while his beaming voice filled your ears. 

"Stop screaming. That's unnecessary." You were certain that if Five hadn't knelt on your side and showed you his hand, Andrew would have definitely jumped at his throat and strangled him. Your eyes widened when you noticed the blood on his hand. Both your cuts were 100% identical. "That explain why you got teleported from Canada." The tiniest of smile graced his features. "Hey soulmate." 

You didn't know how you two being soulmates allowed you to time-travel, but you knew two things: you were screwed and the butterflies will keep dancing in your stomach for the rest of your life.

Part 2

[zikadraws]

If the ghosts bosses got to be reincarnated, what do you think they’d look like in the modern age(I’m talking, like the twisted sisters, Clem(best rat boi), Fishhook, etc)?

Oh boy tough call !✨Sooo let's seeeee...

(*Low quality colouring, drawing and long post ahead (sorry), Click4Quality*)

So let's start with Chambrea and Steward. They gladly took back their human form (Yeah I see Chambrea as Latino/Arabic styled, and Steward as Australian), but less gladly the fact of having to work to not get hungry. They restarted to work in services, although their experience (as for a good part of the ghosts) got them militant, and they are fighting for the service workers to get treated/respected better and better paid (between others). Chambrea (Chãlissia) is the leading type, Steward (Stuart) follows and admires her, and struggles to push their relationship to another level. They already live together.

Then there's Chef Jacques Soulfflé. He of course oriented himself towards cooking, but understandably enough for those who witnessed his cooking, got fired several times, and refused to understand why ; so much that he actually attempted ''Hell's Kitchen'' to prove everyone wrong- and nearly caused Gordon Ramsay, who -figures- spectacularly blazed his @ss, to rage quit the emission. They actually had a private talk afterwards and Gordon decided to save cooking's honour and to give him private lessons. Never did he see a guy so bad at cooking but who genuinely absolutely loved cooking against all. Deserves an effort. Thanks to that Soulfflé got better and found a regular cook post. Yeah I got carried a bit far on this IK. X) Anyway so next-

Morty finally managed to open the cinema class he was planning to open before his death, and he's having the time of his life with this. He takes cheap and everyone in -elementals to elderly- and he is in a 'poor-populated' city part, so he has a lot of volunteers ; as an activity as for an actual class. He loves to communicate his passion with others, is a wonderful teacher open to everyone and loves creating shorts and movies with his students. Some of them actually succeeded as actors or staff or even directors, and often credit him. Although a bit wore out, he is really happy. Plus a good portion of the former boss ghosts like to help him with and star in his productions.

Krüller thought of becoming policeman, but chickened out and went on as a mall guard. He is great with children. He even babysits sometimes. And often stars in Morty's movies, as 'the police chief'. He's satisfied by this repetitive but calm life.

Johnny Deepend invested into an old gym and became sport coach. Between taxes and incomes, it isn't always easy but his easygoing, supportive and friendly natural attitude gets him a nice bunch of people following him and going to his gym. But on the side, he is also very engaged to ban competitions based on showing off the body, knowing way too well how destructive it is for the people, and actually even run conferences about that. He is determined.

Serpci has became a famous social media influencer and practically lives out of it (plus some beauty and fashion sideworks. She customize clothes.). Her Egyptian style, her beauty and aura and her pets snakes got her REALLY popular on any network- and leaves her targeted by many creeps of course, but her merciless way of dealing with them chicken them out (and actually is a way of outcome for her. Blackmail is powerful, but shhh.) She's militant for feminism, and against racism, cultural appropriation and above all, grave robbers (especially targeting archeologists). Remains of her pharaoh shenanigans, y'know.

Dr. Potter searched around and was taken under the wing of an association that fights to save true seeds (seeds that naturally grows back after harvesting and not having to be replaced each time like big corporations like to sell [as] 'necessary'.) He is trusted to keep and grow in number these true seeds, and in return he is taken care of, feed, and has his own house, garden and glasshouse. He is very happy.

The Triplets had to actually go to school for the first time in their lives, and if they managed to get to be adopted together (by one of the bosses, idk for this one), they had a very cynical bad surprise. They still perform during events, to show-off or at parties.

THAT is my human interpretation of Fishook. He lacks an arm and look as what white police arbitrarily view as the embodiment of ''''potential criminal''''; and now that he's human again, he's fucking pissed. As in -he freaking means business. By that I mean, he is entirely, body and soul, engaged to the whole 'Save Marine Life' cause. He raids awareness and direct missions, participates to everything and acts everywhere. Yeah, he works for the WWF. (He is also getting a bit of trouble about his cranky comportment.)

(Yeah, ship time. Why ? Because I can.)

Amadeus Wolfgeist and Clem turned into a couple representation of Tortured Artists ™. (I'll explain for Clem at some point in the future so it'd make sense, pinky swear.)

Amadeus Wolfgeist got his hair back (and I wasn't too sure of what colour to give it but heck it I'm satisfied), but was really pissed to learn that it's hard to make a carrier out of classical music nowadays. He yet decided to keep on it, determined as frick that he was to bring back the golden age, and became an independent compositor, freeing the stress generated from this work by private contract concerts. Despite his talent, he's struggling due to his dissuading stubbornness and is upset to not being able to afford his preferred nobile lifestyle. Clem has spawned up with an hyperactive syndrome, plus of his autistic condition, and is making the most money by having several jobs at the time. As a handyman/plumber, but also as a painter and visual artist, as he finally noticed how much interest and talent he had for that. He draws eyefooling artworks as a living, to situate. He kept his pet opossum and his emotional support duckies. Strangely enough, he hardly sleeps on his own impulse anymore.

They live together (for 'financial reasons' dixit Wolfgeist, y'knooow...) and complete and equilibrate each other. Clem is the one who -ironically- makes the most money, and deals with Amadeus's stress and irritation levels. Amadeus is Clem's impulse control, health, fashion, self-care and sleep schedule advisor.

Sometimes Clem seconds Amadeus on his banjo.

AND THEN, TO FINISH (because I literally, between other things, have no space left) we have Macfrights who tried to get hired at 'Puy du Fou' but got humiliated and turned off, and Phantasmagloria who tried to get hired as a DJ but nuts for several reasons. They both swallowed back their pride and ended up working at fast-foods. They both try as often as possible to play in Morty's movies. Macfrights likes to play the villain.

---

OKAY ! And that was about it for my headcanons about this ask. Very long post, I know but hey ! Dare I believe that it was worth it...?

Alright, thank you for your ask. That was a big one and I hope you are, too, satisfied and wish you a nice day :) .

Aaand thank you to everyone else for your attention 🎵 ! 🤗 Have a nice day~♥️

[matildainmotion]

All That We Carry - and the launch of the MWM Peer Mentoring Programme.

Image by Zoe Gardner @limberdoodle​

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know, surviving,” I say. 

Or

“Taking it a day at a time.”

Or

“Just about upright!”

Or sometimes I say nothing but describe a hilly landscape with my hand - “Up and down,” I might add.

Over the last ten years, since my son was born, I have accrued a ready-made stock of replies when someone - at the school gate, the shops, on a zoom call- asks the generic “how are you?” I can’t bring myself to smile gaily and say, “Great, thank you!” so my responses are designed to indicate just enough of the truth not to make the questioner worried or burdened, but do not tip me into the territory of barefaced lying. Because, the fact is, it’s hard.

‘It’ means everything - my son, my daughter, their school, my mother, time for my husband, the house, my work, my health, my sleep, the world.

‘It’ is a tiny word. In this context ‘it’ makes me think of an ant - the way they clamber across the dirt track by our house, carrying a stick, twice their size and weight. We do this. Parents and carers do it. Women do it. Non-binary people too. We carry A LOT, and often we do it in relative silence, either because we are too exhausted to shout about it, or even to notice or fully acknowledged it to ourselves, or because we do not know who to tell or how to tell them.

This is not new. Not news. We have been doing this - carrying a lot - for a long, long time. In fact, there is even a well-researched theory that the first thing that a mother ever made was probably a net or sling* - a thing to put things in, to enable her to carry more than she could manage to hold with just her hands, just her arms. We have been carrying stuff around in nets, slings, sacks, pots, on our heads, on our backs, in our bellies, in our hearts, we have had loads on our minds for millennia. The act that is less well documented, because it happens less, is that of us setting things down. Of course, some brave pioneers have done it, through acts of radical art, or resistance: Hildegard of Bingen, Rosa Parks, Mary Wollstonecraft. But all too often when we hear of someone ceasing to carry it all, it is a story of crisis - of dropping the lot, out of exhaustion, ill health, burn out. Because mostly, as a carer, there are so few opportunities to set things down, we just carry on carrying.

Six months into motherhood, when I was feeling the hardness of it already, I enrolled on a support course for parents and I still remember the phrase that the course facilitator used: most parents, she said, walk around with “a huge empathy deficit.” Empathy, I believe, involves someone else bearing witness to all you are carrying, acknowledging its full weight. It is a miraculous thing, but this acknowledgment in itself lightens the load, or perhaps, more accurately, the load gets no lighter but we feel stronger, better able to bear it. Earlier this year - still feeling the struggle - I enrolled on another course, a Hand in Hand Parenting one. The founder of Hand in Hand, Patty Wifler, did so out of a recognition of the severe lack of support that parents receive in our culture to do the enormous task of raising children. A cornerstone of her approach, her answer to the ‘empathy deficit’ is the idea of Listening Partnerships - a peer support arrangement that enables parents to offload regularly, safely, with another adult.

For a long time now, I have wanted to run something like this within Mothers Who Make- a way to provide one another with support, encouragement and accountability, as we do the almighty work of caring and creating. It is the same impulse that informs our peer support groups, but there is something vitally different that can take place in a one to one exchange - a more precise sharing of the weight of what you are carrying, a chance, for however brief a time, to set it down and take a good look at it. This month then, I am delighted to announce the launch of the MWM Peer Mentoring Programme. I ran a trial in July and it was everything I hoped it could be, so I am very excited to offer it again now. Please read about the programme below - what it is, how it works, how to enroll. Before you do, however, I want to use this moment as I might a peer-mentoring session, to set down what I am carrying, not because I need empathy (though, like everyone else, I do!) but because I hope it will give you permission to do the same. One thing I love about writing is that, despite the distances of time and space it traverses, it is strangely intimate, like a one on one exchange - just me, telling this to just you.

So, in answer to the question, “How are you?” here is the fuller response, which I do not give most of the time:

I am tired, always, and tired of being tired. The nights feel like dark imprints of the days, a negative image, not restful but grainy, smudge. Last night I slept on the children’s bedroom floor because it was easier to relax without the pressure of being in a bed, with the hardness of the floor against me. Today my breasts are tender even though I am only partway through my cycle - I googled it - another symptom of the perimenopause. Next door, as I write, my son is playing Lego Star Wars on the TV and my daughter is watching Lego Friends on Granny’s iPad - their daily dose of screen time so that I can have my daily dose of this, but it never sits easy. I dread the week ahead, of dressing them in bed, still half-asleep, readying them for school, where it is uncertain how their day will go, how long they will stay before I get a call asking me to pick them up, how they will be when they come home - it is a shock, although it shouldn’t be, to realise that both my children are neurodiverse. This is a trendy term nowadays, one to celebrate, and I do, but it is also a weight, to carry all the not-fitting-in-ness that goes with it. The last two nights my son has thrown up with anxiety, from the fear of anything bad happening to any one of us. I managed to get the potty-as-sick-bowl there in time, on to his top bunk, calmed him at last, till he fell asleep just before midnight. I went downstairs to turn off the lights - I always stop at this moment, to look through the back window into the tiny dark of the garden, to Granny’s room, or shed, at the end of it, and wonder how long my mother will live and if it will be long enough to see my novel published - apparently it takes two years even once you’ve got a publisher. I told her this yesterday and she frowned, said she would have a word with God, thought she ought to be able to manage it. I am wondering, though, how I will manage it - manage to do the rewrites the book needs, to do the work MWM requires, and the work I have taken on for Improbable, the finding of a new home for the company, but also for us, a new school, a place for us to be. And meanwhile, the house is overspilling – every room - with toys, books, dvds, with plastic trinkets from the inside of Kinder eggs, dried up felt tip pens and stale biscuits, stored in tins too late, which I should throw away but I can’t face the waste and so I continue to pretend that one day they may get eaten.

That’s me. And all the short answers are still true - I am surviving, I am still upright, taking it a day at a time, through all the ups and downs, and I am, actually, in a position of great privilege, on many levels.

And you? How are you? That’s my question for the month. And I’m interested in the long answer. Here are some ways you can respond:

You can post below this.

You can participate in the MWM Peer Mentoring Programme - read all about it and apply here: https://motherswhomake.org/peer-mentoring

You can attend a peer support meeting - read all about that and book your space here: https://motherswhomake.org/international

*The Carrier Bag Theory of Evolution by Elizabeth Fisher in Women’s Creation (McGraw-Hill 1973)

Image by Zoe Gardner @Limberdoodle

[chronicsheepdrawing]

I love your Dead Jesper AU! It’s such a great concept, and please do more! Also, I have an idea for it. The strange wind that guides Klaus (in the movie) takes him to the post office, and he meets Jesper’s ghost. He tries to calm Jesper down, because when Klaus arrived Jesper is very angry and full of hate, and crying a little. Just an idea I had for it!

Oh I forgot to respond to this one I'm sorry!

I remember either a friend of mine or another ask mentioning Jesper getting Mogens to go to Klaus to get to the 6,000 goal for him ( even though the year has passed already ) to finish his business in life so he could be at rest.

Considering because of concept art I headcanon Mogens to be a previous mail carrier who gave up and decided to become the boatman for the town, it could work.

Jesper using magical wind to influence Mogens seems plausible, wonder if Klaus mixes it up with Lydia and that's what makes him even speak to the boatman.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Epilogue

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for smut

CW: mention/appearance of kids.

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Five Years Later

Rose drifted awake to the sound of birds chirping and the rustling of the curtains from the spring breeze.  Yawning, she rolled over, burrowing down into the blankets.  It had been so long, now, since she’d last woken naturally, that it felt like the height of luxury to stay in bed listening to the sounds of spring, the house quiet.

Too quiet.

She bolted upright, listening intently but hearing nothing.  A glance to the side showed she was alone in bed.  Scrambling out of it, she pulled her dressing gown on as she shoved her feet into slippers, hurrying out of the room and down the hall.  By the time she reached the kitchen she was nearly in a panic, stumbling in and glancing around wildly.

“Good morning,” Malcolm said mildly, his tone amused as she paused and took in the scene.  He stood at the far side of the island, surrounded by baking supplies and clearly in the middle of making a cake.  The scent of bacon wafted from the stovetop.  “Sleep well?”

“Woke up- too quiet,” she panted, easing herself down onto one of the barstools.  “I was worried.”  Fears assuaged, she let herself look him over - even after all this time it still gave her a thrill to see him sleep-mused, hair unruly, wearing a tee and low-hung plaid sleep pants.

He just snorted, shaking his head.  “And here I worked so hard keeping everything quiet so you could have a lie-in.”  He looked at his co-conspirator, who sat perched on the countertop next to him with her face buried in the mixing bowl.  From her vantage point, all Rose could see was blonde curls pulled into a loose ponytail.  “I think you did too good a job of being quiet, JJ.”  Receiving no response, he rolled his eyes at Rose and tapped the metal bowl with the spatula he held.  “Knock knock.  We have a visitor.”

The bowl lowered slowly, reluctantly, the little girl’s tongue straining to catch the last drops of batter before it settled on the countertop with a clang.  She looked up at her father, who pointed at Rose, making JJ turn.  “Mummy!” her eyes lit up, and she scrambled across the island to Rose, throwing herself into her arms heedless of the cake batter smeared over her face.

Rose didn’t care either, holding her first-born close and raining kisses over her face.  “Hi, baby.  Are you helping Daddy?”

“I makin’ a cake!” she declared, pressing her cheek to Rose’s shoulder.  “It yummy.”

“It’s yummy, huh?  What kind of cake is it?”

“Choc’late!”

“That does sound yummy.  Is it for a special occasion?”

JJ’s little brow furrowed, and she peeked back towards her father.  “Uh…”  He raised his eyebrows, mouthing at her, and after a moment she brightened again.  “Oh yeah!  Happy adversary, Mummy!”

Rose smiled, fighting back a laugh at the mispronunciation.  “Thank you, baby.”

“Yes, happy adversary,” Malcolm joked, finally coming around the island to her after sliding the cake into the oven.  “Or anniversary.  Whichever.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”  She accepted his kiss gladly, grinning against his lips at the taste of chocolate.  “I see your assistant’s not the only one sampling the cake batter.”

He pulled back, wiping at her chin.  “Looks can be deceiving.”

A fussing from the table across the room broke the spell, and Rose eased her daughter off her lap.  “I got him.”  Coming around the side she found the baby sucking at his fist, wriggling slightly.  “Daddy’s got you all cocooned up, doesn’t he?” she cooed, undoing the straps over his chest and lifting him out of the carrier, unwrapping the blankets around him.  “That’s all right, I’ll set you free.”  Cradling him to her chest she returned to the counter, carefully reclaiming her seat.

Malcolm was there to help her, beaming proudly down at his son – at only a few weeks old, the baby was still a novelty to everyone, even his three-year-old sister’s short attention span.  “Five years ago today, we made our vows in this very house,” he murmured, one arm around JJ’s waist to keep her steady on the counter, his other hand on the baby, tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb.  “This was so far beyond my wildest dreams, of where I expected we’d be today.”

“Where, at a divorce lawyer?  The day is still young,” Rose teased.  “Might come down to how good that cake is.”

“It’ll rock your world,” he promised arrogantly, stealing a kiss.

“It better, since you can’t yet,” she countered.  “I have high expectations, my Lord.”

He kissed her again, longer this time, breaking away at their daughter’s exaggerated Eewwwwwwww.  “How could you want to leave this?” Malcolm rolled his eyes, pressing his lips to his daughter’s forehead.  “You don’t love the chaos?”

Rose watched as, with a wide swing of her arms, JJ accidentally knocked the bag of flour off the countertop and onto the floor with a soft Oops.  “How about we leave them with C-L-A-R-A and D-A-N-N-Y and run off together?”  She tilted her head towards the mess.  “You, me, Scotland.”

He followed her gaze, shoulders slumping at the spilled flour he’d inevitably be cleaning up.  “Absolutely.”  The baby fussed then, a little louder, and her husband’s frown softened.  “Maybe for the weekend.  But this is our family, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Good answer,” Rose smiled.  “Neither would I.”

They sealed it with a kiss – one accompanied by a toddler’s disgust and a baby’s cry.

They wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was chaos, but it was theirs.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

All That Really Belongs to Us Is Time - Chapter 1 - Arthur Morgan x Belle Kennedy

A/N: I’ve been so nervous about posting this, but it’s finally happening! I hope someone out there enjoys it! Just a little warning: this will be a very slow burn. There will be little moments here and there, but those moments will leave you wanting. Trust me, I’m angry with myself. I want them together more than anything, but I’m waiting for the perfect time.

Okay, enough blabbing. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Belle stared out the window, wondering why she ever agreed to stay late and help set up this new exhibit. She was excited about it, but she was tired and just wanted to be in bed.

“Belle, snap out of it. We need your help here.” The curator snapped his fingers and Belle jolted out of her daze. She reached for an item but he stopped her. “Gloves, please. You know better.”

“Yes, sir.” She rolled her eyes and put on her white cloth gloves. “Where's this stuff from anyway?” she asked.

“This stuff is from the Wild West. Well, from the end of an era as we knew it. 1899” He handed her a few things and she was fascinated already. She dug through the boxes, picking up pistols and photographs, some of which had writing on the back. Her boss cleared his throat and she looked at him. “It's not for you to just stare at, Miss Kennedy. Get on with it.”

“You're telling me that none of this interests you? It's from so long ago but not that long ago, you know?” At the bottom of one of the boxes was a journal that was in pretty good shape to be from 1899. The leather was a bit worn and the pages were yellowed, but it wasn't falling apart or anything. She was about to open it when the curator called her name again. “What?”

“Put this over there.” He nodded to a spot near the window and she did as she was told, her eyes constantly going back to that journal.

“Do we know who this journal belonged to?”

“I don't think it matters. What matters is that you put it where it belongs before tomorrow.” She loved her job but her boss could be a dick sometimes.

“You're no fun.” She picked up the journal and placed it on a table with a few other items. Her boss stepped out and looked at the things from outside the window, how guests would be looking at them, and gave her a thumbs up.

“I guess you can go home now,” he said as he walked back into the space. “I know I am. Goodnight. Don't forget to lock up.” He walked out, leaving her alone...with that journal. She couldn't understand why it seemed to call to her. Her curiosity eventually got the best of her and she picked the book up, opening it carefully.

“Hey, Belle, what you got there?” She jumped at the sound of her coworkers voice, putting the book down quickly. “Did that come in with all the rest of this stuff?” he asked.

“Yeah, doesn't look like it though, does it?” She removed the gloves then went to leave the area, looking back at the journal. Her coworker moved in front of it and picked it up. “You gonna read it?”

“I want to but...wouldn't that feel like invading someone's privacy?”

“Whoever that belongs to has been dead for over a hundred years now…” Her friends face changed and she squinted. “What is it?”

“Did you have any ancestors that may have ran with a gang in the Wild West?” he asked, eyeing her strangely then looking back at the pages.

“What? How would I know? Why are you asking?” She walked over to him, her interest piqued.

“Because…” He turned the book so she could see what he was looking at. “...you have quite the doppelganger.” Belle almost reached out to take the book but remembered she wasn't wearing gloves. The likeness was uncanny. It was like she was staring at herself. “This A.M. fella seemed to really be taken with a woman who looked just like you.”

“That's…” She couldn't find the words for it but suddenly she felt flushed and as if the room was spinning. “I need to sit.” She stumbled out of the exhibit and her coworker followed closely.

“I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm not overwhelmed. It's just...it's been a long day,” she lied. The longer she had looked at that journal, the stranger she had felt but she wouldn't mention that to him. It was more than just seeing someone who looked just like her--it was something else, something deeper.

“You still with me?” He waved in front of her face and she blinked a few times then smiled. “Thought I lost you there.”

“Nope. I'm still here. Not going anywhere. I can't or our boss would lose his mind.” They both laughed then he helped her to her feet. “I'm gonna head home.” But not before getting that journal she thought to herself.

She reassured her coworker that she was fine at least ten times before he finally let her go. Before leaving, she used her key to get back into the exhibit. She looked around before slipping her gloves back on and picking up the book. She put it into a protective carrier and slipped it into her bag. It felt good being bad sometimes. No one would miss it since she would be in before anyone else to get things ready for the big reveal.

----------

The entire way home, Belle couldn't keep her eyes from wandering to her bag sitting on the passenger seat. It was calling to her. She couldn't understand why. Maybe it had something to do with the sketches of the women who looked like her…

No.

She pulled into her parking spot and ran up the stairs to her small flat. She threw her other things on the floor but carried her bag carefully to her room and set it on her bed. Without the gloves, she opened the bag and took out the protective carrier. She opened it and let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. The journal was really here...in her home.

“Gloves,” she whispered, grabbing the gloves and removing the journal carefully, immediately opening it to the pages of sketches. As she flipped the pages, she didn't notice the dried flower that fell to the floor. She touched the sketches lightly and smiled. “Who are you?”

Belle got lost in the pages of this journal. Whoever A.M. was had an amazing story to tell and she was only getting a small piece of it. She had wondered what happened to him and why the last few pages seemed to be written by someone else. There was a connection there but she was too tired to figure it out now.

She placed the book back into the carries then removed the gloves. Standing from her bed, she looked down and spotted the dried flower. “Where did you come from?” As she bent to pick it up, she heard an eerie sound and looked behind her. Nothing. She was being paranoid. There was a rush a freezing air that rushed past her as she touched the flower but before she could react there was nothing but dark.

Cold. Freezing. She was laying in something cold and wet and she didn't like it at all. She opened her eyes slowly only to find that she was surrounded by white. Snow. But it hadn't been snowing when she got home. If she remembered correctly, it had been unseasonably warm.

Sitting up, she held her head which was throbbing for some reason. She looked around and found that she seemed to be in the middle of a forest. How did she get here? She pushed herself up against a tree and stood quietly trying to get her bearings.

“Hello!” she called. “I...I need help!” She listened for footsteps but heard nothing but the wind howling. God, it was cold. She needed to get somewhere warm. She wished she could figure out where she was. The sound of a twig snapping sounded behind her and she turned back with a gasp. It could be a person...or it could be an animal. She was in the middle of a forest after all. She turned away from the sound and hugged herself before walking as quickly as she could.

There were no lights, no sounds of cars passing that could tell her if she was near any kind of road...or civilization. Another sound behind her and now she was running--running and crying. She was just at home. Was she dreaming? Oh God, please let me be dreaming, she thought.

She ran and ran until she heard a horse? No. That couldn't be right. She heard it again and ran towards the sound. “Hello?!” Stupidly, she turned to look back and ran into what felt like a tree. She hit the snow with a thud and focused on what towered over her. Or more like who.

“What the hell?” the man said in a gruff voice, shining his lantern down on her. His eyes widened when he realized just what had hit him. “Miss...are you okay?” He surveyed her and looked even more puzzled. She scooted herself back away from him. “I ain't gonna hurt you…” When he saw that she wasn't going to answer, he sighed and rolled his eyes then began taking his coat off. She stood up quickly, shivering.

“D-don't you even think about it!” she snapped and he stopped to look at her. “I know s-self-defense!”

“What are you talkin’ about, lady?” He shrugged his coat off and held it out to her. “You wanna freeze to death?” Belle looked at the coat then back at him. She walked over slowly until she was standing in front of him. He sighed again and moved closer until she tensed. “I told you I ain't gonna hurt you.” He carefully wrapped the coat around her then backed away.

“W-who are you? Where the hell am I?”

“You're in Colter, ma'am. Now...you wanna tell me what the hell you're doin’ out here in such a strange getup?” He pointed the lantern at her again and she squinted against the light.

“Colter? Where the hell is that?” She pulled the coat around her tighter as the wind blew. “And who the hell are you? Why is there snow? It wasn't snowing when I got home. It's too warm for snow.”

“It feel warm to you?” he asked sarcastically and she glared. “I'm Arthur. Arthur Morgan.” At the time, she didn't have the chance to put two and two together. She was cold, scared, and lost. “And you?”

“I'm Belle.” She let out a shivering breath and hugged herself tighter.

“All right, Miss Belle, we better get you somewhere warm.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He looked at her, offended. “Fine. Stay here and freeze to death.”

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Another man came into view. He seemed to be a little bigger than this Arthur guy. The new man looked at her, his eyes widening as well. “Who is she?” he asked, “And why is she out here?”

“She's-”

“My name is Belle. Who are you?” This man looked friendly enough, with his gentle looking face and beautiful, black hair.

“I'm Charles. Are you lost?”

“Obviously. I don't even know how I got here. I was at home in bed and then...I was here.” She began to cry and the men got a little uncomfortable. “Wait a minute…” She felt her pockets, her bra, but nothing. “No phone.”

“...we can't just leave her here,” she heard Charles whisper.

“I know that but…” Arthur looked at her and stopped talking when he realized she had been watching the two of them.

“You guys got a car or something? You can just drop me off somewhere. I'll see myself home.”

“Car?”

“I think the cold might be gettin’ to her,” Arthur said to Charles. He turned to her and held out his arm slowly. “We can take you somewhere...at least for tonight. You'll die out here.”

“I gotta get home. I have the new exhibit to premiere tomorrow!” She covered her face and cried some more.

“Just grab her,” Arthur whispered.

“Miss, you need to come with us,” Charles said cautiously. Belle didn't know what to do anymore. She looked at both men through her tears. They were both carrying weapons and even if they weren't they could easily overpower her. They didn't look like they wanted to hurt her but that's how a lot of people get lured in. “We have somewhere warm you can stay and tomorrow we'll see about getting you home.”

“Why should I trust either of you?”

“With all due respect, miss, you'll die if you stay out here. Now, stop bein’ stubborn and come with us,” the man named Arthur said. Charles looked at him and shook his head. “What?”

“Fine, but if either of you try anything I'll kick both your asses.” Charles smirked and Arthur shrugged. “I mean it. I can take both of you down. Doesn't matter how big you are.”

“Whatever you say, little lady,” Arthur said, amused.

“My name is Belle.”

“Alright, alright. Miss Belle. I apologize. Come with us.” She squeezed herself between the two men and tried to keep up with their strides. Her shoes were soaked through and she could hardly feel her feet but she wasn't going to complain to them. She stopped in her tracks when she realized they were leading her to horses.

“Uh...horses in this weather? No car?” She shivered and hugged herself.

“You need help gettin’ on up or what?” Arthur asked standing in front of her. She shrugged and he lifted her easily, placing her toward the back of the saddle and waited for her to swing her leg over to get himself on. He turned his head to look at her. “Hold onto me. Don't want you fallin’ off.”

“I'm not gonna fall,” she said but when the horse began moving she jerked back and she wrapped her arms around Arthur's middle instinctively. He chuckled and clicked his tongue to get the horse moving a little faster. “Shut up,” she mumbled.

Belle had no idea how long they rode before she had fallen asleep. She was pressed to Arthur's back and she noticed that even in the freezing cold, he was warm.

“Charles, get her down from here. Can't move with her wrapped around me like this.”

She felt two strong arms wrap around her and pull her down carefully but even then she jolted awake and almost panicked. “What are you doing?!”

“I'm helping you down. You fell asleep and Arthur was afraid to move while you were holding him,” Charles said quietly.

“I wasn't holding him,” she yawned, pushing away from Charles and getting her bearings.

“You were holdin’ me pretty tight, Miss,” Arthur teased. “And you fell asleep. You got pretty comfortable, huh?”

“I held onto you because I didn't want to fall, you asshole.” Arthur chuckled again and Belle looked around at the dilapidated cabins. “What the hell is this? Where are we?”

“This is...home,” Arthur said. “For now at least.” Belle shook her head in disbelief. She couldn't understand for the life of her what was going on or where she was. “Miss Grimshaw!” Arthur yelled, making her jump. A woman rushed over and took a nice long look at Belle. “Miss Belle here needs a place to stay for tonight. Found her while we were out huntin’.”

“Well, what were you doin’ out there, sweetheart?” the woman asked sympathetically.

“I...don't know, to be honest. I don't even know how I got here,” Belle admitted. “I want to go home.”

“I'm sure you do and we'll help you with that tomorrow. For now, you best come with me and we'll get you warm and dry.” Miss Grimshaw put her arm around Belle and led her to a cabin at the far end of the camp. She looked back for Arthur but he was nowhere to be found.

Miss Grimshaw had helped as much as she could even giving Belle clothes to wear.

“I'll tell Arthur to come and check on you soon,” she said before walking to the door.

“You don't have to do that.” Belle pulled on the dress uncomfortably before speaking again. “Can you tell me something...and this might sound crazy but...this isn't the year 2019, is it?”

“Two thousand!” Miss Grimshaw exclaimed. “My dear, this is 1899. We've come a long way but not that far.” Belle plopped down on the small bed and shook her head. “You sure you're okay? You hit your head or something?”

“No. I'm not okay.”

“You were wearin’ some strange clothes even for 1899. Is this what they wear in the cities or somethin’?” Miss Grimshaw asked.

“Something like that.” Belle was in a daze. 1899. That couldn't possibly be right. How would she even get to 1899?

Miss Grimshaw must have left while she was lost in her thoughts. The wind made the rickety cabin creak and the cold seeped through every crack and crevice. Belle hugged herself and stared off at nothing. She tried but couldn't come to terms with anything that was happening to her right now. Someone knocked on the door and she responded distantly.

“Yeah…”

“Miss...you alright?” Arthur peeked in and she nodded slowly. “You sure? Miss Grimshaw said I should come and check on you.”

“I told her she didn't have to tell you that.” She spoke without looking at him. She heard the door close as Arthur walked in. “What's your full name again?”

“Arthur Morgan, ma'am.”

“Arthur Morgan,” she repeated quietly. “Arthur….” She snapped her head up at him. Arthur Morgan...A.M…the journal she thought. “You. Its you.”

“What?” he asked.

“I...nothing. Sorry.” She held her hand out to him. “I'm Belle Kennedy.” He shook her hand and felt a kind of rush go through her. The way he looked at her made her think he felt it too.

“Where you from? What are you doin’ out here? It ain't safe for...well, for anyone.”

“I'm from...far away. I can't remember how I got here. I'm so scared.” Belle covered her face and sniffled into her hands then turned away from Arthur, embarrassed. “Sorry…”

Arthur grunted awkwardly and tapped her shoulder in a sort of comforting way. “It's all right. We'll get you home. You got family? Anybody that might be lookin’ for you?”

‘Sure do’, she thought, ‘But they don't exist yet and won't for another 120 years.’ This had to be a bad dream that was only going to get worse.

“Miss?” Belle looked at him and he nodded. “Look, I ain't gonna badger you for details about who you are or where you're from but I can't help you ‘less you give me somethin’.”

“I just...I can't say.” She looked away from him again and he sighed in defeat. “Sorry.”

“You ain't gotta be sorry. I get it. Maybe there's something or someone you're runnin’ away from and if that's the case then I guess you're my responsibility now. I found you.”

“I'm no one's responsibility. I can take care of myself.”

“I don't doubt that, ma'am. But I found you alone in the cold and it seems to me that you could use some help.” He held up his hand and put his finger and thumb close together but not touching. “Just a lil bit, hm?”

Belle stood and Arthur watched as she walked to the window. “You're the first friend I've made here, Mr. Morgan.”

“I ain't all that friendly but I'm glad you consider me a friend.” He walked over to where she stood. “If we're gonna be friends you gotta call me Arthur.”

“Okay...Arthur.”

“I should go and let you get some rest.” He walked to the door and turned as though he was going to say something else.

“What is it?” Belle asked.

“Nothin’. I'm gonna get you home, okay? I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

He tipped his hat and smiled lightly. “Miss Belle.”

[monochrome-monarch]

I made a promise that I intend to keep

Okay, so my friend @flamingkingoftheskies and I were discussing some good angst for Atlantis Days (fun fact: it was the first thing we discussed lol) and well, it's Rodorah-centric because clearly the ship doesn't have enough angst in it lol (but don't worry, we have also discussed some fluff and shitposts for it, which I'll spill in a future post).

You know how I mentioned that the Triplets remembered that they were planet conquerors and that they decided to go back to being conquerers, starting with Earth? Well, They also decided 'Hey, before we kill our now ex-friend Gojira and be the new alpha, why don't we ask Rodan to be our Beta?' Because, well, Rodan and Ghidorah are mates at this point and have children of their own. So yeah, makes sense to them that their beautiful and wonderful mate would be their Beta.

Except the thing is is that Rodan is definitely not up for murdering his best friend and Alpha and taking over the Earth for obvious reasons. Hell, he's pretty disgusted that Ghids is totally on board with murdering their best friend ("Did he mean nothing to you three!?"). Rodan tries to talk them out of it but the triplets are also trying to talk him into joining them. It goes downhill from there. Like, really downhill from there.

Okay, so basing the next scene off of these two posts by @ckret2, one of the things Ghidorah has remembered from their past is that they can apparently control people using their voice. Well, in the past, mostly roars but they can use it with their regular(?) voice. Sure, it's been a long, long time since they have used it but when dealing with Rodan, who is getting more and more agitated (and scared? They hope he isn't), it's worth the shot, right?

So, Ichi decides to use it on Rodan, Ni and San deciding to butt out for now unless Ichi could use some help. It goes smoothly, sure Rodan was getting a feeling that something was off but he starting to agree with Ichi. Yeah, taking over Earth sounds like a great idea. Yeah, he'll definitely be their Beta and they can rule together. Yeah, he's definitely up for killing Gojira and - Wait, what?

So yeah, Rodan suceeds in a wisdom saving throw or something and snaps out of it. Maybe mentioning on murdering the Alpha aka your mate's best friend wasn't such a good idea when you're trying to get your mate to join you at the Dark Side. And now said mate knows that not only do you conquer, and sometimes destroy but that doesn't happen that much, planets and want to murder his best friend but you and your brothers can apparently also mind control him and you did just that. It is certainly not helping your case.

When Rodan snapped out of it, he made a nearby volcano erupt out of sheer rage and fear which did get a lot of attention from humans and neighboring titans. So yeah, everyone's wondering what the hell is going on but well, seeing as Rodan is a disaster, they all collectively thought, "Oh, what did he do this time?" All except his friends, most especially Goji who is considering on going to check on Rodan, and Ghidorah by extension, since, clearly, something ain't right. And well, yeah, by the time Goji got to Isla de Mara, the argument had evolved into an aerial brawl, and not the fun kind, since the triplets had given up on convincing Rodan to join them but Rodan wasn't going to let them go off and kill Goji so cue Rodan attacking them.

To an outsider, they just look like they're rough housing but to someone that knows them well like Goji, it's clearly a serious fight and Goji rushes in to mediate, totally oblivious to the fact that the triplets want him dead. So, imagine the look on Goji's face when the triplets suddenly attack him, murderous looks on their faces. Luckily, Rodan is quick and immediately defends his Alpha so he can get over the shock and fight back. I'm not sure if sensing dumbassery is her sixth sense or Goji called her before confronting them but Mothra arrives to help. Rodan also fills them in on what's going on and yeah, Goji coming over was a terrible idea. Also, now it's 3 against 3 but it's still difficult as the Triplets had many years of asskicking and planet destroying experience.

So, shit gets so bad that a retreat was needed, hell Mosu had the most injuries. To buy them time to escape, Rodan stays behind and continues to fight his mates despite being clearly outmatched. It ends in Rodan losing horribly via getting shot down with a gravity blast from all three of them. Like, so bad his wings got badly damaged and maybe his volcanic armor is cracked and bleeding. If you're wondering how bad, we made some guesses as to how bad:

The orange/yellow marks are former holes and tears that got repaired by the magma

You're probably wondering: "Oh come on, Rodan and Goji were fine in the film when they got blasted" and I will say

1) Meh, just for angst

2) Goji and Rodan are two different species but I will admit that, yes, Rodan would've been able to deal with it better because he's made of volcanic rock but see number 1

3) In the film, Rodan was only hit by one blast. Here, it's three. Both at point blank.

But mostly, it's option one. Oh, don't give me that look.

So yeah, after having defeated their mate and thought to have killed him, the Triplets push back their pain and regret and set off to find Goji and Mosu, who are at Atlantis and trying to get the Atlanteans to evacuate with Anguirus helping them. Ghidorah attacks, Atlantis sinks with Anguirus dying there (maybe) and fight ends up being taken to Antartica. The triplets end up getting sealed and trapped under the ice and I'm considering having Mothra die, which explains her first appearance in KOTM. Either way, Goji is able to secure his position as Alpha but ends up losing four friends and a mate except mate will come back who knows when and three of said friends aren't exactly his friends anymore. Still really devastated, though

He goes back to Isla de Mara, hoping that Rodan is still alive and yeah, he is but seriously wounded. They chat for a bit as Goji carries Rodan up the volcano, he also tells him what happened, especially to Mothra, Anguirus and Ghidorah. Rodan is of course upset but knows it had to be done however, he still feels guilty about Mothra and Anguirus. They arrive at the peak, Rodan's children running up to him and Goji. They saw the fight. They watched their sires blast their carrier out of the sky. They thought he was dead - Rodan and Gojira try their best to calm the children. He'll be fine. He just needs to rest and recover and everything will be alright. They promise to the little ones.

Before Goji puts him inside his volcano to heal, Rodan tells him where Dagon's egg is located since he and the former Alpha had hidden the egg somewhere secret before Dagon died from his injuries.

"Promise me that you'll take good care of the kid?"

"I promise."

And Godzilla carefully places Rodan in the magma to heal. Rodan then goes into hibernation. After bidding the children goodbye, Goji then goes off to find the egg and does find it. He tries raising it alongside his son and tries his best before the Mass Hibernation started.

Millions of years later, Goji wakes up to a bunch of shattered eggshells and faded footprints indicating that the egg had hatched while he slept, his son, now full grown, still sleeping and also, the humans are noisy but also advanced. Still annoying, though. Oh, and they blow things up now. . . Great. Years later, he has to deal but eventually kill two rivals, descendents of his predecessor's killer. Five years later, his three former friends come back and well,

Millions of years later, Mothra hatches to, instead of adoring and loyal followers, strangely armored humans pointing weapons at her. One fires at her and well, just because Mothra is a child at the moment doesn't mean she can't kick ass. Sure, she does calm down upon hearing her mate's ever so familiar and comforting call but she ends up escaping when shit goes down, when dangerous humans enter and begin to kill everyone around her. Then when shit gets even worse when her three former friends come back and well, it's definitely ass-kicking time. Well, she needs to lay an egg first and then it's ass-kicking time.

Millions of years later, the triplets are rudely awaken to an explosion that frees them and the pests wearing weird armor and wielding weird weapons (San wants one of those rifle things though). It's a shame those weapons don't work on them but even then again, What is a human weapon to a gravity beam? Then their archenemy appears and well, while they manage to overpower him, which honestly proves their point on how weak he is, they decide to escape. Then as they fly away from their prison, they hear a roar, a familiar roar that they thought they will never hear again. Maybe. . . Maybe they can try again. They can be together again. They can rule this planet together, as Alpha and Beta. Hopefully. . . Then their beloved mate attacks them.

Millions of years later, Rodan wakes up to what sounds like an Alpha call, his now adult children still asleep and his volcano modified with metal and advanced technology. Not that he cares on the latter part. He wants out. And so he does and he's greeted by his patron city now looking very different and strange birds flying and blasting at him. Rodan isn't pleased with the things hitting him and reopening some minor wounds on his recently healed wings so, Rodan decides to teach some pests a lesson on how aggravating a titan is a terrible idea - Then he sees them. Deep inside, he wants to be happy to see them. It's been so long after all. But he remembers what happened. He remembers the fight. He remembers how they just attempted to murder their friends without a care about their history. He remembers the pain. Then with an enraged roar, he forgets his prey and lunges at his traitorous mates.

---

Okay, I just finally finished writing this and holy shit, this was longer and way more than I expected. Like, I was just going to tell you guys some Rodorah angst but well, never dang. Here's some more stuff about Atlantis Days, I guess.

Also, pretty sure I didnt do a good job explaining but meh.

Though, I might edit this in the future, in case I get more ideas or change my mind or something.

Edit: Wording

[bloodgarnet]

MDZS Original Mystery Fic Idea

So I came up with this idea for a mystery plot since I was so impressed with all the fic until I read the novel and realised most of it was just minor alterations on canon :/// (still impressive though). I got pretty far in the outline before I realised it would need a lot of minor character interactions and cultural knowledge which I respectively can’t be bothered with and don’t know shit about lol. The premise was also meant to have a lot of happy trolling WWX but most of the scenes turned out pretty serious… There’s probably a 99% chance I’m never going to write this so posting it publicly as free real estate.

Tags: Case Fic, Memory Alteration, Mystery, Plot Heavy, Romance, True Love

Title: Fortune’s Memory OR One Thousand Worries (*from Chinese proverbs)

Summary: Wei Wuxian successfully manages to convince everyone that he is Mo Xuanyu… through absolutely no merit of his own.

Prologue: WWX reflects after his resurrection that even if MXY forgot to state his wishes, he still did a pretty good job—after all, with a totally untested ritual from the branch of cultivation that he invented, who knows how many things could have gone wrong. /foreboding

WWX’s wrist held by LWJ as JC and he argue. Unexpectedly, JC says this is giving him a headache and decides to leave (jin ling says you too, uncle? JC like you ARE my headache, child). LWJ says WWX is coming with him to gusu but WWX argues it and says he doesn’t want to go to such a place with LWJ, whose eyes go cloudy and he suddenly releases WWX, confused. They part ways, but WWX wonders what the heck just happened—unexpectedly lucky! He’s still interested in all the weird things happening though and decides to meet up with wen ning elsewhere.

Meanwhile, LWJ inexplicably feels a profound sense of loss.

JC goes back to Yunmeng with Jin Ling and has trouble remembering things. He tries to recall the culprit of the ghost general incident but can’t picture his face. He tries to scold jin ling but can’t remember what for; jin ling also has trouble remembering. He tells jin ling to go to his room and if he wants sympathy, go to his mother for that. Jin ling freezes and says what are you even talking about. Jiang Cheng blacks out as jin ling screams.

Lan Xichen talks to Jin Guangyao about how both Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang have come down with a mysterious illness which affects their memory—possibly a targeted curse at clan leaders, though perhaps a small smattering of rogue cultivators have also been affected. Sadly, it has even affected the Jin heir, Jin Ling, though his is a bit better. JGY reflects since it’s the opposite way, it can’t be the strength of his golden core but rather maybe his youth that makes him resistant as some spells operate that way. LXC thanks him for the advice and worries that LWJ was recently in contact with JC and JL. JGY comments that these unexpected events are the most dangerous.

WWX meets up with wen ning and they discuss what to do: he frees wen ning from chains and needles and says he could go live life if he wants, but WWX is interested in the ghost arm incident. They get wen ning a disguise and hear from locals that nie huaisang and JC have come down sick. WWX frowns and wonders about the current political climate, who knows how many people would want to take down the sect leaders. Then he hears that LWJ is possibly also ill and feels really bad about it for some reason—that’s what makes him decide to investigate himself, putting this over the ghost arm incident. Wen ning asks how to do that and WWX says they need information now more than anything—they must prepare for the upcoming conference which will discuss what is happening.

JGY attends the conference and notices a strange bird outside. He’s seconds away from touching it when LXC calls him and it flies off. They go inside and discuss the potential epidemic; LXC confesses LWJ seems to show preliminary signs but Clarity seems to be helping him remain stable for now. They discuss it’s potential as a contagious epidemic and agree to have healers share findings as well as a group of famed Lan healers (?) visit the other sects with a small entourage in order to compare patients directly. JGY notes that this subject has totally eclipsed the issue of the ghost hand, which tried to escape Gusu Lan but was caught at the barrier with no casualties but many injuries. Also JC has woken and has a clean slate memory and just seems to be much happier??? They decide to keep the whole thing quiet from the public for now to prevent panicking. Conference ends with JGY accidentally revealing that he’s forgotten something important, so he’s infected too, to LXC’s shock. The bird flies away.

Wwx discusses the situation with wen ning at a restaurant (where wen ning is like thank god my tastebuds are dead lol). Wwx says that the situation is bad but not killing anyone so far which is good. Explains to wen ning that the healers probably know this but it can’t be an epidemic because it hasn’t spread enough; it’s far more likely a targeted attack since it’s really only affecting important people. Lan Sizhui and Jingyi enter the restaurant and WWX hides his face by faceplanting in his noodles lol. WWX and wen ning eavesdrop on their plans to escort the healers back from Nie territory to Gusu Lan, noting that LWJ may have gotten worse in the time they were gone. WWX worries and decides he needs to steal a jade token, but for now they have a convenient target for a little spy.

Sizhui and Jingyi report to LXC with the healers who explain that it IS contagious, a qi transmitted virus, but only from the carrier—likely only one since it hasn’t spread far: so it must be someone who has come into contact with all of the people affected fairly recently. Also it seems like an imbalance of energies causing qi deviation. Sizhui reflects this will be hard since the victims don’t remember anything. LXC says that’s somewhere to start, though, and gets disciples/servants to fetch LWJ from seclusion since it’s not contagious. LWJ joins (sizhui happy!) and says that his illness has not progressed at all. LWJ says that the number of potential carriers is too many but to retrace his steps he might as well seek out the rest of the ghost hand’s body as the hand has conveniently pointed in that direction. Sizhui and Jingyi volunteer to go with him along with some other junior disciples; justification that it can be a low-stress learning exercise if nothing else(?) which is what LWJ was doing originally. Then takes out his sword and strikes down the hidden bird which was trying to steal his token – LXC marvels that LWJ broke a rule (no killing) but LWJ says the bird was already dead.

WWX says, “Shit.” WWX talks to wen ning and says that chasing the hand’s body now is dangerous since LWJ will be there—he wants to investigate the victims too in case there’s a demonic element but has an inexplicable bad feeling. Laughs off concerns about memory because his has always been bad. WWX says that his expertise in this area is lacking though and what they really need is a healer who knows about demonic cultivation and wouldn’t run on sight… oh. Wen Ning is like I mean. WWX like would she kill us?? Hmm. They head to Yiling Burial Mounds.

Dead bird makes everyone realise it’s related to demonic cultivation

Filler scene…? Maybe LWJ POV? Tiger seal? Body parts?

Sizhui and Jingyi realise that someone LWJ met right before this happened (along with JL and JC) is MXY, so they should find him!

Wwx and wen ning arrive at the burial mounds and talk while wwx makes chenqing 2 (joke that’s a JC name! But I can’t think of one now lol). He uses it to summon wen qing with inquiry and ask her about it. She says it’s hard to say but given that no one’s died, it may not even be intentional, maybe just a side effect or symptom of something else. WWX says since there’s no change in political power. It does weaken the sects affected temporarily but a widespread attack like this isn’t so good tactically so it could fit. Wen Qing says she’d need to examine a victim herself but would need a body for that and hers is long gone. WWX like wait you would be okay with me getting yours back? Also idk how to do that?? He explains the ritual he used to come back and she frowns. WWX like to accomplish what you suggest would need more power than I currently have in this body… perhaps by repurposing the tiger seal???

And this is where I stopped because I legit can’t remember what happened to the tiger seal at this point in canon. Probably something about Xue Yang but I skipped over his chapters because I wasn’t interested lol. Since there wasn’t really a point to bringing Wen Qing back, I imagine their plan fails but it brings them into the fold with the other characters, and she stays a ghost and has a tearful goodbye with WN at some point near the end or something. Also having to figure out exactly how the whole Nie Mingjue thing would fall apart with both Nie Huaisang and JGY incapacitated, as well as the whole Qin Su thing... blah. Wanted to change the dead bird thing since I was annoyed at myself for copying a fandom trope but couldn’t think of anything better.

Basically the points I wanted to reach were:

Sizhui and Jingyi note that the spell reveals your ‘true colours’ lol

WWX is eventually caught and interrogation reveals that he also has the virus even tho he has a very weak golden core and they realise he must be a demonic cultivator; some pity because he seems so happy without memories of abuse (his happy antics are even kind of familiar... hmm)

Full clarification that WWX is the virus carrier: it’s a golden core imbalance caused by the imperfect resurrection which infectiously causes qi deviation for people who come into contact with his demonic cultivation and triggered by emotional upheaval which is why JC gets the full thing IMMEDIATELY lol

WWX was trolling at first but then actually DOES forget everything (caused by something with LWJ? Maybe a gay panic lol), but still knows his shit and explains that if it’s an imbalance then the opposing yang/yin energy must be demonic in nature so they should just huff a demonic seal or something lol

^ political statement that demonic cultivation isn’t evil, just ~opposite~

Jin Ling has recovered a bit and says he will talk to MXY but is like wait that’s… not him?? like yes I know he forgot everything but it’s really, really Not Him???

Interrogation of JGY’s spotty memory leads to deduction of what scrolls of WWX’s MXY learnt—body sacrifice and summoning

The cure is demonic energy + confessing your sins and being happy you fucks

And then like the one scene I actually had in mind when I wrote this: WWX confused but yelling MXY is not my name!!! And LWJ, on the brink of forgetting everything, still says, “Wei Ying,” recognising him immediately despite everything. Much shock, so drama.

[digitalta]

Ending of Antithesis Explained

@artemisedendelacroix, thank you for starting us off here! I realized the ending could have been confusing, but I decided to help by making a post for everyone who needed it.

Spoilers below.

The Prophecy

The prophecy portion isn’t as important, but easily mistaken if you don’t read the fine text.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ...

Lets break this down.

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... For this bit, the 'him' refers to Adrian. The idea of a Dark Lord is basically a "powerful being which is dark", since the parasite is inherently dark and Adrian is powerful, he fulfills the requirements in a weird backwards way. Plus the fact he was the heir to Voldemort, he inherited the lord position after Voldemort died. In the chapter Abuse, towards the end Mylla states how Adrian's parents have failed him three times, first as a son, second as a student, third as a human being. This directly relates to the 'born to those who have thrice defied [Adrian]. 

born as the seventh month dies .. This was a fun bit, because I always wondered if the prophecy meant that it was the prophecy child or the Dark Lord in question that was born as the seventh month dies. In this case, it's both.

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... Marking him as his equal. There are multiple instances where Adrian does this in subtle ways- having Skylar hold him upright while facing Voldemort, allowing Skylar to be with him in his final moments. Generally, this ties down to Adrian giving Lutain to Skylar, marking him as his equal. The power that the Dark Lord knows not can be the general information regarding a Horcrux which Adrian never really learned about, or the basilisk fang he had in his pocket when he met and consoled Adrian on his deathbed.

And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... Either Skylar dies at Adrian's hand (assumed at wandpoint which is why it's hand), or Adrian dies at Skylar's hand. This boils down to Adrian dying at Skylar's hand- literally, since Skylar stabs and kills Adrian with Adalonda's fang at his request. In turn, Skylar dies at Adrian's hand by infecting himself with the parasite (also tying into the marking as an equal). Skylar can't survive if Adrian lives due to the deal he made where Adrian is allowed to murder Skylar; Adrian can't live if Skylar does due to his own mental illness obsession with murdering Skylar. 

Adrian’s Monologue

The part in particular I’m referring to is his rambling words towards while on the bridge. This starts right after Skylar infects himself with Adrian’s blood.

“Oh Skylar,” Adrian laughed although it sounded pained, “you don’t know what you’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” Skylar challenged. “Tell me everything.”

“Okay,” Adrian agreed with a bloody grin. Skylar reached out, and handed the basilisk fang over.

Adrian started to talk.

“ I’m going to tell you a story, although it’s a bit long. I’m going to make you listen, because I want you to understand every single way you have made me into this bloody monster. I’ll call this story antithesis, and you’re going to learn every single moment where things went wrong. I want you to cry, and beg for me to kill you, and when I’m done with this, you’re going to want to do that to yourself. You’re going to listen, because in the end, you owe me that much. You owe me so much more, but here we are, and this is how it’s going to end. Who knows, maybe this useless battle between you and me and this bloody world, well, maybe we always were fated to kill each other.”

This bit is actually The Summary for the Entire Story. If you read into this, you can interpret that the entire story of Antithesis that you’ve just finished reading, is Adrian’s retelling of his life while on his deathbed. I know, takes a while to kill him, doesn’t it?

Thestral Lore

Okay, this is all pretty much Original Content so hang on. Most of this is explained in chapter 67 anyways.

"No," Mylla mused, soft and gentle although barely that at all, "we were born out of desperation. A curse, that lasts in the world like the Werewolves. Thestrals are made, when we suffer and beg for death under the venom of a basilisk."

"Thestrals are born the moment we accept it, the moment we know it and we beg for it."' Mylla hissed out almost in delight. "The moment we stare that wretched demon in the face and beg for mercy. The moment we beg not for our lives but for the relief of just dying already. We explode from the spine, dripping blood and gore and we are cursed to exist forever because we can never die."

Adrian didn't realize he wasn't breathing until the hot exhale forced air into his lungs. Mylla pulled back, looking down at him with something similar to pity. "It is an irony, that thestrals are doomed to live forever and you are fated to die."

"You're lying." Adrian's voice was scratchy, barely a noise between them.

"No, I'm not." Mylla huffed, her long tail swishing. "I am cruel because time has made me so. The difference is that eternity has made me this way. Creation, made Adalonda as so."

A little bit further down it’s explained once more:

“Salazar Slytherin died from the debt he owed to Morgana for the curse she inflicted to create me." Mylla spat out, looking more furious than ever before. "Blood and bone to create blood and bone. Adalonda never forgave him for his devotion to me, even in death. I told him, how how she poisoned my blood and he hid me from all of those who had never seen death. Basilisks, from their eyes and vanity, have never directly seen death."

Adrian's heart chilled and he shook his eyes, "I- but basilisks use their eyes-"

"And they are blinded for that moment." Mylla hissed back. "I told my father of how his precious monster murdered me out of spite, and he was too caring to ever slaughter his other child, no matter how foul. He sealed her away, and the price of my curse came true and he passed away in years. The lineage carried on, broken and twisted and unknowing of Adalonda's spite from the secret he took to his grave."

Basically, Thestrals exist due to a curse which exists everywhere. This curse is free-roaming, and basically latent unless a specific set of parameters are met. The curse was developed by Morgana Le Fay, and in exchange Salazar Slytherin died. 

A child (Mylla’s age or below, which was 17) must be bit by a Basilisk

A child must be in utter agony and on the verge of death (excluding minor bites or healed bites)

A child cannot be killed from a Basilisk stare

One infected, the child has no memories of their past life until of age equal to their original age (for example, Ginny died at 11 so she would need to be 11 years as a thestral before remembering)

A thestral is only able to be understood by those related by blood

A thestral can only be seen by one who has witnessed death.

A thestral can never die, and exists in a state of limbo where it is not alive or dead, but exists as an entity comprised of stolen soul in a physical body (like a wraith, Dementor, etc.)

The curse of the thestrals steals the child’s soul through unnatural artificial means, and forces it to remain in the physical world in a corrupted body.

How did the Parasite break the curse?

There was something fascinating, about Vitaedax. About a simple little parasite which drove humans to insanity.

Not many things infected the soul, or managed to warp it beyond recognition. A dementor could remove it, a selkie could sense it.

A thestral was born from it.

A vitaedax destroyed it.

What a strange thing, for a parasite which survived by gnawing and shredding soul and soul connections, to find itself suddenly assaulted by basilisk venom and exposed to a very unusual curse. What a strange thing, for a vitaedax to chew and gnaw and feast until something, something gave way.

What a strange thing, when thestrals began to drop, when their leathery bones started melting and the Elder Wand split in two over a core which fizzled out of existence.

The vitaedax kept feasting, because a curse that transformed soul was never a match for a parasite.

This passage very roughly translates to the common ideas and concepts of microbiology that we use today.

In Microbiology in the study of vaccination, parasitism, microorganisms and other related science, there is no synthetic vector superior to natures own constructions. This means, that we can create synthetic ways to try and destroy organisms but our own natural biology is always going to be superior.

This relates to my idea for the thestrals. The thestrals were an unnatural physical manifestation, of a soul tethered to the human world. These ties were forced upon them, and could not be broken by human means. The parasite feeds on the soul and the soul tethers of a human. Since the parasite was rare, and the thestral requirements were also rare, they had never come in contact. When Adrian was infected with the venom and subsequently pulled into the thestral world, he was a carrier and infected all the thestral species with the parasite- which worked by consuming soul ties. Since the parasite was an organic creature made to destroy soul tethers, and the thestrals were synthetic constructions of soul tethers, the parasite won and the thestrals died. 

Thus, Adrian, and Luna, died.

[divagonzo]

Consequences - Andromeda Tonks et al

A/N:  this spur of the moment story was inspired by This post and This post, by @blitheringmcgonagall and @lytefoot . It’s the first AU on my part... a Snape Lives AU.

Yes, I am writing an AU with Snape living. I know it’s strange, coming from the Dragon.

Rated T for a few choice words and magical violence. Ace safe and it will go up tomorrow on FF.net and Ao3.

“Must you go so early?”

“I have a meeting at 7 with the Directors of MLS and the International Wizarding Confederation. But I will be back in time for tea.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek before a peck on the lips. While he departed in a swirl of green flames and purple and gold robes, Andromeda Tonks went back to the modest kitchen of her cottage west of Yeovil, in Somerset. She put a kettle on and sat down to read the news from the morning Daily Prophet, wondering what salacious gossip that dung beetle Rita Skeeter would slander her family with today.

Tap Tap Tap

Andromeda put down the morning paper and went to the window in her kitchen. There stood a magnificent owl, larger than one of the barn owls the school used. The Great Grey Owl hooted softly, looking unlike anything she had seen before. “Who could be owling this early in the morning?”

She opened the window and the owl hopped in. She plucked up some rashers from the pan, cooking up magically, and she handed over one to the owl, who tore it apart immediately. Once down the hatch, the owl hooted again.

“So they need a reply back, do they?”

Hoot Hoot

Andromeda cracked the wax seal on the parchment, recognizing immediately the signet insignia from Hogwarts. Minerva wouldn’t send her an owl if there was anything remiss with her beloved Teddy. No, this must be something else. But the school owls –

“Oh my word!” she gasped reading the scrawl a second time to take it all in. “Well, I’ll be. He is like his Mum that way.” She read it a third time, chuckling at the indignation that dripped with every word written on the parchment, along with a smile breaking out at the fury scratched into the bottom of the parchment stipulating the aforementioned consequences for such behavior.

“You’d think that Headmistress McGonagall would have firecalled me last night after this. Maybe she was too busy keeping order in the school after what happened.

Andromeda went to the secretary, outside of the kitchen, and sat down to write a response to the extraordinary parchment of information before her.

“Dear Mrs. Tonks,

I am writing to you this afternoon to report that your grandson, Edward Lupin, hexed me in front of students in the NEWTS potions section. I am outraged at his behavior and demand that you see to additional consideration for his disrespectful behavior right this instant. How dare he – “

Tap Tap Tap

Andromeda looked up from the parchment and saw a second owl at her window, tapping on the glass. This one, she could only assume came from her recalcitrant grandson, one Teddy Lupin. She pointed her wand at the window and opened it, letting the school barn owl in. She sent him a second rasher, now cooling on the countertop, and took the roll of parchment from him as well. “Does my dear grandson need a reply or can it wait until I send it with this other courier?”

Hooooottttt

“Very good, then. Have another rasher and be on your way, then. Fly safely,” She said out of habit, borne of the years when every bit of correspondence that came to her window set a boulder rolling down her throat and landing with a painful thud in her stomach. She reflected back out of paranoid habit that any time she let Teddy out her sight, even for an hour would give her the worst panic attacks. Thank goodness that she learned to trust Harry, and then Ginny, along with Molly and Bill and Fleur and the rest of the Weasleys with the care of her only grandson.

It took years before she could handle being away more than an hour before a panic attack gripped her heart, making her think it would explode if she didn’t see him that instant, knowing he was safe.

She chuckled at the memory of her former self, one who had lost so much and so many near and dear to her. Now? She trusted her grandson’s Godfather implicitly, along with the Weasleys and those who loved and adored Teddy completely.

She went back to the secretary and sat down at her desk. A bold idea gripped her and she thought, ‘this does deserve my personal attention and not an owl sending a reply.’ He did hex a professor, even if it was for the noblest of reasons.

“Owl, what is your name?”

Hoot Hoooot Hoot

“Vikare, is it? Well, I am going by Floo to Hogwarts. I have an owl carrier. Would you like to travel back in a mere moment rather than fly back?”

Hoooooottttt

“Sorted, then.” Andromeda tucked the parchment in the pocket of her housecoat and set off to her bedroom, intending to dress sharp for her unannounced meeting with the particular professor in question.

“Hogwarts, Headmistress’ fireplace.”

The flames turned bright orange in the parlour fireplace before she pushed her head into the flames. “Headmistress McGonagall, Headmistress?” She knew that Minerva would be present in her quarters but since it was only 8 am on a Friday she gathered that she might actually be in her official office and not her quarters. Then again, she –

“Speaking,” a quiet voice came from the room off of the main one, connecting the spacious quarters for the headmaster/mistress to the office in question.

“Minerva? It’s Andromeda.”

“Andy?” Minerva pulled up a padded chair to the fireplace, intending to sit comfortably and not strain her knees or back at her age. She still had students to deal with in an hour but in front of a dear friend, she could show some vulnerability.

“I received an owl, well, two owls this morning, one from the Potions professor and one from my Grandson. Please tell me that it’s all a misunderstanding.”

Headmistress McGonagall smirked. “Oh I wish I could tell you it’s a misunderstanding but it’s actually the barebones truth. I presume you wish to come through, to talk with your grandson and the professor in question? Will I need to mediate the meeting?”

“It might seem prudent, my dear. Might I come through along with this magnificent specimen of an owl named Vikare? I don’t want the dear bird to tire out from such a long trek back with nothing to deliver.”

“Sure, send him through. I trust you have a Floo-proof cage for him. The last owl that went via cage and no shielding couldn’t fly again for months. Poor fellow kept getting turned around in the first gust of wind.”

Andromeda threw in the Floo Powder, turning the flames green. “My cage is protected, thanks to the nice people at Eeyops and the Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes.” She put the enchanted covering on the cage and heard it go completely silent underneath. The magic of the covering was a mild sleeping powder over anything in the cage, where they would sleep through the whole ordeal, only waking a few minutes after the cover was lifted. Whoever came up with that bit of brilliant magic was a genius.

She gently pushed the cage into the fireplace and nudged it into the slipstream, watching it disappear in an instant.

“Do you have the cage?”

“I do. Come through and I will send for your grandson and the professor in question.”

Andromeda stepped into the now empty fireplace and swirled away, remembering to keep her elbows tucked in and her purse in front of her face. At her age, she couldn’t tolerate all of the soot and dust Floo travel entailed now.

“Andy!” Minerva greeted her warmly, letting her brogue slip through some. “I wondered when I would be hearing from you over this situation. I’ve already sent for both of them so they should be here shortly.”

“I assume it happened yesterday?”

“It did, during class. From what I understand of the situation, something upset him earlier in the day, perhaps during his two-hour block of independent study that Pomona has her students engage in this term. Well, from speaking with the other students in the classroom, he came into the room in an epic fit of temper. So I am told, the professor didn’t notice something was very wrong in the classroom and proceeded to start the session, teaching how to brew Dreamless Sleeping potions.

“Well, your grandson cheeked the professor in front of everyone. Now you know the professor in question will not tolerate any insubordination in his classroom, not from anyone.”

“I seem to recall, vaguely. But please, go on.”

“The professor gave immediate detention for it. Your grandson yelled back. The class devolved into chaos and anarchy. Anyway, it got up to a week’s detention before Teddy yelled out what was bothering him so much.”

“And that was?”

The ancient oaken door opened with a loud squeak and there at the door was Teddy Lupin, wearing his robes, hat, and Turquoise blue hair that changed immediately once he saw his grandmother sitting in the headmistress’ office. His hair and eyes shifted to mouse brown and he shrunk down on himself slightly.

“Come in, Mr. Lupin. I was just explaining to your grandmother what happened yesterday.”

“I wish you’d have contacted Uncle Harry,” he muttered.

“I didn’t contact her, Mr. Lupin. I presume the professor sent his own correspondence.”

“I did, Headmistress,” a guttural voice articulated. In the doorway stood Professor Snape, looking worse for wear in his 54 years. “I figured that Mrs. Tonks should know exactly what happened, if not exactly why it happened.”

The professor stumped up each step of the stairs leading to the official office, using a large walking stick with a handle on the end for support. Professor Severus Snape stood there, regarding his disobedient student and the two older witches before him.

His face was scarred horribly on one side, and a large chunk of skin was missing from his face and jaw. Somehow he had survived his wounds inflicted by a magical snake and lived to tell the tale.

“And that would be, Professor Snape?” Andromeda’s voice took on the haughty quality of her Pureblood heritage, looking down upon someone who wasn’t her equal. “Please, do tell me what happened.”

He stumped over and looked at the proffered chair and shook it off. “Your grandson hexed me and this is how I look. Madame Abbot said that the curse will wear off in a month. I have to admit that it was a ruthless bit of brilliance on the part of Mr. Lupin, who seems to have a penchant for taking after his father.”

“You leave him out of this, you bastard.”

“Edward, enough.” Andromeda looked over at her shoulder at her grandson who had the smarts to keep quiet when his grandmother used his formal name. She turned back to the professor and fought down a grin of her own.

Professor Snape stood at the corner of the desk, complete with a long bushy tail, recessed pointed ears that lay flat against his sallow skin and scalp, and was covered in dark grey fur, minus the scar on his face. With his recessed brown eyes and elongated hands, he appeared like he accidentally took Polyjuice potion that had been contaminated with wolf fur.

“Your grandson hexed me, in the middle of class, in front of all of the NEWTs students. It was an uncalled for attack, without provocation – “

“Liar! You know what you did, you sorry – “

“Teddy,” Andromeda’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper, “One more word from you unasked and I will have to silence you myself. I know you would despise not getting a chance to speak up for yourself.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“Good lad,” She turned back to the others and saw Minerva with a ghost of a grin on her face, gone immediately. “You were saying, Professor Snape? You said that it was without provocation? My grandson wouldn’t act impulsively, not without excellent reasons, unless you are questioning my childrearing skills.”

The two others had a staring contest and Professor Snape blinked first. He didn’t reply to her unasked question.

“I didn’t think so. Now, it’s obvious that my grandson cursed you with what appears is a non-permanent version of Lupus mutatio lupinotuum pectinem. I assume that is the one you used, correct Teddy?” He nodded solemnly. “But it appears you missed one flick of the wand since the professor here looks incredibly like himself.”

“Probably,” he muttered.

“Did you intend to use that particular spell on him when you cursed him?”

He lifted his chin and his hair went candy floss pink, along with his eyes. “I did. I don’t deny I did it.”

“Why did you, Mr. Lupin?” Professor Snape tried to speak softly but it ended in a slight yip.

“Isn’t it obvious, Professor?” Teddy sneered. “I read what you did, you sod. You outed him. You, of all people. It ’s ‘cause of you that he couldn’t work, ‘cause of you that he was homeless and knotless. Its cause of you that he – “

“Enough,” Professor Snape barked. “Yes, I did out your Father. Would you like to know everything?”

Teddy’s hair turned jet black and prompted green eyes. “I already do know everything,” his answer came out like a slight hiss. “My Godfather told me everything, along with Barrister Granger.”

“Ah, so they told you the child’s version, it seems, in dealing with a dangerous fugitive – “

“Severus, I would be wise to not speak so harshly about my favorite cousin, one that it turns out the ministry made a mockery of justice in condemning him without a trial, subjecting him to the horrors of Azkaban without a trial, much less the fact that you tried to have him along with my son-in-law receive a Dementor’s Kiss out of furious fit of pique. See, I also spoke with Director Potter in regards to everything involving my son-in-law after he and his wife perished that night, one that somehow you survived miraculously, while still grievously injured.” She huffed, slightly. “Teddy, since I think you used the one in question; it’s designed to last until the next full moon, correct?”

“Yes, Grandmother. I wanted the – “

“Mr. Lupin, you’re in enough trouble as it is already.”

He cleared his throat. “I wanted the Professor to know what it felt like as my Father, to know how he was shunned when he was outed, being the monster that mothers tell their children to behave. You intentionally did it, because you were upset to not be awarded something important and so ruined his life financially, using the Toad’s help in the Ministry.”

“A month, you say? Surely there is a counter-curse.”

Andromeda smiled. It was wicked. “Oh, there is one. It’s a Black family secret. But the pain is too much to bear for most mere mortals. It forces you to change back into human form within an hour. Most perish from the agony of the pain of a lycanthropic change unless they are already contaminated with a werewolf bite.”

“He hexed me, Mrs. Tonks.”

She glanced back at Teddy, smiling warmly. “What a tragedy,” She turned back to the Professor standing aside the desk, “just like your birth.” Andromeda turned to Headmistress McGonagall. “Since my Grandson did attack a professor, even with provocation, he still must be punished. I won’t abide him getting away with things like his mother did repeatedly.”

“He should be expelled and do time in Azkaban.”

“No, I don’t think so, Professor Snape. You seem to have done enough damage to my family to last three lifetimes. No, I think that Teddy should have to do detentions with you every night until the curse wears off.” Andromeda turned back to her Grandson, who was standing tall, looking much like his father, but with candy floss hair and turquoise eyes. “Yes, a month’s detention should suffice. “It’s only fitting since you seemed to have escaped most of the consequences for your choices, Severus. However, my Grandson is nothing like you.”

“I will have him for a month, on top of being a bloody wolf?”

“Severus, I concur with the decision. A month’s worth of detentions with you should suffice as punishment, especially in light of the fact that you stood aside while students were tortured when you were Headmaster that year.”

“We’ll discuss that later, Headmistress.” He stomped off with his walking stick, escaping the other witches penetrating gazes.

“Mr. Lupin, you have class shortly. I suggest that you not be tardy.” Professor McGonagall gave Teddy a look. He went over to hug his grandmother and a peck on the cheek before dashing out of the office and down the stairs towards his next lessons.

[displacedleylines]

Science of Magic: Undeath in Azeroth

So I’m a gigantic nerd that really loves meshing science into fantasy settings. Largely because what’s scientifically impossible for us here on this Earth is doable in these other worlds. Which means the laws that bind us to not being able to shoot fireballs from our hands don’t apply in worlds like Azeroth. Which means if you really like science because figuring out how the world works is really fun and exciting for you, then a fantasy world that breaks so many real-world rules is like being invited into Wonka’s Factory.  It’s no longer...”Oh, we just can’t shoot fireballs” to “Hm. I wonder how magic does the thing?”

Arthur C. Clarke is a science fiction author who has penned three laws, the third being wildly cited and referenced in popular media. My first introduction to these three laws was when the 7th Doctor quoted that ever-popular third law: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.“ For the sake of completion, and because they’re relevant to this post, the other two laws are: “When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, they are almost certainly right. When they state that something is impossible, they are very probably wrong.” “The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.” Moving on! To say that there’s science to magic isn’t trying to discredit or get rid of any mystique magic has on Azeroth. Spells and things affect the world and the people there just like any other non-magical force here on Earth. So this is less of trying to say that magic isn’t real, it’s all science, but more of using science to theorize about the effects of Magic. You’ll see what I mean in a bit. Undeath is easily one of the most influential pools of magic to have shaped Azeroth since its introduction to the world. There are even various ways to be dead and you can still have some form of brain function despite your level of decay. Or, seemingly lack thereof. Anyone who has rolled a Death Knight or paid attention to the massive amounts of NPC’s of that class running around would know that there are many Undead out there that aside from the eyes and the voice, and sometimes skin tone, you’d have no idea they were dead. This seems to play into how they became a Death Knight, or how soon after death they were raised. There are also non-DK NPC’s that also fall into this boat, so consider them included in this tirade. We all know that how quickly a body decays depends on a lot of different factors. Was it embalmed? Was it buried? Is the body lying in a desert? Water? Forest? Etc. And many critters also play into this, I’m looking at you, maggots, bacteria, carrion beetles and sometimes the occasional deer! Among others. So it stands to reason if your Undead is looking pretty good, it’s because they were either slowly corrupted into undeath or they were raised not long after death. Potentially even right away in the middle of a battlefield. But then, if they’re resurrected instantly and have no chance to properly decay what makes them Undead and not just....alive? Simple! (And it can even play into the status of Undead that are further along in their decomposition too.) When resurrected, it restores brain function (in some form or another) enough so that the Undead can do things like move, talk, see, hear, etc. And it restores the cells in a body -partially. Bacteria doesn’t eat us alive (aside from the rare strains) in part because our skin is always replenishing itself and because human cells are too darn big for them to consume. It’s after death when the cells start to burst that the bacteria get to wriggle in and work its decomp magic. So, once you get that good ol’ yoink from that Necromancer, your cells return to doing what they do best. With one exception. They no longer divide and replenish. Because they don’t need to.(And also because no Necromancer is that good.) Even if your heart is beating out of reflex or some magic mishap, it doesn’t matter because you don’t need your blood to transport oxygen anymore. Hell, you’re only taking breaths because you’re so used to doing it. You’re talking, you’re walking, you’re using magic yourself and your cells are functioning just enough to prevent you from decomposing in the best case scenario. Necromancy is like the magic version on embalming! With the added bonus of pulling your soul back out of that afterlife and into a strangely preserved body. Might not even be yours if the person who raised you is experimenting or if a Warlock is involved!  Unlike being resurrected by the Light, Nature or Spirit based magic, Necrotic magic doesn’t restore you. It really is just shoving you back into your body and using magic to do whatever needs to happen to keep you from decaying further (or at all) and falling apart.  I’d say a really good or powerful Necromancer, if able to instantly raise you can probably ensure your undeath is comfortable and maybe even leave you feeling a bit free. So then, if you’re looking as good as Sylvanas why would death be awful? Or painful? Why feel the need to proclaim how badly you’re suffering? Simple. Like any other spell, the magic probably doesn’t last forever. Unless brought back by something that embodies death itself, and just like embalming, eventually the bacteria WILL get to work. There are items and allusions to this in game, that there’s a bit of upkeep to staying undead. Unless you were personally raised by the Lich King right after death or given special attention by a Val’kyr.... You’re going to need some work done sooner than those lucky ones. “Lucky”, being used loosely here. Not to mention, you can’t go to the light anymore to get fixed. It hurts now. As seen with. Bolvar. The light and light-based healing will try to heal the corruption of undeath, and not actually restore life to you.  Like you know when you put bactine or salt or lemon on an open wound? But it doesn’t heal anything? Yeah. Like that! Being ressurected by the light, I’d say, would be like being resuscitated in a hospital. (You can get resurrection sickness in game, but that’s a topic for another day.) It brings you fully back to life, restores you completely. Yay! The light won’t hurt. Being resurrected into Undeath would be like being filled with embalming fluid before being resuscitated by a doctor. Fantastic, you’re thinking and moving again but your body is devoid of normal fluids and is preserved and won’t age. Or. cell divide. Or function in ways that a living person would do. And when you come in contact with the light, it will try to purge that embalming nonsense out of you and it will hurt like a bitch because ultimately it can’t. TLDR; Necromancy is the magic version of emblaming a body after death, with the added ability to either return a soul to the now preserved corpse or to allow a ghoul, abomination, other mindless undead thngs, to move and function in some way, without restoring actual natural life to the body. In a really, really weird way, Necromancy is anti-bacterial. Which I’d imagine is really good if you’re an Unholy Death Knight. Or Heigan. It’s probably also how Scourge minions can be such effective carriers of death causing bacteria without out it decaying them right on the spot, or causing further decay if they already are. This post can also double as a PSA that after-death care could be something that exsists on Azeroth and that your DK should make that appointment soon. ;) In all seriousness, if you want to take “Plague Doctor” OC’s to the next level and have them provide services to Undead to upkeep their elbalming spells to prevent unwated rot and decay it could be a really fun twist on your traditional Necromancer OC. I could go further into things but this post is already really long, and if there’s anything specific about Undeath you’d like to see talked about in another post, feel free to let me know!  Or if there’s any other kind of magic on Azeroth you’d like to see mixed in with science tell me about that too! I’ll do more of these for sure, regardless. Just wanted to hash this one on. Might refine later.

[real-fakedoors]

under leaves so green - Chapter 5 - Miraculous Ladybug

After the Dupain-Cheng family purchases a flower shop around the block from the Agreste mansion, Chat Noir frequents the spot in search of company from the manager-but-not-really Marinette. Beneath the mask, Adrien starts to struggle with how cute she looks in that green apron. (AKA: the not-really flower shop AU where basically everything is the same, but Marinette is extra stressed by her job and Adrien tries to be supportive)

Cross-posted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 5: Lucky Little Lantanas In which Alya questions Hawk Moth's activity, Nino is a good sport, Marinette accepts her insanity, and Adrien makes a sale.

Growing up, Marinette had a lot to be thankful for. She was healthy, studious, and she tried everyday to embody the manners bestowed upon her by her loving parents. They were in a happy marriage, which was rare these days. With a every part of her heart, Marinette loved her friends, fashion, and despite some frustrations, her flowers, too. Never was there someone the Dupain-Cheng’s wouldn’t go out of their way to help if they could, and the family’s only daughter was no exception. She was compassionate, giving, thoughtful and, she liked to think, humble, too.

That being said, there were some things Marinette allowed herself to be proud of, and even the most modest bone in her body would tingle at the call.

One of those things happened to be patience.

It was being tested, right now, and she was flipping between being madly in love and succumbing to true, straight-jacketed madness.

“Mmm,” Marinette hummed into a large slice of her favorite veggie pizza, using the food to keep her tolerance in check.

“Okay, okay, here’s another one –” Adrien began, earning him a groan all around.

Between this boy and Chat’s antics, Marinette felt deserving of a medal.

He pushed on, obstinate against their collective disapproval. “Why did the cell phone go to the optometrist?”

Silence.

“C’mon,” he looked around, almost bouncing from excitement. Nino mentioned he had coffee today, and oh boy, did the caffeine hit him.

They were seated at small stone table, huddled around a pizza box, laughing and sighing to the sounds of summer. To Marinette’s immediate right was Alya, on her phone, texting or blogging some secret goldmine of information, no doubt, and beside her was Nino, behaving just about as indulgently as Marinette, savoring each slice. That left Adrien, occupying the seat to Marinette’s left. He had accepted one piece in good graces, but otherwise merely feasted on the company.

“I don’t know, man,” Nino eventually conceded. “Because he wished he looked this good in glasses?”

Marinette covered her mouth to giggle, watching Nino use his hands to present Alya like she was Miss France. The girl in question smirked but continued to type into her phone.

“No,” Adrien shook his head. He had clearly given up on Alya’s participation, so there was only one person remaining to antagonize.

A halo of blonde hair sidled up beside her, brushing Marinette’s arm against his own. He was grinning just about as stupidly as Chat did sometimes, green eyes dancing as he tempted her to indulge in his horrible humor.

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “Um… something about service carriers, maybe?”

Adrien sighed and shook his head, but leaned close so he could whisper the answer to his terrible riddle into her ear.

“He lost his contacts.”

How could someone so pure, so kind, and so smart be such a…

“Dork.” Marinette snickered and shook her head. “Very funny.”

It was a joke bad enough that she might expect it from her partner, but who knew? All it took was a little caffeine to turn Adrien into a total dork, too.

Adrien, still concerning close, slouched over upper-body on the table. His head was still turned in Marinette’s direction, and she felt her cheeks grow ever warmer despite the darkening clouds that rolled in above.

He presented an angelic pout. “At least you appreciate my comedy, Marinette. Nino will hardly even humor me anymore.”

The girl had to bite her lip to keep herself from sighing. Was she really starting to enjoy the puns, or was the speaker just that charming? She patted Adrien’s hand on the table in comfort but met eyes with Nino.

“It’s a thankless job,” she offered solemnly, and Adrien beamed. He rather didn’t mind or didn’t notice the tiny jab at his taste in comedy.

In truth, Marinette didn’t mind. She and Adrien had grown closer, their conversations more natural and less awkward with time, but this was a more playful side of him than even she was used to. Chat must have worn her nerves down over the years for blondes with budding smiles, because she couldn’t be the one to damper Adrien’s pure, caffeine-fueled mood.

Alya looked up from her cell phone at that point and claimed the final piece of pizza, her mind clearly on other things.

“I’m convinced there’s something going on with Hawk Moth,” she paused to take a bite, and Adrien’s attention moved to the reporter-to-be. Alya’s eyes flickered down at the table in their direction, and Marinette felt her stomach flip. Her hand was still softly cupping Adrien’s in the earlier gesture of comfort, and rather he didn’t mind, or hadn’t noticed.

Nothing ever escaping Alya’s trained, investigative eyes, and she smirked knowingly at Marinette.  She gulped and tried to focus on her friend, but the jackhammer pounding within her ribs was fairly distracting.

Should she pull away? Maybe… maybe he wanted her hand to stay there?

“No akumas in 12 days?” Alya continued after a brief moment of silence. “That’s the longest break in almost two years. I wonder if Ladybug and Chat Noir, you know,” she glanced over at Nino, who was listening with interest. “Finished him off?”

Adrien grimaced and adjusted his slouch, and his hand stiffened slightly under Marinette’s.

Ah. He had just been listening to Alya and just realized what I was doing.

This, her heart pined. This is why you don’t hope.

Just as her fingers started to pull away, a tense grip squeezed her hand. Adrien’s fingers were soft but steady, and he continued to hold her hand in place.

Eyes wide, Marinette was glad at that moment for Hawk Moth’s conspicuous absence, because he probably could have akumatized all of Paris and she wouldn’t have been able to get up and interrupt this moment.

“I doubt it,” Adrien eventually offered, and Nino nodded seriously.

“Yeah, I mean, don’t you think it would have been a big public thing if they did?”

Alya’s brow furrowed. “Maybe. I mean, of course I hope that’s the case for the sake of the blog. But…” she paused, tapping her chin as she put her phone away.

“We don’t know much about Hawk Moth, still. Who knows if he’s the ‘you’ll have to kill me if you want to defeat me’ type? I have hard time imagining Chat Noir coming to the press saying he and Ladybug murdered someone.”

Marinette started coughing on her final bite of crust, having inhaled too sharply at Alya’s gruesome suggestion. To be fair, Nino and Adrien looked almost as horrified, but everyone’s attention turned towards the sputtering girl.

Adrien patted her back lightly as she turned away, trying not to hack all over the group, and Ayla threw her a bottle of water.

She drank greedily, liquid mercy releasing her from the rasping of stress within her windpipe.

“Okay, that’s a little unfair,” Nino pointed out as Marinette massaged her chest and thanked Adrien for his comfort. “I mean, even if that did happen, in theory, I don’t think people would see it as ‘murder.’ This is Hawk Moth we’re talking about.”

It was a minute change, but Marinette noticed Adrien tense at the suggestion, a slight dip in his brow, a shift of his jaw. She probably wouldn’t be able to notice such a subtle shift on anyone else, but she had memorized just about every angle of this boy’s face. This was an expression he seldom wore.

Alya was frowning. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like the idea either, but there was a discussion post about it on the community Reddit about it, and now it’s kind of stuck in my head. Like, I would never frame it like that if I were reporting on it, but I’m one person. There are just as many people out there who would dig their talons into either one of them - Ladybug or Chat Noir - just for their fifteen seconds of fame.”

“Ugh.” Marinette’s face was twisted in disgust. “I don’t know what’s wrong with people. Even if it ever came down to something like that, which I highly doubt anyways, why would people go on and villainize them? I mean, take Chat Noir for example. - he’s sweet and brave, and how many days and nights has he spent defending those same people? Just for them to turn their back the second it’s convenient?”

They all looked at her for an extended pause, clearly a little surprised that she came in with such a strong opinion. Marinette did not back down, however, face set firm as she met each of their eyes.

Well, she may have wavered just a little when she looked to her left, still plenty aware that Adrien was still sitting quite close. During her coughing fit, their hands seperated, but he had angled his seat to be almost directly beside her.

His green eyes were fixed to her face, his brow suggesting confusion but the pools of emerald that were central to his features were sparkling entirely with admiration.

Marinette nodded seriously at him, as if answering an unspoken call. “Chat Noir would never   hurt someone like that. And if something terrible happened that forced his or Ladybug’s hand, I’m sure they would be honest about it.”

Eventually, Alya sighed and shook her head. “Ya’ll are probably right, I don’t know why this has been bothering me all day. I think I’m just on edge, since it’s been so long it’s bound to happen soon? Let’s forget about it.”

Marinette had to drag her eyes away from Adrien’s own, wondering desperately what he might be thinking about. He was looking at her strangely, and it was making her feel self-conscious, so she felt compelled to get up.

Slowly, she stood from her rickety chair and began to gather their napkins and the greasy remainders of their lunch. The others began to follow suit, taking her hint that break time was over.

“Besides,” Nino said in a lighter tone. “Isn’t it more likely that, I dunno, there’s just no one to akumatize when it’s summer? There’s no one made miserable by having to see Chloe throw a fit every morning at school over her Adrikins.”

The bespeckled boy lolled himself all over Adrien with sickening sweetness to demonstrate, causing Alya and Marinette to laugh heartily. Adrien just gave Nino an awkward pat-pat and caught eyes with Alya.

“This is what you meant by bromance, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” she chirped, and Marinette giggled even harder as the boys began to untangle themselves.

“It was nice of you all to stop by, but I should probably get back to work,” Marinette said as she stretched her arms out and over her head, but there was a sickening pop that caught all their attention.

“Oh, god,” Marinette squeezed her eyes together as her right arm gripped desperately at her left shoulder, doubling over in the sudden throbbing pressure.The general soreness from her earlier tumble had faded since she had remained sedentary for the last half hour, but whatever she had just done reignited the sharp pain that flared castrated her nerve-endings. It was like an airlock released, inviting a crushing force against her joint from all sides, smashing her bones together.

“Marinette!” Alya and Adrien called in unison, each of them rushing to one side.

She dropped the garbage uselessly onto the ground, and some of it caught in the growing  there wind accompanying the afternoon storm, Nino moved to capture it all before it blew away.

“Marinette, what happened?” Alya tried to rub comforting circles against her lower back.

With grit teeth, Marinette slowly regained her posture but did not release her arm. “I just, ugh, I think I dislocated my shoulder? Maybe? It’s never happened before so I don’t know what that’s supposed to be like.”

Adrien pursed his lips. “Slowly try to lower your arm to your side, but stop if it hurts. Okay?”

Marinette felt guilty for making them worry, Nino rejoining their huddle as she tried to comply with Adrien’s suggestion.

She made it about three-fourths of the way before her grimace turned into a full scowl, wincing at the sensation. Alya had gone into full “World-War I nurse in the trenches” mode, brushing the hair from Marinette’s eyes as the girl hissed through her teeth, walking her towards the back of the store and barking orders to the boys.

“I’m calling your parents, Marinette. You can’t work like this.”

“What? No!” She shot up a little straighter, gnashing her teeth together in an effort to keep a straight face. “They can’t just leave the bakery, and the delivery guy is coming in a few hours. I need to finish the - ah,” she flinched as Alya made her to sit at the desk.

Adrien appeared beside her, kneeling so they were almost at eye-level. “Alya’s right, Marinette. If it’s dislocated, you’ll hurt yourself worse if you try to work through it.”

Nino crossed his arms, standing next to his girlfriend. “Yeah, seriously, ‘Nette. At least let Alya call your parents and tell them what happened.”

Sucking on her teeth, Marinette was prepared to protest but Alya was already walking out the back, phone at her ear.

She sighed, defeated.

“Well, fine. Can one of you go take the sign off the front door and unlock it? If there’s anyone waiting, tell them I’ll be just a minute.”

Nino straightened and saluted, receiving his marching orders with a good-humor about him. Marinette smiled in appreciation as he went, but she could feel another, more urgent set of eye’s studying her face.

“I’m sure I can sleep it off, like Alya said, I can take a hit or two.”

Marinette’s voice was an impressive masque of reassurance, but with a quick glimpse at Adrien, it was evident that he wasn’t convinced. She felt her cheeks burn under his gaze, and she glared daggers at the floor in frustration.

“Marinette?” Adrien called, voice serious. The girl continued to study her shoes, preferring not to look at him. Adrien decidedly took that option away from her, needing her to hear him. He lifted Marinette’s chin, turning her porcelain features with just the lightest touch towards him. Marinette could feel her skin tingle along her neck, his hands like electricity - her pain was utterly forgotten for a moment.

“You’re working yourself too hard,” he murmured, eyes never leaving her face. “Just relax for a few minutes. Okay?”

She nodded mutely, smiling.

In fairness, Marinette would have protested if her voice hadn’t evaporated. He was so close, and she could smell his shampoo, or cologne, or whatever his natural scent was that made her head dizzy. His gaze was endless and pure, and it simultaneously tore down all of her will only to rebuild it twice as strong, the structure sturdier with his reassurance. The moment was oddly intimate, to be only inches away, both their faces battling a blush, sincerity coloring every gesture. The whole moment passed a beat later, but he was like a rush in her bloodstream. Intoxicating, comfortable - he took the edge off and made her feel more herself.

He smiled back.

“Okay,” a crisp voice announced, Alya entering from the courtyard. Adrien leaned away in time with the bell, and Nino returned to the back before the door even closed behind Alya.

“Your parents said you’re to stop working right away. Your mom is coming to take over for the rest of the day, but…” She hesitated, which made the others a little anxious. “She’ll be a little bit. Apparently there’s something going on with a ‘caterer in crisis,’ so she won’t be here for about two hours. Also, your dad says stop being stupid and stubborn.” She paused, face severe. “Okay, I might have taken some creative license there, but the sentiment was basically the same.”

Marinette frowned. “What time is it?”

“Um, fifteen ‘til one,” Nino answered.

“By the time Maman gets here…” She did a quick calculation in her head. It would be 2:45 when her mother showed up. That left fifteen minutes to complete eleven more orders, only six of which were started. It was hopeless; Marinette couldn’t even pull that off, and she was superior to her mother when it came to all things botanical.

“Ugh…” she glared at the pile of unfinished work, kicking herself for letting this happen. Even if Marinette couldn’t blame herself for the fall, which she was already set on doing, the fault for slacking was totally her own.

Above her head, Alya and Nino looked ruefully at one another, moving towards the desk where Adrien still knelt, only looking at the girl seated there.

“Hmm…” The blond hummed through the tension, tapping fingers along his knee. Marinette, against her better judgement, let herself look his way again - now it was he who was glaring at the ground, though.

“What if we helped you until your Mom shows up? We could just do the orders and run the register.”

“Oh, no, I can’t ask that of -- ”

Alya wasn’t even going to let her finish.

“That’s a great idea! Not bad, blondie.” They grinned at each other. “Marinette, just tell us what to do.”

No way - that would be beyond unfair to them. They had come today to spend leisure time, Marinette wouldn’t put them to work. These were her friends, and this was her problem.

She leaned back and adjusted her apron.

“No, guys. This really feels like something I should take responsibility for. I can call Dan our delivery guy and explain -”

Nino looked skeptical and lowered himself to a crouch, his arms extending over his knees. “C’mon, ‘Nette. You literally help everyone all the time - I probably owe you times a thousand by now. Put us to work.”

Biting her lip, Marinette appraised the three before her, taking care to linger on each of their faces. Each one wore a smile, and their expressions did not hold an ounce of contempt. So why did it make the pit in her stomach twist ever the more shamefully?

“But if you guys hadn’t been here and I fell, I’d still have to… I can’t accept, I’m sorry.” She was embarrassed, the urge to cry clasping down on her throat. Why? Why couldn’t she get it together?

Alya sighed slowly and opened her mouth to argue, but Adrien spoke first. “Well, fortunately, that’s only a what if. It doesn’t change anything right now, and we’re here, and you’re hurt. You could see it as really bad luck that you fell, or that you’re just really lucky that we were there. Either way, we’re helping.”

Marinette blinked a few times, taken aback by his brusque tone. It didn’t leave room for questions, but was still somehow kind enough not to make her guilt worse. For some reason, she thought she recognized that inflection, but Marinette couldn’t recall from where.

Still, it put her disquieted consciousness at peace enough to comply.

“Okay, fine…” She crossed her arms, uncharacteristically petulant. The others beamed at her.

“Grab an apron, there are some extras in that cabinet.” Marinette pointed behind Alya’s head, so the girl did as she bid.

One by one, Alya distributed the dark green fabric and each of them tied their respective “uniform” in place. Thankfully, they had all decided to wear more-or-less appropriate clothing, besides, perhaps, Alya’s tank top that showcased her, um… assets.

Marinette remained seated, using the armrest of the chair to sort of prop her elbow into place, keeping her shoulder fixed at an exact angle.

“So the big thing is these deliveries, I think -- ” Marinette began, grimacing when her voice was interrupted by the familiar ringing of a bell. Someone was here.

She cursed quietly, and all of her apprentices looked at each other.

“Someone come with me to the register,” she ordered in a low voice, scowling as she stood up. “The others stay. Wrap those.” She pointed towards a rubber-banded assorted bouquet of lilies and lotus blossoms and then towards a tray of plastic liners, praying they could figure it out.

Shaking her head succinctly, Marinette marched into the front, squeezing her left arm into her torso.

“Bonjour,” she greeted warmly, relaxing upon entering her private garden. The nerves melted off her beneath the familiar greens.

Even better, this was a customer she knew. “Ah, Madam Kleinstein! How nice to see you.”

Marinette’s feet guided her automatically, strolling right past the counter to meet the old, old woman at the door. While Marinette would never ask Madam Kleinstein her age, she knew the woman had to be getting up there. (Of course, she had nothing on Master Fu, but Marinette felt the man’s age didn’t really count for comparisons.)

They had made acquaintances under unfortunate circumstances, when Monsieur Kleinstein had passed away in December. That was to be expected, Marinette supposed, when you worked in the business of funerals and weddings.

Their family rabbi contacted Mo to handle the arrangement process, but Madam wanted to have a more active role in the plans than most widows. She monitored each selection for the shiva, down to the color of the vases and the font of the cards, so that it might be a perfect goodbye for her husband. Of course, the store took the woman’s mourning seriously, and worked to meet her every demand. Mo even called in his wife to help the day before the delivery was due.

Since the funeral, Madam came in frequently for houseplants and flowers, chatting with Mo or Marinette endlessly. From context clues, Marinette gauged the woman to be at least 85; some of her stories alluded to living through the Holocaust as a young girl. And while the years had clearly taken the vibrancy from her body, Madam Kleinstein made up for it with her youthful spirit.

Petite and whispy, the woman always dressed in long skirts and comfortable-looking jumpers, even in the summer heat - the fabric made her appear even smaller beneath the layers. Still, her short-cropped hair and colorful reading glasses made her dark eyes twinkle, and Marinette never tired of listening to her stories of the “wild years” she spent in Austria, or the day she met her late husband, or of hearing the woman’s barometer reading of French politics. (It didn’t hurt that she apparently loved Ladybug, either).

“Marinette,” the woman called as she approached, donning a crinkly smile. She lifted up one of her many-ringed hands and held Marinette’s own, patting the top with her other just-as-many-ringed hand. “How nice it is to see you, dear. I heard about Mo leaving.”

Marinette smiled warmly and tried to ignore her shoulder. “Oh, yes, it was hard for him to say goodbye to this place, but it’s in good hands.”

“I can see that,” she said, peering above her glasses. “And who’s this?”

“Huh?”

Marinette followed her gaze, having entirely forgotten about her earlier command for someone to follow her.

“Bonjour,” Adrien bowed politely with a smile that would put the portraits hanging in the Louvre to shame. He stood just a few feet behind Marinette, clearly courteous while remaining a respectful distance away.

“Madam Kleinstein, was it? My name is Adrien.”

The woman raised a brow, glancing between Marinette and Adrien with a puzzling look on her face. She seemed to approve of… whatever it was that she saw there, because her quizzical expression was replaced by a knowing smile.

“Well, it is a pleasure, Adrien. ‘Cecelia’ will do just fine. Madam Kleinstein was my mother-in-law.” She shuddered, and the teens chuckled. “When you get to be my age, you realize the best part about getting old is never having to deal with your in-laws again.”

She laughed at her own wit while Marinette and Adrien exchanged sheepish smiles. Their eyes met, and despite the woman’s pointed suggestion, Marinette could tell Adrien knew better than to call a customer anything but Madam. His confidence helped her to relax.

“Now,” Madam Kleinstein extended a hand towards Adrien. “Could you show me the seasons’ annuals? I need something just right for my planters.” He blinked at her like she had just spoken Portuguese, and Marinette considered slipping between them - she doubted Adrien knew perennials from annuals from shrubs.

But, acting the gentleman, he offered his arm to the tiny Madam - she only came up to about his waist.

“Well, of course. But I’m still training,” he emphasized the word, shooting a smile in Marinette’s direction. “So why don’t we let Mari show us both? I’d like the chance to learn a little more from the expert.”

Turning redder than a tomato, Marinette felt herself fluster from Adrien’s unexpected praise - she was sure he was only trying to moderate the situation with the customer, but she appreciated it all the same.

Marinette watched her feet shyly and beckoned for them to follow, leading around a display and two rows of pre-potted blossoms and coming to a stop at the western wall. Two shelves hugged the glass divider, one at about level with Marinette’s knees and another at her shoulder, and each were covered from edge to edge by her annuals. Each variety had at least two pallets, and each root system was secured by the cheap plastic planter liners that one could buy in bulk from garden supply stores. Draped above each shelf were a slightly lax piece of twine, tied to structural beams on either end of the greenhouse wall. Every few feet down, a small handwritten sign was clothespinned into place that spelled out each flower’s taxonomy and a severely simplified care guide.

She had been doing this for awhile now, even before the change in management. Mo’s handwriting had been atrocious, so Marinette insisted, and she thought the symbols made it easier on potential non-native French speakers: if there was a little yellow sun, the plant needed plenty of sunshine; if there was a cloud, the bud would grow best in the shade. One raindrop meant little water, two meant moderate, and three meant they were thirsty little buggers.

Waving her right hand, Marinette gestured towards the bottom of the two rows - there was no way tiny Madam Kleinstein would be able to see those on the top.

“Did you have anything in mind? The impatiens are coming along nicely, and they’re very low maintenance.”

The woman pursed her lips while she and Adrien both studied the sign Marinette had indicated. He cocked his head to one side and made a seemingly innocent remark. “You might even say, they don’t require a lot of patience?”

Marinette smacked her forehead with her good hand, too exasperated to regret it. The action jostled her torso, and she clenched her jaw through the sudden pain.

Madam Kleinstein, for whatever reason, seemed to find his joke rather funny.

“Not bad, Adrien.” She sniffed seriously, but winked up at him. He grinned smugly and looked pointedly Marinette, who rolled her eyes so heavily it was amazing she didn’t make herself dizzy.

“Yes, not bad, Adrien. Say, why don’t I leave you to it for a moment? I need to check something in the back.”

Adrien’s eyes became pleading the moment she started to walk away, his wordless struggle clear: Wait, I have no idea what I’m doing here! Don’t leave me with this woman!

A more responsible part of Marinette’s brain would have agreed that was probably not the smartest thing to do… but the look on his face paired with the instant gratification against his tireless puns? She couldn’t pass it up.

  The store had grown humid, Adrien figured, because he felt a bead of sweat appear on his brow.

Now, that may very well have been the case - the storm due for the afternoon, damned be Parisian summer, had just started and the room reflected that. It was much darker outside, the pitter-patter of precipitation matched the rather frantic beating of his heart. The fluctuating heat and humidity could certainly be responsible for the perspiration.

Then again, he was also very stuck and very nervous. The adorable Madam Kleinstein was using his arm for support, and Marinette had just left him to the metaphorical vultures. The woman looked and sounded like the archetype of every grandma he had ever seen on television, and for some reason, that only made it more stressful.

Now, not only was he at risk of disappointing Marinette, but now it felt like he might also disappoint his own-but-not-really grandma.

Moving down the row of apparent “annuals,” she patted his arm, indicating they could stop.

“See something you like?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound as anxious as he felt.

“Hmm,” she took back her hand and leaned over a clustering of some of the most shockingly pink flowers he had ever seen.

“These begonias are lovely,” she paused to adjust her glasses. “But I planted begonias last season and they didn’t do very well. Stunted little things. Too much sun, perhaps.”

“Mmm…” Adrien hummed, not really sure how to respond. He was way out of his comfort zone.

Madam smirked, looking back in the direction they came.

“You know, this is usually the part where Marinette shares some fascinating fact or story about begonias, and I’m so blown away that I just have to buy them. She’s a natural salesperson,” Madam Kleinstein mused, bending to waft some aroma from the pink blooms.

Adrien snickered in spite himself, fiddling with his apron. “Yeah, that sounds like Marinette. That’s how I feel just about every time she tries to teach me something here. She’s pretty amazing.”

“Yes,” the woman agreed, slowly straightening while rocking her head from shoulder to shoulder, demonstrating her indecision.

“Hmm…” Adrien looked at the shelf above, still a head too high for Madam Kleinstein, and paused upon the sign.

He was surprised to find an adorable little leprechaun, smiling back at him.

“Lantanas?” He blurted aloud, frowning at the neat script above the caricature.

“Oh?” The woman turned, peering up at him. “May I?”

“Umm…” Adrien paused, literally not sure what he was getting himself into. Thankfully, Marinette’s labeling helped, but he rubbed the back of his neck and would not meet Madam Kleinstein’s eye.

“There’s um… sure, let me…”

He didn’t have to reach, as the shelf was at level with his chest, but it was sort of awkward by default since he didn’t know how to handle the plants. Probably more slowly and more carefully than he had to, Adrien pulled forward the first tray on the palette and brought it down to viewing height for the woman.

Madam Kleinstein beamed.

“Oh, I haven’t seen lantanas like these in years.”

Adrien, not having a frame of reference, could only politely nod. That being said, he still managed to appreciate how strikingly beautiful the cluster of buttery yellow flowers were. Tiny things, the sort of star-shaped petals seemed to him so fragile, but they formed floral spheres that made them appear mighty in congregation. Given the dreary turn the day had taken, between the weather and Marinette getting hurt, it made these blossoms seem that much cheerier. The bitty buds were like little balls of sunshine, refusing to be snuffed out by the clouds above, and they brought a smile to his face.

“How are we doing?” Marinette came around while Madam studied, and Adrien felt himself both relax and tense at the same time. He was glad Plagg abandoned him already, because the kwami would certainly be jeering in his pocket if he hadn’t vanished into the bushes the moment Marinette left him.

“Oh, the Little Lucky Pots of Gold? What a good choice, Adrien.” She smiled at him.

“Thanks!” He chirped happily, though he was certain both women were able to hear his heart for how loudly it was beating. Had he not been hyped up on caffeine, he probably could have stopped the absolutely goofy, proud grin from spreading across his face, but that chance passed this morning when he skipped the decafe.

Madam Kleinstein agreed. “They’re lovely, Marinette. Were these your’s or Mo’s?”

“Mo’s pick of course, but they’ve really only come in during the past month so they sorta feel like they’re mine.”

Moving closer, Marinette still gripped her left shoulder tenderly, but her eyes were sparkling.

“I do love lantanas, so I can imagine why they caught your eye…” She paused, rubbing her chin. “Don’t let the name deceive you, though. They might be rumored to bring good luck, but I wouldn’t bet on it if you plant them in Paris. That might be dangerous.”

Adrien and Madam shared a wistful smile while Marinette admired the tiny petals, almost smug in acknowledgment of Madam Kleinstein’s accurate portrayal of Marinette’s pattern in sales. She had a formula, tittering and bouncing through words and secret lore if someone got her started on a subspecies, Adrien had started to learn, and he didn’t mind a bit.

“What’s their story?” Madam eventually questioned.

Marinette responded by walking to the end of the row and retrieving a rolling cart she used to move cumbersome palettes or pots, and offered for Adrien to set the tray down.

Adrien watched her wheel the battered, plastic carrier closer, appreciative for the help. The tray wasn’t heavy, exactly, but it was awkward to hold and his arms were starting to cramp.

“Well, Lantanas are almost stubbornly resistant to damage - great in heat, not much watering, not really affected by soil pH,” Marinette explained, brushing some of the leaves as Adrien set the tray down. “And the Little Lucky Pots of Gold are one of my favorite varieties - the color is just so vivid. But, all Lantanas attract every sort of pollinators, which is the part get you into trouble.”

“Like bees?” Adrien questioned, bending to examine the blossoms. They were lively against the gray backdrop of the cart and with overcast skies, and he found it hard to believe something so tiny couldn’t possibly be “dangerous.”

“Sure,” Marinette nodded. “That’s one possibility. But there are others, too, like hummingbirds, even ants and beetles. But most of all, they’re known to attract Papillon - butterflies.”

She was smiling devilishly now, and recognition registered after a puzzling passing seconds.

Papillon - butterflies?

Hawkmoth.

In truth, Adrien found that information more disconcerting than it was amusing, but then, it’s not like normal, non-magical butterflies were dangerous. Akumas were dangerous, and the idea that little Madam Kleinstein would be attracting akumas to her garden with a planter full of these innocent little buds did make for a rather funny mental image.

“Hmm,” Madam mused. “Now that doesn’t sound very lucky to me, does it, Adrien?”

He snickering and bit his tongue. Now this woman knew how to appreciate a good pun.

“Do you think this means Hawkmoth is a leprechaun?” He countered seriously. “Theoretically, Ladybug and Chat Noir would find him if they merely found the pot of gold.”

“At the end of the rainbow!” Madam Kleinstein finished for him.

Adrien laughed openly, while the petite woman covered her mouth and chuckled.

“Madam,” Marinette whined. “Don’t encourage him. Please.”

“Oh, don’t be a Dismal Dolly, Marinette.” The woman clicked her tongue, but both were smiling. “Adrien here just sold me on these, what with that quick wit!”

“Well,” he flustered slightly, blushing at the compliment. “I guess I’m just lucky.”

“Oh my god,” Marinette’s head rolled backwards, but she led them all to the register.

Once the purchase was finished - Madam bought two whole trays worth, which Marinette said was rather unprecedented - Marinette and Adrien thanked her repeatedly for her kindness and, in the case of the latter, for joining is his jokes

Marinette was hovering steadily towards the back as they said their goodbyes (likely anxious to check on Alya and Nino), but their salutations were interrupted by a rather aggressive clap of thunder.

“Oh,” Adrien blinked once his eyes readjusted - it was weird to be in a glass castle during a storm, each rolling cloud or zip of lightning that flashed across the sky was visible from within the transparent walls. They were really more of windows than walls, and Madam paused at the door.

“Ahh… Madam Kleinstein, perhaps I could walk you to your car? The storm is terrible and your flowers…”

She raised a hand to her cheek, tapping a finger there. “Hmm… No, I should be fine getting to the car. It’s just right in front here, but…”

Her eyes moved around the store, seeking a set of twin braids. Marinette was halfway leaning through the back, whispering imperceptibly, when Madam Kleinstein called for her.

“Marinette?”

“Hmm? Oh - oh, I’m sorry, Madam. Was there something else?” She dashed forward, standing just beside Adrien in front of the counter.

“Could I have my nephew come for these tomorrow? Transporting in the rain seems…”

The girl nodded, and smiled. “Unlucky?”

Madam beamed. “You could say that.”

Adrien simply admired the girl, the woman, and their humor quietly, filled with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years.

They waved a final goodbye as the woman hobbled through the rain, and true to her word, she made it to the car without issue. Still, Adrien’s chivalrous instincts were tingling, so he turned towards another lady to whom he could still offer to help.

Marinette was already in the back, so he waltzed after her to the familiar sound of Nino and Alya’s bickering.

“No, you, Marinette said like this.”

“That’s what I did.”

“Mmm…” Marinette squinted at the creation by her feet as Adrien entered, Nino and Alya sitting crossed leg on either side of an arrangement, soft orange blossoms he didn’t know - lilies, maybe? - accented by little white buds and a large ribbon of the same color.

“It’s actually rather nice, although I would suggest some… ahh,” she sighed, sounding more annoyed than anything as she reached out and invited another stab of pain.

“Wow,” Adrien commented, crossing the room and sitting on the chaise. He unintentionally sank comfortably - too comfortably - into the light cushions. “You guys made that?”

“Yeah, I know right?” Alya nodded proudly in his direction, before gesturing towards her partner-in-crime. “I’ve seen Marinette do it a dozen times, but Nino here actually has a natural talent for this, I swear it.”

“You’re definitely good for this being your first time,” Marinette nodded her agreement, though her voice was lacking its usual radiant positivity.

“Thanks,” Nino bashfully fiddled with his borrowed apron. “I mean, it’s sort of like composing a song. Just with sight instead of sound, got to pair what works together, you know?”

Adrien had started to recline further into the cozy, familiar fuzziness of the chaise. How many times had he stretched out here and nearly fallen asleep as Chat? This afternoon was starting to catch up with him, the rain only adding to the ambiance.

“Really cool,” he murmured, resting his eyes for just a minute.

There was a brief pause, broken by the distinctive bzzz of a vibrating cell phone. All of them instinctively felt for their pockets, but Marinette was the one to silence the call.

“Hi, Maman,” she answered with reluctance. Adrien peeked open a lid as Marinette sat at her desk chair.

Alya pulled out her own phone, doing whatever it is that she does on that thing, and Nino sort of plucked and primped the arrangement, adjusting and re-adjusting the silken bow that tied it together. This was a stand-alone piece, by the looks of it, since none of the deliveries really matched.

“Yes, I know but, um, I actually didn’t need to close it. Did Alya…?” Marinette half-asked the question into the device at her ear, half-directed it towards her friend. Looking up from her phone, Alya frowned and shook her head.

“Um, well… some of my friends from school stopped in, just to visit and --”

Huffing, Marinette looked at the ceiling and spun away from the group. Adrien could still see her profile from his spot on the couch, and she was rather pink in the face.

“I know, Maman, but this was just to drop off lunch for me. They were here when I fell and offered to help until you got here. I really couldn’t say no, there are a lot of deliveries due before… yes, exactly. ”

There was a pause, the tittering voice of Mrs. Cheng on the other line, before Marinette inhaled sharply.

“Maman!” She snapped, voice accusatory. “That’s not - I mean, no, Maman! No.”

Adrien and Nino locked eyes, both looking uncomfortable. They hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but being here now felt rather invasive.

“Sure… I know, just… bad timing. I thought the same thing. I’ll be sure to pay them.”

Another pause, before an exhausted sounding Marinette turned back to them all. “Yes, Maman. See you soon. I love you too.”

“I’ll accept payment from you when I’m dead,” Alya said flatly, not even waiting for Marinette to breathe once the call ended.

Nino’s brow furrowed. “Wow, Queen of Darkness over here today.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just being honest. If honesty and darkness are the same to you, maybe you need to re-evaluate some of your own views.”

The boy hissed and leaned away. “Yikes.”

Marinette just sported a frown, looking between the two before eventually turning to Adrien.

“I agree with my Mom on this, guys. If you won’t let me pay you, at least let me do something for you? Maybe I can bring you some desserts from the shop the next time we hang out? Maman insists.”

Adrien sighed contently just from the suggestion. Marinette was absolutely right; in no stretch of the imagination would he have accepted money from the Dupain-Cheng’s, but he was happy to be bribed with their food.

“Uh, better idea,” Alya stood and dusted herself off. “How about, we all get to pick the next thing we do as a hangout. And you can’t say no, no matter how much you don’t want to do it.”

Jumping in, Adrien sounded more defensive for food than was probably normal. “I don’t know, I was sort of okay with the pastry idea.”

“Nah,” Alya dismissed his suggestion. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but your parents refuse money anytime - everytime we try to pay. That’s like ‘paying’ us with something that was already free.”

“Didn’t you say you weren’t accepting payment?” Marinette remarked, raising a brow. She was met with a devious grin.

“I did, as your best friend. But your Mom insisted, and that overrides my authority as BFF.”

Nino sucked his teeth. “Ehhhh… she’s got a point, ‘Nette.”

Marinette seemed to struggle for a moment, but settled on a pout. “Ummm, I don’t know... I guess that’d be okay. Just, it can’t be anything embarrassing. Okay?”

“Drat,” Adrien sighed. “There goes my idea for us all to go out for a day on the town in full cosplay.”

They all let that sit for a beat, before laughing and sputtering and shaking their heads.

“Weeb,” Nino said under his breath.

Adrien had accepted that.

“Yep.”

Alya went to Marinette’s side and rested her head against the girl’s uninjured shoulder. “I was thinking more of like, you take a day away from work and actually do something with us for a change?”

“Oh.”

It saddened him to watch her face flicker with excitement, only to fall with twice as much disappointment.

“I would actually love that,” Marinette said slowly, maneuvering herself away from Alya. “But you know I can’t. There’s no one who can cover for me.”

“I know.” Alya sounded uncharacteristically sad, and it made Adrien’s heart hurt worse to hear. He was prepared to say something, sitting up from the chaise when it was his phone’s turn to interrupt.

“Ahh…” he cursed under his breath. “Sorry. Just a sec.”

Standing, Adrien approached the glass that overlooked the courtyard and watched the slowing storm. He cleared his throat and accepted the call.

“Hello, Nathalie.”

She greeted him as warmly as ever. “Adrien.”

“Was there something you needed?” He tried not to sound irritated, but it was hard.

“Yes, actually,” she paused. “How is Mr. Lahiffe?”

“Oh,” he glanced at Nino out of instinct, who had curled up next to Alya when the reporter sat back down again.

Not wanting to lie, he decided to stay vague. “He is well. The cafe was nice.”

“I’m glad.” Her voice was like ice.

Adrien did not respond.

“Well, it is time for you to come home. Your father has something he would like to discuss.”

Pressing his lips together, Adrien felt his eye twitch. That was it. The unsaid threats again, but this time, it was a bit more fatal. Nathalie knew he had misconstrued his day, and if his father had specifically requested to talk, that meant he knew, too.

“I understand.” He ground his molars together, ever so slightly. “I’ll be home immediately.”

The line went dead, not bothering with real goodbyes.

Adrien was suddenly lamenting not walking Madam Kleinstein to her car. She had been so kind, it would have been the least he could do.

Taking a steady breath, he tried to put on a convincingly sheepish look. “Nino, I have to go. Do you want a ride?”

The DJ peered at his girlfriend, who gave him a very “hey, don’t look at me” look, so he shrugged.

“Yeah, I probably should. Will the lovely ladies be okay without us?”

“Frankly...” Alya began with a smile as Nino helped her to stand, but whatever cheeky remark she had prepared went unsaid. “Actually, nevermind. Why don’t you help me put the stool back up front?”

Nino blinked in confusion. “It’s a pretty small stool,” he commented, bending to scoop it up off the ground.

“Great, let’s go!” Alya made a demonstration of grabbing the other end and leading herself and Nino out of the back.

That left him alone, save for…

Marinette smiled weakly, examining the floor off to one side.  Standing very still, one arm cradling the other, her blue eyes were unseeing. It was clear there was something wrong, and just as Adrien’s words of concern started to form, she spoke.

“I’m sorry about everything today.”

Adrien shook his head and chuckled. “You are something else, Marinette.”

Her head shot up in his direction, looking hurt. Adrien moved forward, verbally backpedaling against the faux pas. “I meant, you shouldn’t be apologizing for anything. You work so hard to make sure everything is perfect here, but you’re human. It only takes one little slip up for things to unravel. I’m just glad we were here to help, at least to make things a little easier.”

She looked at him curiously for a moment, the sparkle of her eyes returning, and she smiled.

“Was that a pun? Slip up?”

Adrien bit his lip through a smile. “I thought that one was subtle enough you might not notice.”

“Nothing slips by me, I’m afraid.” Her expression was comically stoic.

“I believe it,” he said honestly. They looked at each for a moment, and Adrien felt like he could run a marathon with all the adrenaline pumping in his veins.

Nino’s stupid, stupid voice was playing in his head.

“It’s a coin flip. You should already know.”

No, Nino, Adrien fumed internally. He didn’t “already know.”

It’s not like he had been half-tempted to ignore Nathalie’s call, just so he might stay a little longer. That would have been irresponsible. In fact, it’s not like at that exact moment, he was considering crossing the length of the office, to brush the hair bangs from her face just to better drink in her features, to memorize the melodies that composed her patient, confident voice, or to decipher the world behind her aquamarine gaze, always fiery but filled with compassion. It’s not like, if he was already that close, it would be anymore difficult to lean down and breathe in that wonderful mixture of flour and chocolate that always clung to her porcelain skin. It would be easy. She was like muscle memory to memories he didn’t have and muscles he couldn’t move.

It’s not like, if she was just a little closer, he might be able to kiss her.

He definitely wasn’t imagining that happening, looking across a vast emptiness that was only three feet but felt like three years, come and gone since he’s known her, and yet she was this close the whole time.

It’s not like he realized all of this the moment he laid eyes on her a few hours ago. He hadn’t even flipped a real coin, but then, why did this feel so different?

Here he was, locked in a silence of only thirty seconds that was so much harder than it had to be. Adrien wanted to be disappointed, or angry, or irritated that he had to go. He really did. With Marinette so near, however, he couldn’t seem to muster more than a sad smile.

Marinette blinked once, then twice, and a third time before speaking.

“I ...w-would offer you a hug, but I think it would hurt.”

Adrien’s smile grew, but only a bit. “That’s okay, I wouldn’t want to you to mess up your shoulder anymore.”

“Well…” She bit her lip, and Adrien wanted so badly to know what she might be thinking.

He had to get a grip. “I guess I should go.”

“Yeah. Thanks again for all of your help, really. I would have been really…”

She paused, brow furrowing but she dispelled it with a quick shake of her head. “Really out of luck if you all hadn’t been there.”

Adrien gulped and began to walk towards the front of the store, not sure his voice would work or if his brain could handle a reasonable response.

One foot into the front, and he recalled a memory with such intensity it almost made him waver. A rainy day. Marinette. Russian Snowdrops. Kindness, compassion, and that same inability to speak. She knocked the wind right out of him with her simple words, but when he breathed in again it was all refreshing and new, all over again.

Not again. He wouldn’t walk out like that, on her, again.

Adrien ran a hand through his hair.

“Marinette?” He spun on the spot, and she looked up.

“Thanks for… helping me with Madam Kleinstein. I was really out of my element.”

Real smooth, Agreste. Real smooth.

She giggled, and it was beautiful.

“You were the one who made the sale. I should be thanking you, but, I guess you did have a pretty great teacher.” She winked. “ But, yeah, it was… fun, working with you. I hope you’ll come by again.”

The words were confidence and his heart was hook-line-and-sinkered. Before he could stop himself, Adrien walked briskly towards Marinette and kissed her on the cheek. His actions caught up with his brain after a beat, and with the realization came with a rush of color to his face.

He smiled anyways, because that’s what this was all about. Marinette made him happy.

“Goodbye, Marinette.”

She took two shallow breaths, and he was happier than he should have been to see that she was blushing too.

“B-bye, Adrien.”

[theartscenter-blog]

Student Work: Virus Diaries

The following piece, entitled Virus Diaries: 1, was written by Mimi Chapman, a student in Julia Green’s recent online class, Writing Through Crisis: Using Memoir to Navigate Challenging Times. This post appears on Mimi's blog, where you can also read Virus Diaries 2: Texas' Two Step Reopening and My Father.

Virus Diaries: 1 

by Mimi Chapman

When this strange chapter in our collective life is said and done, we will each have our own virus diary. We will have the day we realized this episode was serious. The day we realized we had to change the way we were living.  The day we recognized how this could affect people that we know and the day we realized that we would not come through it unscathed. This is my virus story, even though it is not over.

Almost a month ago, my family was approaching spring break. My oldest son had plans to spend a week off with a “lady friend” in her hometown near mine. My husband was to have a week to himself. My younger son and I would head to Texas where he would help out at a friend’s ranch – which he loves – and I would visit with my 99-year-old father. As we prepared to leave, reports on Covid-19 were growing more dire. My husband and I discussed whether any or all of us should travel. In the end, we took Clorox wipes, hand sanitizer, cleaned every surface we encountered on our respective journeys, and off we went.

The visit began normally enough. We saw my father and his friends who all wanted to shake my son’s hand and give me a hug or a pat. I walked in and out of his assisted living facility with nary a second glance from the wonderful staff that I’ve come to admire. Then, as universities across the country sounded the alarm and told students not to return to campus, our visit took a different turn.

Between visits with my father, I was all of sudden on daily conference calls with work. I was trying to get his taxes done and when I went to visit him the visiting procedure had changed to include a sign in process and questions about travel. As spring break was extended for another week to prep for remote teaching, entrance to my dad’s assisted living facility became limited to immediate family. I told my older son and his girlfriend not to make their planned visit since they’d likely been exposed to too many potential carriers. On Friday morning, I visited as usual and left with a plan to come back later that afternoon and finish the Sherlock Holmes story I’d been reading aloud to my father. When I returned two hours later, I was locked out.

Hysteria welled up inside of me. That I could not explain to him what was happening, that he would be left wondering why I didn’t return, that my only chance at talking with him would be the five-minute phone calls that he appreciates, but provide precious little in the way of real communication – my mind could not take it in.  Thank God for the hospice nurse who happened to arrive at just the right moment and advocated that I be allowed to visit for another hour or so, to finish our Sherlock Holmes story, to say what might be a temporary or, God forbid, a permanent good-bye.  I was allowed in, allowed to explain, tell him I love him, and walk out the door.

Two days ago, some public official – I know their name but choose not to mention it here – said that senior citizens would be willing to sacrifice for the country, to risk death so that the economy wouldn’t suffer. And, I suppose if anyone asked him, my 99-year-old father might agree.  Why not? He said yes before when he was 19 years old and marched down 5th avenue before boarding a ship that took him to the Pacific where he was under fire for 2 and half years. What would make any of us think that any of those brave, now old, young men and women would ever say no to what we ask of them?  Has my good, noble, kind father ever said no to me? Hardly ever. But why in the world we would ever ask this of them?  How could we be so selfish, so self-important, so ignorant, and so cruel, as to expect that our elders who have sacrificed in World War 2, in Korea, in Vietnam, and in a million other non-military ways, should have to sacrifice a good, quiet, supported old age and eventual death surrounded by their loved ones because we cannot find it in our hearts to sit in our houses and be bored, or contend with endless zoom meetings in our workplace? If we can afford to have someone clean our homes, keep our yards, help with children, nails, or hair, can’t we, both individually and societally, pay people not to work for a month or six weeks for the good of all? Could we not find an unselfish bone in our bodies that allows us to value our elders, our health care workers, and others who are vulnerable to a virus that, as a society we have no experience with and to which no one, except maybe those who have recovered, has any immunity?

Two weeks have passed since I left my father. It has taken this long for me to even begin to write about leaving him. Locking out visitors was the right decision and my need to be with him was so intense as to make my rational mind fall completely away.  I talk to him every day but have no idea when I’ll be able to read to him again. I keep telling him I’m coming again at the end of April because it gives us both hope that there will be time to read another Sherlock Holmes story, or perhaps Treasure Island, or maybe a Tale of Two Cities. There is no economic gain in such activities, no contribution to America’s business of business. But oh how we love it. The characters, the humor, the turn of phrase, the suspense, the story. When I left him, he said, in a way that you’ll recognize if you know him, “When you come back, we’ll read another tale of danger.” How I hope so. Please stay home so that I and you can have a chance at another chapter with those that are so dear.