#one minor inconvenience and my life is Over apparently

[castametric]

starting to realize how much adhd is the root of all my problems cause I don’t take it one day cause rationing my supply and all day it’s been Steve Harvey in my head saying “thought about Killing MYSELF?!” “DING” all damn day long

[tofulikesmala]

hii!! how are you? i hope good, could you write a draken x fem reader, maybe smut if you feel comfortable with it, where reader is a shy nerd and since she met draken she changed completely and you do the rest!! sorry for bad english but its not much first language!!😭

At the flip of a coin

Draken x fem reader

author notes: hello, thank you for requesting! Unfortunately, I am a MINOR, so I don’t write smut. I apologize for the inconvenience. ANDAHHHB I TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS IM SOS SORRY

It was time for midterms. Again. This time, Draken finally mustered enough motivation to study for it the first time in his life. The cold breeze of the aircon caused his long hair to sway a little. The quietness of the library was in contrast to the noisy environment of the Tokyo manji gang. Observing the tables—which were mostly packed with people, he sat himself down at a table which only had one person.

You watched as this tall and muscular guy sat down on your table. Looking back at the three assignments that was due the next day, you sighed. Well, you can’t do anything about it, might as well not complain, it’ll be beneficial for you anyways! Hey, it might even teach you to write faster! Looking at the guy who was flipping through his notebook, creases forming on his eyebrow, glaring at his notebook as he scowled. PleasedonttalktomePleasedonttalktomePleasedonttalktome

Placing his very clean textbook on the table, he begun flipping through the pages, not understanding a single thing at all. Staring at the girl in front of him, he sighed, before nudging her and placed his textbook in front of her. “Hey, if you can, can you explain what it’s trying to say?” The girl took some time to process his words, but after that she read the pages of the textbook, flipping here and there quickly. “This is my curriculum for next year…but be glad I still studied one year ahead.” She mumbled quietly. Draken jaw internally dropped. Which motherfucker would want to study a year ahead? The girl sitting in front of him, apparently. The girl started mumbling words Draken couldn’t even make up. “Can you speak up. You’re too soft.” A tinge of red appeared on her cheeks as she cleared her throat. “Alright….sorry…” Speaking a little louder, she explained the formulas, how to solve it, scribbling all over his textbook. Draken had to stretch his ears to be as long as a Buddha’s in order to hear her clearly. But Draken didn’t ask her to speak louder, since she seemed to have social anxiety. Shaking her leg, hand shaky, eh Draken decided not to push any further. After like half an hour of explaining the chapters tested for the exam, she put down her pen and sighed. “W-well, I hope you understood everything…..sorry if my explanation isn’t the best, I’m not very good at teaching, I mean I can understand the topic but I just can’t teach I’m really weird and all, so sorry. I’m so bad at teaching I hope you understood if it was too complicated just tell me….” As the girl went on and on, her voice got softer and softer, until she stopped speaking all together. “It was great, thanks.” Draken replied. The girl blushed a deeper shade of red. “T-thanks, it means a lot….” “Let’s be friends. You can help me with math and shit.” A deeper shade of red appeared on her cheeks. Friends….? Dang, she didn’t have a lot of that…. “I take that as a yes.” Draken stared at her before packing his things and walking away.

Time Skip. The young couple falls in love…

Dating Draken while being shy and nerdy would include….

Due to your shy personality, he feels an even more overwhelming sense of protectiveness over you

bring you to meet toman when your comfortable, of course

would 100% bonk anyone on the head if they try to make a dirty joke, he’d rather keep your innocence

A lot of times you rant about the topic your interested in to draken, although he doesn’t know what your talking about 90% of the time, he’ll listen anyways

remembers the stuff you rant about. He would see something related and would be like “hey don’t you like this”

very caring, protective and accepting! 10/10

if anyone bullies you, he’d beat them up, immediately

You groaned as your classmates who are a waste of oxygen forcefully pushed you against the locker again, slamming a hand beside you, causing all your books from your hand to fall to the ground. The smirk on his face only grew wider at your scared expression. What’s he gonna do next, beat you up? Like every other day? “If it isn’t the ner-” blood splattered on your cheek as your classmate fell onto the floor, blood trickling down your nose. Huh? What just happened? A tall figure loomed over you, as he placed his hands on your shoulders, a gentle but firm voice rang out. “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?” You nodded your head, you were perfectly fine, after all. Draken nodded, before straddling the guy and beating the shit out of him, saying some curse words you didn’t even know, spitting insults here and there. As you were bullied quite frequently, more beating occurred. More shouts. More blood. More gore. More swears. Of course, it started to affect you in some way!

Three missing assignments, two exams, and 7 worksheets to complete by tomorrow. You were pissed. Very pissed. Things really decided not to go your way. You were sick, absent for only TWO days, and your asshole of a teacher decided to release all the homework that was meant for like, a fucking week. You weren’t even given an extension! Oh the urge to stab a knife into your teachers stomach and twist it, see her beg for mercy as more blood flowed out— “Ah!” You collapsed to the floor, scraping your knees on wooden floor somehow. “Oh! Isn’t this the WHORE who’s dating Draken? How did you even pull him, he’s so out of your league! Hahahah! I know, maybe it’s because you’re such a SLUT!” Of all days, she decided to piss you off today. Fuck. You were so done. Standing up, you launched right at her, pushing her onto the ground as you slammed her head against the locker. Screams sounded as both her and your classmates were shocked. Several others from other classes begun peeping their heads in, curious about the commotion. Grabbing her hair, you forcefully lifted her head, before slamming her head down again. You’ve seen draken do it many times, it was pretty easy to imitate. You lifted up her head tearing her hair. “I hope you get raped. Multiple times.” Taking your scissors, you brought it to her stomach, running the blade through her clothes. “I’m gonna make sure all the yellow fat from your stomach flows out.” Pressing a bit harder, the girl screamed and kicked, but the immense unknown strength from your body kept her down. Blood began to flow, but before you could continue, somebody picked you up, throwing away the scissors from your hands and pulling you into a hug. As you the scent of Draken’s shampoo filled your nose, you relaxed and leaned into his arms.

Draken went to the classroom too because, firstly, it’s your classroom, secondly, there was screaming.

But instead, he found you slamming your bully’s head on the floor, blood spilling everywhere.

He knew you would usually cower behind your own hands, but this time you didn’t even flinch.

“W-wha…?” Draken is SO confused, what happened to his cutie potootie pookie wookie sweet honey bear gentle girlfriend?

he can’t even MOVE. That’s until you started going a little too far

Back at the brothel, Draken used some wet wipes to gently scrub off the blood off your face. “So…who taught you all that….?” “You…?” You replied bluntly. Draken gulped. Guess there’s no turning back now

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 3, Episode 13- Dear Emily and Richard-Part 2

Lorelai receives a call at the inn from some old fogey who wants them to host his retirement party, but he can't settle on a theme for the party. Michel, much like Jess moments earlier, is triggered by a minor work inconvenience and unveils a detailed plot to first hobble his knees then bury the man alive in what is turning out to be a dark, dark timeline. And we haven't even gotten to Crusty yet. It's a pre Halloween horror fest!

Lane is just hanging out at the inn for some unknown reason, helping Lorelai make decorations? And listening to Michel's gruesome murder plans and not saying a word. Meanwhile Lorelai has sent Rory on a mission to fetch Dean. Oh, here they are now!

Get it? It's a Big Red Flag! Teehee! Rory shows up with an invitation to Creepy Sherry's Scheduled C Section Extravaganza.

February 7th! Hey, that's my birthday! Welcome to this cruel cruel world, Gigi, my fellow Aquarius. Your mother is Absent Sherry and your father is Absent Crusty and Rory is your Completely Uninterested Absent Sister. Oh boy are you fucked! Good luck!

*SIGH* *opens Googs* Laura Mercier is apparently a brand of makeup. It still exists today, and now that I've made the connection, it does sound vaguely familiar. Demerol is a painkiller.

Yah, that's the spirit, Rory. Much enthusiasm. Gigi would be 21 this year. Maybe Gigi also pulled a Jess, booked a good therapist in her late teens, threw off the shackles of her childhood trauma, and made millions with some kind of art at a young age so she could shrug "She's sort of my sister" about Rory while rolling around on a waterbed covered with 8 million dollars. Jess:"Rory is sort of my cousin."

Crossing off "Delicious Looking Fake Food" and "Millennial Pop Culture Reference" From my Bingo Card. Actually, we have a rapid fire 4x MCPR (Millennial Pop Culture Reference) blitz in under a minute. As always, there is likely some underlying context to these jokes that are going over my head so feel free to correct me. Let's go girls. Beanie babies-#1.

Oh stop, Lorelai. We know Rory doesn't do anything to earn money.

MCPR #2. Adrian Zmed is (was?) an actor and she is implying that he'll "do ridiculous things for money, including his whole career" which I don't get because he had just won a crapton of Oscars that year for The Pianist. Did she mean "Milo Ventimiglia"?

MCPR #3. I'm counting "another reference to a time when Amazon was only selling books" as a MPCR (Millennial Pop Culture Reference). Turns out the boxes were filled with a bunch of travel books from Emily.

MPCR #4. Paris and Nicky Hilton. The Simple Life had just come out that year. So is the joke is that like Emily & RIchard, Paris and Nicky Hilton are also Rich People Who Go To Europe? That's about where the similarities end as far as I'm concerned. Meh. I'm saying that AmyShermanPalladino could have come up with a better pair of Rich Snoots to compare E&R to. Boo! Write better jokes! Anyway, as L&R are perusing the travel books from the 80's, Lorelai starts to reminisce about her childhood while I go take a nap.

SUCH bad casting. Bleh.

Heh heh.

The big problem with Teen Crusty's actor is that besides the physical resemblance to David Sutcliffe being phoned in long distance, this geek is way too sincere and not nearly slimy enough to make me believe he's a Young Crusty/Sutcliffe. He's not some devil may care walking red flag wrecking Porsches on purpose and impregnating dopey girls on freezing cold balconies. Boo! Bad casting! BOO! He looks and sounds like he's late for a meeting to preside over the algebra club. As for the actress playing Lorelai, B for effort. She's trying. It's just that no one is really going to pull it off. You're not going to get some random young bubbly brunette actress to fill Lauren Graham's shoes and call it a day. Big shoes to fill, in my opinion. Young Crusty is shown to be the one who has to convince Lorelai to break off the shackles of rich people prison, ditch college, give a big middle finger to their parents, and run away to Europe. The only time he's shown some kind of initiative or vision for his life is when he was 16. Perhaps Lorelai is having some kind of false memory here.

They said the name of the episode in the episode, time to cross off another space on the ol Bingo Board. Cutting back to Reality, reading Rich People travel guides has made Lorelai dreamy about traveling like a rich person now, and she no longer wishes to explore Europe living like a squirrel, so hoity toity hotels it is. But she has no money. Womp womp. Cut to Chilton where Madelyn and Louise are needling Rory about Paris' boyfriend Jamie. Then another meeting of the ol Franklin. You know what that means. Time to skip skip skip to my loo!

I'll just assume "Paris and Rory sexual tension" occurs and knock that one off my bingo board too. During said sexually tense school newspaper meeting, Rory gets a call on her ancient cellphone from Creepy Sherry's work colleague to inform her that Sherry went into a labor a week ahead of her planned c section. This ride or die friend repeatedly calls Sherry's slightly early natural labor "a screw up". Creepy Sherry's psychopath colleague wants Rory to leave school, find transportation and accompany her father's girlfriend that she barely knows during her childbirth at a hospital miles away from her home.

Come on Rory. Say no to somebody's completely ridiculous, unrealistic, borderline psychopathic demands. I believe in you. You can do this...

As as personal aside, Rory accompanying Creepy Sherry during labor was one of those things I became convinced was a false memory in the long time periods between rewatches. I was certain I had dreamed it and it never really happened. This happened with a few scenes tbh. When that happens, I feel a slight sense of self-vindication. See, me? You were right me!

[ichbinmeltdown]

Not fandom related particularly, also a hot take about social trends

Am I the only one who finds it disturbing how comfortable people are these days with just... Permanently cutting someone out of their life for the mildest inconveniences? They'll cite "you make me uncomfortable" like comfort is guaranteed 24/7 in relationships. Sometimes, conflicts happen and you can't be comfortable with everything in your life 24/7. That would be perfection, which doesn't exist in this world. (It's such a vague term too, like... "Uncomfortable" could mean LITERALLY ANYTHING!)

My point is, can we just... Stop demanding perfection from everybody in our lives? If someone makes you uncomfortable, then say something to them. Talk it out, and resolve the conflict like adults. Don't just cut people off for minor things. That's the nuclear option. You're only supposed to cut people off for big things or repeated problems. I hate this "one strike and you're out" rule that almost every single relationship in this day and age is based off of.

I've had people cut me off over the dumbest things both irl and online, and as someone with BPD, I really wish it would STOP HAPPENING. I can't take this shit, being abandoned is absolutely agonizing. Anyway here's some examples.

Getting drunk at the very first house party I've ever been to. I was still lucid but uncoordinated, and apparently that constituted "blackout drunk" to them and made me "uncomfortable and dangerous to be around". The only two times I'd been around this group in person was at a convention when I met them, and at this party. We never had any issues when we talked online.

Saying I didn't want to talk about politics

Agreeing with my mom when my brother and her were having an argument

Me trauma dumping to a stranger about the (at the time) ongoing harassment campaign against me. This was one occasion, and I didn't get the chance to apologize

Please people, stop demanding perfection and smooth sailing from every relationship. That is how you break people.

[shadowdaddies]

Hello! I love your stories!!! But I don't see anything of Bryce and she is my favorite character. What do you think about a Bryce x f!reader story? Something like being the fae princess's bodyguard and she wants a night of fun?? Thanks for your stories💖

hey love, tbh I was just thinking about how Bryce deserves more fics the other day but I didn’t know what to write for her. I love this request, thank you for sending it to me. this came out surprisingly angsty so I hope you're okay with angst, fluff, AND smut lol

Her Highness's Bodyguard

Bryce x Reader

A/N: this is angst, fluff, and smut idk what came over me

Warnings: smut below the cut, oral f!receiving, not proofread, minors dni

You were close friends with Ruhn through your work in the auxiliary, and had by extension became friends with Bryce, often hanging out with her at Ruhn’s parties. You weren’t close friends, but when you ran into her at The White Raven or other social events, it was a relief to see her. She was always so kind to you, and you’d developed a bit of a crush.

That all changed once she accepted her title as the Princess. The Autumn King demanded that Bryce have a body guard with her at all times, and Ruhn pulled every string he could to ensure that you were picked for the position. He and you both thought that having you as her guard was a way to appease their father, while allowing Bryce to have someone she liked in the role. Apparently, you were wrong. 

Bryce quickly changed her demeanor towards you, constantly cutting your conversations short and running off at inconvenient times, leaving you to chase after her. One night, she snuck out to the White Raven where you found her dancing on one of the tables. You stormed over to her, pulling her down by her arm. “What the Hel are you doing Bryce? It’s like you’re asking for trouble. Why can’t you just tell me where you’re going? I can’t lose my position in the Aux because you have some problem with me! I can’t lose you!” you ranted, spiraling in your anxiety as she finally broke you down. Holding back tears, you looked up at Bryce, who had gone silent.

She stared at you like she was seeing you for the first time, opening her mouth to say something before she quickly closed it again. As quickly as Bryce let her mask slip, she put it on again as she resumed her usual flippant, entitled facade. Smirking at you, Bryce taunted, “let loose honey, why don’t we have one night of fun?” She took your hand, a shockwave flowing through you at the touch, and dragged you to the dance floor. Bryce started dancing, grinding against you as she lost herself to the music. You were frozen in place, tempted to succumb to your desires and dance with her, but you knew it was against your better judgment. Not only was it irresponsible while you were on duty as her guard, but you knew she didn’t feel the same way for you as you did her. 

Needing to get away from the situation, you left Bryce on the dance floor, bolting to the bathroom in an attempt for fresh air. Before you could close the door to shut yourself inside, a familiar hand shot out, holding the door open. Bryce’s red hair preceded her face that peered around the door, amber eyes filled with concern. “Is everything alright, honey?” Bryce questioned cautiously as she stepped into the room, latching the door behind her. 

You found yourself on the verge of tears once more as the real Bryce was revealed, the Bryce you cared for so deeply. You realized you couldn’t go on like this, being around someone all the time who didn’t return your feelings. Taking a deep breath, you told Bryce the truth. “I don’t know if you hate me, if this is your idea of just a fun night, or what you are thinking, Bryce. But I can’t go on like this. I care for you, beyond being your guard, beyond being your friend. It’s too painful for me to constantly chase after someone who clearly doesn’t want me in their life. I quit.” 

You stepped around her, making your way to open the door when Bryce pulled you back. Resting her forehead against yours, Bryce held you close as she breathed, “it’s not just a fun night.” Confused, you shook your head as you looked to her for more answers. Bryce sighed. “It’s not just a fun night for me to come here. I knew you would follow me. I don’t know how to talk to you since you’ve become my guard, but I want to be around you. Even if it’s you chasing me around the city, I just wanted to feel like you wanted me like I want you.” 

You gasped at the admission, mind reeling as you came to understand what she was saying. Refusing to overthink any more, you pulled Bryce in and kissed her. She kissed you back eagerly, reaching down to grab your ass, eliciting a moan that allowed her to slip her tongue in your mouth. She backed you against the counter top, where you ground your hips against hers as you slid your hands up to cup her breasts. Spurned on by yours movements, Bryce lifted you up on the counter and began kissing down your chest before lifting you enough to slide your dress over your head. She pulled back to remove your undergarments, but you locked your ankles around her waist, drawing her closer to you. You began kissing and sucking your way down her neck as you brought your hands to the hem of her dress, pulling upwards to remove the clothing. You couldn’t help but gape at her body, her curvy tanned form that took your breath away. 

Before you could make any further moves, Bryce pinned you, towering over you against the countertop as she kissed you, all the while adjusting your hips to slide further down to the edge of the counter where she removed your underwear. Bryce smirked as she knelt down in front of you, pushing your legs apart as she wrapped her arms around your thighs. She kissed her way up each of your legs until she reached your dripping center, wasting no time as she licked a broad stripe up your pussy. Your back arched as you let out a loud moan at the contact. “Fuck, Bryce, that’s so good,” you breathed, lifting your hips in a silent plea for more. She obliged, harshly sucking your clit, bringing one hand to circle your entrance while the other roamed over your breasts, tugging and twisting your nipples. You were breathless, almost to the edge when Bryce slid two fingers in, curling them against your walls. She moved at a fast pace, switching between kitten licks and sucking on your clit. You moaned her name, crashing over the edge as you hit your orgasm hard. 

Panting, you looked to Bryce who was now standing above you, smirking as she licked her fingers clean. You grabbed her dress from the floor, throwing it towards her as you dressed yourself. Grabbing her hand, you gave her a promising look as you murmured, “come on, we’re finishing this back at the apartment.” 

[latalpavolante]

Caretaker's Apartment

A small apartment for an elderly caretaker and his cat.

One Bedroom - One Bathroom

Apartment: Honeydew Houses, Groundfloor

Price: ca. § 25,419

Packs: CottageLiving | DiscoverUniversity | GetFamous | CatsAndDogs | CityLiving | GetTogether | GetToWork | Parenthood | Vampires | Paranormal | LaundryDay | BasementTreasures | EverydayClutter

noCC

MoveObjectsOn cheat required

Playtested (I encountered two (minor) issues while playtesting; please check the "Known Issues" section under the cut for more info)

The empty version of the apartment building is available on the Sims 4 gallery! (...where you can also find the household I created for this apartment.) I will share the furnished version as soon as all the apartments are finished!

Gallery ID: LaTalpaVolante

You can watch the speed build (and a tour of the apartment building) on my YouTube channel:

The build tour part ended up way longer than I wanted it to be because I cannot shut the fuck up but I included time stamps so you could just jump straight to the apartment renovation if you want...

Under the cut you can read a little bit more backstory for this apartment.

Barty Jenkins has been living in the groundfloor apartment of Honeydew Houses for many years. As the caretaker, he's doing small repairs around the house, keeping the shared spaces in good shape and helping out the other tenants. He's friendly and attentive and therefore quite popular with the neighbours, and he's always willing to listen if they have any problems or just need someone to talk. Still most of the time he's rather keeping to himself, and actually, he never really talks about his own life and past. It seems he doesn't have any family, except for his cat Pippa. But maybe the other tenants don't know him as well as they think?

Known issues For some reasons sims can't seem to take dirty dishes from the dining table after they finished eating, so you might have to drag them over to one of the kitchen counters manually for your sims to be able to wash them. Also my sim couldn't use the Cottage Living wardrobe with the mirror attached to it because there apparently wasn't enough space, so I placed a wall-mounted mirror from basegame atop of it. Which doesn't look ideal, but at least there's a functional mirror now and I still could keep this wardrobe because I really liked how it looked in this space. Sorry for these inconveniences, everything else should work fine though!

[thingstrumperssay]

This is going to bother me for a long fucking time. Trump's VP pick (so far. I doubt he'll pick her after what came out about her) is so fucking evil for what she does to animals. (As in "more than one," apparently.) I just need to vent about something.

"Read more" because it's mostly a personal thing, though I do go over what Kristi Noem did briefly, so TW for animal abuse too.

I just shoved two pills down my oldest dog's throat. I hate having to do that but he'll dodge any food with crushed up pills in it and the other two won't so every twelve hours (5 AM and 5 PM) I give him his pills and then give him some moist food.

Sometimes the times are really inconvenient for me but I haven't missed a single day in the four years I've been doing this for him.

He has a grade 5 heart murmur, which makes it difficult for the vet to put him under anesthesia long enough to clean his teeth thoroughly. Despite everything we tried- dental treats, an additive in the water (that we still use) and brushing his teeth twice a day, it still wasn't enough so we had to pay over a thousand dollars to get the rest of his teeth removed by an anesthetic specialist. If anything we only delayed the inevitable.

We switched to a slightly more expensive brand of food since it's softer, and we spend about $30 more every other time we go grocery shopping for moist food for him. I take the time to break the soft food apart into pieces so my oldest won't even have to gum them to eat it, and they get three packets of moist food every day during separate times of day.

My husband and I will do these things for our dogs at least twice a day. We will drop whatever we're doing so we can get home at 5 so we can give our oldest his pills in time. It can be inconvenient, and kind of gross, but we would never trade the experience for something else. We are more than happy to do all we can for our dogs.

He turned fourteen years old two days ago and he still acts like a puppy most days.

And I don't think I'm at all different from most pet owners. I mean, I read about what people are doing for their dogs and rabbits all the time, and every pet owner I know does whatever they can for their pets, so I assume that this isn't something to brag about.

I think my mother-in-law is a psychopath, but she takes damn good care of her cats. My brother-in-law is lazy as hell, but he takes damn good care of his cats. (One had to be put down last year, but she was sixteen. She lived a really long life.)

AND YET we are now at the point in politics where "do they kill animals for no reason" is a thing we have to ask now about the people on our ballots.

Kristi Noem could have just given the dog away when her other hunting dogs (that she shouldn't have) "failed" to train her. (Yes, she actually expected her already trained dogs to train a dog.)

She could've just given the goat away when it got too smelly for her. But she didn't. Her "solution" to extremely minor inconveniences is to fucking shoot it in the face and then brag about it.

She's a fucking monster.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 18

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Part 17 🍂 Part 19

Pairing: Syverson x ofc

Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"

Chapter warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, p-in-v sex, (accidental) period sex, mentions of blood (combined with period sex? shocker...), praise kink situations and dirty talking Sy (mild), and some general awkwardness and unreasonable hormonal yelling.

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: @keanureevesisbae there you go, babygirl, more of your fave. I still owe up until 20... Strange...

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @omgkatinka @summersong69 @diegos-butt @beck07990 @peaches1958 @pandaxnienke

The floors you couldn’t have cared less about, but this bathroom. It was everything you had hoped it would be and included a shower that was a lot less cramped when you tried to fit twice the conventional amount of people in it. Patrick and Sy had worked really hard to get it done before the end of the week, and had somehow succeeded, which was great. You had ended up giving Sy the go-ahead to go nuts on his ideas - provided he’d fix it if you hated it, which he had promised you with a cocky grin on his face – which meant you now had a very dark bathroom that felt a little too luxurious to have in your own house. Now, every time you set foot in the room, you smiled – usually. Today was not one of those days.

“Sy!” The tears that were in your eyes were apparently also in your voice, because Sy’s worried face appeared in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Did you take the last Aleve?” Fuck!  How could you be out of painkillers right now?

“I didn’t,” Sy replied. That could have been a lie, but it also easily could have been the truth. Either way, he was the only living, breathing thing to take your frustration out on, and you were going to. Because you were in pain, bleeding, and hormonal. So, there.

“Are you sure?” Yeah, that didn’t sound friendly. You were definitely snapping at him. He didn’t deserve that. “Sorry.”

“Y’alright, Sugar?” He wrapped his arms around you – which was nice. You laid your head against his chest, trying to fight back the tears that were forming in your eyes. For the first time, it really dawned on you that you had moved in with Sy before your relationship had even reached the ‘peeing with the door open’-phase, and that that could be a problem. You wanted to tell him that your stomach felt as if someone was trying to cut his way through your guts with a butterknife, but suddenly he was just the brand-new boyfriend you didn’t feel needed to know about your period-related problems - or the fact that it was approaching at all.

“I’m fine, Sy,” you eventually said, “it’s just a headache.” You pushed against his chest so he would let you go and made your way over to your bed. Sy was right behind you, climbing in beside you and immediately pulling you against him, sneaking a hand underneath your pajamas. You could tell he found it odd you were wearing anything to bed, to begin with – and it probably was. When Sy’s hand found its usual place, securely holding your boob in place – not that it was going anywhere – you winced. It wasn’t pain, necessarily, although your boobs were definitely extra sensitive right now, but rather the extremely inconvenient side effect that you were… ‘super fucking horny’ would just about cover it.

“Sy, fuck off!” Again, you were well aware of the fact that this man had done absolutely nothing to deserve being snapped at like this.

“Y’know, Sugar,” he said, his voice grim, “the worst part of all this is that I think I might have a pretty decent idea of what’s goin’ on. But you’ll have my head if I dare to even suggest it.” He was probably right about that. Why was it so hard to talk about this?

“Sweetheart, I know you know what I’m tryin’ to say,” he said as he sighed, “will you just let me ask without killin’ me?” Now it was your turn to sigh, before reluctantly agreeing to what he was asking.

“Are you on your period, Sugar?” You winced when he said it – God knows why – and nodded, before realizing that was hardly an answer.

“No,” you said, “but my stomach and head are killing me, which means the festivities will start in two days.” You knew yourself; you were facing two days of this hell, then four days of extra-hell, and after that there was a slight chance you might function again. Sy moved his hand from your chest to your stomach, lingering and drawing patterns with his fingers until you grabbed his hand and moved it to the place where it hurt the most. He pulled you closer. The pressure of his hand felt so good it made you sigh with relief, especially when he started to rub the area of your stomach his hand was on. Soft moans crept over your lips as you finally forgot about the pain for a minute, but after a while you made him stop.

“Not good?” His voice was soft in your ear, his breath hot on your neck – that didn’t fucking help.

“So good,” you whined. When he heard your answer, Sy resumed his massage, and it felt so good that you didn’t want to stop him. After a while, you were squirming in his arms, grinding your ass into him. He chuckled softly.

“What do you want?” His tone was provocative, his question unnecessary, and you knew he was still going to make you answer.

“You,” you answered, plain and simple. There wasn’t much more to be said.

“I’m not in the mood for teasing, babe,” you said as Sy softly kissed your neck. To be perfectly honest, you were in the mood for letting Sy fuck you into the mattress so hard you couldn’t walk in the morning – but you didn’t dare to ask him for that. Nevertheless, you were horny, wet, and ready, and you needed this man inside of you now. Sy, in the spirit of the true gentleman that wouldn’t dream of denying a lady her wish, had you naked in a matter of seconds. His hand moved away from your stomach and settled in between your legs, where his fingers drew tight circles around your clit. He pulled you closer against him as he worked you closer and closer towards your climax. You felt his hard cock against your ass as he did. Eventually, the feeling of his teeth grazing you neck – exactly in that spot he knew drove you absolutely wild – was your undoing. He chuckled when you fell apart in his arms.

“Good girl,” he said softly as he gently guided you back down from your peak. Suddenly, you felt the head of his cock slide along your wet slit, and you threw your hips back, begging for him to finally thrust into you. A loud moan escaped you when he finally did, your walls clenching down hard on his cock as he moved inside of you.

“Wait,” you gasped when the second thrust hit you wrong. It took a few tries to find the perfect angle, but once you did, it was fantastic. Every time Sy pushed into you, he brushed past the right spot, and you tried your best to match his movements. Soon, you were not quite screaming his name, but moaning it very loudly nonetheless, as your own hand found its way between your legs and you worked your way towards your second orgasm, aided by the steady rhythm of Sy slamming into you.

“You gonna come for me, Sugar?” Sy growled in your ear. The words made you gasp – you were still not entirely used to the way he talked to you, but you were getting there… You answered him with a breathy ‘yeah’, which he replied to with another dark chuckle. “C’mon then, I want you to come all over my cock.” His words were enough to pull you over the edge.

“Fuck, Sugar,” he grunted as your clenching walls asked too much of his self-control, “you’re too fucking tight.” After both of you had taken a moment to catch your breath, Sy got out of bed to head out to the bathroom. You took a little while longer to move, because your cramps had the audacity to return.

“Alright, darlin’, now don’t freak out,” Sy said. He was apparently somehow unaware that that was probably the one sentence you didn’t use when you didn’t want someone to freak out, “but I think you may have started your period early.” Oh God, no! Nope, you were definitely freaking out. Or mortified. Was there really a difference? And if so, did it really matter which of the two you were right now? Of course it didn’t fucking matter! Fact of the matter was that you had just casually been bleeding all over your boyfriend’s dick, and that was… Well ‘awful’ may have just been the understatement of the century. You covered your head with the blankets in a hopeless attempt to hide from reality.

“Sugar, it don’t look like no crime scene, we’ll take care of it in the mornin’,” he said almost sternly, “right now we’re gonna take a shower, and then we’re just gonna go to sleep.” When Sy left for the bathroom, you stayed in bed until you heard the water turn on, and then you performed your own little inspection of the sheets. You had to admit he was right; it didn’t look like the scene of a double homicide – hell, you had more than once gotten more blood on a bath towel after shaving your legs – but you couldn’t shake the embarrassment you felt. That meant it was absolutely impossible to head into the bathroom; there was no way you could look Sy in the eye after this. Apparently, he had other plans, because he called for you twice, and then the door opened. If you’d ever get used to the sight of Sy in nothing but a towel – why did it have to hang so low on his hips? – you had no idea, but right now, you just froze. It was convenient for him; he just walked over to you and threw you over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Put me down, please,” you groaned. This was even more embarrassing than the whole previous episode, and that was saying something. He did put you down; in the shower, and he didn’t seem intent on letting you go.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “and I’m sorry.”

“Sugar, you realize I seriously don’t give a damn, right?” No, as a matter of fact you hadn’t considered that option. Of course you could have deduced this from the laid back and practical way with which he’d reacted to this circus, but that was far too easy, right? Your answer must have been clear from the way you looked at him, because he continued, with a wicked grin on his face. “Honestly, if you were throwin’ any less of a fit about this, I’d suggest we go again.” You smacked him on the shoulder. “Sy!” Once again, he managed to make you laugh when you really didn’t think you were ever going to again. “Maybe next month.”

[metamorphosisff]

|Two| It’s Over Now

There are plenty of things I need to be doing, going over the quizzes from one of the three psych classes I taught, following up with three judges about cases I had updates for, and so on and so forth. Yet, here I was rereading the same four words that were sent to my phone earlier this week: Try with somebody else. Jamila Cortez was an enigma that I was drawn to which kind of unnerved me. When was the last time I actively wanted to get to know a new person? For the last few years I had been content within my bubble that consisted of what I thought was a happy relationship, building connections in the educator world, and increasing the distance from my checkered past. Keeping my head down, focusing on my goals served me well until it didn’t, and that bubble popped.

Apparently, the approach I took to reshaping my life caused my ex-girlfriend Mariah, of the last four years, to abandon all of the plans we made for the future. She claimed I wasn’t the same and I hurled the same accusation back. Now I was single for the first time and free from that bubble. I had spent these last few months trying to submerge myself back into the world, catching up with friends that I neglected in favor of hers, and trying experiences that actually interested me. It felt like I was discovering myself again, going through yet another transition, although I had no idea what the end result would be. My previous transitions were brought on by intrinsic motivations, this one? Was extrinsic by all intents and purposes, so I was riding the wave and seeing where it took me. It kept crashing into Jamila.

With me being one of the ten supervisors that worked for the non-profit Helping Hand I met all kinds of people. HH was designed to give people who have had minor brushes with the law a chance to give back to society by cleaning up and volunteering around the community. Along with my job as a professor, it gave me the chance to use the clinical psychology degree I spent four years getting. I loved social work, being on the ground, and getting to know people. My love and genuine care for others was another point of contention between Mariah and I. She didn’t like the way I always had to engage in conversation but it was a quality that served me well in my profession. I was able to see things in people that most would overlook. In Jamila I saw a sadness so profoundly deep I’m sure she didn’t even know how far down it reached and it reminded me of my own cemented over well of sorrows.

It became a goal of mine to strike up conversations with her because something told me her story would be interesting and I could learn from it. That girl was tough as nails though because she had no patience for me. I’ve been trying to think up a response that would adequately do but can’t seem to grasp how. My skills worked better in person I was starting to note. Right as I began to put my phone down, it began to vibrate, and flash with Mariah’s number. Taking a deep breath, I answer.

“Yeah?” I don’t have time or the space to give her pleasantries she does not deserve.

“Hey Xav, I uh, have quite a few of your things here. Are you coming to get them?” she asks in the airy tone I used to adore but now found quite grating.

“What things Mariah? Clothes?” I asked, trying to remember what I’ve left over her new home over the past year.

“Clothes, products, workout stuff,” she lists with a sigh like I was the one inconveniencing her. It seemed that our whole relationship had been one big inconvenience to her in hindsight. “Things like that. So what do you want me to do with them?”

There was no way I was getting on a plane for what was probably less than five hundred dollars worth of belongings. “Donate them or trash them. It’s whatever Mariah.”

“You don’t have to be like this. I was hoping that-

“That what? That we could be friends? After the shit you pulled?” I questioned, mindful not to raise my voice since I was in one of the adjunct offices at the university. There were six in a row in this wing of the floor and the walls weren’t the thickest. I didn’t need to disturb my colleagues with this drama. “What exactly were you hoping for?” 

“I tried to talk to you before any of this happened! You were always too busy helping this convict or that student. You were ignoring me,” she shrieks.

“So it’s my fault you fucked someone else? That’s a new one,” I chuckle dryly though I am not amused. It’s been three months since we last talked, I should have known this call was about to be some bullshit.

“I made my mistakes but so have you. You aren’t perfect either Xavier,” she said.

“And I never painted myself to be Mariah but I was loyal. Cheating isn’t a mistake, it’s a choice, and you still can’t stand on the choice you made. That’s unfortunate but that has nothing to do with me,” I said.

“Wow, it’s crazy you can even say that because it has everything to do with you,” Mariah says.

I closed my eyes as I took another breath because I can tell from the wobble in her voice that she is about to cry. If she does, I might actually lose my shit. She always thinks she can cry her way out of a disagreement. It’s as tiring as it is disingenuous.

“We can do this all day Mariah but it won’t bring us back together. Nothing ever will. Please don’t contact me again,” I said, before hanging up the phone. 

It was the only way to end the conversation and for her to understand that I did not want to be bothered. Moving quickly, I blocked her number before yet another essay text hit my phone. I had been stalling on doing so but it was clearly time to let every part of her go once and for all.

“Fix that form nigga.”

Sweat poured down my body as I readjusted the bar on my back that held two hundred pounds of weight on it. There was only one way to clear my mind after a day like I had and hitting the gym was it. Lucky for me, my best friend Aiden was the ideal work out partner as he was a personal trainer at Equinox. 

“Better but not by much,” Aiden said, as I ascended from the squat. “Where is your head at? Cause it ain’t here.”

The thing about being friends with someone since elementary school is that they know you better than you know yourself sometimes. I reach for my bottle of water on the floor before saying, “Mariah called me earlier today and I’ve been in a funk since. Trying to snap out of it though.”

“Why the fuck you answer? That’s the problem right there. You did it to yourself,” Aiden said, switching places with me at the rack.

He wasn’t one to mince words whereas I considered each word before saying it. The difference between us was patience.

“Man, she hasn’t called me in months. I honestly didn’t know what to expect,” I said, closing my water back.

“You should have expected some bullshit because it’s exactly what you got,” Aiden said as he executed the five rep set without missing a beat. It was lighter than what he had been lifting lately.

“Pretty much but I finally blocked her so the problem is solved. Just dug some shit up is all,” I said, as we switched places again.

“That’s to be expected too X. She hurt more than your feelings, she hurt your pride, and that’s a motherfucker to come back from,” Aiden says.

He’s not wrong. The dig at my ego did and was doing a number on me. Even in the lowest of our lows, Mariah and I’s sex life never reached those dips. Not when she moved either or so I thought. It was one of the reasons I had held on so long even though the end was imminent before she cheated. To know that hadn’t been one of her reasons to hold on fucked me up. We were disconnected in every single way possible.

“She did but what’s done is done. It’s time for both of us to move on,” I said, as I glanced at my watch. I meant to check in on my progress during this workout but when I noted the time I cursed. “Aye bruh, I gotta get up out of here. It’s my turn with Granddad tonight.”

Vernon Taylor, my grandfather, was the heart of our family. That’s why when we got the diagnosis of dementia as an explanation for his frequent sudden bouts of forgetfulness, we were crushed. It would eventually progress toward Alzheimer’s but for now we did everything we could for him. Including alternating night shift visits between his children and their children so that my grandmother GiGi could get some help. If I rushed, I could make it to Queens by eight.

“Oh I forgot about that too. Tell GiGi I said I’ll be there soon,” Aiden said, outstretching a fist towards me.

I bumped it with my own as I gathered my belongings. “Will do, I’ll see you.”

With that I was off. My apartment was only a fifteen minute walk from the gym. Once there I showered quickly and threw on some lounge clothes. The overnight bag I used when going over there was already packed, so once I grabbed it and my work bag, I was in the back of an Uber before seven. For the next forty eight minutes, I used the ride to reflect on my day, deciding what would make it into tomorrow, and what wouldn’t go past today. It was a coping method I learned in undergrad that helped me regulate my emotions when I did not know quite what to do with them. By the time I made it to Queens Village to the yellow two-story home I spent almost every weekend in, I felt ready to deal with what awaited inside. Walking up the pathway, I fished my keys out of my pocket so that I could let myself inside.

“GiGi it’s me, Xavier,” I called out, as I locked both the screen door and front door. No one else would be coming today so I also went ahead and put the alarm on.

“We’re in the living room baby. I left your dinner in the oven, should still be warm,” GiGi called back.

“Ahh thank you, I’m starving. I’ll be in there in a minute,” I said, before heading upstairs to my dad’s old room which was the first one you saw once you reached the landing. 

I didn’t bother turning on the lights knowing it would be a minute before I was up here for good. Tossing my bag on the floor, I stepped out of my sneakers and into the slides I wore around the house. I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands and then downstairs to grab the plate stuffed with salmon cakes, sautéed vegetables, and rice, that was indeed still warm. Within ten minutes I had inhaled the plate between checking my email which was unsurprisingly even more full since I last looked. I’d spend a good portion of the night combing through them for real. The next few hours belonged to Grandad who was sitting in his favorite chair. Gigi sat beside him knitting while he looked ahead at a Knicks game. 

I walked over and dropped a kiss on her brown cheek before moving over to Grandad. “Hey old man, how are you doing today?” I asked, holding my hand out towards him.

His hand grasped mine as his eyes roved over my face trying to place me from the rolodex of memories he had left. “Doing good Lex, doing good. You checked in on your sister? You the oldest you need to keep up with her and Keith,” Grandad replied.

GiGi tossed me a small smile as she said lowly, “Today was a little rough. Sorry baby.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” I said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. Out of all of us, I knew this transition was hardest for her the most. She’s known him inside and out for forty nine years. Turning to face Granddad once more, I mustered a smile while saying, “That’s good Pops, I try but you know how your kids are.”

“Don’t I?! Y’all came out working a nerve let me tell you,” Grandad said, wheezing a laugh. 

“All done with love,” I say as I ease down on the floor beside him like I did when I was younger. His hand taps my shoulder a few times as I get comfortable. It is his form of affection because as a veteran it was hard for him to soften enough for constant hugs and kisses. “Who you got on the game?”

“Not these bums in blue and orange, they need Walt. Where his ass at? His team needs him,” Grandad said, shaking his head and causing me to laugh. The essence of his personality is prevalent.

As much as things were changing, I had to hold onto these moments as tight as possible to carry into however many tomorrows I had left on this earth.

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[caffeinated-fan]

Desktop>logs>Iceman

Chapter 2

Summary:

A glimpse into a slow day at Top Gun, complete with minor inconveniences and lonely wallowing, hurray!

Notes:

This is my first real attempt at a long fic, and trying to come up with a story. This chapter was started over *checks notes* 267 days ago.... I've spent that past (almost) year reading RoosterForMe fics on tumblr and trying wrangle a similar vibe for this. If you want to read *chef's kiss* TG:M fics I cannot recommend her works enough. <3<3<3

Tuesday morning, 10th June.

Laundry, and sweeping. Groceries-MILK and creamer

I was writing my day plans out, my coffee getting colder next to me. Scribbling in the dates of upcoming appointments and services. My pen settled on the square for Saturday, scribbled in hasty pencil marks was ‘Dinner w/ Kazansky, Kans. Barbeque’.

This would be fine, it wasn’t going to suck. Barbeque is good, and therefore things around barbeque are also good.

“That’s a normal thing to think,” I mumbled to myself, taking a sip of coffee. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being around other people, quite the opposite.

It’s fine, no one would look at an archivist and assume they’re a party animal. Tom seemed to enjoy my company, he somehow made it easier to talk to him. Like he understood when to give me space to talk, not bowling me over to finish what I was saying.

I stowed my journal in my backpack and set out to work. Stopping by my door to plop my basil plant outside.

“Bye, Boski Boo!” I hollered at the small aquarium in the living room before shutting the door.

I drove up to the MA at the base’s gate, holding out my ID, and sliding my bag to the front to let him check it. The ammunition pouches on his kevlar vest sagged inward without clips to hold them open, but the clip in his gun kept the impression that he very much would shoot me if he had to. I drove past him, continuing down a road leading along the edge of base. Despite working here for almost a year I had rarely seen further into the base, my clearance only allowing me a few blocks in. But, I still got to see the buzz of military life in the distance. I had started getting used to the sound of aircraft zipping overhead and buzzing buildings when they came in to land. Although it made calling people while on base a nightmare with jet engines often drowning out both ends of the line.

I hopped out of my car slinging my bag over my shoulder. The brick building stood in the middle of a perfectly kept green, the paved paths clean and swept. As I walked up the path I remembered my first week here, I would cut the corner and step across the grass. Finally I noticed each time I did a sailor would wince or grimace to themselves. One finally told me they’d had it beaten into them to Never EVER walk on the grass. Apparently one of the Officers liked to make sailors who broke that rule crawl on all fours on the grass next to the paved path.

The doors to the archival building stuck as I moved inside, the sea air eating away at the metal. I waved quickly at the receptionist (Katy?) making a b-line for my office. I pushed the power switch on my computer and set about emptying my bag while it booted up. Digging through the mail for any updates on requested materials and orders for copies.

...

Stacking file-boxes full of newly printed copies, I pushed through my office door towards the archives. Walking down the aisles, carefully returning the cassettes to their boxes along with their CD copies. I’d finished up the day after Tom came by. I'd spent the rest of that day thinking about him sitting quietly, flipping through manila folders. ___

I sat clicking my pen, glancing up at Tom through the open doors. His head was bowed, nose almost touching the papers he was looking at. Leaning on his forearms, his hands cradling his head.

“We have magnifying glasses if you need one,” I softly called out. Tom's head popped up, still hunched over the paper.

“That'd be great, thank you.” He pushed up and rubbed at his eyes. I pulled open a desk drawer, grabbed what I needed and headed over.

“I'm surprised you don't need glasses,” I joked, handing him the magnifying glass.

“Hm. Not yet, but I don't doubt that grandpa reading glasses are in my future.” The mental image of Tom with glasses popped into my head. Oh. That's not bad at all…Maybe he's a horn-rimmed glasses guy, maybe more classic chic,

....

Okay, she's definitely thinking about me in glasses, now. I had no intent on telling her the grandpa glasses were fully in use already. Thankfully I'd only ruined my near sight from shoving my nose in books all day. I'm not sure I could survive Mav knowing I need glasses.

“I'm sure you'll look very distinguished when the day comes.” I felt her hand land on my shoulder before she walked away. Back through the two doorways to sit behind her desk. My face a little warm at the thought of someone finding my glasses attractive

My eyes dropped down to the papers in front of me. A-5 Vigilante variable geometry and their wind tunnel results. My brain goes back to running its two trains of thought. Half of my mind was focusing on the words, the other half combing through ideas to get her to come back over. I cleared my throat, leaning towards the doorway.

“There's one configuration for the A-5 that's an almost wingless design..” ___

The quiet of the archival room pressed against my ears. Layers of paper and cardboard softening the outside world as it slips through the roof and chatters along the metal I-beams.

“Weh, Wil, WILLIAMS! James E.,” my shout of triumph cut through the silence like a knife careening through a window. Pulling down the box I gently laid the cassettes and CDs onto a new cardboard divider and closed the box. My eyes cast around the large, quiet room as I gathered up the box to put it away. The desk by the door, the foldout steel chair looking morose and empty. He’d even pushed it back in. The magnifying glass neatly tucked against the wall. I hadn't had anyone come into records just to read for leisure in a few months. Mostly older sailors coming in on a slow day to peruse photographs and battle plans. I huffed and pushed the box onto the shelf and headed back to my office.

My open notebook caught my attention as I sat back down, Dinner w/ Tom circled in red on the 14th. The day before catching my eye, Friday 13th, making me smile. If I made it through that BBQ would be a nice reward for not getting murdered.

…

“Lieutenant Kazansky to tower, pre-flight checklist complete, awaiting orders.”

“Acknowledged, await further instructions,” the operator’s voice took on a less professional tone as she continued, “Get comfy, Ice, the engineers are still checking the runway for debris.” A jet had come in after hitting some birds and had left some nasty gifts for the ground crews, no one was injured thankfully. I shoved my head back as much as the crowded cockpit would let me. I'd gladly spend all day in my jet but for God's sake usually I was flying. I felt Slider jostle around behind me as he sat forward in his seat.

“Since we have some time to ourselves, let me tell you about that blonde, Rachel,” Slider said, his mask clunking against my chair.

“Is this the dumb one or the pretty dumb one?” I joked, remembering the two from last week. We'd gone to a bar far enough off base that the girls were excited to see a pilot but not total tag chasers. Slider had spent the night with a blonde on each arm like he was weighing his decision on who to stick with me. He was a hell of a RIO, and a decent wingman. Meaning he'd figure out fast if I wanted a girl that night and happily take home both if I didn't.

“Ha-Ha. Condescending laugh. She was plenty smart, works as a receptionist for some big company. Likes old planes. Anyway, she's got a friend, a stewardesses, coming in to visit next week who just adores the strong silent type. Said she'd love to set you up on a double date with us.”

“She sounds less like a hit it and quit it and more like a date, Slider,” I joked. He huffed and sat back in his seat. I waited for him to say some snappy comeback.

“Slider?...She was a one nighter, right?”

“...”

“Oh-ho-ho, Cupid landed a shot last night? That's great Slide, why the hell'd ya keep it from me?” Slider wasn't some chauvinistic prick who'd rather die than say he gets the warm fuzzies.

“Well, she was, a one night, ya'know. I spent the night-,” “Nice.” “I was going to head back home but she offered to order some food and we started talking. Then in the morning she said there was a nice brunch place on the way back to the bar. Her car is cool too, shitty driver though. It just kinda smacked into me, she's so cool, man. I was like some dopey highschooler, cracking jokes and being terrified I'd annoy her somehow.”

“You? Annoy someone? Impossible, you only chew all your pencils and think out loud, have awful hygiene…” I joked, Slider pushing against my chair, before continuing. “I'd love to meet her, blind double date be damned.”

“Tower to Lieutenants, clear to proceed to the runway.”

…

This sucked. Okay not suck-sucks, but I was getting tired of this E-3 and his adherence to Not Helping Me. The wobbly stool was not helping me either, threatening to tip over as I grabbed boxes from the top shelf. He had been courteous when he’d told me what he needed from the archives, though his kindness ended there. Letting me climb up and down to retrieve the hefty boxes.

“Why weren’t you given a ladder? Shouldn’t there be a ladder just for this room?” he asked, shifting the boxes next to him with his foot. He reached up and steadied my back as I climbed down.

“No, there isn’t. The building flooded a few years back and it rusted. Now, we have stools.” I dusted down my shirt and took the box from him. “S’That everything? Good.” GET OUT. He pulled a smile and lead the way out. Catching the door with his shoulder and nodding me past.

I dropped the box I was holding in his arms (probably harder than I should given the contents), pulled a smile, and went to my office. “Thank you, Ma'm. I'll be sure to get these back to you, all papers present.” He flashed a grin and adjusted the boxes to keep them stacked.

“Hope this isn’t the only trip you take over here,” the receptionist, (Katy, no Kathy?) said, pushing her chair back to get the main doors.

“Oh, I don’t think my CO will ever stop sending me here, ‘course you could always come see me.”

I pulled my door closed to avoid hearing them flirt. Kathy (I’ve decided that had to be it) liked uniforms more than the person in them, always chasing around the sailors who’d recently been stationed here. I sat back in my chair with a sigh, trying to calm myself. I shouldn’t be upset. That E-3 wasn’t doing anything wrong. I had no real reason to be annoyed with him. A small flush of guilt spread up my neck. I hated being mad, I hated losing control over myself, I hated how people treated me like a child when I got upset. I blew out a breath, leaned forward, and started typing in the logged out materials.

…

My keys slid into the lock as I shoved my body weight against it. I dropped my bag inside the door, and scooped up my basil plant. The door clicked shut behind me, shutting out the last bit of light. The light of Boski’s tank barely lit up the room as I walked over to him. Boski, my comet goldfish, stared in my general direction from his tank as he swam slowly around. I watched with a small smile as he passed under the sign I hung above his cave, “Lord Byron Boksilous the Spacious”.

“Well, Boski-nova, I had a very boring day, I don’t know how you manage.” I sat down on the floor then let my body fall flat on the carpet. I really did like this job, the hours were fine, pay was decent. My dad had told me stories about how good it was to be contracted by the military in some way. While I wasn’t directly contracted I still had nice benefits.

“Only reason they're so good is no one else is there. It’s one of the largest on base repositories and they hired one person, Boski.” The hand I had raised to make my point clear to Boski flopped down beside me.

“One, angry, lonely person…” Drowning in a little pity pool sounded like a good ending to this day. I layed there watching the reflections of the tank on the walls.

…

My truck's engine rumbled against my back as I stood across from Cary in some hotel parking lot. I’d driven her back after Slider went home with Rachel again, leaving Cary to get a cab. She’d hesitantly accepted my offer to drive her and I’d spent the whole time salvaging my image. It'd been a rocky start to our double date. I spent a good while getting back into the swing of flirting. Cary’d spent the date flicking her attention from me to the first round college game over my shoulder. Slider was right, the two women did enjoy aviation talk. We'd regaled them with training tales and finished with our great tale of flying with Mav, I embellished his prowess for the night, no use adding to his reputation. Now, she stood a few feet away smoking under a half-alive lamppost, the sickly green light making her dress look a weird ocean blue.

“Are you leaving or do you wanna come up?” She’d been smoking in silence for so long I jumped a little. Her eyes were locked on me, her expression was fixed between boredom and bedroom eyes. Or just tired. She’d told me how little sleep she got when she worked, catching a few hours in a cramped hotel room with three other girls. I weighed my options, the evening was awkward and she wasn’t as nice as Rachel was. She wasn’t bratty, she just didn’t care to work around feelings. Preferring to speak as frankly as she could without being overly rude. She was hot, pretty tall, and seemed to have gotten over my rocky start.

She walked to the hotel door and threw away her cigarette, standing by the side entrance. I opened my truck's cab, turned the engine off and put the key in my jacket. My legs carried me to her side as she opened the door, leading me inside.

The door’s lock clicks closed softly

[sapphos-darlings]

Who wants to talk about gender? Apparently everybody. That topic hasn't lost its shine in several years now. But who wants to talk about detransitioning? No one. So I will, again, with no memory whatsoever of what I spoke of the last time I opened my mouth about it.

It's been a couple years now since I dropped the label of trans man and started living as a woman, and it's been just about the easiest thing to do, which would have surprised the me that I was at 27 when I had to quit testosterone for the last time due to the health consequences I was getting from it. I was so worried about having to detransition - and I didn't even want to, but it was a what if in my mind, a scary thing that I felt might be inevitable for me, but having been "living" as a trans man for a decade and on hormones for half that time, it also felt insurmountable, the amount of things that I couldn't change anymore too large.

In reality, turns out that detransition, in my case, meant putting my energy into the things that actually benefited me. Transition just wasn't going my way in just about every way: the only place where I was successful was within my friend group, and in the sense that my family was accepting. They didn't always use the right pronouns, but at least they respected me and understood to the degree to which I could expect them to - my friends, on the other hand, have had much more difficulty adjusting to me now living as a woman than anything. The most complicated situations I've so far ran into with detransition are extremely minor, in comparison to the hell I was living through as a trans man - firstly, I sometimes have issues getting my parcels out of the mail service, because they need the signature and ID of the person who ordered them. Who is me, except they don't expect me to have the name that I do, because what they see is a woman, and who they expect is a man. Another is that, quite recently, an online friend of mine was introducing me to another friend of his, a man who is very straight, and had a whole sequence of apologising over difficulties with pronouns and identities, because it's all so very new to him. I realised later that he'd thought I was a trans woman, and that's why he was so flustered about my pronouns. We didn't even talk over voice chat - this was all in text. This same friend who made the introduction has defaulted to simply using the singular they as my pronoun, which is moderately aggravating, as I don't identify as nonbinary and don't use they as a singular pronoun. Minor inconveniences, but annoying.

Comparing this to the daily worry about passing, having to fuss over how many layers of clothes I would wear in order to hide my body, not being able to go outside during summer solely because there was no clothes that I could do so in, being afraid of questions, having my private life poked by strangers, breathing in my binder, introducing myself to new people, navigating the constant concern over how to express my identity, how they might take it, would it be awkward - now, I just walk out of the door in whatever outfit I may be in and that's the end of it. I have so much more energy and so little anxiety in comparison. It's wonderful.

There's the other side to this, too. My partner was distraught when I shaved my whiskers and my curly neck hair for the trip to the capital. I've come to realise that in this relationship, I'm thoroughly respected and loved for the creature that I am, with the sex characteristics that I have, and with the fluctuating presentation that I come with. Breasts are soft and nice to lay on, to hold; facial hair is fun to brush one's nose through, to kiss, to twirl around one's fingers. My partner found my first white hairs amongst there, too. There's no conflict there for them or for me; my body, with its characteristics, with its different voices used in different situation, are simply parts of me that are lovely to them. I feel at ease there and it very much brings together the way I feel about myself now in general, as I no longer have those issues with my body that I had before. I'm fine being the shape and size that I am. I'm fine having the vocal range that I have. I like the hair I'm growing, whether it be typical or atypical from a biological perspective.

There's a prevalent understanding of detransition as a second transition, where one goes from one sex to another and returns to the previous one, struggling to undo the "damage" this first transition caused. This isn't my experience at all. I spent a decade of my life desperately trying to pass as a man - I have zero interest in doing the same in reverse. What I wanted, through all of this, was to simply feel okay to be what I am, internally and externally. There are hundreds of factors at play in how I became what I am now, but I truly, finally, feel like I'm in a good place with all of that. I don't feel much inner conflict between my body and my view of what it should be, and I've stopped worrying about what it could be, because things that could be are infinite and things that are are very finite. It's so much nicer to not be pushing against reality every day, to wear a costume because the possibility of being discovered or undone by people I cannot predict is simply too horrifying to consider. It's amazing not to have to fear speaking, because I'll make people around me embarrassed and cause them to apologise over and over again, causing a never-ending awkwardness by simply existing, because they didn't read me right the first time. I've never hated anything quite as much as causing a scene, and I've finally stopped causing scenes by simply existing. And yet, I retain the things that made me feel more comfortable in my skin. Further, I am still loved and still accepted by the people who matter - among them a partner who is just as excited about the ways I don't fit into the model of a woman as they are about the ways that I do.

It's just nice to finally be comfortable and feel like I belong among other people, instead of being a ceaseless observer and judge of my own performance in a role I don't even want to be playing.

[oxymoron84]

Okay so I've been having this stupidass rant cooking in my head for days and it's getting to the point where I can barely focus anymore so I'm getting this out now.

But before I do so, just a fair warning, I am very biased due to personal experiences and I will most likely say some things some people won't want to hear. Get over it. I am entitled to my own opinion and you really don't have to listen to me believe it or not.

On with the rant.

I've been a cartoonist for about 15 years now. That's almost two whole decades and I'd say that's a very long time. I've been drawing and writing since the age of four. I taught myself how to make cartoons along with pretty rudimentary yet vital skills along with walking, talking, and reading. Though, because I had to teach myself, I admittedly don't perform said rudimentary skills as well as the average person. One thing I can confidently say I can do well, though, is draw. I draw at least every other day if not every single day and consider myself a professional. I'd say I've seen just about everything in my field at this point even though I am still learning and improving constantly. Of course, I've had my fair share of quarrels, some particularly traumatic (which I find the concept of insane) and others minor and just barely inconvenient. One that baffles me still, though, is that, despite all of my experience, some "professionals" refuse to see my fellow cartoonists and I as artists.

Of course, by now, I am well out of my school years but some moments from then still stick with me (a vast majority of such negative.) In middle school, I was constantly berated and harassed by these aforementioned "professionals" for my lack of an ability to draw realistically. A teacher who, honestly, just wanted me to have an outlet to exhaust my creativity so I would stop drawing in her class, had referred me to a talented-and-gifted program for my art, to which I, of course, eagerly accepted. Mind you, I was about 10 years old at the time and in my final years of primary school so I was blissfully unaware of the prejudices my creativity would face in this new world.

I was faced with a test to see if I was worthy of being enrolled in the program that involved reading a story and drawing the scene that the story described. I was immediately discouraged because it was a swamp scene. For context, I was born and raised in the swamp state of Louisiana in the deep southeastern part of the United States. I lived about 15 minutes from the Gulf of Mexico where it was mostly marshland so you can probably guess that I was, for lack of better words, sick and fucking tired of the swamp-obsessed culture. Begrudgingly, I drew out my interpretation of the scene and passed... with a 26/30--- the lowest possible grade you can get. Apparently, they hated my stylized depiction, even though, to myself, it was as bland as could be.

Nonetheless, I was in the program, so now all eyes were on me. My regular art classes a few years later in middle school were about ten times harder than how everyone else had it and I had a particularly shitty art teacher who couldn't even draw, herself. She constantly failed me and belittled me for my "anime art style" which infuriated me because she clearly couldn't tell the difference between anime and general cartoonism. I never got that in adults at the time why they fail to differentiate between the two. Anime had a huge debut in their childhoods and was obviously an entirely different genre of animation. Do they just not care???

Anywho, I was constantly recommended to drop my cartoony style in turn for a realistic one, otherwise I'd get nowhere in life. I look back on those moments in pure hatred.

Truth is, realism doesn't only show a lack of creativity, but a lack of overall imagination. Realistic artists are forever bound to references and reality, thus also limiting their independence as well. Realism is purely the act of taking what you see and translating it onto paper. That takes absolutely no imagination whatsoever and most toddlers can do that. Hell, I believe primates have even done that.

Cartoonism and semi-realism, on the other hand, challenges the artist's brain to warp and translate what they see (if they are even drawing from reality) into something new. We can show you emotion in more than just an expression. We can give you stories in a variety of factors like colors, line weight, sharpness, and so much more. We can depict dimensions that would otherwise not exist without our eyes. People don't understand that cartoonism and semi-realism keeps emotion alive in visual art. They take us for granted and refuse to look at anything that they don't understand immediately. But, isn't the need for deeper interpretation the point of art?

uh TLDR: Realism sucks and isn't creative

[promiscuouspomegranate]

could we get more on ezra? his character seems interesting and i wanted to see more of him in the oneshot! IT WAS STILL REALLY FOOD THOUGH !!

Me fucking rambling

TWs: Bullying, harassment, self harm, physical violence, stalking, manipulation, unstable home life, Lenore isn’t a good person, and Ezra just sucks.

(I hoped someone would ask for more because I focused on adjectives and “Oo, this sounds pretty” more than the plot… erm.. my bad 💀)

When Ezra was nine–maybe ten, he can’t remember anymore–he witnessed his dad strike his mom across the face. His dad cussed her out over a minor inconvenience and then left her alone to go for a drive. His mom needed her “beautiful boy” to hold and coddle with saccharine affections. She whispered in Ezra’s ear, “You are far kinder than your dad… Never turn out like him, Ezra.” Ezra’s father came home an hour later with a bouquet of roses, and he heard his parents kiss from his room. At that age, Ezra took to heart the interaction and prayed that God helped him flourish in love the way his parents did. God never answered his prayers, but the devil did.

When Ezra was twelve–he could never forget the moment–he felt his childhood friendship with you change. You were starting to flourish and grow in ways he never knew someone could. Your mother had passed away, your father became a deadbeat, but you managed to thrive in your miserable conditions. He viewed you as someone capable and strong.

You ruined his perception when he heard you sobbing at the pond. You were crying for your mom to come back. That’s not what you were supposed to be like. You were meant to prevail by yourself. He already has to take care of his poor mother, now you?

The next day at the cafeteria, Ezra handed you a packed lunch from his mom. He waited for you to thank him and swoon–maybe confess your love if you felt like it–but you were so ungrateful. You hoarsely muttered, “I don’t need this, but thanks.” That’s definitely not how you were supposed to react. Weren’t you needy? You needed him. Stop being so confusing.

Your pessimistic attitude and nihilism–as philosophical as a middle schooler gets–were apparent to others. You arrived late to your classes, you cried in the bathroom stalls, and you were no fun to be around. People used to show false sympathies and whisper amongst each other, “Oh, poor thing, I hope they brighten up soon.” Even teachers pitied you and would murmur in the lounge between gas station cigarettes, “Can hardly believe what it’s like to be so young and lose your mom. I knew her well before she passed, lovely thing. Such a shame she didn’t pass her optimism to her child.”

You first experienced bullying when Ezra, enraged by your unwillingness to acknowledge you needed him, spread a rumor about you freshman year. A tale so disgustingly detailed and grotesquely exaggerated, it just had to be true. He told others in a hushed whisper in the band room you caused your mom’s death, whether willingly or not, he left for people to interpret. The car accident was your fault; you told him in tears, “Couldn’t handle hearing complaints about your father anymore. You snapped and lost her in a second.”

He showed them pictures of you in the hospital and old diary entries about your mother. Soon, people felt revolted by his lie and found you guilty of your mother’s death. Rumors stacked, and suddenly, you were getting things thrown at you in class; people would fight you when you least expected, and you were violently bullied and belittled by everyone.

Ezra realized his plan was working when he overheard a group of girls gossiping, “Bet they miss their mom so much they’re trying to join her in the afterlife. Someone saw them cutting themselves in the bathroom… like; get a fucking life, honestly. I knew them in middle school, and they always had a horrible vibe, y’know?”

Yet, not everyone believed Ezra’s story. The school’s book club knew a plot hole when they saw one, and there were quite a few in Ezra’s rumor. The polished president of the club, Lenore, extended a hand and invited you to her group. She would defend you when one of Ezra’s friends harassed or threatened to hurt you. Although her reputation was battered and she became a target, she stuck with you.

At a snail's pace, your personality resurfaced, and your mind soothed itself. By senior year, you laughed alongside your friends, defended yourself from verbal altercations, and debunked Ezra’s rumor. Only Ezra’s friends believed it, and many had apologized to you for their actions.

Yet, the wound was still bleeding, and you could only apply bandaids to patch it. Yes, your depression faded, but it persisted. Yes, you could walk in the hallways without getting your hair dragged, but you still faced violence. Yes, you had a friend group and a fantastic soul to defend you, but Ezra was still there. Why couldn’t he leave you alone? You used to be friends.

Lenore tried to patch your grief with positivity and smother sorrow with her sweet smile. Lenore would hold you close and whisper, “I’m here for you. Isn’t that all that matters? You have someone to look after you.” In contrast, Ezra would open wounds and stab you with words. He’d always repeat, “Just give up, fisheyes. Some people will always know the truth that you’re a murderer.”

tbh I’d move to Wisconsin in this situation and make cheese for a living !?

[woomycritiques543]

Angel and Stolas is apparently the only abuse victims who deserves to be taken seriously. Everyone else gets thrown aside and viewed as slapstick or dark romance.

Like did Viv look at the Instagrams the crew made? Val treated Vox like trash over the most minor inconveniences. I like the art of these two despite not shipping them myself but wtf? Like Viv, either abuse is a serious subject or it is not, be consistent since it's giving mixed signals. It clearly isn't about being a good person either since Angel is a God awful person who has likely murdered countless people in his life yet he gets sympathized with due to Val sexually assaulting him.

This is the same problem with Stella and Stolas. Only Stella is seen as awful but all of Stolas's actions are seen as uwu owl shit. Stella slapping Stolas is bad, but not Stolas sexually harassing Blitzo? Or the fact that literally all the characters in Helluva are assassins who've murdered innocent people?

TW: MENTIONS OF ABUSE.

It is terrible. I thought it was just them-

-and I know that this might be harsh to say:

But the fact that the creators find that male abuse is "cute and funny!" in any other context than their shows makes the representation in the canon, Addict included, feel fake and hypocritical as fuck. They just wanted people to feel bad for specific fictional characters... they could care less :( (Also Smiles is a Valentino stan and has ship art of Vox and Valentino all over their Twitter, if anyone is wondering who this is. Same for how Raphielle, another staff member.... is a Valentino x Angel Dust shipper and Vivziepop has ship art of Valentino x Angel in one of the leaks.)

Especially with the merch on Sharkrobot, Helluva Boss, and all.

With that said- might as well post this thread I made on Twitter before it gets covered up by a bunch of stans dogpilling my posts:

(Another thing: At the end of Episode 2 S2, Stolas was sad and says "sorry!" but it's so goddamn vague that it might as well just be him saying "Im sorry that you're sad!" as sympathy rather than to apologize for what he did. He puts the full blame on Blitz as if he were babysitting her or some shit- When Via broke in- it was not Blitz's fault that Via broke in and broke the code Stolas made available to her, and he was the one who let her escape too! So really- The entire blame is on Stolas if you think about it for more than 2 seconds! Stolas was just using Via as an excuse to sexually exploit and abuse someone of lower status than him (Blitz)- again!)

Ok- the draft is done, im not going to be using Twitter to interact with this fandom anymore and at this point im thinking of doing the same for Tumblr by having it only for updates and main posts along with it:

Goodbye Twitter! :D

[joonapeach]

Our Tales are Endless (That's Why I Tell Them) [MLB]

summary: Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It's a life she thinks she has always fit in.

And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can't help but wonder if there's something else she's missing.

also reposted on ao3

The man is here again and, Marinette notes, he's holding a tulip to his chest today. She can only laugh when she sees him standing outside the glass door of the boutique, looking like a lost stray waiting for an invitation to come in. When he meets her amused gaze, he quickly feigns confidence and gives a charming smile.

She rolls her eyes.

"The boutique is so busy," is the first thing he says when he comes to her at the counter. "For you, my lady," is always the second, with the flower of the day in an extended offering.

Marinette narrows her eyes at the pink petals of the single tulip. She scoffs but takes it from him with no hesitation, of course - the attention she’s been getting from him every few days is both flattering and entertaining in her scheduled life. But to his face, she simply says, "this again?"

"Of course. I picked it out especially for today."

"Really? And why is that?" Marinette asks. There's a smile playing on her lips.

He gives a smile right back. "Tulips symbolize unconditional love. I thought it'd be perfect for you today."

Marinette almost cocks an eyebrow, impressed. He's finally gotten a bit smoother with his lines - usually, she'd have to watch him stumble over meanings and words before adorably offering the flower of the day.

"I'm not ready for you to tell me you love me so early in the morning, Adrien."

He grins boyishly as if expecting that very response. "Oh, but it has nothing to do with me. Isn’t it your maman’s birthday today? The flower symbolizes your unconditional love for her,” he pauses. “But of course, if your first thought is of me with an unconditional love, I can’t complain-”

“Using my maman’s birthday as an excuse to give a flower of unconditional love… don’t think I can’t see right through you, Agreste.”

 “Guilty. But I should remind you.”

“I think I can go a few days without forgetting your professions of love,” Marinette giggles as she carefully sorts through some clothes on a rack.

“There’s no telling with you. You forgot I was your classmate for four years,” he states, leaning over the counter. “Until Alya showed you the yearbooks, you were certain you’d never seen me in your life before.”

“I told you, I was sorry about that!” Marinette huffs. The incident of meeting Adrien for the first time at twenty-five still baffles her. When she laid her eyes on him at Alya’s house party, he’d quickly imprinted in her mind like the image of a beautiful angel and she was certain she’d never seen such a handsome sight before.

Only, apparently, she had. Though no matter how much she strained her mind, she could never recall a single thing about him from her school days.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” Adrien laughs. “I don’t think I’m memorable enough.”

Marinette narrows her eyes at the boy. At times, she didn’t know if he was being solely modest or oblivious.

“Don’t you have a class to teach today?” she decides to ask.

He nods, lazily watching her organize dresses with his head in his palm. “I did. But they canceled it because of some gas leak by the Chemistry students.”

“That’s hardly fair. Your poor Physics students have to suffer a canceled class all because of someone else’s inconvenience?”

“Yup. Well, that’s just the way Paris is. Someone else’s minor inconvenience ruining everyone’s day,” he laughs before giving a furtive glance. “Back when we were in school, our classes were canceled every other day too.”

Marinette sighs, trying to conjure a memory in her head. Flashes come, of a classroom, of sitting next to Alya, of shouting at Chloe, of hanging out with Alix and Rose and Nino… but that's where it stops. Sometimes, Marinette thinks she’s really going crazy. If she tries hard enough, she can remember those years of her life between fourteen and twenty four but it never comes easy. It’s almost like a watercolor blur that passes by her eyes too fast to focus on a still image.

“Because of those… akumas, right?” she mumbles. 

“Yup,” Adrien answers. His eyes don’t leave her face when she pauses to recall small details. He’s always patient with her, unlike even Alya who sometimes gets tired of waiting for Marinette to catch up when she talks about old stories.

“How did we get anything done?” Marinette laughs, shaking her head.

“I have no idea either,” Adrien chuckles. “Those were some crazy few years of our lives.”

“Our lives? What about those poor superheroes you talk about every day? I can’t bear to think about how exhausting it must’ve been for them.”

Adrien laughs. “They enjoyed it, I’m sure of it.” He glances at his watch. “Come on, it’s your lunch break soon.”

“Adrien, there are still customers!” Marinette protests, glancing around the shop. Young women roam the small space, eagerly eyeing Marinette’s designs with awe. Marinette’s part-timer, Noelle, rushes between them to make sure they’re all satisfied. While she has it under control, Marinette still gets a thrill from watching customers secretly dote over her clothes.

Her life’s work exists in this little boutique, after all. She knows little outside of fabric and fashion but this world of hers is big enough to sink into forever. Though she sleeps elsewhere, this shop is where she feels like home is. She gets to watch Paris from her counter and be a small piece of the city.

“Noelle’s handling it,” Adrien argues with a pout. “I’ll buy you something nice! I can still use my model status and get us in that restaurant we were talking about last week.”

“You just can’t let go of your teenage model career,” Marinette sighs, putting down a hanger. “I hope you don’t bring it up to your students.”

“They bring it up to me first, actually,” he retorts. “And you know, you were a big fan of my modeling career back in the day.”

“Now I just know you’re trying to plant memories in my head,” Marinette cocks her head back to laugh. She grabs her purse from the counter and gives a quick wave to Noelle. “It won’t work, Adrien.”

“I’m being serious!” he whines, following after her as she walks to the glass door of the shop. “You had my posters!”

“Adrien, my memory isn’t that bad. I did nothing of that sort,” she shakes her head with a laugh. The two step out into the streets of Paris and instantly, their voices become small in the big city’s noise. Marinette smiles.

“This is so unfair,” Adrien grumbles under his breath. His steps slow down to match her pace and he pouts like a child. Marinette fights back a smile at how adorably familiar it feels. She’s really only known him for only a few months though, at moments like these, it wasn’t hard to believe she grew up next to him.

“Don’t sulk, come on,” she pinches his elbow through his dress shirt. “You can tell me one of your superhero stories now.”

Instantly, he brightens. “Aha! I knew you liked hearing them.”

“You’re a good storyteller, I’ll give that to you,” she says. “I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir would appreciate a die-hard fan like you carrying on their legacy like this. Except for the parts when you try to tell me they were in love. Somehow, that seems a little off.”

“I’m not lying! I’m certain they were,” he declares.

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it now.”

Adrien clears his throat dramatically and starts a new story. He takes care every time he visits her to never tell repeats. He tells the tales with flair and energy, a big smile on his face at the parts where she laughs and rolls her eyes. Marinette should be used to it by now, the company of this handsome teacher who becomes reduced to a goofy boy when he talks about his love for a bunch of superheroes.

But alas, she still hasn’t gotten used to it. In her routine of a perfect life, Adrien brings something new and makes Marinette wonder about the Paris she loves so dearly. Her Paris is small, peaceful, and beloved but in Adrien’s words, Paris becomes infinite.

Such is the power of stories, she supposes.

*

“What happened here?!” is what Adrien exclaims first when he sees Marinette after a week. “And this is for you, my lady,” he adds, holding a single violet between his fingertips.

“All sold out,” Marinette laughs in disbelief before plucking the flower from his grasp. “And what’s this?’

“All sold out?! How on Earth?” he blinks before glancing at the flower. “Oh and, it symbolizes modesty. For the most modest, talented designer I know.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. Normally, she rejects such heavy praise. Her shop is tiny and she’s a sole designer working at her own pace with small goals that she doesn’t try to see bigger than. But today, she feels almost worthy to hear such words.

Her shop is empty. Not just of people but clothes too. Not a single piece remains on the rack.

“Some celebrity wore an item of mine and fans and press came flooding in. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in the shop.”

Adrien’s eyes are bright. “Marinette, that’s amazing!”

She chuckles. “I know. I sold what I usually sell in weeks all in a morning,” she grins. “But it was also a bit scary. I mean, I’ve never had so many eyes on me.”

“Well, you should,” he retorts instantly. “You’re a born star. I think all of Paris would be in love with you if they knew you.”

“You’re a good talker, Adrien,” Marinette laughs. “Today’s my treat, by the way. Since there’s nothing to do till I get new pieces from the manufacturers, the shop is going to have to be closed and I’m thinking of taking the weekend off to stay with my parents.”

“You’ll be gone?” he frowns.

“For a weekend at most, don’t worry!” Marinette rolls her eyes. “That’s why I’m giving you my day. We can go anywhere and you can talk my ear off about anything you like.”

The mischievous smile Adrien gives only slightly alarms her. “Are you really giving me full reign over your life?”

“Something about the way you look makes me hesitant to comply,” she says with narrowed eyes. “But since I’ll be unavailable for a few days, I have no choice.”

Adrien continues grinning, seemingly bursting with energy with how he jumps up and down. “Great. I’m thinking shopping, walk by Seine, dinner, ice cream from Andre’s and ending the night by the tower.”

Marinette finds herself amused by the enthusiasm. Despite being twenty six, the same as her, Adrien always holds onto some kind of youthful zest to himself. Marinette can’t find herself getting enough of it, even when she has to always be the rational one when his vigor takes too far.

How does someone with such a colorful life like spending hours out of his convenience with someone like her? Marinette feels as though she pales in comparison to the interesting things she could tell him. There is only so much someone can hear about fabrics and a bakery-life youth.

“Marinette?” Adrien waves his hand in front of her face with a boyish smile. “We’re already behind schedule by like three items. Let’s go.”

She can shelve her thoughts about her boring life for later. If Adrien hasn’t complained yet about the quality of her companionship, she needn't worry about a problem that wasn’t confirmed. She remembers spending much of her teenage years doing that – about what problems she wasn’t sure – but she didn’t need a repeat.

“I already went ahead and invited Alya and Nino by the way,” he adds as they push out the door. The bell chimes and Marinette locks up. “I think they’re with some people already but I said we’ll join.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marinette says with a smile as they walk out. Her arm finds itself linking around Adrien’s in a swift motion, though Marinette doesn’t remember consenting to her body wanting to do that. Adrien says nothing and Marinette remarks again how natural it feels for her to be so comfortable around him. At times, she thinks her instincts know something she doesn’t. 

*

Adrien’s loud laugh mixes with Alya’s as the two put down a card. The table erupts into a groan. Juleka, beside Marinette, is especially disappointed.

“What happened to the truce?” she says, crossing her arms in a sulk.

“There’s no truce in Uno when it comes to these two,” Marinette sighs though she can’t beat the smile tugging at her cheeks. The two winners fight no urge in showing off their victory, with roaring laughters and smug comments. The sight should really upset Marinette more, rubbing salt into her loss, but she finds herself enjoying how gleefully the two celebrate. 

“You two should be banned from pairing,” Max heaves a long sigh as he puts his and Rose’s cards down defeatedly.

“Adrien’s the only one who gets the game,” Alya retorts with a high five angled his way. Adrien’s movements are slow as he raises his arm to reciprocate her gesture, a sure sign that the alcohol of the night was hitting him. Marinette quite likes the way Adrien is when he’s had a little to drink or when he’s around others. He’s unlike the man who appears in her shop, far more lax and unfocused on his words.

It’s a strange sight that even Marinette finds hard to explain to herself. There’s always a noticeable difference between the gentle, patient Adrien Marinette finds herself with and the easy-going, laid-back Adrien around friends from school or anyone who isn’t Marinette. It’s not something she’s worked up the courage to ask him about, but at times like these, it’s something that makes her wonder.

“You were never this mischievous in school, Adrien!” Rose says chirpily. Adrien laughs, rubbing the nape of his neck. The tie around his collar’s been loosened up throughout the night and his shirt sleeves are pulled back to his elbows. Marinette hasn’t gotten in the habit of seeing him with his teacher uniform so relaxed. Even when he visits her store, he’s always in pristine condition. She assumed it was his model upbringing.

But he looks different now, and she can’t stop staring at him. His smile is lazy, his hair’s been brushed through so many times by his fingers that it’s sweeping all over his face. The sight gives Marinette’s stomach a sinking feeling she can’t quite place.

“He’s become a whole new person since then,” Max grins. “Shed the model past behind.”

Admittedly, Marinette has searched up said model's past. A strong shudder of shock passed through her as she familiarized herself with eighteen year old Adrien Agreste. At that moment, she finally understood what Alya had meant about Marinette, how could you forget Adrien? 

Because really, how could she forget Adrien? How can she not remember sharing a space with a boy like this for years on end in school? It’s hard matching the young model to the man she was friends with today and at the most inconvenient of moments, Marinette finds her brain reminding her of that. She finds his flirtatious smiles from magazine covers appearing in her mind, his humble interviews repeating in her ears, his beautiful photoshoots plastered to her brain. 

“Wouldn’t suit a school teacher to pursue modeling forever,” Adrien simply answers with a shrug. Marinette doesn’t remember Adrien well, but she knows him well to know a practiced nonchalance behind the answer. Because Adrien Agreste didn’t just stop modeling to spare the hearts of young girls in Paris - he stopped modeling because he didn’t have to anymore.

With the death of his father came the death of his brand. And as per Alya’s recounts, with the death of his father came the last time many of them saw Adrien again for many years.

Marinette coughs in an attempt to divert attention. “Let’s stick to topics I remember,” she says teasingly and the others instantly burst into loud conversation. 

“Marinette, you must be faking it,” one of them says. 

Another interrupts with, “you really remember everyone but Adrien?!”

“That’s not true. She doesn’t remember some other memories too,” Alya corrects. “Marinette, do you remember the time we went to the wax museum in school?” Marinette shakes her head. “See!”

“Forget Adrien!” Nino interjects with animated surprise. “Marinette, I can’t believe you just woke up one day and forgot all about Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

At the mention of them, Marinette finds herself glancing at Adrien. It’s a natural response, really, given that he can’t ever stop talking about them, so much so that Marinette associates the two latex-wearing superheroes with him. But when Marinette’s eyes meet Adrien’s, she sees a strange wistful smile. 

He’s looking at her, but not really. His eyes are glazing right over her, as if he’s looking through her. Marinette is tempted to turn around as if behind her, she’ll find what’s pulling Adrien’s gaze. 

“Alya’s life was Ladybug too,” Juleka points out. “Up until the defeat of Hawkmoth, of course.”

Hawkmoth. The name sounds almost childish to Marinette each time she hears it, but to the others, it delivers chills. There’s a lifetime of worry attached to the name, much of which Marinette can hardly recall. That’s the gift of forgetting… she’s forgotten not only memories, but nightmares. 

The table becomes suddenly tense and Marinette feels partly responsible for driving the conversation to it. “I can’t remember them. But they sound great,” she tries to offer. 

It does little for anyone. “Oh, they were great. I miss Ladybug,” Alya sighs and slumps over a glass. “And I miss being a kid. It was the best part of my life, running after her. I was so passionate about reporting then.”

“I know what you mean,” Rose mumbles. “Life was so exciting even when I was scared… it just felt different especially when Ladybug was around. Did I tell you guys about the time I got the Pig Miraculous?”

“Yes, Rose!” A simultaneous answer comes from the table. Marinette is the only one to remain silent.

“We grew up so fast. I never imagined we would one day,” says Juleka. “Everyday was just getting by and saving each other.”

“There were a few close calls,” Nino points out. 

“A few’s putting it lightly,” Alya laughs. “I didn’t think I was going to graduate school without a day of peace. That, and seeing Marinette show up to anything on time.”

“I didn’t think I was going to graduate without Max finally trying to give up on his robots,” Nino snorts. “I need some money for the therapy I’m taking because of your failed robots threatening my life, by the way.”

“Well now, how much do you need?” Max pretends to sift through his wallet.

“Rob him well, Nino. Mr. Software Engineer’s got all the money we need,” Adrien laughs before having his neck wrapped with Alya’s forearm.

“Oh, yeah? This coming from France's highest paid model back in school?!” she scoffs. “You couldn’t spare a note then!”

“Hey! I didn’t control my money then.”

“No, but I did see you buy Nino a whole PlayStation for his birthday!”

“Alya dude, he missed my birthday! It was a forgiveness present! Ask Max… right, Max?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Max!”

“You didn’t defend me in front of Damocles when we broke the beaker in class!”

“You know perfectly well Alya got you on camera. There was no point in me or Adrien defending anyone!”

“Damn you Alya, and your reporter instinct.”

Marinette can’t describe the feeling that passes through her now, only that she hopes no one else ever has to feel it. All her best friends are here, and yet, they’re not. Or maybe, that’s not it. All her best friends are here, and she’s the one who’s not with them. 

There’s not a word she can bring herself to say that might make sense in their conversation. Everyone’s talking fast, exchanging anecdotes and inside jokes too quick for her to catch on and she can’t follow a single thing. This is her life and these are supposed to be her people.

But they aren’t at times like these. On occasions like this one, Marinette’s a floating body in Paris, belonging nowhere and everywhere all at once. Her mind’s left the cafe and it’s circling in the night sky, looking over pedestrians and cars, trying to find something hidden. Her eyes are peering into the streets and curves of the city. She’s listening to the sounds of what it means to jump in the sky at night, and she’s searching for something. 

Nowhere feels right in this city at all. No crevice of this place feels like home sometimes. Her shop is the safest haven, but even on the worst of nights, Marinette feels some itching urge inside her to burst through that door too and keep running.

What am I looking for? What’s out there for me?

“Marinette?” Her name arrives to her in a soft whisper and Marinette is jolted back to this moment. The cafe, the table, the smell of alcohol and the loud conversation.

She blinks. Adrien is peering at her with concern, a deep-set line decorating the space between his brows now. She hates to think of his worry being from her and quickly gives a smile.

“Are you alright?” he says.

She nods. “Just got stuffy there for a second.” 

His voice reduces to only being audible to her. “We can leave early, if you’d like.”

A rejection is already at the tip of Marinette’s tongue. Everyone was having so much fun, laughing and reminiscing, looking back on the youth they had. It isn’t fair for her to spoil that just because she couldn’t remember growing up as well as they did.

But a second glance at all her friends kills the rejection. The longer she stays here, the easier it’d be for her head to slip away somewhere else. She doesn’t want to be somewhere else right now. She wants to be here.

“Okay.”

That’s all it takes Adrien to give a comforting smile and get up from the table. Everyone protests, unwilling to part from him but he gives them a charming grin and promises to catch up again. Marinette doesn’t miss the way that everyone seems less enthusiastic about not wanting her to go, instead bidding her with a soft goodbye and pleas to take care. 

It makes her feel like no one understands what’s going on in her head at all. But when Adrien grabs her wrist and leaves for the door, Marinette feels slightly less alone.

*

“A daisy for you, my lady,” Adrien holds the plucked flower between his fingers. 

“Adrien! You just stole that from the flower shop!”

He grins with glee, sparing only a short look behind him to the closing shop. “They’ll hardly miss a single daisy!” he says before bursting into laughter. “Imagine if they do though. That’d be funny. A missing poster with this little guy!”

His steps are all over the place, his hair tangling itself by the second and Marinette fights a smile. “Hey Adrien?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you’re drunk, right?” she giggles. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize how drunk you were back at the cafe.”

Adrien’s arm wraps around a street lamp and he swings around it in a rather dramatic fashion. Marinette pauses and waits for him to finish, though she can’t deny she enjoys watching how smooth his movements are, despite being drunk. She thinks he’s going to fall each time from one messy step and yet, he always catches himself. 

How does a high school Physics teacher find himself with reflexes like that? 

“I’m not drunk. Only slightly tipsy, like every good Parisian out there,” he grins before tipping his head forward. “You’re not accepting my flower! Accept my flower, my lady.”

Everything Adrien does resembles something of a movie – one of the black and white ones, with rain and umbrellas and piano music. That’s what Marinette thinks when she looks at him now. It feels as though Marinette can take a few steps back and put him on a screen to watch him forever.

“How can I?” she smiles. “You didn’t tell me what it means.”

“Daisy… uh, daisy…” he stumbles. “I didn't prepare this one!”

Marinette laughs. “Are you sure that’s even a daisy?”

Adrien sighs. “I’m no good. I should return this to the shop. They’re probably looking for it.”

He lets go of the street lamp and swiftly jumps over a puddle on the ground. Marinette quickly reaches for his hand before he can maneuver himself any further. “Wait! I want it!”

“Really?”

“Of course,” she nods and reaches for his fingers. “I’m keeping it.”

Adrien blinks, staring at the missing flower in his hand. “What do you do with them?” he asks. “The flowers I give you.”

“I keep them safe. Don’t worry,” Marinette says. She intends to say more but a blinding light in the sky suddenly appears and trips her from composure. It peeks through the gaps of buildings and above their rooftops. 

“Oh. The Eiffel Tower lights,” Adrien mutters softly. Marinette glances up and sees the upper half of the triangle structure blink with fluttering white lights. They decorate the sky with a kind of magic Marinette isn’t used to seeing. After dusk, she’s usually back home or tucked away in her bed, not out prancing about in Paris.

Safe to say, the sight mesmerizes her. 

“So pretty,” she breathes out. Momentarily, she hears peace in her head. She feels her wandering mind of the night stop and pause here, to watch the lights. ���Does this really happen every night?”

“Yes,” Adrien answers. “You don’t remember?”

She hates this question. She’s heard it so often now that she hates it so much. It taints every new wonder of her life for her. It taints the memory of gazing at Adrien for the first time and feeling bewitched. It taints her small, everyday thoughts about whether the top of Paris buildings really are that dirty or how it feels to fall from a height. For every wonder she voices aloud, she receives this as her answer.

“Remember what?” Marinette responds like clockwork.

Adrien shrugs. “Ah… I don’t know. Sorry. I don’t know what I expected you to remember,” he says. “You must hate this question.”

I do. “Did I see these lights a lot before when I was younger?”

Adrien’s expression seems to be caught between confusion and hesitation. “Yeah. Almost every night,” he says. “You loved them. You’d always try to get the best view.”

“Did I watch them with you?” Marinette frowns.

“Sometimes,” he nods with a smile. “I would be too busy looking at you when you did though.”

The words send a flush to Marinette’s cheeks. She tries to imagine her younger self with… Adrien’s younger self, and that makes matters worse. Model Adrien Agreste.

Her feelings towards Adrien don’t add up all the time but she understands this – both her, and her younger self, share a deep appreciation for the beauty that is this man. It makes Marinette shiver to her spine to think of how beautiful he must’ve looked when they stared at the Eiffel Tower together before. She wishes, more than anything, that she could remember how he did. 

“Why are you making that face?” Adrien says and cocks a brow.

“What face?”

“That- that one! Right there.”

Marinette quickly wipes any expression she can imagine off. She looks at him with a rehearsed coolness. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Adrien’s lips slowly curl into a grin before breaking into laughter. “You would do things like that back in school, you know?” he continues laughing with a wispy look in his eyes. “The very same expressions. I can never figure out what they mean.”

Marinette smiles as if she holds a clandestine secret to herself. “Nevermind that,” she says before turning back to the tower. “Tell me about the times we watched the lights together.”

Adrien pauses, humming in deliberation. “I’ll tell you something more interesting. One time, Ladybug and Chat Noir were up against this akumatized villain who was this thief who wanted to steal the Eiffel Tower.”

“Isn't that from a movie?”

“That guy wanted to steal a moon, Marinette!” Adrien answers, exasperated as Marinette laughs. “Anyway, he just wanted more than anything to have the Eiffel Tower all to himself. I assume he had his heart broken or broke some action figure, or something or the other. Who knows with these akumatized villains?”

“Hey, be nice to them! It wasn’t their fault.”

“Yeah, yeah. So he had this bag as his super power and he could just… stuff things into them! Imagine. He’d put the pouch by a building and it’d be sucked in, like a little souvenir. He was making his way to the Eiffel Tower, bit by bit, while stopping at every landmark on the way to suck it into his pouch.”

“What did he get?”

“Well, he managed to get the Arc de Triomphe, half of the shops on Champs Elysee, and get this – he was about to suck up all the Seine!”

Marinette gasps. “How could he do that?”

“He was trying to get the water out! At the last second, Ladybug pulled him out of there but the water overflowed the sidewalks,” he sighs. “But because of that, she wasn’t able to hold onto him. She sank with these waves of the river that started streaming down the path ways.”

Marinette’s eyes are big now. “He got away?!”

“Yep. The man bounced back easily and ran. He was on his way to the tower now, since he knew he wouldn’t have her on his tail – pun intended.”

“Where was Chat Noir in all this?”

“Well, he was waiting at the Eiffel Tower! You see, Ladybug and him had a plan. Chat Noir was going to cataclysm the tower to distract our villain so Ladybug would be able to capture him. But, that didn’t quite work. So instead, Chat Noir improvised,” Adrien takes a dramatic pause. Marinette knows he quite enjoys her investment in his stories, but doesn’t hide her anticipation. “The villain came running towards the bottom of the tower. Chat Noir saw him at the last second, and that magic pouch was opening. The tower was already slowly starting to suck into it…”

Marinette blinks early. "What?! So what did he do next? Did Chat Noir cataclysm the tower onto the city?!"

Adrien grins, satisfied by her reaction. "Nope. Even better. Ladybug appeared at that very second and quickly decided that she’d wrap her yo-yo around the Eiffel Tower before climbing it-"

"She climbed it?!" Marinette's mouth gapes wide open. "But that's so dangerous!"

"Well, she was used to that kind of thing. Don't you think you'd climb a tower if it risked the lives of civilians?"

At this, Marinette bursts out laughing. "I'm sure there's hundreds of people in Paris who'll climb a building, Adrien, but not me. Don't you see how clumsy I am?" she shook her head in amusement. "I would never do that kind of thing."

Adrien doesn't respond for a few beats too long and when Marinette turns to look at him, she catches a glimpse of pain. She blinks, quickly to capture the sight, but when she looks again, he's looking at her normally. The flash of his expression still disturbs her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he smiles, almost too quickly for Marinette to be convinced. "I was just suddenly thinking about work."

“Sobering up now?” she laughs. “Come on, finish the story!”

He takes a breath and continues, “yeah. It turned out his pouch was already so full from water and everything else that when Ladybug tugged on the tower with her yo-yo, it bounced him back on the ground. He ended up being caught.”

“That’s an anti-climatic ending!” Marinette remarks, though she’ll admit, she loved the story from start to end. “You lost your energy there.”

“Sorry. I remembered something I had to do for the students next week,” he says, rubbing his eyes with two fingers. His shoulders slump down as if it’s hard to even hold himself up now and his voice is low.

Marinette nods in understanding. "Ah... work. You know, I still don't understand why you're a Physics teacher. Don't you think you'd be great as a storyteller? With how creative and passionate you are about these old superheroes."

Adrien shrugs. "I don't know. Sometimes people don't end up doing what they're supposed to. I once knew a girl who wanted to save the world forever. Now, I don't know if that's something she's even thought twice about."

Marinette hums. "Well, saving the world forever sounds like a big commitment," she says. "Is she at least happy now with what she changed to do?"

When Marinette meets Adrien's eyes, he's already looking at her. It's one of those looks, the ones he gives when he thinks she isn't looking, where he only stares and stares straight at her as if searching for something. She wonders what it is he's looking so intently for. She doesn't know if she has the answers to any of the questions for the universe he's carrying with him.

"Yeah," Adrien finally answers. The smallest of smiles tugs at his lips but Marinette knows the look hasn't dissipated from his eyes. He's still somewhere far away from her, in his thoughts and burdens. But still, he lets her know he's with her by squeezing her hand. "I think she is."

*

Marinette’s childhood bedroom has remained unchanged since the day she moved out – a blessing, now that she hardly remembers what it was like to live here.

It’s through her childhood bedroom that Marinette rediscovers herself. Her last few visits have told her that she went to a lot of places with her friends back in school – from New York, to Shanghai, to London – and that she had a lot of packaged men’s items in gift wrapping and also that she used to really like a spotted red and black pattern in fashion. 

Of course, none of these things make sense to Marinette now. She takes in each fact and story about her younger self as if someone would take in stories of a stranger. But it nevertheless is fascinating to discover who she was. 

There are things that remain the same, and those are what give Marinette the most solace. She can see designs her teenage self did for a clothing boutique, a dream she always had. She can see drawings of baked goods, and collectible little toys, and bits and bobs of fabric stuffed into drawers. She laughs when she finds more evidence of how always design-obsessed she was. These aren’t memories she can’t recall but it’s fun to remember either way.

“Marinette,” her mother’s voice comes from below the bedroom floor panel. “Is that you?!”

“Yes, maman!”

Her parents' beaming faces pop up through the ground. Marinette can easily picture the same sight, just ten years younger. It seems that not only has her room remained unchanged but her parents too. 

This place is frozen in time, unmoving from who she was as a child. That’s what Alya always says – that everyone’s lives have changed, and the world has spun around completely, and yet in a little bakery by the corner of their old school, a piece of the past remains.

“Surprise!” Marinette grins.

“Oh honey. We weren’t expecting you,” her father says, pushing himself up to the floor. When he envelopes her into a hug, she’s hit with the smell of dough. It smells like home. 

“Well… the shop’s sold out!” she bursts into excitement. “I gave Noelle the days off while I re-design and I can restock.”

Her parents squeal higher than her. They clap their hands like children and give the most delighted of smiles. “Marinette! That’s incredible!”

“This calls for some fresh biscuits, coming right to you,” her father winks. “Our sold out designer needs some sugar for her redesigning!”

“That’d be great, actually,” Marinette smiles. 

“I cleaned out some of your things from the storage by the way. They’re all on the desk,” her mom adds. “Go through it when you have the time.”

“Already started on it!” Marinette nods and pushes back to her desk in the wheely chair. Her main goal is to leave this room with fresh new designs but everything she’s come up with so far on this desk only appears to her like a rehashed version of all that she’s sold. Her parents wish her luck and pop down to the bakery, leaving her to work.

Marinette spends hours on that childhood desk, though she finds nothing reasonable in any of her drafting. Being a designer and small business owner is a lot less like she imagined it to be when she sat on this table as a teen, she’s sure. Back then, designing clothes was just one of Marinette’s many activities of the day and she would find inspiration as she lived her life.

Now that designing clothes is all that Marinette has to do in her day, she has nothing else she can escape to. A hobby turned into a full-time career is a dream, but it isn’t so easy. It isn’t small bursts of inspiration and a fun activity. It’s long hours and creative slumps and the biggest part of who she is.

She sighs. “I’m getting nowhere,” she scribbles all over the paper she spent the last half hour on. This isn’t Marinette’s first creative block, though it is her most frustrating one yet. There’s nothing she can find to pick apart in her mind to put to the page or seek a spark from. 

Sometimes, when she tries really hard, she feels like she catches a string of inspiration. But when she tugs on that, it breaks apart. Something stops it from ever reaching her, like a block of hard metal wood or the force of the Earth in her brain. 

It’s like something is stopping me from digging deeper.

She wishes she could just give up and take a break – but she can’t do that now, not when it’s her job to churn out designs. Whether or not she wants to, she will have something by the end of today. 

It takes a few more attempts of back and forth for her to give up entirely for the night. Her wrist is aching, her eyes blurry and her head aches. I can’t do this, she groans as her head hits the desk. Beside her, in careful piles are folders and files that her mother had dug out from the storage of the apartment.

Her finger traces each one carefully. Some she recognizes, others are like unfamiliar memorabilia. The sight of so many collected books and folders from the years reminds her to dig out her current notebook. Her hand fishes through her handbag in haste, searching for something, while her other hand opens up to a page.

“Found it,” she mumbles as she fetches the plastic bag out. Inside, carefully wrapped in tissue is the daisy from last night. She removes it with practiced precision and gently presses it to the page, where dozens of flowers have been flattened and glued. “A new one to the collection,” she mutters with a soft smile.

She closes the book, ready to put it with the rest of her items. A sketchbook towards the bottom of the pile catches her attention, one that she’s never seen before. 

“My old sketchbook?” she wonders as her fingers reach for it, sandwiched between other items. A sudden curiosity comes to her and she imagines a gold mine of designs from her younger self inside the book. She wouldn’t plagiarize from her teenage imagination, of course not… but it wouldn’t hurt to look there for inspiration, would it?

The sketchbook has a black rim and white spots decorate the pink cover. Marinette unclasps the lock on the cover and opens up to the first page – a drawing of her old school.

“Wow,” she mutters to herself. It feels strange to look back at something that had once upon a time been a daily view for her. Each day seems long and yet, when Marinette turns around to see how much life she’s lived, it’s as though the time has sped by in a blink.

Carefully, she flips through the pages. There’s drawings of baked goods and animals, sketches of her friends, more spotted black and red patterns and she even finds some dresses. She gawks at each design in awe. She can’t even remember putting her pencil to paper to come up with these.

There’s dresses with flowy skirts, ones with corset tops, a few experimental designs with all sorts of cuts and fitting. No one design is the same. Anything Marinette’s put to the page reveals a new idea, as if she was just brimming with them. I was so creative.

Her eyes pause on them as if she’s reading the design. How could she come up with this? Usually, creatives should find their past work mediocre and their most present creations as masterpieces. Marinette sees the opposite. Her past work shows a life lived, a masterpiece skilled in experimenting and innovation. She almost feels ashamed for what she’s selling now – bland designs that can hardly compare.

I should try something like this again, she thinks to herself at each design. She picks out the parts she likes most, thinking of how to bring them to her most current designs. Her fingers keep flipping through the book, desperate to find more and more of her old work. Her hands freeze as the designs stop appearing from a certain page.

“What is this?” she murmurs, scanning through the next few pages. There’s no more designs now. It’s all the same thing over and over again. She bursts out laughing.

There are doodles of a boy dressed in all black. He crouches on balconies and hangs from railings in backgrounds of a dark night’s sky. The only colors on the pages that he appears on are the green of his eyes, and the gold of the bell around his neck. 

Marinette frowns. This character is unfamiliar to her, and doesn’t appear in any of the earlier pages of her sketchbook. Though, from the moment he’s on one page, it seems as though every page is now about him.

“Who are you?” Marinette’s eyes narrow. On one page, she finally sees it.

Sitting atop messy blonde hair are two… ears? They poke out like horns and Marinette peers at the peculiar sight. A long belt wraps around the boy’s legs.

Oh. You’re a cat.

Her eyes can’t get enough of the drawings. Each one is carefully drawn and colored in, some with watercolor paint while other with color pencils. The settings of each are different too. She’s drawn him sitting with a sunset, laying atop the Eiffel Tower, posing on a bridge.

In some, Marinette’s drawn him with a smile, and in others, he’s focused and looks out away. It isn’t till she comes across a drawing of him fighting a monster that Marinette realizes who has been filling her childhood sketchbook.

“Chat Noir?” she calls out, as if this mysterious superhero would answer from the pages. Her voice shakes and her hand trembles as she flips the page. This time, air sharply leaves her lungs in a gasp.

Chat Noir is sitting on the balcony outside Marinette’s room, his legs comfortably sprawled on the ledge. His eyes glint with mischief and Marinette can tell the care with which this image was drawn. She rubs her finger and feels the page worn out, as if she’d drawn over and over and erased a hundred times to get this particular mouth correct. 

“So this is what you look like,” Marinette whispers to herself. She’s searched his photos up many times, though each time she looked away, his face would disappear from her mind instantly. Trying to hold onto him was like trying to hold onto a gust of wind. She would think she had it and it would be gone in an instant.

And so, each time she looks at Chat Noir, it’s like looking at him for the first time. Though, seeing Chat Noir in her notebooks feels oddly different to seeing photos of him on the Internet. The drawings imprint in her mind and Marinette wonders… why did she draw him so much?

Where did these images of him come from to her? Marinette knows herself and she knows she’s never enjoyed drawing people that much, always opting more for scenery and faceless figures wearing designs. There’s always something about trying to capture someone’s eyes, the curve of their lips, the shape of their nose, that Marinette finds too tedious. It takes too much love and attention to put someone to page.

But Chat Noir is on her pages, and not just a few times. He fills a book of pages.

Marinette gulps and her head spins as though she’s jumping up and down in her room. Did she imagine this boy on her balcony? Or was she drawing from memory?

No, it couldn’t be from memory. This is surely all Marinette’s imagination… Why would a superhero from her childhood be sitting on her balcony? 

“Ah,” she exhales in a breath. “My head is killing me.”

She pushes the notebook away and climbs to her bed. Each movement feels like it’s taking an eon, like her body is battling an invisible force against her. It takes only a few seconds for her to fall asleep after that and remember nothing from the rest of the night.

But when she wakes in the morning, she is certain that she remembers wishing that Chat Noir were still here, prancing around the city, so that she could see him again. 

*

“What’s got you so distracted today?” is the first thing Adrien says the next week, followed by “a sunflower, for how much I adore you.”

“I’m not distracted,” Marinette blinks through a haze. Her hand is lingering on a hanger and she’s incredibly slow this morning. It’s the worst morning for her to not be in top shape, considering she has boxes of items from the manufacturers to put on the shelves. 

Adrien glances around. “Where’s Noelle?”

“I told her to take a break and come back later. I didn’t feel well enough to unbox all this,” Marinette sighs. She reaches for the sunflower and holds the stem carefully. “Thank you.”

“Are you sick? Too much sugar with the Dupain-Chengs?”

She laughs. “I’m sure you’re jealous.”

“Oh, I am. You get to go home and visit a bakery,” Adrien scoffs. “Some of us have it too good in life.”

“Adrien, you were a teen model.”

“Irrelevant,” he rolls his eyes. “So, you’re sick?”

“No, silly,” Marinette laughs at Adrien feigning a dramatic covering of his mouth. “I’m perfectly fine. The weekend was great and my parents… well, you know they are.”

“Force-feeding the most delicious things ever?” Adrien drops his head. “Sorry to hear about that.”

Marinette hums with a smile, turning back to the hanger on the shelf. She’s not being entirely honest though, not with herself nor with Adrien. The weekend was great but it was not without some strange revelation that has shaken up Marinette’s life.

It shouldn’t matter now what Marinette was as a child – what things she drew, what things she had interest in. It’s been years since she was that young for it to really matter.

And yet, when Marinette finds herself losing herself in some task, she’s jolted back to thinking about it like a sharp zap to her body. She sees the drawing come to life in her mind, each time a little bit more real than the last. It’s becoming hard to tell how much of the image she’s seeing is from the drawings and how much of it is becoming a reality… a memory of sorts.

Even now, as she’s away from her purse at the shop counter, her fingers are itching to go back. She wants to rip open her purse, pull out the sketchbook and flip through the drawings again. Bewitched is the word she could use to describe herself right now.

Adrien begins talking about his day and how work went for him. Marinette can only half listen, coherently understanding snippets of the stories while nodding through whatever she couldn’t. She thinks she’s doing a pretty good job at fooling him till he finally says, “Marinette, you’re not listening, are you?”

“Hm? What? I am!”

Adrien smiles, almost pitifully. “Was your weekend really okay?”

Marinette presses her lips. “It was… fine. I don’t really have that many new designs and I feel like a failure because going back home made me realize that… my work was so much better before?” she says. “I was so creative, I had so much life and I was pulling ideas out of everywhere. Coming to terms with that is a bit hard. That and…” she pauses.

“And?”

She plasters a smile. “And realizing some strange things about my childhood self,” she says in a light tone. She wants to tell Adrien, but she needs him to make it easier for her.

“Oh really?” Adrien grins. “Like your obsessive crush on me?”

“Not quite… I think- I think I had a crush on Chat Noir when I was a teenager,” she says, quickly forcing a laugh to make the words feel easy. “I can’t remember anything about liking him but… yeah. Teenage me had a thing for black cats and leather jumpsuits. Who would’ve thought, right?”

Marinette says every word with an air of nonchalance, as if learning the very existence of this love she had for a boy she never remembered meeting was something of a joke. It’s not. It’s been tearing at her all night and all morning but she can’t bring herself to tell Adrien how serious it is.

When she looks at him, it doesn’t look like she has to.

Adrien’s pale and unmoving. She almost wonders if she’d said something completely different by his solemn expression.

“Adrien, what’s wrong?”

He swallows, glancing around the shop. “What… what made you think that? That you liked Chat Noir?”

She can see through the forced smile he’s giving and she wonders if he can see through her forced casualness. “Well… I found some old sketchbooks. I haven’t found any inspiration for designs lately so I thought I’d try to see what stuff I used to like and… he was all over the pages,” she laughs. “Every few pages, I used to sketch him. Sitting on rooftops, hanging off the Eiffel Tower, even on the balcony of my parents’ bakery.”

“You drew him?” his eyes narrow, almost accusingly. “You hate drawing people.”

Marinette can say nothing to say that. She gives a resigned shrug and exhales a chuckle. Speaking the words out loud has not made anything easier. If anything, they seem to make things worse… Adrien isn’t taking the news so well.

His hands tremble, his eyes alternate between a wide stare and rapid blinking. Marinette even notices his lip quiver, a strange reaction to what she considers to be a laughable story for others. If Alya had been the one Marinette told this to, she’s sure her friend would mock her for eternity. In fact, that’s how she expected anyone of her friends to take to the reveal.

Adrien is an outlier. His response heightens the caving feeling of Marinette’s lungs. 

“It’s not a big deal,” she lies. “He was a celebrity. I’m sure I’m not the only one who had an embarrassing celebrity crush on a boy I never spoke a word to.”

Those aren’t the correct words to say, Marinette instantly realizes. Adrien winces and his hands tighten into fists. Marinette isn’t sure if she’s imagining it, but Adrien seems further away now. He’s taking a few steps back. 

“I have to leave,” his words come out in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Adrien-”

He doesn’t wait to hear it. When the bell above the door rings after he paces out, away from her, Marinette is left alone in the shop to wonder what just happened in a few moments alone. Now, with not another soul nor even a single dress in the empty shop, Marinette feels as though her being here is wrong. For the first time, she thinks this is not where she should be at all. 

*

The taste of the air on the ground is different to the taste of the air up in the sky.

Down on the ground, when you run, your lungs pant and desperately try to catch something to breathe. Up above, on building rooftops and floating through the sky, the air is neverending. You never have to fight for a moment to breathe.

This is why Adrien has always preferred being above to on the ground. For when he was Chat Noir, he never had this aching feeling tearing his body apart as he ran away from anything. No, being Chat Noir was freeing. Being Chat Noir was a dream.

As he runs now, pain throbs at his chest and Adrien can’t breathe. His greatest wish is to be Chat Noir again, just to stop how unpleasant it is to run from Marinette. But he can’t do that. It’s been years since he’s seen the world through the eyes of Chat Noir, and the world has seen Chat Noir.

His human body has limitations and he falls to the dirty ground of Paris, feeling his palms collide with the pavement. He cries out loudly, screeching in pain as he can’t find it in himself to run further away. Few onlookers on the street watch Adrien with great interest.

His existence has always felt like a jail. When he was younger, he was gawked at and probed, as his father’s prodigy. Adrien didn’t have a single ounce of himself just for himself. His one salvation came through a life as Chat Noir, but even that was not without its imprisonment. He was to remain under a mask, never revealing his true self, even when it could kill him to do so. Even when his father had to die at his own hands, he could take off the mask.

And when he finally could, he discovered that living without the mask was not the rescue he was hoping for. So much time had elapsed since Adrien had become Chat Noir, so much of his life’s experiences and self invested in Chat Noir, that he could not be one without the other. 

Of course, there was a way to make this easier, once. There was someone who could get him through understanding how to live.

But there’s no one now. Adrien is without family, without Plagg, without Ladybug.

“Adrien?” a worried voice cries out. “Oh my God, Adrien!”

Adrien sees a paper bag of items drop to the ground. His head is cradled by someone but Adrien sees a blurry image of the person holding him. The face blends together like watercolor but his eyes are drawn to the ears. Red and black spotted earrings.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Noelle.”

Her face comes to his vision. Noelle’s hair falls over his face and she quickly tucks it behind her ear. The earrings stand out on her like a bright color on a blank canvas. When Adrien saw Ladybug wear them, they never seemed to draw his attention but with Noelle, he supposes it’s her blonde hair that makes them pop out. Whenever he teases her about it, she protests and promises that she will be sure to dye her hair once her mother allows and she’s an adult.

“Adrien,” she frowns in concern. Her hand wraps around his shoulder and helps him rise from the ground. She looks at him with so much worry but all Adrien can focus on are the red earrings that remind him of his suffering. "Did you have a bad day again?"

There are no words, Adrien thinks, in any language that can come close to explaining the pain in his chest. The pain of falling so irrevocably in love with someone and having them snatched so fiercely out of your hands that it burns where you once touched them and it stings when you see them smile. There is no pain to compare to this. Losing his Ladybug isn't like losing a friend or a family member. It feels like a part of Adrien is no longer with him.

"Noelle," he cries. "Noelle."

He feels her hand press lightly against his neck. This scene is nothing new to her, and so she is able to listen to him sob and never judge him for it. While there’s no one who can understand Adrien’s pain, she is the only one who can listen to it.

"It'll never be the same again," he mumbles. “She will never remember me.”

“I know, Adrien. I know,” she says soothingly. “But that doesn’t mean your relationship now is any less special.”

Adrien shakes with his tears. She’s said this countless times but it never helps, despite her best efforts. She’s been kind enough to tell him to be patient and to make his best with the situation, but Adrien is feeling his resolve slip away day by day.

“Ladybugs get to live a life of luck and fortune,” he says. “And the black cats are doomed to misery wherever they go.”

Noelle shakes her head. “That’s not true.”

Adrien gives her a desolate look. “It is,” he says. “Marinette forgot me and one day, you will forget me too. Then, I’ll go to the guardian after you to console me, and she’ll forget me too. And once she forgets me, it’ll only be a matter of time till there’s someone new who too will toss me aside.”

Noelle says nothing. Her hand doesn’t cease to stop stroking Adrien’s hair, despite her lip quivering. She’s so young, only a few years older than him when he started this job, and she’s already been introduced to the pain that magic can cause. Adrien wishes he could take it all away. More times than not, he’s been tempted.

He’s been tempted to crush his ring into those earrings and wish for it to end. The world could continue, only without his suffering. He didn’t deserve to be the only one here fated to live an imprisoned life of misery.

But those thoughts are the reason he no longer wears his ring. Instead, his ring is kept safe away from him with Noelle, and Adrien is forced to continue this trivial existence.  

“Ladybugs get to live a life of luck and fortune,” he repeats quietly. “And the black cats are doomed to misery wherever they go.”

*

It’s a while until Marinette sees Adrien again.

On the days he’s not here, she gets close to crazy, calling all their friends to ask about him, leaving him messages, walking by flower shops to see him. 

The sinking feeling that started the moment he left her shop has not ended. It’s spiraling and Marinette is falling deeper and deeper into some kind of existential dread. The nights are impossible to find sleep in because Marinette’s body feels agitated by some kind of forgotten task.

Her shop hardly provides her the comfort she needs anymore. On her strangest moments, she feels the urge to burst and run out, climb a building, fly through the city. Delusions overtake her on her weakest moments.

Adrien arrives outside as Marinette is closing her shop. She sees him stand outside the door and he looks straight back at her, but never enters. Finally, she comes outside, hearing the bell of her door chime as she locks the door.

She speaks first today. “I was starting to think you’d never come again.”

Adrien doesn’t look… like Adrien. Sunken circles have set below his eyes, he’s missed a few days of shaving and his hair is messy. “I’m sorry I ran out that day,” he says and offers the flower of the day – a lily. “For you.”

She takes the flower, mumbling a thank you but she can’t draw her eyes away from him. “Adrien, what happened to you?”

“I… I got a bit overwhelmed. I’m sorry,” he mutters before signaling to the street. “I can walk you home?”

Marinette gives a weak smile. “I feel like I should be walking you home.”

At that, he laughs and Marinette feels like ease has returned to her in a simple second. Ever since he disappeared, so much of her had gone with him – even in the small exchanges they had everyday, Marinette thinks that Adrien has some hold on a part of her. 

It’s always been that way, she realizes. In the parts of her life that she can’t remember, she’s been told by every one of her friends that she’s always loved Adrien. That when he would have a new shoot, she would be the most excited. That when he lost his dad, she was the first to cry on his behalf. That when he was gone for some time, she hurt more than anything.

Those feelings are numb now, mostly because Marinette can’t even remember herself doing any of those things. But it doesn’t matter… because in this life she lives that she can remember, she still loves Adrien. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks as they begin walking. He doesn’t even ask before taking her bags from her hand to carry them.

The words he wants to say don’t come out instantly. He hesitates for a while, glancing at her back and forth. Eventually, he speaks. “I want to tell you a story.”

“Hm?” Marinette’s stomach sinks. She doesn’t really want to hear about Chat Noir, not right now. “Another Ladybug story?”

“No. It’s not,” he begins. “There was a boy once, and he lived in the most beautiful castle in the land. There were painted windows, big rooms, and all sorts of entertainment inside this castle. Anything you want could be found inside. But still, this boy wasn’t happy.”

Marinette listens, though it’s the last thing she wants to do right now. “Why?”

“Well, he could never get out! Because everything he needed or wanted was inside, his father never thought he needed to leave the castle. His school could come to this home, his playground could be there, friends – if he did make any – could come over. Why would he need to go outside?”

Marinette frowns. “To live?”

Adrien nods sharply. “Exactly. The boy, despite everything he had, still wanted to leave to live. Curiosity is such a cunning thing and it can change lives. So the boy, driven by this curiosity, kept searching for ways to leave. Nothing really worked, he was still under heavy control and surveillance but one day… he found a way to leave. It appeared like a miracle.”

“What was it?”

“Something he never expected. It was a ring. But not just any ring… this ring came with a powerful friend, one that could turn him into something else that could leap through windows and climb buildings. It was magic.”

Marinette blinks. The strange feeling in her worsens.

“And, as he had it, once he started to get out, so did something else. There were fire-breathing dragons and overgrown crocodiles and sorcerous magicians all about the land. Outside was nothing like the boy imagined and yet…” Adrien pauses. “He liked it. Outside was not safe, or clean, or even pretty to look at but it had a charm. He even met someone like him on the outside.”

“A girl?” Marinette gave a chuckle.

Adrien smiles. “The most beautiful and brave girl there was out there. She also had a powerful friend, you see, but she had earrings – not a ring. When she had those on, she could swing between tall buildings and conjure things out of thin air. When she had those red and black spot earrings on, there was nothing she couldn’t do.”

“Red and black spotted?” her words were barely above a whisper.

Adrien watches her carefully. “Yes. Together, the boy and girl decided they’d become a team. They would restore everything to peace, until there was nothing left to fix. When that day would come, they would rest but until then, they would keep fighting. Everyone loved them dearly.”

“And it was a happy ending,” Marinette mumbles. A discomfort is traveling through her body, swirling around in her stomach, pumping her veins, heating her neck. 

“Oh no. Not at all,” Adrien says. “A happy ending for everyone who got to enjoy the safety and peace the boy and girl brought, but for the boy and girl, it was a terrible ending. They spent years sacrificing their life, because someone had to do it and the world chose them, but the reward they reaped were punishments. For the boy… well, all the evil dragons and crocodiles and magicians that were being sent to the land were from his father.”

Marinette’s winces and her gaze pivots to Adrien. “What?” 

He stares at her, unmoving. “He had been fighting his father all these years. Even as a boy or even as something else, it was always his father. And so, while the world rejoiced that the terrible man was gone, the boy was left an orphan but he could never grieve. This was the punishment for the rest of his life.”

“Why does he need to be punished?” Marinette argues, heat flashing across her cheeks. “He was the good guy!”

“That’s just the way the story goes,” Adrien shrugs. “As for the girl… she became sick after a while. She had stopped being a girl and only became something else, all to keep fighting, and while she grew as the land’s savior, she never got to be that girl again. And so, she ended up forgetting that she was the savior, in hopes to live as a girl again.”

“She forgot she saved everyone?” Marinette says slowly.

“Yes. And that was her punishment… or maybe it was really a reward? It’s hard to tell,” Adrien says. “She lived as a girl again and forgot all that she did. A part of her life is gone.” Adrien looks at Marinette intently, with a question hidden behind a casual smile. “What do you think, Marinette? Is it a punishment, or a reward?” 

Marinette stumbles, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t… I don’t know. She didn’t get to live out the reward she really deserved so it’s a punishment but… maybe it isn’t. I don’t know,” she swallows, turning to walk again. “Is that the end of the story? If so, I hate it.”

Adrien laughs. “It isn’t the happiest one I’ve told, I know. The boy and girl, after everything, didn’t get the happiness they should’ve gotten… but the people loved them. They didn’t know a thing of this despairful ending the boy and girl got, but they loved their story. That out of a hopeless place emerged two of the most incredible miracles the land had seen,” he says. “So they told this story over and over again, to anyone who would listen. They promised to tell their kids and write it down in history books, pay homage through statues and remember the fights. Today, they call it the tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Marinette stops in her tracks. She looks at Adrien with contempt and laughs, “so it was another Ladybug and Chat Noir story. You lied.”

He shakes his head and his smile is caught somewhere between peace and sorrow. “No. It wasn’t. This story was about that boy and girl, the ones who had to become Ladybug and Chat Noir. But they were people too, and this was a story about them.”

She shrugs. “Is it not the same?”

“Do you really think so?” he asks. “You don’t think that the boy and girl from this story sound completely unalike the other stories I told you?”

Marinette hardly understands the message Adrien is trying to make, just that whenever she thinks too deeply about Chat Noir, her body begins to ache with an intensity she can’t bring herself to understand. “They do. I feel very sorry for them.”

Adrien only nods. “I’m sure they’re making do. With whatever life they have now.”

“After giving it all up to fighting,” Marinette mumbles. “Are they still living?”

“They are,” he confirms. “They’re humans after all. That’s what we’re all made to do. You live, no matter what you’re faced with, no matter if it feels wrong to. Even if a life feels incomplete, you live it, don’t you?”

His words spread an uncomfortable pounding across her mind. Did she mention that to Adrien? She doesn’t remember telling Adrien anything about feeling something amiss from time to time, feeling out of her environment, despite being in her own home. 

A painful tug is starting now, at the back of her neck. It’s as though Marinette’s body is failing on her, the more she stays on the ground now. What is she straining her body so deeply with that she feels this way?

“I’m sure they’ll find happiness. We’re all bound to,” Marinette makes herself say through the discomfort.

“I wonder about that too,” he answers. “A lot more than I can admit. I’m always thinking about it.”

“And? What have you deduced from that thinking?”

“Well, that if it’s something I care about so much that I can’t exist without thinking about it, then I need to know. For my sake.”

It’s starting to feel like there is something climbing up Marinette’s spine, on the back of her neck. She slips her fingers behind her shirt, feeling around but nothing is there. The crawling feeling changes to a sting. Her own body is malfunctioning on her.

“So?” she breathes out.

Adrien’s hand reaches out and wraps around Marinette’s. Thankful for the warmth of another person, Marinette clings on and squeezes as she rests her weight on him.

“Have you found happiness, Marinette?”

Marinette frowns and smiles in confusion. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Are you happy? Do you feel like everything is right now, with the way it is?”

Marinette blinks. “I… Adrien, you are still drunk, aren’t you?” she laughs. “You’re confusing me today. On another day, I would love this but I’m… not feeling well today,” she says before reaching up to gently brush the hair on his nape. The world spins for a second when she does and Marinette feels as though she’s becoming delirious by each passing second. When she looks at Adrien, it almost feels like she’s looking at something out of a page of her sketchbook. 

“Are you happy?” he mutters. 

Marinette holds tightly onto him. “I am happy you’re okay, Adrien. It was unbearable for me when you weren’t around and I really thought you didn’t want to see me anymore, because I was boring or… weird, or something. I don’t know. But thank you. For coming back to me. If I am happy, it’s because of you.”

This is the closest they’ve ever been, the most forward Marinette has ever been able to find herself while speaking to him. She doesn’t know what makes her do it, but she doesn’t need to know. 

They stand in silence for a long while and Adrien smiles. He repeats her name over again, barely a whisper and Marinette isn’t sure what to make of the moment – only that it feels like something she should remember. Or rather, it feels like there is something to remember for this moment.

“Marinette,” he says, suddenly serious. “The people in my stories. They're us."

In the busy street of Paris, Marinette feels her heart stop briefly, for a slow moment. It’s as though something heavy pulls her chest and she's worried she'll sink to the ground if she doesn't force herself to breathe.

She's ready to laugh, a snarky response prepared on her tongue for Adrien but when she looks at him, she stills. His eyes aren't bright and flirtatious, like the eyes of the boy who brings her a flower every morning or offers a love confession at every corner but... they look like the eyes of someone who's hurting.

Though he hides it, Marinette sees him hesitate, as if there's so much more he wants to say. But she's still stuck, thinking about his eyes. Was Adrien always in so much pain around her? She'd never even noticed.

She takes a step back, and the ache returns sharply. “What are you saying?”

Adrien pleads with his eyes and Marinette feels almost afraid at the desperation his gaze speaks. “I’m the boy who is still grieving, Marinette,” he whispers. “And you are the girl trying to live as a girl again.”

He buries his head in his hands and Marinette watches as the most confident and cool man she knows turns into something else entirely.

“Adrien, what are you–” a cry of pain fills the street. It takes Marinette a second to realize it came from her as her ears ring and a sharp stab feels like it’s delivered to her head.

“Marinette?” Adrien grabs her in concern. “You’re hurting… oh my God, you’re hurting,” he mutters in disbelief. “You’re trying to remember. Tikki told me it can be like this-”

“Adrien, you’re spewing nonsense,” Marinette barks out. She doesn’t mean to sound so harsh but her body feels as though it’s at war with herself. What kind of sickness is this?

He shakes his head. “No, I’m- I’m sorry,” he holds onto Marinette tightly to stop her from falling.

Marinette can’t explain what’s going through her. Immense pain works itself through her, in the form of sadness. An aching despair fills Marinette’s stomach and images drift through her mind, memories she doesn’t remember ever experiencing.

My mind is playing tricks on me.

She sees Adrien’s face under the rain, his hand holding out an umbrella. She tastes the wind of the sky hit her as she swings through a city. She hears a high pitched voice, begging for sweet treats from inside her purse. She smells the city burning, unlike any terror she’s ever seen in Paris. She speaks the words… spots on.

It’s all so scary and so… frightening. Marinette is paralyzing with shock in each moment that passes.

“Adrien,” Marinette cries out. “What is happening?”

Adrien looks petrified as he clings to Marinette. She’s never seen him so distressed. “Your mind is trying to fight,” his voice comes to Marinette like a sound hidden in loud background noise. “Marinette, please be careful-”

She isn’t sure what he says next. She remembers nothing of anything, only that her body spun as she lost control and collapsed.

*

“Hey kitty,” she starts off that night. “You think the city still needs us?”

His eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“Well… it’s been a few years that we’ve been out of school and stopped Hawkmoth,” she says, not missing the way Chat still winces at the mention of their old enemy. “Apart from regular day pickpocketing and the occasional crime, there’s not much for us to do anymore.”

Chat pauses. “Yeah but… aren’t Ladybug and Chat Noir meant to be forever?”

“I mean, of course. They can’t just cease to exist but it’s been a few years now without any real supernatural danger. Sometimes, it feels like being Ladybug is more decorative than it is useful now.”

Chat scoffs. “Ladybug decorative? The Ladybug?” he says. “The one who saved not just Paris as a whole, but millions of people?”

Ladybug laughs. He always has the tendency to dramatize. “That was back then. I’m talking about now,” she says. “We were always so caught up trying to survive that we never really had time to think about what a superhero should do after. When the danger existed, it seemed like it existed forever.”

Chat hums in understanding. Even now, while they have this conversation in the dead of the night, Paris is quiet – apart from drunk men on the street and unnecessary honking. Even the flickering lights of tonight’s Eiffel Tower feel different. In the past, they would have to keep a keen ear to the sound of danger, but now, the city is holding itself together. Everyone has become an everyday superhero for themselves.

“Never really had time to think about a superhero retirement,” he says, kicking his legs back and forth while sitting on the ledge. “There was a time when we were the most important people in the city. Feels like we’re washed up celebrities at times, like… a teen star, you know?”

Ladybug frowns with amusement at the comparison. “A teen star?”

He shrugs. “It was the first thing that came to my mind! You get my point.”

Ladybug nods. She gets it more than anything. Just like how Adrien Agreste was the fixation of the city at one point, so was she – as Ladybug. Ladybug and Chat Noir were the most in-demand people in the city, with how much danger was lurking. But just like how her dear Adrien bid goodbye to his celebrity status as an adult… Ladybug wonders.

“So where’s this coming from?” Chat says.

“My whole world has been half Ladybug’s. At times, I was living this life more than I was living my other one, just because that was what the situation needed,” she mumbles. A heavy weight sits on her chest, stirring with every word. “But it doesn’t need to be this way forever. Not for me, at least?”

Chat’s brows furrow. “What are you saying?”

Ladybug takes a deep breath. “I’m not just Ladybug. I’m the Guardian. Even when I’m not in this suit, I’m still in it… at least to all the kwamis back home. I’m always living for the miraculous. I thought I’d be living my own life by now, you know… earning money, working on other things. I can’t do that,” she pours her heart out and Chat understands now.

His expression is so distraught that Ladybug can’t bear to look at it. The weight of her words falls on him like a crash and his lips tighten into a thin line. It takes a while for him to speak again, but when he does, it feels like all of Paris stops just for his one question.

“You don’t want to be Ladybug anymore, do you?” 

Ladybug swallows. She’s been grieving for weeks now, as if she would be losing someone dear to her and not a part of herself. But delivering this news to Chat Noir, a boy who has known her since before she came to know herself… it’s been the hardest preparation.

“There is a life waiting for me outside the miraculouses,” she attempts to say bravely. “I want to give that life a chance.”

Fear dawns upon Chat like it’s the only thing he knows now. “Okay but… my lady, you renouncing your position doesn’t mean the same thing for me, as it does for you,” his voice quivers. “If you renounce your position, it means you would…”

Chat can’t bear to continue. Ladybug hates the way guilt eats her up now, after she’s spent a long time in turmoil with herself.

“I know.”

It sets Chat off the edge. Ladybug knew it would, and she can’t blame him for the tears that appear, for the frantic and loud pleading he begins, for the desperation.

“Don’t… don’t leave me,” he blinks. “No, no- you can’t-” he pauses and Ladybug feels her heart sink at the terror in his shaking fingers as he runs them through his hair. “You can’t just leave me, Ladybug, after ten fucking years. You can’t just make this decision and- and forget about me!”

“I’m sorry, chaton,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes well up with more tears each second that passes. “I’ll be alone. I’ll be alone without you. This… this means so much to me. Please, don’t forget me.”

Ladybug thinks her body is numb, but she sees her hands tremble. “Oh kitty,” she whispers. “This was an amazing time of my life. You were the best part of some of my worst days. Don’t…” she trails off. Chat Noir is an increasing mess and Ladybug can’t bring herself to say to not make this harder for her.

“You have to give me something,” his eyes soften pleadingly. “It’s been ten years and I don’t ask for your love or even your friendship anymore but… but these small moments we meet. It’s all I have.”

“That’s not true, Chat. You have a life outside of being Chat Noir, just like I have one outside of being Ladybug. You have so much.”

He stares and she feels the minute pass slowly. “It’s not enough. I don’t have anything in my life. But I do in this one,” he says. “You.”

“I’m sorry, Chat.”

“Please, I know it’s hard being the guardian but… please. Please, my lady,” his voice trembles. “Let me have one thing. Your company every few nights… just to talk. Please give that to me,” he takes her hand and presses it to his forehead. “Whatever you have trouble with, I’ll help you. I can take care of some of the Miraculouses and I can… I can help you financially! My civilian self, he has… more money than he could ever need. I can give you that and you can let me worry about these small things and… and I don’t even need to know your name for it! I can do it anonymously. You can just tell me when you need anything and-”

“Chat Noir. Please.”

The way she says his name is a threat. She needs him to understand, she’s made her decision and she’s made it for herself. This is the only thing she can give herself after ten long years of being behind a mask. I deserve some salvation.

He quiets immediately. He protests no more but his chest heaves loudly in the silent night. Though he tries to hold back sobs, Ladybug hears each one clear. Be strong, my kitty.

Neither trusts themselves to say anything more so for a long while, they sit in this irreparable stillness. Goodbye is only one word long but Ladybug thinks it feels like it takes all the time off her lips to say. How can one begin to say goodbye to ten years of their life?

Ladybug isn’t sure what’s waiting for her on the other side. She isn’t sure the extent to which she’ll find herself wiped, but she knows she won’t know herself – her Ladybug self. She won’t know that there was once a Chat Noir nor a Hawkmoth or that a brave girl began fighting at fifteen all for this. She won’t know, not till someone takes the time to tell her that Paris had superheroes once, and they were the most spectacular thing this city’s ever seen.

How will everyone take to the news, she wonders? Would it be Alya, who tells her about Ladybug – shocked, that her best friend of so long just woke up erased? Her parents? How would she learn again, of who she once was?

And who would she be, after all this? This is the question that’s kept Ladybug awake too many nights. Not even Tikki can answer her when she asks.

“I don’t know, Marinette,” her usual voice came with no energy. “It depends on how much of yourself you put into Ladybug.”

“What if it was all of it?” Marinette answered fearfully. “Who would I be then?”

“Then… a blank slate?”

A blank slate. Ladybug isn’t sure if that’s who she wants to be on the other side. She is still Marinette, after all and she needs to be Marinette. She needs to be Marinette, so that she can still make dresses with care and that she can love everyone in her life as usual – Papa, Maman, Alya, Nino, Juleka, Luka… Adrien.

She needs to love them, just as she does now. She can’t lose that, because that would be losing far too much. She needs to still love hearing Alya rant about the smallest thing of the day, needs to still love Nino’s nonchalant attitude to anything that comes his way, needs to still love Adrien’s kind heart.

Who knows? Maybe without all this Ladybug… maybe she can love Adrien again, the way she once wanted to. Yes, that sounds nice. On the other side, she will hold onto Adrien and love him again. 

Chat’s sob escapes his lips and the sound hurts like a knife to Ladybug’s chest. When she looks at him, she thinks about how there’s so many different kinds of first loves out there – unrequited first loves, mistaken first loves, painful first loves… but never what Chat Noir will become to her. Never forgotten first loves.

You were my first love, she wants to confess. It was always you.

But she can’t. Not now, not when it hardly matters. Not when tomorrow, she plans to hand over this life to a new girl, one she sees herself in, and move to being only Marinette. Marinette never loved Chat Noir, never thought once about saving the world, never experienced heartbreak on the top of a rooftop. Marinette has only ever liked Adrien Agreste and plans to confess to him in due time, has only ever wanted to save her own world and has only ever experienced heartbreak over celebrities.

“Have you chosen a new Guardian?” he asks finally, trying to keep from crying.

“Yes. I’m sure she will seek you out first,” Ladybug answers. “She’s young. Be gentle with her.”

“I hope you chose well,” he mumbles.

Ladybug nods. “I hope she is good to you.”

“Will that even matter to you?”

“It matters to me now,” Ladybug’s eyes fall. He says nothing and the silence returns.

This can’t be the end, even she thinks. Ten years of friendships, millions of moments of partnership, hundreds of seconds of something more… it can’t amount to only this. Ladybug wishes more than anything that there was a more seamless way to keep Chat Noir all to herself, without having to lose so much in the process.

But these are the cards she’s been dealt. There’s no way for a Ladybug like her to have a life for herself without having to burn her precious past. 

She turns to look at Chat Noir. Usually, on nights like these when he’s exceptionally handsome, she’s busy committing him to memory. She hates to think of how there’s no reason to do it anymore. Her hand reaches gently over to his arm and he looks up.

“I’ll give you something,” she smiles softly. “It’s not what you want but… I think you’ll like it.”

He’s frozen with hurt etched so deeply in his eyes that Ladybug is only grateful that she can forget this sight of him when she gives up being the guardian. It’s not a look she wants to ever remember, not if she wants to live without guilt.

“My name. I’m giving you my name,” Ladybug says when he doesn’t answer. Her words register slowly to him and suddenly, his eyes widen. “You can come find me in my civilian life, if you want. Don’t tell me that you’re Chat or that I was Ladybug but just… you can come find me and I can keep you company. Every few nights, just like you asked,” she finishes with a cheeky smile.

There’s still shock in his expression.

“Chat?”

He blinks. “I can… I can come to you?”

Ladybug swallows. “Yes. But you can’t tell me anything. You’re a stranger, okay?”

His face crumples and he takes a few seconds to answer. “Our memories together,” he croaks. “You won’t know a thing. You won’t know how special you are to me or how we…”

Ladybug has to glance away to hide the way his words tear a hole in her heart. “We can… we can start over. You can come find me and make your way into my life,” she smiles though it stings. “You can tell me stories. I probably won’t know a thing about Chat Noir and Ladybug, you can tell me all about them and we can be friends.”

“But you won’t remember that you were my best friend.”

“I’m sorry, Chat.”

They sit in silence for the rest of the night and she hears him cry this time. He tries to bargain again and when she consoles him, he only sobs more. Truth be told, Marinette wants to cry too. She wants to cry and scream at how unfair the world could be to a fourteen-year-old girl who didn’t know a thing about anything before she had to become a hero.

And now, she has to break her own heart.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she says.

He glances at her. “What about her?”

“The daughter of a baker, an aspiring designer with a little boutique and… for a little while, Paris’ superhero, alongside the world’s best partner. Marinette,” she says with a smile. “I’m giving you my name.”

His breath hitches and his eyes widen. “Marinette…” he whispers.

It’s a sin how beautiful it sounds from his lips, after ten years of secrecy and companionship. Marinette hopes the person she’ll become from tomorrow loves the way he says her name as much as she does in this moment.

“Oh my God, Marinette,” he buries his face in his hands. “Marinette… I love you. I love you. I’ve only ever loved you and now… Marinette,” his voice breaks in the end.

Marinette presses her nails into her palm to stop herself from becoming desperate at him calling for her. She wants to tell him that she loves him too, that she’s only ever loved him, and despite whatever fleeting admiration her teenage self felt for a classmate, that it’s only ever been him.

Instead, all she can do is offer a clenched fist in a childish gesture.

“Come and find me, kitty,”

*

Marinette wakes up crying. 

The sadness she wakes up with is one that hurts her to the core. For a while, she drifts in and out of sleep and unable to grasp reality. 

She doesn’t know how long this goes on for. Time doesn’t make sense in the state she finds herself in. Dreams come to her vividly, so vivid that she can mistake them for reality, but not vivid enough that she can forget that she’s living through something her mind created. 

And… she feels everything. Marinette didn’t know how many emotions a person could feel - how many she could once feel - until she goes through this ordeal. The last two years of her life have been simply like a tester of life. What Marinette feels in her dreams are extreme ends of euphoria and anguish. 

It becomes hard to tolerate and so, she understands why she can’t bring herself to move even a finger sometimes. Everything falls to her body. 

The worst parts of the dreams she lived through were that while she would watch one from start to end, the second it elapsed — she would already feel herself forgetting it. It was a fight with her own self, to hold onto something that her own strength was taking from her. 

In between some dreams, she hears voices interrupt her trance. She hears a crying man, she just collapsed, Noelle, she isn’t waking up; she hears a young girl, they will help us with this and I closed the shop for her; she hears a squeaky voice, similar to a child’s, and a much deeper one squabble between themselves; she hears her parents. 

But she can’t say a thing to anyone. In the moments of consciousness she does have, Marinette only finds herself wishing to do one thing – to reach over, pull out her sketchbook and look at those pictures of Chat Noir again.

It’s a repeated cycle of this, and her body batters with each time. Marinette sees a dream, she feels it like it were the first time, she wakes up forgetting and she plunges into a new dream again. Answers come to her in them on stolen memories from her days in school and missing gaps of life. Marinette doesn’t want to part from this. 

Most of all, she doesn’t want to part from feeling in love as she once did. She didn’t know she had it in herself to love so deeply and yet, in her memories, she’s that way.

I don’t want to forget.

After a particularly strong vision of herself with a black spotted little bug, Marinette gains her usual partial consciousness again. She only has a few minutes before she’ll drag herself back into trying to remember that thing… what did it call itself? Tikki?

“Marinette,” a deep voice speaks to her. “Marinette!”

The sensation of a tight grip on her hand comes suddenly. Marinette wills herself to try and respond, though the most she can endure is opening her eyes slowly.

“Marinette,” the boy cries. “Please wake up.”

Blond hair falls over his eyes in a tangled mess. He clings onto Marinette dearly, like she’s made of something that could slip away through his fingers. 

“Chat Noir,” Marinette tries to speak. She thinks she’s called out for him but when the boy barely budges, Marinette realizes she’s only spoken the name aloud to herself in her mind.

“Just give up, Marinette. I’m begging you,” he says. “Wake up.”

She doesn’t think she hears anything else from the conversation. The boy continues to cry, and can make out the shape of his body resigned over hers. The scene is almost familiar to her… the sound of these sobs is becoming clearer to her.

She’s remembering. She remembers these sobs on a rooftop, but she remembers them in other places too – in a tunnel, in school, in places she didn’t think she’s ever been. 

But as soon as the memories flood, so does the pain. Marinette is fighting her body again. 

Remembering you, she thinks to him, is killing me.

It’s killing her, she slowly realizes. It’s killing her to discover parts of herself that she hid but Marinette can’t let go. Why did I want to forget all this?

To uncover this, Marinette finds herself constantly going back to her dreams. She never wanted to forget, she understands this, so why did she make herself? 

The answer reveals itself in blurry visions at the end of dreams – her younger self crying in bed after a particularly hard day, where she missed Alya’s graduation while handling a crisis for Nooroo; her parents sitting alone at a dinner table with a full course meal prepared, only for her to arrive close to midnight from a villain fight that ruined the night; a job interview for her dream job missed by taking care of Tikki, for which Tikki apologized furiously but Marinette simply smiled and said, “it’s okay, Tikki! I always wanted to run my own boutique anyway.”

It’s not only one or two occurrences of things like these. It’s Marinette’s whole life, on a reel – from her fourteen year old self to her twenty four year old self. Her whole life passed by like this, in quiet moments of disappointment.

She understands now. She loved this life, but it was destroying her. She never wanted to forget this life, but she couldn’t give it up without erasing it. She never wanted to lose herself but she wanted some peace.

It’s the most unfair luck in the world, Marinette thinks, to give her such a beautiful life and make her hurt for living it. I didn’t deserve this.

This was not the life she should’ve been given. She should’ve been rewarded, for all she sacrificed. She should’ve been celebrated and granted every wish she wanted. She should’ve exchanged her old life for one that could honor it, not forget it.

I won’t forget, she screams to a void in her head. I won’t forget. I won’t give up my life anymore.

And so Marinette fights. She fights harder than she ever did, she fights for her life. She fights for all the missed occasions and birthdays she couldn’t celebrate as Marinette, she fights for all the battles she couldn’t win as Ladybug. She fights for the life she had to give up just to be able to choose. She fights because someone is waiting for her.

She does her hardest to overcome the ache that’s paralyzed her to a floating consciousness. I will wake up, she repeats to herself, and I will remember every dream of mine.

It’s a mantra she doesn’t quit saying. With each part of her body she conquers, the stinging feeling dissipates. From her fingers to her elbows, she regains control, though it isn’t easy. 

She’s tiring like nothing else. For a few moments, she even worries whether she’s destroying herself just to cling onto her memories. Trying to wake up with them is like pulling a weight by a net up a hill. She feels the scalding burn of the wires on her fingers and the weight tears on her muscles like paper, but she doesn’t give up.

She will be selfish this time. She will take this one thing for herself – a self-rewarded gift of sorts. No one thanked her enough for the years she gave for this city, but she doesn’t need that thank you. 

Just let me wake up, with all my memories. Please.

“Marinette?”

For a second, Marinette thinks she’s traveled back in time. The voice that calls her name is one she heard in her dreams, waking up every morning as a teenager. The same voice that pulled her out of her groggy state and dragged her to school.

“Tikki?”

Her voice shakes as she says the name. Though it’s only been two years since she’s said goodbye to her, it feels instead like a lifetime apart. 

Tikki screams in joy, flying over her head in haste. “You remember me?!” she cries out. “You remember me! Marinette, do you really-”

“Yes,” Marinette laughs hoarsely. Her hands go to push herself up the bed, but she’s considerably weaker than she remembers. She lands back on the bed with a painful thump.

“Be careful!” she frets before blinking widely. “How can this happen? You remember me and you’re not…”

“Dead?” Marinette offers. “I felt like I was getting there.”

“That’s the magic of our kwamis. It’s impossible to break the barrier,” Tikki frowns. “Marinette, how could you do it?”

Marinette swallows. How did she do it? Did she really even do it?

She’s holding her mind in tact, though she was close to losing it. If she tries, she thinks she can recall any memory to her head though it is blurrier than she thinks it was in her sleep. 

“I fought it,” she says with a disbelief. “I begged and I fought. I remember everything… not the way a normal person would but I remember,” she laughs in relief. “Oh, Tikki. I’m so happy to see you again.”

Tikki flies to her cheek and brushes herself against it. Tikki is unchanged from her memories, but Marinette feels a difference to the way things were from what she remembers. 

“Noelle was worried sick. We’ve been keeping watch this whole time,” she says. “It’s been two weeks without you, in case you were wondering. We’ve been keeping you alive.”

Marinette blinks. “How am I alive?”

“You said so yourself, you fought, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to remember and wake up.”

“It must’ve not been that much of a jump for you to remember. Maybe you always knew, deep down,” Tikki answers. “That, and you being like no other Ladybug I’ve ever seen, Marinette. Don’t let Noelle hear that.”

Marinette flushes. Did she always know, deep down?

She thinks back to the last two years. Staring out at Paris, through a shop, she never thought once about Ladybug… until she did. Until every day of her life, she learnt a little bit about Ladybug and her partner. 

She blinks. Her saving grace was in a story.

“Where’s Adrien?” she says suddenly.

Tikki glances at Marinette in surprise. “Adrien? He’s at home, he’s come by a few times but it got a bit hard for him to watch you like this-”

“I need to see him now,” Marinette gasps. Weakness brings her body back to the bed but she tries her hardest to move in haste.

“Marinette, it can wait! You need to get checked by-”

“I know, Tikki,” Marinette answers. She looks at Tikki with a sincere glance and nothing more needs to be said for her companion of ten years to understand. “I know.”

“Oh, Marinette,” Tikki’s head falls. “I should’ve told you, I know I should’ve!”

Marinette strokes her head with a finger. “Don’t say that. I was so naive to never see it before,” she laughs. “It took me to forget him to even know him.”

Big teardrops fall from Tikki’s eyes. “You should see him. He’s been a mess since you’ve arrived here,” she says, looking around Marinette’s room. Marinette can see packets of medicine lying around, wet towels on the desk, and flowers fill her usually empty apartment. 

“I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

When Marinette leaves, she runs. She feels the wind slap her cheeks and her muscles tire with each movement, but she doesn’t stop. She runs, like she once remembers, through the streets and the curves of the city. She stops for only a few moments, by stalls in the city, by familiar faces and it’s euphoric.

The city is alive and it’s never been this way for the years she was forgetting herself. Marinette speeds through it as if she were once again Ladybug.

All those stories of a brave girl on these streets were her. It was her who brought peace here and she deserves to celebrate that. 

With a beaming smile, and her chest heaving, she arrives at Adrien's apartment doorstep. She’s never come here before, always too fearful of overstepping a boundary for a man she couldn’t remember. But now, she knocks with an urgency of ten years.

Adrien’s voice comes muffled through the door, a coming! shouted out and it squeezes at Marinette’s heart. She forgot this voice once.

His steps become louder and louder, and then he opens the door. And Marinette finds herself face to face with the life she’s worked so hard to remember.

“Adrien,” she mumbles, already feeling the tears pricking at her eyes. 

“Ma-Marinette,” Adrien breathes. His hands tremble with shock and he blinks. His face has gone white. “You’re… you woke up?”

Marinette nods with a smile. “Hi, kitty.”

Here they are, years older since they first became two superheroes and yet, when Marinette looks at him… she still sees her childhood. She sees herself in Adrien. 

She watches as his face crumples into a sob and he mutters under his breath, my lady over and over again. It’s like resuming a conversation that last ended two years ago. No time has passed at all and yet, it has.  

“I’m sorry,” her voice breaks with the apology. “I didn’t want to forget.”

Adrien shakes with a sadness he has never shown the Marinette of the last two years. “How are you… how do you remember?”

“I fought. I took back my decision.”

“I thought I forced you to remember,” he says. “I was going crazy. I thought I killed you, Marinette. You chose to forget and I put those memories back in your mind with stories and… and just by existing.”

Marinette shook her head. “Don’t say that. Please.”

“You didn’t want to be Ladybug anymore,” he says quietly.

She nods. “I thought I didn’t but removing Ladybug from who I am… it numbed me to everything,” she says. “I can’t forget that part of myself… or you.”

Marinette feels her heart slice with every cry of Adrien’s. For this is not just Adrien, but her best friend of her childhood – this is Chat Noir. 

It doesn’t take either of them to be in their suits to see each other for who they are – Ladybug and Chat Noir. They might never wear the mask again but to Marinette, this will always be her Chat Noir.

And she would always be Ladybug. There would be no part of her that could give up Ladybug, even if she wanted to, even if she had to. Even if she wouldn’t be today’s Ladybug, she was still a Ladybug of some time. 

“We deserved so much better,” Marinette says in a hushed voice. “We deserved a better ending for our stories.”

“We did. We were only fourteen,” he laughs despondently. “I thought there would be something better for us down the line than having to live like this.”

“We should make that something better,” she gives a small smile. “I won’t let my memories be taken from me and you shouldn’t let your rightful pain be taken from you. Let’s live happily now, Chat Noir.”

Twenty six now, and Marinette’s life flashes in her mind. She’s been fighting and looking all this time for some escape from the fate she’s been given, the unique predicament that no one but one other soul in this world can understand. But she doesn’t need to fight anymore. There is a way for Ladybug and Chat Noir to live again, without despair at the end of their tale.

He nods and smiles. “Okay,” he says firmly. “So, what now, my lady?”

Adrien blinks, with so much innocence and quiet happiness, that Marinette finds herself transported to the first time she saw him outside her shop after forgetting him. The boy that day too looked like a lost kitten, arriving to her unsteadily. Only there’s no reason for him to seem lost now – there would be only happiness in the new path they would tread together from here.

“It’s a new day,” she says softly. “There’s so many stories you can still tell me.”

His smile softens, as if he can’t believe the words. “You already know all of them now.”

Marinette holds his hand carefully with hers. She’s standing in uncharted territory now, something unfamiliar. “I want to hear them anyway,” she says with a grin. “A story each time you see me, that was the deal, wasn’t it?”

He laughs and squeezes her hand tightly. There’s so much Marinette needs to understand about the pain that he went through, and the choices she made. Her world is bigger now than a dress shop and a calm life, but she sticks to what she knows, just so she can get through it, second by second.

And so, she does the only thing she knows what to do upon being with Adrien – she offers a flower. 

*

ending note: something i regularly think about in regards to the show set-up is how absolutely depressing marinette and adrien's futures are. we have adrien whose father is hawkmoth and marinette who has to lose her memory if she wants to give up being the guardian. their whole lives are sacrificed for the cause of the city, and i respect them so much for that. but my heart also hurts for them, and how happy they deserve to be. hope you guys enjoyed my little exploration on post hawkmoth life, and choosing happiness through making their own fate.

[openly-journaling]

Wrath: January 26th 2023

I am far too excited to hit the road and start a new life elsewhere. It's scary but I don't want to live comfortably I want to live happily. I'd say the best part of it all is finally having someone there who loves and understands us.

Apparently we missed an electric bill fee which I legitimately don't recall and owe like.. $300 which is irritating but it's what the fuck ever I guess. Minor inconvenience.

The dental office has been very understanding about our move and managed to squeeze in three appointments for us in two months time. One for x-rays, one for cleaning and tomorrow we get a filling. We also are getting our vehicle looked over to make sure it's good for travel as well. Better safe than sorry.

We have all of our routes set and we've been looking into any Inns. We still need to fill out job applications as well which we might do on a strictly business email first hotel we stay in for the night. Digital footprint is real unfortunately.

Once we get down there we're going to try for our GED and then college after we pass our GED. Hoping to get a private tutor. Going to also try to work nights at Walmart so we aren't as exhausted trying for our GED.

I can't wait to drive far and fast and I can't wait for warmer skies. I can't wait to see so many new places and have good food every day.

I can't wait to spend it with the person I love most. I'm terrified of it going horribly wrong with her parents but I'm also willing to face any challenges that come my way in the process of this move.

I know she tolerates us just being friends, but how will she react when we're no longer long distance. Depending on how she reacts will also deeply depend on whether we come forward about the relationship.

I hate lying, especially by omission but- ugh. I just want to have a good time. I want to give them a good time as well. They deserve the world.

We already have our stops planned as well. And there'll be plenty of towns to stop at in between anyway just in case.

Wish is luck, readers!