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cherripeach · 3 years

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Chapter 5

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it.Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Prologue 10.5: i want to see my little boy

Chapter Summary: Maybe some people at this school weren’t so bad.

Warning: Curse words, jokes about death

Words: 2.9k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

After getting up off of the cement and cleaning all of the area up again because of the fight, your stomach started to sound like a whale and eat itself. Grim who had been complaining the entire time about not wanting to work and when lunch would be and sitting under a tree looked ecstatic as if he was just awarded a nobel prize. The cat was grinning up at you from under the tree while you were sweeping but said nothing.

Once your stomach growled louder for a second time, you called it quits, “Fine, let’s go get lunch.”

“Yipeeeeee!” Grim hopped up and sprinted to where you were with the broom. He began vigorously tugging on your mysterious, probably smelly, cloak once every second. Grim even though he did get in trouble for the fight seemed to have completely forgotten about it. He did not give off the vibes that he cared about the consequences of any of his actions.

A sigh slipped out of your lips while you shook your head and placed the broom in your hands onto the side of one of the statues, the one with Maleficent on it.

Grim, then, made grabby hands at you for you to pick him up and without amusement, you did. You placed him on your hip with your hand behind his back and began your track to the main building of the school.

The main building was a cursed old palace, so you got lost immediately after turning from the main hallway into another one. This place probably did have secret passages, but you don’t think those would help if you don’t even know where you are going.

The hallway was silent besides Grim’s cheers from next to your ear which hindered any sounds to go into that ear. Suspiciously, even with the lack of sound, there was no movement anywhere in the part of the building you were located. The hallway was covered in spiderwebs and had trash sprinkled through it; it did not look like a hallway regularly used. You even spun around once to make sure this wasn’t a prank and people weren’t following you. And in your effort you found that either it was during class and no one was moving or you were in an abandoned hallway which sounded closest to the answer.

However, there was nothing you could do besides keep going straight to see if you could find anybody because you do not remember which way you came down from. The hallways did change a litte, but gave the overall aesthetic of fairy tale grunge. You were now in a hallway with big open window sills giving sight to the outside and the odd well in the middle of the area. The well was much brighter and welcoming than at night when you last saw it, so in your haze of tiredness and hunger you approached it. Grim who was still on your hip had started to protest your actions and threw his hands around him to make you drop him or stop going off track, so you dropped him right in a bush and continued with your trip to the well.

Upon closer inspection the well was in great condition and had no other problems than it was the 21st century and was located in the middle of this weird outdoors area of a school for young villains. Now that you thought about it though everything is weird in a school that trains villains.

You decided to become the one scene in Snow White but looking down at yourself in the water only brought your attention to your appearance which was not at all put together. The cloak even looked shabby on you compared to all of the gorgeous men that were wearing the same outfit yesterday. You did notice that there was a smudge of something on your face, so you grabbed your thumb and tried to swipe it off. However, after three times, nothing was working. Then, you bent forward to view your face better from the water and stood on your tippy toes.

Neither of those actions worked out for you in the end when you slipped on a piece of your cloak and flew forwards to bang your head on the bricks of the other side of the well, but you were instantly caught after hitting your head by someone’s hand or something grabbing the back of your collar. Death by a well did not seem like a way to go.

Stunned in your fall and catch situation, you did not move an inch from where the hand that held the back of your collar placed you which was with the other side of the well in front of your face. At least, until the person behind you gasped and dragged you up.

You were slowly lifted off your feet to come face to face with a long man with horns or something, so you assume he is either a cosplayer or a weird demon like thing.

“I was not aware that falling into wells was something a child of man would concern themselves with,” The huge man actually pouted at you, and he tilted his head as if he was confused at the prospect of you falling into a well.

“I can’t say for everyone, but I would never purposely fall into a well. They just seem too sketch, but I did trip on my cloak, so thank you for that, dude,” As childlike as the man was, you couldn’t be mean to him when he did help you from dying a miserable death.

“‘Dude’?” The man who still had you by the collar of your cloak which you were quite impressed with tilted his head to the side more. “What do you mean by ‘dude,’ child of man? Is that a nickname that displays fear or reverence? Is it an insult?”

The man was the definition of a curious child, so you explained it to him, “Dude refers to those who identify as a male, but I sometimes use it for both genders. If you feel uncomfortable with the term I can always call you something else. What do you think?” You paused your thoughts to remember the situation you were in by looking down at where you were, and then you continued, “Could you also possibly let me down?”

The male’s eyes widened in realization as you were slowly lowered to the ground, “I sincerely apologize child of man, but you were about to fall down the well? Would that not kill you?” He looked like a puppy, and he might be another one of your soft spots at this school.

“Oh yeah, it would, but that’s okay. Death is inevitable,” You said while making a fist and hitting the area of your chest closest to your heart and closing your eyes.

“You are quite strange….You are the first human I have met who does not fear death,” The male locked eyes on you once you opened yours.

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” At this point and time, anything anyone at this school said would be taken as a compliment.

“That is concerning, child of man,” the male lightly shook his head while the smallest of smiles popped up on his lips.

“Hey now, gramps, I don’t need a lecture,” You threw both your hands up and then tossed them at him only causing him further confusion.

“Gramps?” The male was as lost as you were when you wandered away in a grocery store, “This is the second name you have called me. Do you happen to not know who I am?”

“Uhmm, am I supposed to? Other than the fact that you stopped my death I have never seen or heard of you.” Now, your face flashed confusion. It seemed to be passed back and forth between the two of you.

“Ah that’s odd. You do not know of me. Really?” The man turned back to you and waited for you to nod again before continuing, “ Oh my, this is quite unusual, indeed. What name do you go by?”

You introduced yourself to him, and asked, “Hey, what’s your name to be fair. I’d like to at least know who had the balls to save me.” You shrugged your shoulders and winked at him.

The male was taken aback by either your statement or your winking, and it did not really matter to you.

He took a minute until he finally started up again, “What an odd sounding name. I am..it’s not important. Hearing my name will only bring you misery.” The man’s face twisted and became like one of a crestfallen and hurt puppy.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, but whatever to make you feel comfortable,” You just had to find the weird people didn’t you. He wasn’t the worst.

The male actually looked relieved at your notion, “Let us have you stay ignorant of the world’s ways, shall we? Feel free to call me whatever you want.”

“Got it, puppy.” You nodded your head at him and smirked a little. You were gonna take full advantage of this.

“Puppy?” Confusion was prevalent on the males face before he let out the smallest of giggles you have ever heard, “I did not know that was a nickname of fear for humans.”

“Oh it isn’t, and to make you feel better I don’t find you at all intimidating at all.” You began to walk over to the bush where you deposited Grim, your dumb cat, at.

“You truly are an odd human, child of man,” The small smile returned to the male’s face and he muttered a phrase you are pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear, “It is truly quite endearing.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, puppy. Have a great day!” You waved back at the male once you found the bush and grabbed your stubborn cat who apparently took a nap.

And you two were then off while the male you met had smiled at your form leaving.

You realized after walking for another couple of minutes that you should have asked your puppy for directions because you were lost again.

Grim even started to pull on your uniform and yell in your ear more, so you walked faster or as fast as your legs would take you.

Finally, in a moment either of pure hallucination or euphoria, you arrived at the cafeteria where it was packed with not an inch of room at any table. The lines for food curved around each other and none stood out. It also seemed like a fight had broken out in the back corner of the room if the screaming said anything.

Grim, of course, did not notice any problem with this cafeteria and jumped from your arms. He scurried to the shortest line in the room with only one person in front of him. He jumped up and grabbed onto the counter once the person left and gazed at all the food in front of him. Finally, his eyes caught something, and he turned back to you with pleading eyes only to wait for you to grab a tray and place the food onto it. After he got his pick, he jumped back on your shoulder and started pawing at your head. You kept him on your shoulder while you grabbed your food and paid for it.

Finding a table would end up being a problem; there was not a single spot open even with many people in line and standing up. All you could do was sigh and trudge to find a bathroom or maybe even sit outside.

At least until you heard a voice call for your name.

You, in your confusion, swiveled around to find the voice, but out came the sunshine from the day before dashing to you. You were stunned and stayed in place until the boy was right in front of you. It also appeared that he brought another person with him who was following slightly behind him. The male was taller than the sunshine and had much longer hair. This was probably the fifth or sixth person at this school that you have met that had the face and body of a god. Genes must run well in this school, and you were begging to grab them from these males. The male must have cared about your staring, for once you made eye contact an icy glare met you. He must not like new people; must also be an introvert.

With your eyes stuck on observing the tall male behind the sunshine, you did not notice all of the efforts of the sunshine to get your attention until Grim shoved your head with his paw. You shook your head to gather your attention back and turned to face the sunshine’s eyes.

“Uh, sorry about that, dude.” You placed your hand on the back of your head in guilt.

“It’s okay,” He didn’t even look upset when he offered you his hand, “Want to come sit with us?”

“Um, sure, that’d be great,” Things seemed to be going up for you.

The sunshine took your tray from your hands and turned around to begin to walk across the cafeteria, “Oh, this is Jamil, he’s the vice dorm leader of my dorm, Scarabia!” He broke out into a beam when he mentioned his friend who was still conveniently behind him.

You decided to include him in the conversation since it never feels good to not be included, and you turned your head to face him and meet his eyes, “It’s nice to meet you, Jamil.” You tilted your head and smiled at the male.

“It is my pleasure. Kalim has talked about you,” you were taken aback that the sunshine had already mentioned you to his best friend from your eyes.

“Let’s hope it’s all good things,” You could only hope.

“Well, hearing that a magicless student caused a ruckus with a cat monster is always a great start to a year,” You could sense the sarcasm in Jamil’s voice.

“All nice things, then.” You sighed just hoping this year wouldn’t be a disaster.

Kalim was just grinning at the two of you interacting until he finally ended up at a table and placed yoru tray down next to another tray with way more food that looked homemade and nothing like the food from the cafeteria.

You laughed and guessed that the tray must belong to Kalim, “Someone’s food looks expensive.”

Kalim could not understand your joke, “Oh, you like it? You can have some if you want? Jamil makes the best of food!” The sun smiled at you again today, and you don’t know if you were going to make it.

“Ah, naw, I wouldn’t want to take any of it from you,” You had this strange feeling that being indebted to him was not the best idea, so you’d stick away from that for now.

You also grabbed Grim so as to stop him from taking any. He bit your hand, but not enough for you to pull away.

Kalim deflated and turned to face Jamil who shook his head at him causing Kalim to deflate even more and even pout his lips.

You four stayed in a comfortable silence with the only noise Grim chewing on his food. You slowly ate yours, and once you finished your meal you could only stare at your hands and play with them.

This was a lot more awkward than you thought.

Until Kalim finished his food, which was ridiculously quick and started talking about stories of his childhood to you and Grim. He talked all about his siblings and how helpful Jamil is to him. It was quite adorable. You even told a story or two about embarrassing things you did as a child, and both of the Scarabia boys got a chuckle from it.

The bell, however, rang in the middle of one of Kalim’s stories, and the two boys stood up, picked up their trays and yours, and went on their way.

You could only wave and pull Grim from trying to leave as the two made their way out. You gazed out the window and decided since it was on the first floor and no one was there, you were gonna exit out the window. Of course, someone saw, but that’s for them to know.

Since you got lost in the school on the way here, going around the school on the outside might help. You saw the well again, a big field, and even a large greenhouse. If this was a private school, this was the fanciest one you have ever been to.

You finally found your way back and deposited Grim off of a bench and grabbed your cleaning supplies to finish up the job.

Maybe cleaning a hundred windows wouldn’t be that bad.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x you #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x you

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redherringtime · 2 years

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TMA Relistens

After listening to episode 13, I was rather put off from the podcast for a bit and took a short break. This was followed by the actual move and then a very difficult time in my life mentally. I wanted to get back into it for quite a while, but it never seemed like the right time. Until yesterday. You might notice that I mention a few observations as if I hadn’t pointed them out the first time. Niki’s excellent memory at work again. Transcription Begins: 1/13/2022 Niki: Thought I’d listen to TMA but I can’t remember where I was, so I’ll just start over. Sketch: Oki Niki: Upon second listening, it seems weird that so often the files originally had been researched with no results but now, years later, a bit of sniffing and his investigators find all sorts of information.

Sketch: ...hey yeah, that never clicked before

Niki: I have suspicions about the whole danged Institute Sketch: How so?

Niki: Someone kept Gertrude from getting the account that foretold her death. And either Gertrude was super fishy for keeping such a bad archive (and also a few other suspicious things that pointed at her) in which case she probably wasn’t working alone, or someone intentionally hired the worse possible archivist and never did anything about it while she let the archive fall to disaster.

Also I’ve already commented on the strangeness of there being so many Johns in the accounts, right? But this one with the Do Not Open coffin. I missed it the first time but not only is the guy who presumably ended up in the coffin named John, but the Archivist says that it took place in his home town. And from a writer’s perspective, that’s just too much of a Chekhov’s Gun to be meaningless. ...a bit later... Niki: Just finished Page Turner and had more thoughts on Gertrude. At first I was very suspcious of her but the more I’ve come to suspect the Institute... My current working theory is that Gertrude was far more competent than she made it look and probably hid in plain sight behind the useless archivist facade. I think she was using what she learned from the accounts to do something behind the scenes, such as collecting the Leitner (sp?) books and who knows what else. I think she was actively working against the Institute and when they learned that they had her killed but I also think there was a method to her chaos and that she left clues in the archives that would lead her successor to figure out what she knew. Sketch: Hmm. Yeah, that must be it. [Note: ‘that must be it’ is an inside joke between the two of us for when we’re hiding information] Niki: Now if this working theory is correct then it seems unusual that they’d put someone as clearly competent as Jon in the archives and I think there must be some reason, though I don’t know what it is yet, that he was put there. Oh, I forgot to mention, the email address in Page Turner that I suspect belongs to Gertrude is grbookworm1818 and unless I misremember, the first episode said that the archive extends back to 1818. I wonder if Gertie was older than she looked...?

...the next day, 1/14/2022... Niki: As an aside, in the episode about the vampire hunter it is mentioned that Martin was there when it was recorded. To me, this could mean that he worked in the archives under Gertrude which could explain some of Jon’s disdain for him. It could also, to my mind, potentially mean that he knows about what Gertrude was doing and may even be continuing it on, hiding behind a mask of incompetence as she had. Sketch: Poihaps

#the magnus archives #liveblog

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alrighttevans · 3 years

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invisible strings

chapter 1: well i wonder

Ao3 link

chapter 2: well i wonder

Marinette wished she knew who the apparently cheerful boy behind that black mask and cat-like green eyes was, as she doodled a butterfly on the margins of her notebook, in French class.

Despite being so adamant in keeping their identities as a secret, she’d be lying if she claimed she never wondered who he was, especially now. Before last night, she had never worried about Chat Noir’s civilian life. Why would she? He was always so merry and well disposed that it was contagious — it was hard to picture her partner as the same boy she had met last night, she mused, as she sketched the pink long dress she was currently working on —, but the boy she saw last night wasn’t cheerful. He was so determined in shrugging her concern away with some of his light comments, however his body language couldn’t lie to her with the same determination. Chat was her best friend. Marinette couldn’t let him hurt, all alone. But what could she do? He wouldn’t talk to her. He was shutting Ladybug out. She didn’t know how to look for him as Marinette. Something was wrong with her kitty, and that made her question her entire relationship with Chat. What other problems was he burying under his merry personality and dealing with all alone? Was he hurting all that time and she had never known? She wished she knew who he was so she could try and help him and hold him and tell him it’s gonna be okay.

However, until the day the reveal of their secret identities arrived, she had to trust Chat Noir to talk to her, in case things got too bad on his side.

The problem was she didn’t think he would.

What were her options, then? Perhaps, she could—

“Marinette!” She jumped on her seat, whilst her head snapped at the sound of her name, only to find no one other than Adrien Agreste, with his soft golden hair, bathed by the sun that shone through the window just so it could flatter even more his looks, and deep, welcoming green eyes, in which she would gladly drown, waving his hand on her face. Marinette felt her cheeks burn — a very common sensation for when she was around that boy. For how long had he been calling her, as she ignored him? That was so embarrassing. She was so caught up on her thoughts that she didn’t realise Adrien, of all people, wanted to talk to her!

“Y-yes?”

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He quickly apologized, scratching the back of his neck, as a light blush creeped into his features.

“It’s okay! You have to apologize! I m-mean you don’t have to apologize!”

Perfect as always, he decided to ignore her bad manners and the stuttering mess she still became sometimes, when he caught her off her guard, and chose to both nod and give her his most brilliant smile, that melted her whole heart, that easily. “Class is over. It has been for a few minutes, but you didn’t seem to notice.”

“Oh”, Marinette spared a glance on her surroundings, watching a deserted classroom, other than for her and Adrien, a clean blackboard and empty seats before her, “Thank you, Adrien.” She added, as her eyes came back to find his, once again, but his gaze was too busy to meet hers.

Following the trail left behind his stare, she found that what had caught up his attention was her notebook, full of the doodles she did while she didn’t mind any attention to the teacher. There was the butterfly, her long dress, a few hairstyles she wanted to try, and— “Is that Chat Noir?” He questioned her, as he, all of the sudden, decided it was a good idea to look in her eyes as intensely as he did to the notebook, with some kind of fondness and bewilderment, which felt like Adrien could see her beyond her skin.

“Yes...?” was her response, which sounded more like a question, as she glanced back to the notebook, unsure if she could sustain Adrien’s stare for much longer, where yesterday’s Chat Noir lied, looking back at her with that mournful expression that was so out of character for him. A Chat Noir she didn’t know she had drawn. A Chat Noir that made her heart break at the sight of his melancholy.

A Chat Noir only Ladybug had ever seen.

A Chat Noir Marinette shouldn’t have known, her eyes widened at the realisation, as she quickly closed the notebook with a loud noise, and shoved it, along with her other materials, inside her bag.

“Oh, look at the time! I should probably go.” Marinette announced, while she stood up and dashed to the door, feeling panic run through her veins. What was she thinking, doodling this in class? “My parents must be waiting for me! Bye, Adrien!”

“Marinette?”

She bit back all the curses that rose through her throat, for she couldn’t resist the way her name poured like honey from his mouth — that boy made her weak —, but, instead, she walked away from the close escape she had managed to reach, to look at the soft frown on his gorgeous face. “Yes?” She asked, trying to sound as nonchalantly as she could, at the same time he held a quizzical look on his face.

“We’re having lunch at Nino’s today. Have you forgotten?”

Oh.

Right.

Nino had invited her, Alya and Adrien over.

Marinette repressed the overwhelming need she felt to slap herself and forced an artificial smile into her lips. “Of course I didn’t!” She began, searching for the first excuse that would pop into her mind. “I… I was just checking if you remembered! You did! Ha-ha!”

“Shall we, then?” Being the gentleman that he was, Adrien didn’t comment on her behaviour, but grinned at her, while he ruffled his hair, before pointing at the exit, in a request for her to take the lead, which she promptly took, after a fair amount of nodding from her part.

This is a disaster her heart knew, when she walked all the way from their classroom to the front of the school with Adrien — thankfully, brilliant as he was, he filled the silence left by Marinette’s absence in their conversation while excitingly talking about this new game he had bought, and she could get away from it by excessively nodding.

This is a complete disaster her eyes screamed as she met Alya and Nino at the end of the stairs and she basically grabbed her best friend’s arm before she could choose to walk with her boyfriend, so Marinette would have at least a little bit of time to recover herself from her embarrassment.

This is totally, utterly disastrous, she was sure as Adrien, whom, for some ungodly unknown reason, had decided to sit right in front of her during their meal, kept staring her, every, now and again with that same gaze that did things to her back at school — things she wasn’t used to him making her feel!, which spoke volumes since she had been infatuated with him for a long time, now.

It would be an euphemism to say that Marinette was freaking out.

What if Adrien thought she was a Chat Noir fangirl? She would never hear the end of it, if Chat himself happened to hear about it. It would be so embarrassing, especially considering she was Ladybug! Or worse! What if he thought she had a crush on Chat? Then he would never know she actually fancied him! How were they going to buy a house together and adopt a dog, a cat and a hamster if he didn't know? Oh my God, what about the kids?! And why the hell was he still looking at her like that, but now almost holding back a grin? Adrien didn’t grin like that to her! Oh my God, what if he thought she was Ladybug? Of course, only Ladybug would know something so personal about Chat Noir to put it on paper like she had; only Ladybug would have looked at her kitty close enough to capture the extent of his sorrow; only Ladybug could have drawn that! She was doomed, completely and utterly doomed.

He knew. She had ruined it all and given herself out. He was only waiting for the perfect time to confront her on it.

And he would think Ladybug fancied Chat Noir, above all!

This was a disaster!

“What?” Alya’s voice interrupted her track of thought, as she turned right to see her friend staring back at her, with a frown.

“What?!” With a confused expression of her own, Marinette stared back, waiting for someone to explain to her what was going on.

“What’s a disaster?”

Oh, no, did she say that out loud? How fucking much had she said? She could feel her face reach an yet unknown shade of red as she realised all three of her friends were gazing at her, expectantly.

“Oh, n-nothing! Don't mind me”, she tried to dismiss their questions and worried complexions with a wave of her hand, “I was just thinking out loud, that’s all!”

“Is everything alright, Marinette?” Adrien bloody Agreste just had to look at her with his bewitching emerald eyes, while all his concern for her sanity cascaded through his voice — how ironic was it that he was the one driving her mad?

“Sure isn’t! I mean, sure is!”

She wanted to die.

Maybe she could make a go for the window and off herself before anyone could stop her, she guessed. She was quite fast.

“Okay…” Alya, being the darling that she was, took the attention away from Marinette as she changed subjects, after giving her a pointed look that demanded an explanation later. She breathed in relief — when had she stopped breathing? “Have you guys heard? Ladybug and Chat Noir were spotted together before dawn.”

Oh, she started breathing too soon, she realized, as Alya showed them the pictures of the duo, which were sent to her on the Ladyblog.

Marinette loved being Ladybug, loved the people of her city — that seemed to love her just as much —, but sometimes it was too fucking much. They weren’t fighting an akuma at that night, they weren’t giving an interview, nor were asked to take a picture. She and Chat Noir weren’t playing superheroes, they were just two people (who were public figures that happened to have superpowers) having a very personal moment, a moment that felt stolen, as she watched her friend’s finger touch the screen to reveal even more photos. It was theirs, and nobody had the right to take it from them and share it to the world. She felt irritated and sad for Chat, for it was his moment of vulnerability, and having it exposed for all of Paris to see and speculate was just cruel.

“Chat Noir looks sad, doesn’t he? I wonder what happened.” Alya pondered, sliding through the screen.

“Poor dude. I hope he’s alright”

“Alya, you should take the photos down.” Marinette chastised, throwing a pointed look at her friend, who held an expression that was a mixture of both confusion and discontent.

“What? Why?”

“How do you think Chat Noir will feel when he sees those?” She stressed; her hands gesticulating throughout her sentence, before she folded her arms on her chest, whilst arching her eyebrows, scoldingly. “It’s not right. I’m sure he doesn’t want all Paris prying into his problems.”

“But... I should inform people on our heroes.” The redheaded insisted, even though she didn’t sound as convicted on her argument as she usually was. “Maybe we can help him, somehow.”

“If you want to help him, delete the photos and then make a post saying you're doing it in respect for him — as everybody should.”

Alya sighed guilty and gazed back at her mobile, “You’re right. I’ll do it.” She promised, as she started tapping on the screen.

If Chat Noir wouldn’t allow Ladybug to help him, then Marinette would. She would do anything for her kitty, and if acting backstage was, for now, all she could work with, she’d do as such.

She turned back on her seat, reaching for her orange juice glass that laid on the table, only to accidentally meet Adrien’s piercing gaze. Something shone on his eyes, in a strangely familiar way. It was… wonder.

chapter 3: dancing with our hands tied

#so chapter 2 is out #invisible strings #mari writes miraculous #mari writes something #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #adrienette #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #chat noir #ladynoir #ml #mlb #love square #ml love square

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anthrobrat · 3 years

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The Great Chocolate Heist of 1945

Merry Christmas!! Hello @papersergeant-pencilsoldier it is I, your Secret Santa!! I am so excited I got to write a little 2nd Platoon BROT4 The Last Patrol extra scene for you. The story is a little weird (and not christmassy at all, sorry) but I do hope you like the friendship and hilarity of these boys!!

TLP BROT4, Rated G, 1500 words

“No patrol tonight, moving off the line tomorrow. Chuck am I dreamin?” Liebgott yells across the room as their leaders exit the room, followed quickly by Web and Jones.

“If you are, we all are.” They all shook hands and clapped each other on the shoulder.

The rapid mood change from anxious and angry to relieved and relaxed was palpable as everyone milled about, congratulating each other on their luck that day, and making plans for finally moving off the line. They all knew better than to get their hopes up, but it was difficult not to with the announcement Major Winters had just made.

Chuck had smiled for the first time since November, and everyone was caught in the good mood, not wanting to ruin it by mentioning that Winters had told them they were moving off the line twice since Foy and neither had panned out. But the Germans were very close to throwing in the towel at that point, so maybe this would be the last time they’d have to worry about falling artillery or snipers.

“So, are they gonna make us look like we’re preparing for this again tonight, or does this mean we get the afternoon off?” Babe asked as he pushed his chair back and cupped his hands around his metal tin of coffee, placing first one then the other leg onto the table.

“Lieb.” McClung walked up from his spot crouched against the wall across the room. “You should ask Web when he gets back. He left after them, I’m sure he’s got a better idea than us. Not like we’ve ever faked a patrol before.” McClung’s deadpan as he sat down at the table made them all laugh.

“You think Winters has either? He’s straighter than an arrow,” Lieb answered, and then snarled as an aside: “Although maybe Dog and Fox have been running fake fucking patrols this whole time. It would certainly explain a lot.”

As more guys filtered out of the basement to find other ways to entertain themselves, the room ended up with just the four of them at the table. Babe, Liebgott, McClung, and Chuck drinking coffee and smoking the Lucky Strikes that Luz had pilfered from somewhere or other.

“Guys, I have an idea,” Babe declared between his third and fourth smoke.

“Ah fuck, Babe, not again.” Chuck tipped his chair back and looked toward the ceiling. Lieb laughed, knowing exactly what disaster Chuck was thinking about.

“Nah, this is a good one,” Babe said, putting his coffee down and lacing his hands behind his head, trying to look confident. “Lieb, you think there’s more Hersheys bars in the stash you pilfered from yesterday?”

“I don’t see why there wouldn’t be, unless fucking Nixon ate them all.” Liebgott didn’t bother denying his transgressions. Anyone with eyes would have seen him the day before enjoying the spoils.

“So here’s what I’m thinkin’. We plan our own patrol tonight.” Babe raised his eyebrows like he had said something so brilliant that the rest of them should bow down or something. He picked up his cup and finished off his coffee, twirling the empty tin mug in the air.

“What are you, Billy the fucking Kid?” Chuck said, making Liebgott laugh while Babe scowled at them both.

McClung chimed back in. “Billy the Kid, huh? I see it, saying you want to sneak into CP to steal fucking chocolate. Just waltz right in?”

“You think it can’t be done?” Babe fired back, cigarette bobbing as he spoke, fingers twisting the mug around like he couldn’t sit still.

“I mean, the man’s got a point, McClung. It’s barely illegal, and we deserve it. Plus, ain’t no sign of Sobel with his ‘army property’ bullshit. I’m in.” Liebgott opened his jacket then, and pulled out a piece of paper with writing on one side. He unfolded it so the blank side was facing up and began to draw a sketch of the CP, with a big X where the chocolate had last been spotted.

“I guess we’re really doing this then,” Chuck sighed, before he let the front legs of his chair touch the ground again and leaned in to look at their amateur blueprints. He pulled the pencil out of Liebgott’s hand, marking up the map and motioning with his middle finger as he explained the plan they’d need to pull this off. “Here’s our perimeter. Babe you’ll be lookout, McClung you’re lead scout. Once you clear the rooms off the foyer, Liebgott and I will come through and--”

“Yea yea, we’ll check the last places chocolate was spotted, and if there even is any left we’ll grab as many as we can carry. I know my job,” Liebgott took the pencil back and tucked it into his ear before lighting another cigarette.

McClung took one more look at the map before folding it up and handing it back to Liebgott.

“So we meet outside OP2 at 2300 hours,” Babe stage whispered, “and if the coast is clear, the heist is on.”

“Babe, we’re stealing chocolate, can you calm down?”

“Chocolate or no fuckin chocolate, Lieb, it’s still a heist. What should we call it? A fucking patrol?” McClung put his hand out to Babe’s chest to calm him down, because who gets worked up over chocolate? On the other hand, it felt like they really didn’t have much else to live for at this stage of the game.

“Relax, Babe, we’re in, alright?”

“Yeah yeah, alright, Chuck. You better be there tonight. I’m counting on your leadership.” Babe winked and laughed, diffusing the sudden tension.

“Heard Lip’s getting his battlefield commission before we get back to base. You think they’ll have him transferred?” Lieb asked no one in particular as they all got up from the table and made their way back out to the street.

“Nah, I bet Winters’ll figure out some way to keep him with us at least until we cross the river,�� Chuck said over his shoulder as they made their way back to their billets.

H-hour rolled around quicker than anyone had expected, with Babe the last to arrive from his outpost duty at 23:05.

“Sorry I’m late, I had to ditch Shifty. He got so suspicious I thought I’d have to invite him along.”

“It’s okay,” McClung nodded at him, “I already promised him I’d get him a bar.”

“You told fucking Shifty?” Liebgott yelled toward the sky. “Who else knows? You guys are the worst.”

“First off,” Babe scoffed, “did any of us actually keep our mouths shut?”

Chuck laughed and kicked his boot against the ground, and Liebgott gave them all an angry stare. Footsteps along the road made everyone duck into the adjoining alley.

When the footsteps had moved on, it was time to put their plan into action. Except no one moved.

“We sure it’s in there?” Babe asked, looking up at the darkened windows on the first floor.

“Fucking positive, Babe. Unless Shifty beat us to it, since people can’t keep their fucking traps shut.” McClung shrugged at Liebgott’s jab in the darkness, and Lieb pulled his map out once more and shined the flashlight on it. “Ok, if we go in this back door it’ll be about 50 yards in on the left.”

“I’d say it’s more like 75,” Chuck chimed in, trying and failing to keep the humor out of his voice.

“I just wanted a fucking bar of chocolate,” Babe interjected. “Lieb didn’t share any of his, and I promised Gene. I owe him a chocolate bar.”

“You told—“ Liebgott began to yell before he reined himself in, spun around, leveled a glare. “You told the Doc?”

Babe was about to reply when Chuck stepped between them.

“Where the fuck did McClung go?”

“He was just here, I don’t fucking know. You didn’t see him?” Lieb asked.

“Well I certainly didn’t see him, I was looking at your map.”

Just as their voices began to raise, the door banged open and out stepped their missing brother in arms.

“It seemed like that argument might take a while, so I went ahead and grabbed the chocolate.” McClung handed two bars each to his open mouthed comrades, who pocketed them silently.

“Well,” Babe stuttered at last, “I suppose that was a pretty successful heist.”

“No thanks to you.” Liebgott punched him to emphasize his point.

“Or you,” McClung said around a mouthful of chocolate. “Anyway I gotta go bring this to Shifty, I’ll see you fellas later.”

At that, McClung meandered off back down the alley, contraband chocolate in hand. Babe scratched his head, shrugged his shoulders, and ran to catch up. Chuck and Joe followed quickly behind, still laughing at the confusion on Babe’s face.

“You think Gene will like my present? It’s not quite the Belgian chocolate that he gave me, but I still wanted to give him something.”

“Babe. It’s chocolate. He’ll like it.” Liebgott slugged him in the shoulder. “But you’re a sucker for giving up your second bar of chocolate.”

“Hey Chuck! You hear that! He says I’m a sucker! We’ll see who’s the sucker when I get stitched up before him.”

They all rolled their eyes, but Babe knew he was right. He also knew every one of them was going to end up splitting their chocolate with someone. He was just smart because he picked the medic.

#hbo war secret santa #hbo war secret santa 2020 #preseennttsss #merry christmas lovey #band of brothers fic #my fic #brotp #the last patrol #joseph liebgott #chuck grant #babe heffron #Earl McClung #my emotional support brot4

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wreckofawriter · 5 years

Text

Focus

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw!reader

Warnings: Slight swearing, bullying

Word count: 4,728 (this is the longest one I've ever written)

Request: Hey do you think you could do a Draco imagine? I was thinking with a ravenclaw reader who’s actually shy and clumsy.

A/n: Sorry this came out later than I anticipated, its regents week for me and I was crushed by exams. I hope to have part one of my Draco series out over the weekend. Hope you guys like this ridiculously long one!

“Ms. y/l/n” You heard an all too familiar voice say.

“Yes Professor?” You asked turning around swiftly to face the raven haired teacher.

“What happened with your potion, it was a complete disaster?” The teacher asked.

You flushed, it was no secret you weren't exactly great at positions, you were too clumsy to measure anything out, you managed to cut your finger and you always messes up the order of ingredients.

“I'm so sorry professor i'm just not very good at positions. I have been studying I swear, it just..” Your voice trailed off. “I'm sorry professor.” You mumbled looking down.

“I want you prepared for the test next Wednesday, you should be able to manage that?” He asked eyebrows raised.

“Of course professor.” You mumbled still quite flush from the whole conversation. You turned to leave walking back towards your common room. About thirty seconds later you saw the last person you wanted to. Mckenzie Clarkson. She was a fellow housemate who unfortunately was extremely popular, pretty, nimble footed and of course, smart. She was basically everything you weren't, in your mind.

“God your pathetic.” The brunett girl laughed, her stunning green eyes narrowing. “You have lost, what was it? 30 points for us today.” The girls behind her giggled whispering things to each other. “You shouldnt even be in Ravenclaw. Your far to stupid. You cant even get into the common room without help, you trip over your own feet and you are practically failing all your classes.” She smirked clearly feeling very good about herself, as you willed yourself not to cry. You hated crying, so you just glared up at her anger rushing through you like a wave, but you kept it down, what could you possibly say to her?

“Can you just let me go?” You asked voice weak.

“I don't know can we?” The hallway erupted in laughter.

“Just let me leave.” You said voice a bit stronger now as your anger grew.

“Fine.” She smirked as she moved out of the way. You quickly began to walk through the group of girls, the embarrassment was suffocating.

Just as you were about to break free of the group, a girl stuck he leg out sending you sprawling to the ground. Your hands, full of books that scattered as you attempted to get your arms in front of you, it was a failure and you landed on your elbow directly followed by you face. You groaned in pain as you felt blood begin to seep from your nose.

“Oops.” The girl giggled before they all turned to leave laughing and joking.

You lay there for a few seconds squeezing your eyes shut, begging the tears to retreat. You eventually pushed yourself up so you were sitting. You were surrounded by books and papers, you had blood rushing down your face dripping onto you shirt and you had had enough. You simply pulled yourself to the side of the hallway drawing your knees to you cest and began to cry. You knew this wouldn't stop. You were far too shy to say anything and even if you weren't the girls were right anyway. Why were you in Ravenclaw when it took you a good twenty minutes just to figure out the password to your own common room?

Just then your heard voices. You quickly moved grabbing your books and sprinting out of the hallway before anyone could see you. You sprinted the whole way back to the tower. You were greeted by the raven statue you had grown to hate. You groaned loudly.

The statue spoke, “How is it possible for you to stand behind your father while he is standing behind you?” it asked, making you groan again.

“Can you please just let me in, im covered in blood.” You grumbled knowing that it wouldn’t answer. You tried to think. How can I stand behind something that is behind me? You racked your brain for an awnser but it seemed impossible. You couldnt help it you began to cry again. Frustration, embarrassment and sadness filled you as tears streaked you cheek. Why were you put in Ravenclaw? What could that stupid, good for nothing, hat possibly seen in you that made him shout “Ravenclaw” like a farmer yelling for his next sheep to slaughter.

You then heard footsteps beside you. You turned to see Cho Chang. She was in the year above you and was everything a Ravenclaw should have been, pretty, athletic, and of course wicked smart. You wanted to hate her for being so perfect but you couldn't.

“Hey,” She said softly, “I heard what Mckenzie did. That's messed up.” She attempted to sooth you.

“It doesn't matter.” You attempted to smile but it was more of a tight lipped grimace.

“She’s wrong you know.” Cho smiled.

You gave a half hearted laugh, “What could possibly make me a Ravenclaw?”

“So much y/n,” she said, “You are crazy good at Wizards Chess for one.”

“That’s just a stupid game.” You grumbled.

“No, it takes strategy and I've never seen a single person beat you.” She pointed out.

You blushed not used to getting praised.

“Also i've seen your artwork, its beautiful, absolutely stunning.” She smiled making you blush more.

“Thanks.” you mumbled.

“Look don't let one girl get you down.” She advised before asking the statute for the riddle. It answered and she stood there thinking for a second.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Your standing back to back.”

The statue spun open as you hit your forehead onto you stack of books making you stumble, barley catching yourself before you fell. You cursed yourself before ascending the stairs to your room. You had had enough humiliation for today.

Draco rolled his eyes as Zambini told another terrible joke beside him, “What do you call a red head with no brains?’

“I don't know, you with red hair?” Draco mocked.

“Close but no.” the other boy snickered, “A weasley!” He erupted into laughter as they rounded the corner, heading to the common room.

As they continued talking Draco felt something thump against his foot. He looked down to see a leather bound book which he had kicked a few feet in front of him. The platinum blonde raised his eyebrows before bending down to pick it up.

“What the..” Balises voice trailed off.

Draco looked up to see a small puddle of blood at the end of the quoridor.

“Some idiot probably got hurt in potions or something.” Draco scoffed, though he was a bit confused. They continued walking being careful to avoid the blood. Draco's mind was quickly brought back to the book and he opened it to see what it was. What he saw stunned him.

They were sketches. Not crappy sketches that was done by some kid, but damn good sketches. Most of them looked like they were for herbology. There were various plants with notes about them scribbled in messy handwriting in the margins, but every few pages there was something different. On the fifth page there was a drawing of a creature he didn't recognize. It was a black horse-like creature with big leathery looking wings. He wondered what it was. They had now arrived at the common room and Draco went directly to a couch sitting down on the black leather, continuing through the book. On the eleventh page there was a drawing of a broom stick. It was read Nimbus 2000 at the handel. There were various other sketches of random objects littered throughout the pages of plants and each was extremely realistic. His thoughts were interrupted by Daphne and Pansy.

“Did you draw those Malfoy?” Daphne asked plucking the book out of his hand ignoring his protests.

“No, could I have it back?” He asked glaring at the girl.

Before she could respond Perkison interrupted, “Who’s is it Dracy?”

“Don't call me Dracy” the boy groweld, “and I haven't the slightest idea.”

“Oh, how did you get it?” Daphne asked.

“I just found it, now give it back.” He stood up snatching the book up before retreating upstairs.

“Who pissed in his cheerios?” Pansy grumbled plopping onto the couch.

The next day you had herbology first period, you quite liked herbology you were good at it too. You loved how you could just sketch after you finished the drawing of the plants and of course you love your grade in the class. It made you feel less like a loser. Just a little less. When you plopped yourself into a seat next to a Ravenclaw boy named Casey. He was always very nice and often complimented you drawings. You would be lying if you said you didn't like him a little.

After sitting down and greeting the boy you opened your bag to look for your sketchbook. It was nowhere to be found. What the heck? You thought as you searched through your bag with no luck. Then it struck you. You must have left it in the dungous yesterday. You cursed yourself quietly.

“You okay?” Casey asked beside you.

“Yeah I just lost my book,” You smiled at him blushing a bit.

“Oh. I could help you look for it later if you want.” He offered.

“O-oh I wouldn't want to bother you.” you blushed

“It's no bother, I swear i want to help.” He smiled flashing a pearly set of straight teeth.

“Ok, s-sounds good.” You stammered, you felt your face grow impossibly warmer.

The lesson continues and you talked occasionally to Casey, you did your sketch on a piece of lined paper, you would transfer them when you found your notebook. After Herbologioy you and Casey headed down to the dungeons to look for your book. You had never really hung out with him out of class and it was nice. You were fighting a blush the whole time, you weren’t really one who interacted with attractive boys out of class.

Draco began to make his way down to potions, he was still working through the drawings, there were many creatures he had never heard of before. It was odd, how had he never seen so many of these before? He was halfway through the dungeons when he heard giggling. It wasn't Pansy’s shriek, it was a soft quiet sound that made him think of the patter of rain on dewy grass. He turned the corner to see two figures in blue robes. One was a tall boy with dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes. Next to him was a y/h girl with y/h/l y/h/c hair that shone in the candle light. Her eyes were a stunning y/e/c that shared a soft yet sharp gaze with the world. He was taken aback. How had he never seen this girl before? They both looked at Draco expecting him to speak but he didn't, he simply kept walking brushing past the two, tucking the leather bound book back into his robes.

As he walked away, he heard the boy mutter something to the girl, causing her to gasp and laugh,

“Casey!” she scolded him

“Oh come on y/n that was funny.” He teased back and Draco almost gasped in surprise. That was y/n? y/n y/l/n? No way. You were in his potions class and you never even spoke up, you were constantly messing up positions too. How was that girl the same one whose name he had grown deaf to Snape yelling? I didn't seem possible.

“Shot, I have to get to positions.” you told Casey glancing at your watch. He said goodbye as you walked quickly to your worst class. You were actually unusually excited, Luna one of your best friends had offered to help you out because you had the class together and she was quite good at potions. You entered the classroom quickly and found Lun, sitting next to the girl. As you waited for class to start you chatted about the different potions and what might be on the test.

“Wait for the dragons egg you have to turn it to powder first right?” you asked to see your friends gaze elss where.

“Dracos staring at you.” She said simply as if she hadn't just said an impossible sentence.

“What?” you asked turning around to meet a pair of silver eyes already on you. They quickly dodged away making you blush tremendously. “I saw him in the hallway eairler, and Casey made a stupid joke about him, hes probally plotting my death.” You sighed reality crashing on to you.

“I don't think so.” Luna said in her usual dreamy tone.

“What else would he be doing?” You murmured returning to your notes.

Before Luna could answer Snape entered the room and you snapped your eyes to the front of the class.

“It has come to my attention that many of you are getting nothing done in this class.” He stated harshly. You cringed this was not going to end well. “And because of that fact I have made a new seating chart,” You groaned, just when you were getting excited about positions.

“Listen for your name and your partner,” He continued. “Parkinson, Belby. Goldstein, Crabbe. Greengrass, Lovegood.” You glanced at your friend who was as usual, smiling. You are happy for her as well, there were much worse partners to be had. “Corner, Zambini. Boot, Blustrode. Y/l/n, Malfoy.” The rest of the names went out of the window when you heard your partner. This was not going to be good, not good at all.

When Draco heard your name called, then quickly followed by his he felt like he was going to throw up. And it wasn't because he knew you were probably going to botch whatever potion they made, it was because he wasn't sure if he could focus around you. He blushed madly and tried to think about something else. It's just a pretty girl you bloody idiot. He scolded himself. You just met her today, he reminded himself Well just realized she existed today. He was shaken out of his thoughts by Snape's voice.

“If you don't like your partner, too bad. Move together please.” Draco glanced over at y/n who was already packing up, Zambini moved from his seat apologizing to Draco for his partner and moved toward the back where Micheal was seated.

He then saw you make your way over to him your cheeks a bit red, the same way they were when you were talking to that Casey boy in the hallway. He grimaced, how was he jealous of someone he had never spoken a word to? He then decided he would ignore every good quality you had and focus on the bad ones. That way it would be easier to pretend to hate you right?

The second you sat down his plan failed. You smelt like vanilla and roses. He wanted to lean closer to you and inhale your addicting scent forever, but instead he moved over or so he couldn't breathe in your intoxicating fumes.

“Hi, i’m y/n.” You said sweetly sticking your hand out.

“I know who you are.” Draco responded ignoring your hand and continuing to stare at the board, slouching in his seat.

“Oh ok.” You murmured. He saw a small frown take over your soft pink lips and he felt angry for being its cause.

Snape explained that you were to make a Confusing Concoction potion and told you you had till the end of class. The potion wasn't too complicated. You thought you might be able to get through this one.

“I'll get the water you can work on the feathers.” Draco drawled trying not to get to close to you as he stood. You pretend not to notice.

“Ok.” you nodded. You grabbed the feathers and began to separate the barbs from them. Not but two feathers in you yelped with pain as a barb pierced your thumb. You yanked it out hissing in pain as you saw blood drips from the wound. Draco who was now back and heating the water grimaced at the sound of your pain but refused to show that he cared.

He sighed loudly, “Look you go clean up and I will finish the feathers.”

“Thank you.” you whimpered walking towards a sink face red as the blood dripping from your hand.

Draco let out a breath he didn't know he was holding after you walked past. He then sat down and began to work on the feathers. His fingers moved easily to separate the barbs from the stalk and he couldn't help but wonder how you had possible stuck yourself with one so quickly. He then heard a thump and an apology and looked up to see you stumbling back to your seat face a brilliant red as Millicent and Boot glared after you. He snickered a bit turning back to the feathers.

Once you had most of the ingredients in you had to wait for 30 minutes for it to boil so Draco sat down and pulled out the book of drawings he had found.

He was flipping through the pages again when he heard a gasp beside him. He looked up eyebrows raised.

“Where did you find that?” You asked pointing at the book.

“In the hallway.” He smirked, “Why do you care anyway?”

“Because it's mine.” You whispered causing his cheeks to flush.

“This is yours?” He asked surprise sewn into his voice.

“Yes.” you nodded, “I lost it when..” your voice trailed off face growing red, “after potions.” you finished voice quiet.

“You sure this is yours?” It came out harsher than Draco had intended but what could he do about it now?

“Yes.” you breathed out face growing warmer. “It does have drawings in it, doesn't it?”

“Well yeah but they are like, really good.” Only after he said it did he realise how it sounded. He instantly was filled with guilt as your face flashed with sadness and anger.

“Yeah, well, they’re mine.” You grumbled voice quiet.

“Here.” He handed the book to you, your hands brushed before you snatched the book away and he felt like he was going to burst at the feeling of your skin against his.

Just then the timer on your position went off and the two of you continued to work.

That's how it went for two weeks. You and Draco would share very few words as you worked together. Your grade did improve, but you were still quite prone to accidents and Draco rolled his eyes everytime. You went from being sad he didn't like you to being mad. He was always so rude. He would avoid speaking to you, looking at you, hell he avoided you altogether, his seat was always poised at the other end of the desk as if you were some sort of plague. All of this made you angry and frustrated. What have you done to make you so repulsive? You knew you weren't the best at potions but you had only messes up three the whole time and you were improving. You had never been rude to the boy even once, how come he hated you so much?

“I just don't get it.” You pouted turning to Casey who was walking you down to potions.

“It's not your fault y/n, he's like that with everyone.” He explained, “He's just a dick, not much you can do about it.”

“But maybe if I was better at potions the-” you were interrupted by Casey.

“Y/n its not your fault, you are amazing and sweet and kind, it's just him okay? Don't let him make you doubt yourself.”

You blushed furiously at his words, “Thanks Case.”

“Plus if he's really pissing you off just blow a potion up in his face.” he jeered.

You laughed loudly, “He'd probably kill me with his icy glare.” you teased.

“He is always glaring at you.” Casey smiled.

“Thanks for walking me.” You said.

“Of course, i’ll see you around y/n.” He beamed.

“See ya.” You said before entering the classroom. You were met with Draco's frozen glare.

“Hello Malfoy.” You greeted.

“Y/l/n” he responded his voice vacant of any emotion.

You sat down and glanced at the board to see what position you were working on. You then looked at Draco who was already looking at you making you blush.

“I'll get the water.” You said promptly before standing up and snatching a cauldron. Only when you did this you left foot got caught behind your right and you plummeted to the ground. You dropped the cauldron with a clang and you hit the ground. You instantly heard laughter erupted throughout the room and you felt tears well up in your eyes. You then heard a snicker and you didn't have to see his face to know it was Draco. You blinked furiously face a deep shade of crimson. You then pushed yourself off the ground, lifted the cauldron from a few feet away and turned to face the slytherin boy. Your shyness suddenly disappearing in your rage and embarrassment when you saw the everlasting smirk perched on his lips. You felt two tears cascade down your red cheeks as you thrust the cauldron into his hands.

“Screw you Malfoy.” your voice trembled through gritted teeth. You then quickly left the classroom, laughter disappearing behind you. You made it maybe two cordors from the classroom when you saw Mckenzie. You instantly turned to run but were cut off by a few other girls already behind you.

“God y/n, such a clutz.” She snickered. “I think you belong in a physical therapy building not a wizarding school.”

You only whimpered feeling helpless and small.

“Boo-hoo poor, poor, y/n all alone.” She rubbed her eyes with her fists.”You do realize that Casey only hangs out with you because of a dare right?”

Your eyes widened in confusion.

“I made a dare that he couldn't get you to go out with him in a month and here we are, only two weeks in and you are practically drooling over him.”

You felt a sob leave your mouth. You wanted to say it wasn’t true but you knew it was. It sure as hell wasn’t a coincidence he asked to help you find your book the exact day she said she struck the deal with him. You felt angry. Sad. But most of all embarassed. You were always so embarrassed. Why where you always so fucking embarassed?!

“Guess I'll have to go out with him now that I told you about the bet” She smirked picking at her long blue nails.

“Of course.” You muttered tears falling of your chin.

“What's that?” Mckenzie smirked.

“Of course he would want to go out with you.” You began to sob and you saw Mckenzie’s smirk widen and your anger out did you.

“Of course, some douchebag like him would want to date a slutty bitch like you.” Anger dripped like poison from your voice. All of the laughter around you stopped as you felt yourself smile. You looked up through your tears to see Mkenzies mouth wide open in shock, her eyes wide in her sockets.

Anger took over her features and she pulled her wand from her robes with a shriek. “Stupify!” she shouted and you were sent sprawling backward. Your head hit the stone wall and black dots danced in your vision. You groaned closing your eyes but they popped back open when you heard another voice.

“Back off!” it yelled anger knit into its frame. You turned to see Draco heading strait at the girls. He whipped his wand once and suddenly Meckenzi flew into the air. She then dangled there like an invisible rope was tied to her ankle.

She shrieked for the girls below her to help but they just turned and ran fearful of the boy heading toward them. After the other girls disappeared Draco flicked his wand again and Mckenzie fell to the ground and began to cry.

“Get out of here before I do more than hex you.” You heard him growl.

The girl instantly stood up sobbing as she stumbled away. Draco's eyes softened when they landed on you.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he rushed over to you.

“What do you care Malfoy?” you mumbled attempting to get up only to stumble over your own feet and plummet to the ground, well you would have hit the ground if it wasn't for a pair of strong arms wrapping around you. You looked up at the blonde, his grey eyes were set on your lips and felt your heartbeat speed up to extremely high. Draco's face was now quite red as he helped you back to your feet.

“Why do you hate me?” the question rose from your lips before you could stop it. You flushed immediately after it left your mouth. Draco looked taken aback by the question.

“I don't hate you.” he stated.

“Don't lie to me. You avoid looking at me, you don't speak to me, hell you sit as far away from me as possible.” You paused looking at the boy, “I just want to know why.”

He laughed he actually laughed. What could possibly be funny right now? Was this all another joke? Did he really find your misery that funny. You flushed madly turning to leave.

“No wait love, don't leave.” Draco begged his laughter stopping abruptly.

You felt heat rush to your face at the nickname and turned around looking at the ground. Your gaze was turned upward when you felt a finger slowly lift your face upward. You had never blushed so much in your entire life.

“I don't hate you y/n. I would never hate you.” He smiled, not his usual smirk but a genuine smile and it made you go weak at the knees. “I don't think I could ever hate you.”

“Then why do you act like you do?” you asked, “Why do you avoid me? Why do you never talk to me, never look at me?”

He sighed, “I avoid you because whenever I get near you, I smell you. And it drives me crazy.” His hand caressed your cheek bone and you were pretty sure you face was on fire. “Your scent is beyond intoxicating. When I talk to you I lose track of everything else and I can only hear your voice echoing in my head.” He whispered, his minty breath danced across your face making you shudder. “And when I look at you, it's like the world disappears and it's only you standing there. Everytime I look at you I have to battle myself not to lean in and taste your lips.”

You stared at him. You couldn't breath, your It had been replaced with butterflies that were now fluting inside you madly. You were pretty sure this is what death felt like. But then something clicked inside you and your realized this wasn't death it was love.

“When it comes to you, I can focus on nothing else.” Dracos lips were so close you could feel them brush yours and you couldn't take it anymore. You grabbed the back of his head and smashed his lips onto yours.

You had never felt anything like it before, his lips danced on yours with grace you couldn't even begin to fathom. You felt his tongue slid across your lips and your eyes widened in surprise. You then shut them again opening your mouth a slight bit. You ran your hand threw his hair as he explored your mouth with his tongue pushing you up against the wall softly. You didn't want to break the kiss but you felt your lungs burn begging for air and you drew away from him.

You were both panting when you pulled apart. Your face was a bright red, your lips swollen, and hair disheveled but to Draco, you had never looked more beautiful.

“Merlin,” he gasped out, “I'm never going to focus again when I know you kiss like that.”

You flashed a brilliant red and giggled, Draco then decided he couldn't stop himself anymore, he pressed his lips against yours once again.

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crowbarstodd · 5 years

Text

Course Of Nature (6)

TW: Brief mention of suicidal intent. I’ll mark the passage with two asterisks (**) before it starts and two when it ends. It’s really short and the rest of the scene will still make sense without it. Chapter Summary: Growth! Ladybug and Robin might not be at odds anymore, and some weird guy with a white streak in his hair helps Mari out. Word Count: 5,263 (a chonky boi) Rating: G except there’s one T scene so uh. PG???? Pairing: DAAAAAMINETTE Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven The thing about Paris being so dark, even at night, was that it was hard for Marinette to fear the things that went ‘bump’ in the night as a child because she was usually able to identify the source of the sound. That absence of terror followed her through adolescence and was probably the reason she felt so comfortable sitting on her balcony rail at two in the morning, when the night sky an inky, unending expanse, and the world was asleep. Everything that couldn’t be explained away by childhood pluckiness could be attributed to being granted magic via miraculous, and there lay the problem.

The park plan was weak. Now that she was divorced from the situation, she could clearly see that her plan consisted of blunder after blunder, and it was only luck that helped her capture the Akuma. Luck, and Andrena’s fast paralysis.

Robin had told her in one of their earliest patrols that she relied too much on her miraculous. Of course it was yelled in the heat of an argument, but he probably meant it, and he was probably right. She remembered clearly enough what he said; that she didn’t know danger because she had yet to truly experience it.

At the time, Marinette was too consumed by hurt pride to properly consider what he’d meant. Though she couldn’t bring herself to agree with him, she couldn’t help but think that there was merit to his criticism.

Marinette picked the park because it was a wide space, easy to clear of innocents, and easy to see in. She’d failed to consider that the visibility would likely give advantage to their long-ranged opponent, and that the lack of cover could increase the fatality of each attack that the villain sent.

She’d been overconfident, and until Robin and Andrena arrived, she had barely half an idea on how to beat the villain. But she hadn’t been scared, or at least not scared enough to think harder or work better. She hadn’t even stopped to check on Chat during or after his time as a cactus, because without realising it, she’d already accepted that it was something that could be reversed with a ‘Lucky Charm.’

In a way, it might have been better to just see the truth in that and not prod any further, but Marinette was an over-thinker through and through. Now that she’d come to this realisation she couldn’t help but wonder if she was being complacent with her duties. What if one day she came across a problem that couldn’t be solved with a chant of a charm. What would — what could she do then.

Marinette brushed a hand through her hair, closing her eyes as a cool breeze swept past her, bringing with it, an end to her introspection, at least for now. She tapped clean nails on the railing, bopping her head to the new rhythm, humming under her breath.

She should have seen him coming.

**“Don’t!”

She was pushed, not too harshly, back behind her white balcony rails, landing reflexively on her feet with bent knees. Perplexed, she looked up, astonished to see her new patrol partner, in all his traffic light glory, perched on her balcony, looking concerned. Concerned for her.

It took a moment to register his shout, but when she did, Marinette could only splutter out a breathless denial. “No! Oh geez, I wasn’t gonna jump, I swear!”**

Robin nodded firmly, but didn’t seem to accept the answer, if his analytical gaze was anything to go by. “Do you want to talk?” His voice was still gruff, but it was missing the harsh quality she’d gotten used to. To be honest she wasn’t exactly sure how to react to him when they weren’t fighting and he was acting so obviously kind.

“N-no, it’s fine. You can go back to what you were doing.”

He let himself into her room, took a seat on her chaise, and beckoned her over with a gloved hand. His thick brows were cocked, as if expectant, and she found very little choice but to oblige, so she settled beside him, offering him a cushion with wooden movements. This was far too strange for her liking.

“You looked deep in thought,” he commented lightly. She caught his eyes wandering, examining her room, and found that she didn’t really mind. It was a lot less ‘Adrien,’ than last year, but her crush had pretty much vanished completely as she learned to treasure him as a good friend. Where Adrien’s face used to be was now occupied by pictures of herself, her friends, her favourite looks and old design sketches she’d made and loved.

They looked nice, she thought, against the pink wallpaper. They looked like home.

“Yeah,” she agreed, unsure of what to say. “I guess I was... Thinking.”

She expected a snort from him, a huff maybe, or any assortment of disproving noise. Of course he knew she was thinking, he’d just commented that she was lost in thought! Instead he hummed like he agreed, and placed a hand on her shoulder, removing it a second later in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting pat.

“My... Colleague, Nightwing suggests exchanging questions might help. If you would like, you may ask me a question and I will do my best to answer truthfully.”

He looked just a little out of his depth, overly tense but clearly eager to do something to help. Marinette found that she liked this side of him, unexpected as it was. “I’d like that,” she replied.

Robin gave the briefest of grins.

“I was wondering... Why did you want to be a hero?”

“I’m a vigilante, I operate outside the law.”

Marinette could have probably helped her responding eye roll, but why bother. “The question’s the same. Why do you help people?”

Robin clicked his tongue, head turning a little to the left, away from her, as he thought. “At first, I believed that Robin was something I had the right to. That the position was important and that I was important because of it... Now... Well now I see that it is both my honour and my duty. Because I know things others do not, and because I can do things that others cannot, it’s the right thing for me to help. In the right way. Batman and Nightwing taught me that.”

Marinette squeezed his shoulder and shot him a small smile. As easy as he was to dislike, there was no denying he had heart. Intention was important to being a hero (which Robin was, despite his claims), and he had good intentions in spades. Truthfully, he was a good hero. Was Ladybug a good hero? Did people think Ladybug was good?

“My turn,” Robin asserted. His face finally turned back to look at her, and in his eyes she saw nothing but blazing honesty. “How are you?”

There were a lot of questions he could’ve asked at that moment. Many more she would have been happy to answer without much thought. But he asked that in particular, and she had a feeling he had been waiting to ask. He’d let her ask first, and her question was hardly easy to answer, but he did it so she could feel comfortable. So he could prove he was good. Did he always work so hard to prove himself?

The least she could do in thanks was to reply honestly. “I’m okay I think. For the most part, anyway. Sometimes... I just get tired.”

“Physical comfort can relieve stress. Would you like a hug?” The ‘Nightwing says’ that prefaced the question was left unsaid, but Marinette heard it loud and clear anyway. Her lips split to a toothy grin, and she couldn’t help but giggle a little at him. He was so stiff, almost robotic sometimes when he spoke, and Marinette thought it was strange he could be so uncomfortable with showing kindness when it was clear that it came so naturally to him.

“I’d really like that, actually.”

This second hug was much more comfortable than the first that surprised her during one of their patrols (technically speaking this was their third hug but there was no way Marinette was counting the disaster of what happened after Robin ditched the meeting), and now that she was prepared for it, Marinette could appreciate it.

The first thing she noticed was that’s the material of his costume felt pretty similar to leather. After that, the warmth of his hold registered, along with the firmness of his grip. His fingers were glued together like he was some sort of mannequin. It was probably a practiced pose, she surmised. It was funny and a little bit saddening that he had to train in something that should be simple and familiar to him. Maybe this hug wasn’t just for her?

He disconnected from her after a count of ten, finally looking satisfied that she was okay. “I’ll be leaving now,” he announced. Quieter, and less confident, he continued. “And... ahem... I care.”

He jumped off her balcony rather dramatically and disappeared into the night. She didn’t bother trying to make out his shape in the shadows, electing instead to shut her door and get some sleep.

Marinette’s head felt heavy as lead when she awoke (earlier than her alarm for once), but her eyes blinked open without too much protest, and her mouth moved to form a smile automatically. The events of last night were still fresh on her mind.

Yesterday she saw a new side of Robin, one she couldn’t have known he was capable of had he not shown her himself. He cared about his job, and he cared about the people. He cared about her.

The weekend was a welcome break from the usual hubbub that was her life, a much-needed peace. Her morning was spent perusing her collection of cloth samples to find the best match for her new summer dress idea. Anything within the cotton family was usually ideal for keeping cool, and Marinette had her eyes set on a square of grey-tinted, light blue chambray. But she hadn’t ever been fond of chambray dresses… Maybe a romper? Decisions, decisions…

She placed the square down with a huff, eyeing it critically beside her newly revised design. The thing about sketching something new was that she’d probably be needing more fabric, and frankly, she really wasn’t up for walking a whole block to get an extra meter. She glanced back at the design and groaned. She could almost feel it stare back, begging to be made. It’d look so much cuter on a person than on the page…

Marinette stomped her feet, just a little irritated with herself, but too overtaken by excitement to feel any sort of real anger. A quick snack, and then she’d go. With luck, she wouldn’t encounter any distractions and she could come back before one o’clock to finish her piece.

Trailing down wooden steps was a challenge with fuzzy socks on, but she didn’t fall once (don’t act too shocked, now), so she was in a relatively good mood as she entered the family bakery. “Hi maman!” Marinate greeted cheerily, giving her mom a swift kiss on the cheek.

“Marinette!” Her mother beamed, “perfect timing! I was just about to call you dear, your new friend is here.”

New friend?

Slowly, she pivoted on her heel. “Ah!” Marinate startled, placing a hand against her chest. She leaned against her mother, heart still pounding from shock.

It was less Damian’s presence that surprised her, and more his watchful eyes glaring straight at hers, unblinking as she saw him for the first time that day.

He was sipping calmly from his cup of tea, sniggering openly into his cup, as his brother (woah Dick Grayson was dreamy when he laughed) turned in his seat her an apologetic smile. “Hey there, Marinette right?”

“Uh… Yeah.”

Dick grinned, leaning on the back of his seat to get a good look at her face. “I was worried when Dami disappeared yesterday, and when I asked him where he went, he gave me a slice of Gâteau Basque, and I knew I had to come try all the other cakes. Your parents are really good bakers, Marinette.”

He had an energy to him that made him feel welcoming, and seeing Damian scowl at the back of Dick’s head struck her as familiar for reasons she wasn’t quite sure about yet. “Thanks! How’d you guys get here without getting caught by Paparazzi? I saw your other brother get hounded by a bunch of cameras like an hour ago on the news.”

Damian smiled, teeth bared like some sort of feral animal. “We used our superior evasive techniques.” Marinette was tempted to take a step back. Damian didn’t seem like the smiling type, and that look only barely passed as a smile.

Dick sighed tiredly, though his eyes, trained on his little brother, were still fond. “He tipped the paps off about Tim and took the long way ‘round them. They were easy to avoid ‘cause they were all swarming Tim…”

Marinette felt her lip twitch upward. It wasn’t that she approved of his actions, or that she wanted to encourage it, in fact she was sure Ladybug should feel upset about it. Marinette was bemused. “Sounds superior alright,” she allowed. She waved them goodbye as she made her way out of the store, stopped only by the sound of her mother clearing her throat.

“Marinette?”

She turned. “Yes?”

“Your shoes.”

Oh. Right, she’d come down to get a snack before leaving. Dick and Damian’s eyes felt like heat lamps against her cheeks, and she did her best to hide behind her hair as she ran back up to her room to slip on her flats.

She sped past the boys, shooting Damian a look when she heard him snicker at her. Her maman was waiting by the door, tin-foil wrapped croque-monsieur extended out to her. Marinate gave her mother a grateful hug, impatient to leave, and even more impatient to get her design started.

‘Lemon Crafts’ always seemed to smell vaguely of lemon zest and fabric softener, the most pleasing combination to Marinette’s nose, and she’d frequent more often than she already did if their yellow lights weren’t so painfully bright. It was lucky for Marinette that she could comb through racks and cloth bins of fabric with her eyes shut; the store was almost a second home to her.

They hardly ever re-arranged their layout, and the speakers were always broken so that a solid thrum of bzz rang through in a delightful tenor that flittered to the back of her mind, and out of her thoughts. Regardless of the time of day, or year, the place managed to look, sound, and feel the same. Marinette felt it was a sort of liminal space, one that was oh so easy to peruse and lose track of reality within.

Today, however, she had her eye on her phone as she sped to aisle three, skipping through a tempting assortment of prints and cloths to find the specific roll of cotton.

There was a tingling that started on the back of her neck that trailed down the base of her spine, which left her feeling antsy and uncomfortable. She heard the familiar click as her purse opened from the inside and kept her back straight and walking pace steady as Tikki stuck her head out.

If her Kwami had suddenly gone alert as well, nothing good could be happening. Or maybe it was something exceptionally good? Probably not, but optimism was always welcome.

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed quietly. Subtle as she could, Marinette looked down at her purse, at Tikki who’s head was hardly peeking out. “The man behind the cashier won’t stop looking at you. I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

Marinette looked at him from the corner of her eyes, hands running over denim blends, pretending to examine them. He looked young, just a little older her, probably in his first year of university. His brown curls were tucked behind him in a low pony, earrings dangling from his elf-like ears. He didn’t look particularly dangerous. “I think it’s fine, Tikki, she whispered.”

Tikki let out a disproving sound, but didn’t say anything else, choosing instead to settle herself back in Marinette’s bag.

The chambray was where it was the last time she’d come and bought it. Ten meters seemed excessive for a romper, but it’d be nice to have a collection with a running theme, and the fabric was just begging to be bought.

But was it worth it? 10 meters really was a lot, and it was expensive too! It was sixty-five euros, and while she had that money, she might have something more worthwhile to buy at a later date.

“Marinette he’s still looking at you!”

Her head raised to meet the cashier’s unfeeling, brown eyes.

She dropped the fabric like it was on fire, and left the store, walking as naturally as she could. Her skin itched, feeling his hard stare on her back, and she wanted nothing more than to sprint out of the store.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t ever remembered seeing him, and she knew almost everyone who worked at ‘Lemon Crafts’ on weekends because she visited so often. She really should have listened to Tikki earlier.

She barely made it out of the door, when her ankle twisted painfully, and she tumbled down to the ground.

Marinette gasped as she fell in what felt like slow motion, bag slipping from her hold as it slid against the pavement and away from her. Her blazer fluttered in beats, arms reaching out to catch her body before her brain could even fully comprehend her descent.

Her bag skidded to a stop, the lucky charm Adrien gifted her dropped to the floor with a click, yet she remained suspended, the tips of her toes the only part of her body still flat on the ground, the rest of herself held up by a grip on the back of her blazer.

“Geeze kid,” a rough voice greeted her, as her faceless saviour entered her line of sight, placing her back down. He was smirking at her, as though entertained by her clumsiness, face framed with wild black hair, marred by a strip of white. “Careful next time, yeah?”

Marinette nodded mutely, accepting her dropped items from the kind stranger. She watched his back as he left, hands in his pockets, strides wide and confident. He turned the corner, fluid as water, and slipped out of sight.

Strangely enough, he reminded her of Robin.

____

Marinette sat rigidly on one of the many beams that supported the Eiffel Tower. Her hands folded on her lap, too frozen with embarrassment to brush away the hair of her pigtails that were whipping her face thanks to the force of the winds.

Robin sat on the other side, far looser, with legs swinging, though his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

Between them, ice-cream from Andre’s melted, untouched.

“How can I give you my apology ice-cream if you won’t even look at me?” Robin huffed.

She wondered if there was a difference anymore, between her mask and her cheeks, or if she looked like a tomato with legs. She turned her head to the side, unable to make eye contact with him, as she spoke. “I can’t look at you without thinking of that night.”

You were fine yelling at me just yesterday against that grossly garish villain.”

“Believe it or not, an Akuma is a great distraction.”

“I would argue that the Akuma was the goal and that the night is the distraction.”

“You would argue about anything, Robin.”

Marinette knew he was making faces at her behind her back when he didn’t reply instantly. She could probably operate like this for the rest of their time together, staring at rusted metal instead of his face. She already knew he was rolling his eyes, anyway.

Robin let out a familiar ‘Tt,’ and sighed dramatically. The old iron whined as Robin shifted. “If you’re still hung up about the kiss—“

“It wasn’t a kiss!”

“Well. Anyway—“

Marinette turned to face him at last, insistent and overflowing with humiliation. “It wasn’t!”

And it really wasn’t. The night had started out almost fine. Robin was in the middle of a tantrum so there was that, but he was relatively nice, and she was doing a favour for Chat which was always good for supplying warm fuzzies.

~~~yes this is a flashback lmao~~~

Marinette had found him on a tree at Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, one knee bent to his chest, while his other swung loose and free, like it was at present. He hadn’t seemed surprised to see her come, though he was notably disgruntled.

“What do you want?” He had demanded, though less acidic than usual.

Marinette had shrugged and walked closer. “Just seemed like the right thing to do. Can I sit with you?”

“It’s your city.”

She used her yoyo to swing herself up, landing beside him with a thud, rustling leaves, her added weight pushing down on Damian’s branch. “It’s your tree. For now, anyway.”

They sat like that for half an hour, almost, just staring out at the park, and the late-night walkers, with their partners and their dogs. After that, the two of them started calling out dog-breeds they could see, and only when it was around two in the morning did the proper conversation start.

“Mind telling me why you stormed out?”

Robin’s response was bitten out with a certain degree of aggression. “Are you my therapist now?”

Marinette had shook her head, a little disappointed in her partner, but hardly surprised. “No, but you’re my partner now. I guess I’m a little worried.”

“It won’t affect my performance if that’s what you mean.”

Marinette knocked his elbow with her own, frowning. “No, I’m worried about you.”

Robin had turned his head to look at her faster than she’d ever seen him move before. He looked completely distrusting, but his eyes couldn’t lie, and in them she saw hope. “Why would you do that,” he’d sneered, upper lip curling.

“I’m not sure,” she had answered honestly. “Feelings are just like that.”

“If you mean to say that emotions cannot be rationalised, then you’re incorrect… But, thank you, I suppose.”

It was the first genuine thanks he’d ever willingly given her, and she was floored when she heard it. At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it, but now, knowing a little more about his past, and a little more about him (yes, she was still thinking about how sad it was that he didn’t know how to hug properly), her mind lingered on the moment. Why did he look so in disbelief that she would care about him?

“I’m experiencing what many would call jealousy,” he admitted, snapping a twig between his fingers. His eyes were set on the moon, but it was clear that his attention wasn’t. “Your partner— your other partner (The difference between the two was clear now. He was distinguishing between himself and his ‘rival’ and she hadn’t even noticed), seems to get along well with mine.”

Her heart had sunk at his admission, taking it as a jab against herself as a person. “Oh. Sorry, I guess. I’m sure Chat wouldn’t mind a patrol with you—“

“No!” Robin almost bellowed. He had looked completely against the idea. “I’m not jealous of their relationship in that I want it, well.” He let out a frustrated growl. “It’s not that I want us to be like them. Neither of us are irritatingly chatty or bright, we wouldn’t be able to emulate it anyway. No, I’m jealous because your other partner has enamoured mine.”

“I’m sure Nightwing loves you too.”

“I know he does,” Robin whispered back, almost afraid to say the words aloud. “But not at first. And not for a while. I’m sure my personality had a part to play with it, but… Well he liked Chat Noir from the beginning— he wanted Chat Noir from the beginning. Makes me wish I had that luxury.”

He loves you now. I can see in how he looked out you, how he reached out, he loves you now. There were a lot of things Marinette could have said in response, ‘he loves you now, included. Instead, she said nothing, and sat with him in silence, enjoying the browning leaves and almost comfortable seat on their tree-branch.

Her pocket buzzed. Almost embarrassed to have ruined the contemplative mood, she had pulled it out in a rush, shrieking when it slipped from her grip and plummeted down.

She went after it on instinct, momentarily forgetting her peculiar position on a tree, and found the rest of her body following after her phone.

Robin had reacted quickly, diving after her, holding her in a compact hold, his hand on her head to protect her from the fall. He rolled them over so that his back hit the ground first, but the momentum was too much, and they found themselves smashing against one another, lips smacking ungracefully, teeth knocking and foreheads rapping against one another. She rolled off him, hand over her mouth, stunned silent.

Their lips met.

Did that count as a kiss?

Surely not…

No way she could’ve just had her first kiss…

No way!

Robin’s mind hadn’t been as occupied, and he’d simply gotten to his feet, brushing himself off as he spat out a wad of blood. She could spot the gash on his upper gum where her two front teeth had tapped his mouth after their not kiss, and she would have felt a little bad if it weren’t for the fact that “you kissed me!”

Robin looked up at her, uninterested. “It was hardly a kiss, besides, you wounded me.”

“But you kissed me!”

“I didn’t intend to. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saved you, you’re welcome by the way.”

“You kissed me!”

Robin rolled his eyes, checking his utility belt to see if anything had fallen. “Fine, fine, I kissed you.”

It was silly, she knew that then, and she was reminded of how silly she was every time she remembered that night, because her reply would likely make her cringe for the rest of her life. “That was not a kiss!”

Silence fell between them, as Robin raised his brows, a smirk forming it’s way on his face. “Oh? But you said it was a kiss.”

All coherent thought left her mind, and was replaced by loud screaming that was barely louder than the beating of her overactive heart. Blood rushed to her head so fast a headache began to form, and her knees went weak. “It wasn’t!” Even to her ears, the argument was weak.

Robin leered, moving closer. She took a step back for every step he took forward. “But you said it was?”

“I was wrong!” Her back had reached the base of the tree, and Robin was still advancing.

“Unsurprising, but I think this time you might be right.” He leaned in so that he was mere centimeters away from her face, but he didn’t come any closer.

Right as she was about to stutter out another half-baked response, he broke out into snickers that tiptoed the edge of laughter.

She hadn’t ever heard him laugh before. It was husky, more breath than voice, but it was pleasing to the ear. He looked a lot younger when he laughed, a certain lightness took over his whole body, and she remembered he was just a kid, like her. She wished he’d laugh more.

Mortified about what had occurred, she wasn’t exactly happy with the situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to be mad, when he looked like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You said it was a kiss?”

Marinette, not willing to have a repeat of their past conversation, shoved a spoonful of ice-cream in her mouth.

Robin tutted again, his trademark at this point, but this time the corners of his mouth were turned upward, and she found herself minding it less.

“It wasn’t a kiss,” she said at last. “My first kiss is going to be with someone I like, and it’s going to be a choice. That was an accident, and it doesn’t count.”

“Okay,” Robin agreed.

Marinette smiled.

“Ladybug?”

She looked at him, properly this time, and without any blushing. “Hm?”

“Why are you a hero?”

A little stunned to hear her own question repeated back at her (not that Robin knew she was the one who asked him), it took a moment for her to even comprehend it. Why was she a hero?

Because she was chosen?

No, she had tried to give away that responsibility once before, but she kept the job for a reason.

“Because I was given the opportunity to help,” she said, finally. “One that a lot of people don’t get. I found that even if I thought I didn’t want the responsibility at first, I couldn’t turn the job down. What about you?”

Robin’s nose turned up to the air once again, reminding Marinette of what a brat her partner truly was. “Because lesser people need someone like me.”

Silly bird. If he hadn’t helped her out, back when she was a civilian, she might have taken his response for its face value. But there was no way she could, knowing what she knew. “I bet you secretly have a really nice reason, you just don’t want to tell people.”

“Don’t act imbecilic. Of course I don’t.”

“Uh huh, sure you don’t”

“Eat your ice-cream and shut up.”

Marinette laughed, extending the cup to him. He took a small bite, nose wrinkling. He kept saying he didn’t like sweets and he kept acting like it too, but he could’ve turned her offer down and they both knew it. What a little liar she had as a partner.

It was the same combination as last time, only tonight Andre had decorated it with black sprinkles and a small, white marshmallow on top. Robin let her have it, not a fan of them, but he said nothing about the sprinkles.

It was divine on her tongue, melting almost instantly (though most of it was soup at this point), coating her mouth in a thick swirl of black and red. “What was this an apology for anyway?”

“I may have spoken out of turn when we fought Bud Omen. Nightwing suggested that I bring a token of apology.”

“Are you gonna get me an ice-cream every time you say something rude? Because I’m not sure you could afford that.”

Robin snorted, taking another bite of the ice cream. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

And really, she couldn’t. She thought she knew her partner that she had his whole personality down when they’d first met, and even more so during their first patrol. But Marinette found that the more time passed, the less she felt she knew about him, and the more she wanted to learn.

She didn’t hate her partner, of that she was sure. In fact, she might even be starting to like him.

End Notes: The ‘like’ is platonic, unfortunately, but we’re not they’re yet. We’ll get there eventually though! Their relationship is starting to shift now that they know more about each other ayyy. This chapter was really all about growth on Marinette’s side. Changing feelings about what it means and what it takes to to be a good hero, and changing relationships with her new partner.

Also! First glance of Jason, yeah the white streaked guy was Jason I really wasn’t tryna be subtle about it. What’s up with the weird cashier tho? And yes! Now you know what happened that night. Nothing big or romantic, but Robin confessed he was feeling jealous and lips smashed. I wanted to bring it up now rather than earlier though bc I feel like Marinette can use this as an moment to really consider. This happened in the past, but I wanted it to be seen through current Marinette’s eyes.

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#daminette #maridami #maribat #robinette #course of nature #mlb x dc #mlb x batman #marinette x damian #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #mlb/dc #ml/dc #mlb au #mlb crossover #dc crossover #mlb fic #miraculous ladybug au

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zatanni · 5 years

Text

Lukanette September Day 6/7: First Kiss, Second Chance

Their first kiss happens several years after they met.

They’d both loved and lost and grown and moved on, but by some twist of fate (or luck) Marinette found herself attending the same arts Université as her charming what-if. Broken hearts mended, conversations turned into playful banter, and soon Luka and Mari were exploring what could have–no, what should have been.

Z: Art and Songfic for Day 6 and 7. The song I used was May I by Trading Yesterday, which you can find here: https://open.spotify.com/track/72DAOl4TGmp48MvXsLbMR4

I hope you like it!

Fic below the cut!

“Hey, ‘Nette. Did you hear about the music festival next month?” asked Juleka, who together with the rest of Kitty Section, were attending Renommé University for the Arts.

Marinette warmly greeted her long time friend and favorite model. Juleka, after that photoshoot so long ago, had since gained a bit more confidence, and now wore her bangs to frame her face instead of hide it. The simple change did wonders for her modelling, especially on the runway.

“I haven’t, actually. Is Kitty Section joining?”

“'Course we are!” chirped Rose as she sidled up to her girlfriend. Marinette wondered why she even asked. Kitty Section was really gaining traction these days. They were set to release their sixth album this summer. Some days, the members couldn’t even walk across campus without being stopped for at least one picture.

Ivan joined the girls’ excitement, showing off the new platinum white drumsticks he was planning to use onstage.

“Actually…”

A smooth low voice accompanied the familiar arm that draped around her shoulders. Marinette felt the usual tug at her heartstrings and fought to keep her face from filling with red.

“We were hoping you could help us out with that, Ma-ma-marinette. You know, just like always,” Luka chuckled.

With her reply, the whole band cheered and ushered her to their own corner of the common grounds, a small picnic table where they could have lunch and discuss their ideas.

The junior kept his arm securely on her shoulder even as Marinette already agreed to the job. That she’d agree was a given. After all, they were such close friends. Besides, Kitty Section was a delight to work with, they’d always allow the designer creative freedom, much like their idol and producer Jagged Stone always did.

And…

And Luka would be there.

Marinette wasn’t sure how to define what she and Luka were. They were friends, of course, but…

Friends didn’t stay up til the wee hours of the morning having conversations about nothing and everything.

Friends didn’t sneak into your dorm to give you chicken soup, nor stay up all night to care for you when you were sick.

Friends didn’t fix a loose bra strap nor let their fingers linger for one second…two…three wishful seconds long.

No, Marinette thought, as she felt Luka’s piercing eyes look up from his guitar and fall on her as she sketched out new designs.

Friends didn’t do that at all.

…

“Stare any longer and you’ll burn a hole in her head,” Juleka teased, looking up with two gloves stained with hair dye.

Luka raised both his hands in defeat, scattering the band’s sheet music he was working on all over the floor.

“Hey, this is Rose’s place, ya can’t make a mess!” Juleka chided, helpless, as both her hands were filled with purple goo.

Luka grumbled and picked up the pages, making one messy stack on the corner of the coffee table.

“You sure you don’t want to dye your hair again?” She asked, turning back to the mirror.

“How do I ask her, Jule?” Luka sighed, the million-dollar question finally hanging in the air. Juleka would have laughed at her brother had he not been playing such a depressive tune on his guitar.

She followed his gaze back to Marinette, who was sketching happily in the next room while Rose, Ivan, and Mylene occasionally looked over her shoulder.

“You know I suck at words. I’ve been at this for years.”

Luka promptly gave himself a self-deprecating guitar diss and Juleka couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Her brother must have really loved Marinette if he was having such a hard time finding the perfect way to ask her out.

It suddenly occurred to Juleka that the latter part of his sentence wasn’t and exaggeration. Luka really had been at it for years, back since before the whole disaster when Mari got with Adri-that guy. But now that they were attending university and there were no more barriers between them, Luka had gotten even more explicit with his affection.

A smile here, a touch there, a subtle moment where it seemed like Mari and Luka had their own little world stitched between daydreams. Juleka didn’t pretend she didn’t know where Luka would be when he snuck out at night, or when he’d leave practice early to catch her after class. She didn’t pretend to miss the way his eyes seem to drift to Marinette every time the girl smiled or laughed.

Her brother was in love. And he had been for such a long time.

Juleka shoved down the slight guilt from the fact that she’d chosen to support “Adrienette” all those years before when really she should have been supporting her brother, who made Marinette happy in the best of ways.

“You’re overthinking it,” the girl advised, as she slid off the gloves shed used to dye her hair. “You should just do what you always do…you know, what you’re good at,” she encouraged.

“What, be emo?”

Juleka smacked him on the head. “No, silly!”

The girl picked up a discarded piece of crumpled paper, filled with the familiar scratchy handwriting belonging only to her brother. She smoothed it out and held it out to him.

“Ask her with a song.”

…

The night of Renomme’s Music Festival had finally come. Several bands had lined up to play one after the other but everyone knew that they were all really waiting for the final performance by Renomme’s very own celebrity band.

Even the members of all the other bands stayed after their performances to see what the cat-themed personalities would be playing for them today. Over the years, Kitty Section’s style had evolved, with them decking out hit after hit especially since the members all hit university.

The crowd roared to life as the band stepped onstage in black combat boots, sporting the edgiest outfits they had ever seen them wear. Dressed uniformly in leather jackets with their respective masks embroidered on the back in luminescent gold thread, the members took the time to show off their new clothes. For the first time, the members donned masks with black bases and uniform gold accents with their respective designs.

Marinette took a risk with the darker color palette, but the monochrome style change plus the gray-scale and silver recreation of their debut backdrop showcased exactly what Kitty Section was these days: different and evolved, but staying true to their roots. It seemed to have an even better reception than Marinette hoped.

Luka looked over to the side of the stage where Mari was watching. Ocean eyes met bluebell ones, and by the gods, did sparks fly.

He winked, and she smiled, sheepish, as he jumped right into an earth-shattering riff to kick off their performance. They started off with their first and still popular song, the one that that they played on Bob Roth’s segment. But with the skills and experience they’d built up over the years, what used to be the work of a cool garage band turned into a sick track on the same level of Jagged Stone.

The music hall screamed with the sounds of their fans, both students and outsiders alike cheering the all the words in unison, Rose’s once-chirpy-turned-husky voice leading them along. Juleka matched her girlfriends energy, melting the hearts of girls and boys alike with her guitar and back up voice. And who could forget Ivan, with his precise beats and crazy drum fills?

But Luka? Luka was living. The way he banged his head to the music had Marinette worried the mask would fly off, but his energy and passion had everyone screaming even harder as he led the band into their next song, and the next one after that. Watching him rock on with Kitty Section during practice was amazing enough, but it was nothing compared to what Luka was like on stage. He was a marvel. Everyone felt like they were seeing the makings of the next Jagged.

Kitty Section hit their last notes and let Rose's hard vocals ring throughout the gymnasium. There was a pause and then, a loud, thundering applause. Fans were losing their minds, demanding more, more more.

ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE!

Sweat was dripping down their faces as they reveled in the crowd's deafening cheers. Through it all, Juleka met her brother's eyes and nodded.

It's now or never.

Marinette's eyes widened as Rose stepped away from her microphone. In her place, was Luka, for the very first time in Kitty Section history.

The crowd was silent, confused, as they recognized the signature lightning bolt on the mask of the lead guitarist as Luka took center stage. He put a hand over his black mask and pulled it to the side, inciting collective gasps from those fans who didn't know him and one small gasp from Marinette.

Wait! This wasn't part of the plan! Marinette thought, almost panicking. She looked at the eyes of the members one by one, but the only one who met her eyes was Juleka. And she was smiling.

Luka’s voice pulled her attention back to him, and he was staring at her with deep ocean orbs so raw with emotion that she could melt.

"This song is for the most amazing person I have ever met. I’ve always wanted to tell you...all this time.”

The crowd exploded with hoots and cheers all curious to see just who the lead guitarist was looking at on stage left, but all Marinette could see was Luka. Luka, looking so vulnerable, so honest and true. Luka, who made her heart sing and dance every moment he was near. Luka, Luka, Luka.

The crowd went silent in anticipation as he closed his eyes and took his first breath to sing.

And there you stand opened heart, opened doors Full of life with the world that's wanting more But I can see when the lights start to fade The day is done and your smile has gone away

He turned to the side, fully facing his heartsong.

Let me raise you up Let me be your love

Marinette’s heart soared, and she stood frozen, entranced by his smooth baritone.

May I hold you As you fall to sleep When the world is closing in And you can't breathe May I love you May I be your shield When no one can be found May I lay you down

Tears welled up in her eyes at his confession. God it was so beautiful, so him.

All I want is to keep you safe from the cold To give you all that your heart needs the most

Luka raised his arm toward Marinette as Rose took his guitar. He was shaking so much he couldn’t play as well, but Juleka smoothly filled in.

Let me raise you up Let me be your love

But his voice delivered his conviction, and Marinette found herself walking onstage, closer to him, as he sang the chorus again.

May I hold you As you fall to sleep When the world is closing in And you can't breathe May I love you May I be your shield When no one can be found May I lay you down

The crowd went wild as he took both her hands in his. This was it. This was the moment.

All that's made me Is all worth trading Just to have one moment with you So I will let go With all that I know Knowing that you're here with me For your love is changing me

The instrumental died down, and Luka touched his forehead to hers, singing the lyrics in a gentle whisper. He was confessing. He was asking for a second chance.

May I hold you As you fall to sleep When the world is closing in And you can't breathe

Ivan hammered the bass pedal as Juleka ramped up her guitar for the key change.

May I love you May I be your shield When no one can be found May I lay you down

Goosebumps appeared on her skin as he concluded the song with powerful vocables, and Marinette...Marinette had never been so sure.

The instrumental faded out, the crowd was stunned silent, hearts so moved by emotion they couldn’t speak.

And Marinette, her heart filled with to the brim with love for him and him only, took the second chance he so freely gave her, and pulled his lips to hers.

_______________________________________________________________________

Z: So...did you guys like it? I decided to combine two days because I couldn’t ignore how well they fit together. So here’s an Art for First Kiss and a Songfic for Second Chance.

They’re all in university here, and yes, its implied that a certain blonde had her heart first. I hope you like it :)

For not the first time, I used the song May I by Trading yesterday/The Age of Information because it’s my ultimate Lukanette song.

Again, find the song here: https://open.spotify.com/track/72DAOl4TGmp48MvXsLbMR4

@lukanette-month

#lukanetteseptember2019 #lukanetteseptember2k19 #lukanettemonth2019 #lukanette #luka couffaine #luka #marinette #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #mlb #ml #mlb2019

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hitodama89 · 4 years

Text

Because I’m still not over what a mind-boggling disaster the whole process of creating that pixel animation from yesterday was, I actually want to share the painful details with you! Which is extremely unprofessional of me, as everyone who has felt any ounce of respect towards me or my art will absolutely lose it hahah, but the good thing is I’m not a professional so it doesn’t matter for real.

So, the beginning part I have already told: I drew the whole thing, looked at it and decided that I actually want to make it look good. There’s really no way to do that in pixel art without putting every shitty little pixel down individually, so that’s the method I used while redrawing 90 % of the thing (only some of the coloring could be saved). During this I redrew Näkki’s braid I think 4 times and the northern lights 2,5 times.

Then I once again looked at it and thought “man, this really would be neat as an animation”. The idea had been in my mind ever since the beginning, but I never intended to truly chase it. Well now I did, but because I’m an idiot the whole thing was on like 3 layers and I had to manually separate elements from each other to make anything work. (During this I actually made a cool discovery though! Gimp usually considers one layer as one frame of animation, but one layer folder is also just one frame! This made things so much easier.) First I made Näkki move, and then I added some slight movement to water, stars and the light effects on the ice. Then it was the northern lights which were really tedious... Because I sort of forgot that I had drawn a separate base form for them that I was supposed to be able to edit easily. Whoops. But what can I say: at this point the whole thing was already in three separate files: the first one contained a non-pixel sketch and reference images, the second one was the actual pixelated piece and the third one, which I was now working with, had the animation. The base was on the second file, so of course I never remembered it existed!

But no matter, the thing was now basically ready to go! So I once again did the mistake of looking at it... And realized the animation wasn’t paced the way I wanted. (This is when I posted the preview image.) Näkki’s breathing looked too fast, and slowing down the whole thing looked just awkward. I was afraid I’d have to make a couple of new frames for it, but after sleeping a night I decided I’d instead duplicate all the frames and make Näkki and the background elements move at different paces. That seemed like a good compromise... In theory. In practice? I would’ve survived with so, so much less if I’d just added the two frames like I originally meant to.

How would I even describe the mess that followed... Even though I had only 3-4 layers in one layer folder (GOD why didn’t I separate things even more than I did?!) some of them had several separate objects moving in different paces. It was a total nightmare and if I had to explain where everything is in like a month, I would likely not understand it even myself. =‘D The stars and the ice effects had three frames that went back and forth and the water had three frames but it looped instead. The northern lights had... Four frames? They also went back and forth, just like Näkki who had only three frames. But Näkki’s frames had a rhythm of 2-2-4 frames instead of the normal 1-1-1. Then there was also Näkki’s breath clouds. First there was maybe 5 frames of them, but when I doubled the frame count I drew more in-betweens for them. In the end it looked off because they were so close to Näkki who moved much slower, so I actually deleted the new frames and made the original ones move on 2-2-2 speed.

At this point I have no idea how many things I had redrawn, because everything was constantly this close to just falling apart, so I had pretty much not enough brain power to keep count of them. But... Somehow I stumbled to the finish line! And saved it as a gif, watched it to see the possible damage the compression had done and... Was fairly satisfied. Except for the color of the sky, which originally had a gradient in it. The gradient absolutely didn’t work with gif palette, so I went back and made the sky colors more flat. Aaand that somehow left some weird stripes of the original sky color into a few frames. Okay, this is fine, I can deal with it. I delete the stripes. Now the water animation is completely fucked up! At this point I was too tired to make the connection between deleting the stripes and the messed up water, so all I could think was that I just hadn’t noticed the thing before and it was actually gif optimization that had done the damage. I go back and basically redo the animation without optimization, which takes about three tries because I am TIRED and always lose a frame or two somewhere and it’s easier to just do the thing over from the beginning than start searching what went wrong and where. Finally all looks as it should! Except now I have to change the sky again. And delete the stripes. And nOW THE WATER IS FUCKED AGAIN.

Now I finally realized that the water actually had some of the same color as the stripes I had deleted, and those pixels got accidentally deleted, too. I laugh and cry and correct my mistake. The thing is fucking finally finished! I go to sleep and decide to return to the shitshow tomorrow.

Next day I come to assess the damage, but fortunately I don’t find much. The most horrifying thing is that when I was already dead tired I had actually overwritten a wrong file at some point, so I had replaced the cryptid animation from last summer with a messed up version of this animation. (It was named “cryptid” and this was “colors”, so they were close to each other.) Thank god I had uploaded it to several places on internet, so I could just download it back to my computer! Besides that the animation still looked decent, but I still decide to fix one little thing with Näkki’s hair. I’ll do it, save it and upload it to dA. And realize I had forgotten to save it as an animation. Thank the merciful gods of the universe I hadn’t shut down Gimp just yet, because if I had done that I would’ve lost... A lot of work and would’ve needed to create the animation for 65674564236145th time.

Soooo yeah, that’s finally it. I saved the thing again as an animation and swore to never look at it too closely again, because doing that is apparently really, really cursed.

The lesson of the day: actually plan your animations in order to not end up like this! =‘‘‘D

#rambling

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you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus · 5 years

Text

She

Summary: Buffy reminisces about her relationship with Andi, the events of their past, and the fate of their future. Inspired buy the song She by Dodie Clark

Word Count: 1836

also this is for @bandi-mack since it was her idea ilyy <3

Am I allowed to look at her like that?

Could it be wrong, when she’s just so nice to look at?

Buffy stared at her phone screen. She had Andi’s Instagram pulled up, and just like all normal people do, she was scrolling through and analyzing all the pictures. So it was a typical Saturday night. She’d begun to sketch one in her notebook. Granted, it wasn’t great, but she worked hard on it.

She smells like lemongrass and sleep,

She tastes like apple juice and peach,

She gravitated towards the warmer colors, as colored pencils in reds, pinks, peaches, and yellows rolled on her bed. Tapping her phone again, she zoomed in on one section of her face, concentrating on trying to get Andi’s eyes just right. They were mesmerizing, even in photos; her chestnut eyes, soft and welcoming, and could read right through you. It was a quality Buffy had always admired, even if it bugged her when she tried to repressed any of her own feelings.

You would find her, in a polaroid picture,

And she, means everything to me, oh,

She glanced over at her nightstand, where there was a small picture frame that she and Andi had made years ago, when Andi was just getting into crafting. It was, admittedly, a little messy, but Buffy loved it nonetheless. Inside was a photo from when they were both little, probably in elementary school, where they both tried to do their makeup.

“We’re fashion queens!” Andi exclaimed, scampering into her mom’s room to grab her polaroid camera.

Buffy followed after the trail of giggles, grinning from ear to ear, with a smudged line of red lipstick staining her face.

“Strike a pose!” Andi shrieked, reaching out the camera as far as she could and snapping the photo. Both girls felt like they were nearly blinded by the flash, covering their eyes with their hands as the photo printed out.

“You can keep it,” Andi said, handing it to Buffy, “my mama always said that sharing is caring,”

It was still one of Buffy’s fondest memories to date.

I’d never tell,

No, I’d never say a word,

Grabbing a peachy pencil, she started to shade in Andi’s face, treading lightly at first, before deepening the color by her cheeks. Andi always blushed this particular shade of pink when she was embarrassed or when someone made her laugh. Buffy wanted to make sure she got it right, so she blended a few more colors into the mix of peaches and pinks.

And oh, it aches,

But it feels oddly good to hurt,

She remembered the day that Andi went redder than she’d ever seen her before. Naturally, her group of friends were at the Spoon, when Jonah walked in. And it was like a switch went off, because Andi just didn’t seem like herself anymore. It was like she’d forgotten how to speak and how to act. Buffy remained quiet, choosing to play with the napkin in front of her rather than intervene.

“Do you wanna come play mini golf?” he asked, a smile brighter than the sun gracing his face.

“Oh, yeah, totally! Buffy do you wanna come?” Andi had asked.

“Oh, I-I meant, just you and me. If that’s okay,” Jonah mumbled, looking to her with hopeful eyes. Andi’s cheeks went red hot turning to Buffy for approval, supposedly.

Buffy gave a small nod, squeezing her best friend’s hand quickly before she scooted out of the booth, and let them both walk out. Pinching her lips together, she gave Cyrus a small smile before they continued their conversation.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep,

She tastes like apple juice and peach,

Buffy tapped on her phone again, zooming out a little on the photo in order to have a better idea of how the colors blended. Andi’s hair was swooped down onto her forehead, a few locks of it behind her ears. Grabbing the black colored pencil, she thought back to the day when Andi had decided to cut her hair by herself: short. It was a disaster, evidently, but Buffy had come over and helped her calm down about it.

“It looks good, Andi! It’s a new you,” she exclaimed, pushing a few of her bangs aside.

“I look like a boy,” Andi sniffed, turning to look at herself in the mirror, “this was a mistake,”

Buffy fished through one of Andi’s many drawers, before finally finding a blue headband with a bow that Andi had made a few years back. “Here,” she offered, slipping it onto the girl’s head, “better?”

Andi shifted the headband a little, turning to look at herself at different angles. “A little,” she admitted, turning to face Buffy, “thanks. You’re the best,”

She leaned forward to hug the other girl, and Buffy couldn’t help but feel a magnetic pull towards Andi.

Oh you would find her, in a polaroid picture,

And she, means everything to me,

Oh, oh, oh,

She paused, setting her pencil down and grabbing her eraser to try and soften the edges. She wanted nothing more right now than to call Andi, to hear her voice on the other line. To know that things were okay, that things were going to be okay. But she knew she couldn’t.

And I’ll be okay, admiring from afar,

‘Cause even when she’s next to me,

We could not be more far apart,

Buffy opened her phone again, scrolling up to the more recent photos of Andi; one with Libby, a few with Jonah, a bunch with her and Cyrus, and one with her and Buffy. The last one. They were at the library, and Buffy could recall the day like it was just yesterday.

“Shh, are you insane?” Andi giggled, running through the shelves of romance novels, “they’re gonna kill us!”

“Not if they don’t find us,” Buffy chuckled, grabbing Andi’s hand and dragging her along, and ending up by all the CDs and records. They hid under a display of them, both trying to contain their laughter.

“Do you think Cyrus and Jonah will find us here?” Andi whispered, pressing her body against Buffy’s.

Buffy swallowed, breathing in so softly, as though not wanting to scare off Andi like a deer. “I don’t think so,” she mumbled, pulling out her phone, “selfie?”

“Always,” Andi replied, leaning her head in a little closer and smiling as Buffy took the photo, “send that to me,”

She did, and Andi quickly posted it on Instagram, with the caption ‘best friends hide better’.

Needless to say, Cyrus and Jonah found them rather quickly after that.

And she tastes like birthday cake and storytime and fall,

But to her, I taste of nothing at all,

Buffy quickly turned off her phone, shutting her eyes tightly. No. She had been down this road far too many times, lingered on that moment far too long for her liking. But no matter how much she tried to push it from her memories, it seemed to creep up to the front. Grabbing a few more pencils to finish Andi’s shirt, her memories came flooding back.

“I think the lights add a nice touch, don’t you?” Andi asked, leaning back in the beanbag in AndiShack.

Buffy nodded, not even paying attention to the lights. Her eyes didn’t leave the girl in front of her, almost mesmerized by her beauty. Buffy knew that she’d fallen, hard, and there was no way that she was going to be able to get back up.

“Hey Andi?” Buffy whispered, earning the girl’s attention.

“Yeah?”

Buffy hesitated, reaching her hand up and tugging on a strand of her hair. Boldly, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on Andi’s lips. It was quick and childish, but the fire that tore through her body was not ignorable. Immediately, she slapped a hand over her mouth, fingers trembling. Why did she do that? What was the matter with her?

“I-I’m sorry,” she squeaked out, before she started sprinting out of the small shack, not stopping until she could see her house in the distance. Her lungs were aching, her breathing sharp and laborious. She couldn’t see much as she walked into her house, the tears blurring her vision. Her feet stung, her arms felt numb, yet her lips were still on fire.

She wanted to text Andi that this was all some mistake. That she wasn’t thinking about what she was doing. That she regretted it.

But the truth was, those were all lies. She’d wanted to kiss Andi for a long time, but she never did. She didn’t regret the kiss, but she did regret how it had happened.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep,

She tastes like apple juice and peach,

You would find her, in a polaroid picture,

And she, means everything to me,

Buffy swiped at the the tears that started to fall, cursing herself under her breath. She’d finished the sketch and quickly pushed it aside, not wanting to ruin it. It was a disgrace of a drawing, if you asked her; she really didn’t do Andi’s beauty justice.

Yes, she means everything to me,

Buffy tentatively reached for her phone, clicking on Andi’s story. It was a snapshot of her in her room, listening to music. Sad music, Buffy concluded after a little bit of squinting. She couldn’t help but think back to what Andi had said about sad music.

“Because who wants to listen to happy music when they’re sad?” she pouted, crossing her arms.

“Doesn’t listening to sad music when you’re sad, just make you more sad?” Buffy pointed out.

Andi shook her head. “No, that’s what happy music does. It reminds you of how not happy you are. Sad music gets you. It understands that things are hard, and that it’s okay to feel like that,” she explained.

And suddenly Buffy had a new outlook on sad music.

Swiping up, she hesitated on replying, her fingers lingering on the keyboard. She’d texted Andi for over two weeks, not daily, but still; there was never a reply.

bdriscoll: are you okay?

Buffy turned her attention back to her sketchbook. Taking a pen, she jotted down the date in the corner, and shut the journal with a gentle click. Her stomach grumbled, signaling her to get out of her room and to stop wallowing. Her phone buzzed, and at that moment, it felt like the world stopped spinning, and it was moving too fast all at once. She felt dizzy with anticipation, unlocking her phone with a shaky swipe.

andiman: ...not really.

bdriscoll: do you wanna talk about it?

andiman: no that’s okay

bdriscoll: if it’s about what happened, i’m sorry

andiman: it’s okay, don’t worry about it

bdriscoll: you’re my best friend andi, i want you to be happy

andiman: thanks. i think i just need some time

bdriscoll: i get that. i’m here whenever you’re ready

andiman: thanks buffy

bdriscoll: no problem

read at 3:26 PM

She means everything to me

#andi mack #bandi #bandi fic #bandi fanfic #my fics #buffy driscoll #andiman #pandi mack

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birthclod · 5 years

Text

To save Ollie @spressy M&L the embarrassment, I'm just gonna make this a separate post instead of putting this on one of his asks.

Velvet for the OC ask meme! I had a concept sketch but my computer restarted and I no longer have a concept sketch 😔

Full name: Velouriam (that’s all of her full name she’ll give anyone)

Best friend: I wouldn’t say best friend, but Popple; he’s like her short, dumb little brother.

Sexuality: Big ol’ disaster lesbian.

Favorite color: Dark reds. (No, not like blood– is beanish blood even red?)

Relationship status: Single, for “work reasons”

Ideal mate: So far I have Sundra (the albino bean), and @spressy’s Faelos because I really like the dynamic of medic/hitwoman.

Turn-ons: Women who are caring and energetic, and also potentially feral. And maybe open-back dresses.

Favorite food: Fruits, especially tropical fruits and citrus.

Crushes: Girls

Favorite music: Smooth jazz, sophisti-pop, soul, any other genres that fall under Sade. (Also I feel sludgepop fits her well despite only having discovered it like, yesterday)

Biggest fear: Being defenseless.

Biggest fantasy: being topped Managing a bar of her own.

Bad habits: Speaks before she thinks. Thankfully, this does not apply to revealing secrets such as who she was assigned to kill.

Biggest regret: In the future, blindly following Mung’s orders for 8 years.

Best kept secrets: Aforementioned orders, and her previous home life. Seriously. Not even her bosses know that.

Last thought: Can I get off work yet? I’ve been on my feet for hours. My eyes don’t even wanna stay open anymore. I oughta just call it a night and if Mung wants someone wasted I’ll do it tomorrow.

Worst romantic experience: I… I don’t think she has any?

Biggest insecurity: I can't phrase this well enough but opening up is... difficult for her. Very.

Weapon of choice: A nice little silver hammer, with an impact equivalent to that of a handgun.

Role model: I guess Chickpea, since she’s the mother figure of the group.

#talk to the cookie #ask meme #spressy #ollie #velvet #uwu #long post #jic

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likethetailofacomet · 5 years

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Bas and Belle

Hi friends!! So yesterday I posted an OTP ask with 32 questions and went looking for asks to get some fuel for the fire for the pile of ashes that is currently Bastien x Annabelle. They will both play VERY large roles in the upcoming follow up to LTLA (you know...if I ever get around to finishing that disaster) and I wanted to start fleshing them out as characters. Well, enter @zaffrenotes with her “DO ALL OF THEM” request and here I am 24 hours later...

MOST of the prompts are going to make their way into the actual story, but here are a few that i can share without spoiling anything:

2. If they could describe one another in one sentence, what would it be?

Bastien: She belonged in a meadow, with the sun and the breeze competing for which should play in her hair, with the swallows and jays swooping and singing songs inspired by her laughter, with her bare feet picking up the green of the grass and her fingernails full of mud- she belonged in a meadow but damn it all if she didn’t look perfect in a ballroom, too.

Annabelle: His eyes made promises that his heart tried to keep- wanted to keep- and she knew he’d keep them all if only she would let him.

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Bastien: “Annabelle, you are the most breathtaking thing in this gallery,” he kissed her nose and pulled her closer to him, rumpling the papers on the bench between them. “Charcoal smudges and all, breathtaking.”

Annabelle: “You’ll make him proud,” she whispered in his ear, kissing the spot just below it. “That’s the kind of man you are, Bas, you’re exactly the kind of man he taught you to be.” She meant every word and could tell how it lifted his heart, even as it tugged hers down to the ocean floor.

7. Write a ~300 word love scene for them (OKAY!!)

They got to Annabelle’s apartment and Bastien walked her to the door, her thin fingers interlocked with his, their lips still tingling from the things they’d said and the kisses they’d shared. He always walked her to her door, would always thank her for coming out with him, would always brush his lips to hers and promise to see her soon. But that night when they reached her front door, she didn’t let go of his hand, didn’t turn to face him so he could kiss her sweetly and wish her goodnight. Instead she looked sidelong at him, that same mischievous glint in her eye that was there when they met, sparkling at him in the darkness. She opened her door and pulled him inside, his heart and his lungs working overtime to try to keep steady, but he knew it was a losing battle. Inside. He was inside her home- a sacred place he’d yet to set foot in. She closed the door behind them and turned to look at him, her chest heaving with breaths slightly more labored than normal, her mouth open just so, lips still swollen from before. “Bas,” her voice was strained with wanting as she leaned back against the locked door. He took a step towards her, his fingers finding the fabric of her shirt at her waist, curling around her thin hip bones. “Kiss me again,” she whispered, and he happily complied. He ducked his head down to capture her lips between his own, his neatly trimmed beard scratching her smooth skin and drawing a breathy whimper from her. The heavenly sounds she made turned gears in his mind that made his hands rove up her body, palms conforming to every hill and valley, every curve of her hips and torso and breasts, only producing more sounds, only turning the gears more quickly. His tongue entered her mouth, his breath mingled with hers, and he worked his fingers up her neck and into her hair, enthralled by how it felt as he clutched it by the fistful. They broke apart to come up for air and she collapsed, breathlessly, against the locked door. “Stay the night?” she asked. He responded with a one sided smile as his hands found the backs of her thighs and lifted her like she was weightless, her long legs wrapping around his body, their chests pressed together.

“The night, the week…forever, Belle, I’m yours as long as you want me. I love you…”

“Take me to bed and show me,” she whispered, and this time the glint of mischief was warranted.

17. What senses remind them of each other?

Bastien: white flowers remind him of how delicate she is, the sweet smell of pastries remind him of all the stories she’s told him about growing up above her grandparents’ bakery, he also thinks of her if he smells paint, imagining it staining her jeans as she sits in front of her easel.

Annabelle: Bastien smells like cloves, so that scent always brings images of the two of them entwined to her mind, hawks and other birds make her think of him too- she calls him Hawk Eye or Eagle Eye a lot because he never misses a detail.

22. If their lives were what was originally intended at birth, would they have still fallen in love?

Not the first time, that’s for sure. Annabelle came to Cordonia on a fellowship, yes, but she was also running away from her past. Her brother had been killed in the line of duty as a police officer, and her relationship with her parents had been strained long before that due to their divorce and their constant tendency to use her to get back at one another. So, had her brother never died, she arguably would have stayed in the U.S. and never met Bas... unfortunately, leaving America wasn’t the only time she’d run away...

Bastien grew up in foster care and ended up on the path to the King’s Guard by choosing correctly when he came to the fork in the road that said “shape up or ship out”. So, arguably, he would always be where he is today, however his personality and priorities have been shaped by his choices and his circumstances, so without Jackson’s tutelage it’s tough to say where Bas would end up. I like to think that these two are meant to be...that does’t mean that they met at the right time, though.

32. Do they enjoy morning or night sex?

Yup. Bastien’s wonky hours mean that sometimes they spend consecutive days or, if he’s travelling with the Royal Family, weeks apart. He gets home sometimes when it’s past “night” but not quite “morning”, and they make the most of whatever you wanna call that time of day. Annabelle sometimes leaves the house before sunrise to get a good view if there’s something she needs or wants to sketch or paint, so occasionally, after the sun has come up she’ll come back home to find that Bastien has gotten home and found his way to bed. She never feels bad about waking him up with light kisses on his bare back, and it never takes more than three of them to energize him enough for whatever is on her mind.

UGH. DONNA, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE ASKS!! I AM PLANNING TO FINISH LTLA THIS MONTH AND THEN MY MAIN GOAL IN LIFE WILL BE MENDING THESE BEAUTIFUL BROKEN BITS BECAUSE THEY DESERVE HAPPINESS!

tagging a few who might be interested: @zaffrenotes @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @brightpinkpeppercorn @bobasheebaby @endlessly-searching-for-you @mind-reader1 @andy-loves-corgis @agent-bossypants

#bastien x annabelle #bas x belle #young bastien #character asks #the broken bits #ltla follow up series #trr #the royal romance bastien

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awkwardanime · 6 years

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Isao Takahata: Realism (1988/1991)

A career that spanned over 55 years, with 18 TV series and a staggering 21 feature length films associated with his name from 1961 to 2016 either as a Storyboard Artist, Producer, Writer or Director - there is no doubt that Isao Takahata was one of the most influential people in the history of Animation.

Sadly passing away on April 5 at the age of 82, this ordinary man left behind some very unordinary works which still to this day resonate and touch the hearts of millions around the world, proving that “cartoons” can be every bit as compelling as live-action cinema. A person’s art is always a reflection of their views and beliefs, and it was no different here. The film-maker’s success stemmed from one place: realism.

Takahata’s breakout story came funnily enough almost 20 years after he first began working in the industry, with the release of Grave of the Fireflies in 1988 - his debut within the retreat of Ghibli, the Studio he co-founded with a man he called both his “rival” and “friend” alongside producer Toshio Suzuki. These were the years where competition with Miyazaki brought out the best in his work, all the while making sure to never stray away from his methods of expressing his stories to the viewers.

This is the movie that has been described by most as: “the best movie you’ll never want to watch again” and can you argue with that? Grave of the Fireflies is the perfect example of Takahata’s realism that he showed in his movies. It was far from the fantastical world of Miyazaki, with nothing but truth hitting us viewers every single second. And with every second, frame and scene it grew harder to watch yet at the same time impossible to look away. I do this movie no justice.

“They think people back then were much more noble and that they wouldn’t be able to do such things themselves. But I think that’s not right. We make such stories to give people courage, but then the audience feels the story has nothing to do with them. So I wanted a common ground for the audience to relate to”

Takahata stated numerous times when promoting the film that history will always show the fighters and citizens of war to be noble and honest, but that is not the case. He showed what it was and still is like for young people battling through devastation, whether that be war or a natural disaster. Portraying this in animation and not live-action meant he and his staff had to get the facial features and expressions of the main characters (Seita and Setsuko) spot on. As he was in the production process, he felt that both characters would be challenging to animate in an expressive way showing their despair and sorrow:

“Just like today’s junior high students, a 14 year old looks unemotional or grumpy or unemotionally unbalanced. It’s reflected in their bodies and in their facial expressions. But animation is basically line-drawings and expressions are always exaggerated, so it’s hard to animate such expressions”

Takahata and the author of the original short story(based on true events) Akiyuki Nosaka told interviewers that as hard it may have been, this story is actually better suited for animation, and in my opinion they were definitely right. Could this have worked with two young people? I think no as the sight of a 4 year old girl suffering might have looked too over-sentimental, and it’s not easy to find a four year old actress who can nail every scene. It was clear that Takahata was not one to follow the norm, and he proved that here with the introduction of a new technique that up-to that point had not been seen in Japanese animation: the illustration outlines were done in brown and not the usual black. The then 52 year old did this I think to give a softer feeling to the screen, and by that I mean to not portray the illustrations in an even bolder way, as the drawings themselves gave that sense of dark reality already. This little attention to detail may not seem like much, but I feel it proves that the Director constantly wanted to challenge himself, and as time went on that never changed.

“I’m not saying fantasy is bad. I myself enjoy the genre from time to time. However, I don’t agree with getting an audience excited by seeing a character do something incredible that defies logic”

That sense of realism continued with the ‘slice of life’ story which follows the woman Taeko trying to figure out her life in 1980′s Tokyo. 1991′s Only Yesterday is where we saw Isao Takahata in a more earnest mood, but still with that same observance. Here, the plot may differ greatly, but that reflective style is still used, as Takahata was so good at taking us into the minds of his characters and observing their imaginations set off.

“For many years I have wanted to improve on the simplistic flat-pane image of cel animation. But I didn’t want to solve this by going into the 3D-CG method of three-dimensionality and substantiality”

The realism may be the same to his previous work, but the animation style greatly differs as the frames are drawn in a style that I have never seen before, with colours and details at the edges of the screen fading away to suggest that incompleteness of memory. It almost seems like sketches that were taken right from a children’s book, with the watercolours beautifully adding that light-tone to the scenes.

“I wanted to solve this by a method of reduction of not drawing everything on the screen, in order to stimulate people’s imagination and raise the level of artistry”

The thing is, I was deeply moved when watching Grave of the Fireflies. With Only Yesterday, I felt exactly the same, and that’s what is so staggering about this filmmaker. The man never once failed to achieve that feat in all of his works, the ability to make me feel more connected to these uniquely drawn characters than I have with most others in Animation. Fireflies has its poetic tragedy, this film rather takes me aback with is beauty and grace, all the while keeping its realism. Only Yesterday is a movie that every scene ebbs and flows with Taeko, and we see Takahata produce these moments that are so fleeting in life. A perfectly good-feel feature that proved to Japan in 1991 that Isao Takahata can not only create another blockbuster, he can do it his way.

“I see infinite potential for animation. I don’t know if that is a wonderful thing or not. All of the arts, whether they be music, drama, or painting, have infinite potential. But no one knows whether this unlimited potential can be a force for creating many works that can offer delight to people”

Beautiful, personal animated films that are some of the genre’s greatest, the soft-spoken man was always alert observing the world around him, the people around him and their “ordinary human qualities”. Touching the hearts of millions around the world like a cool welcoming breeze (apart from Fireflies which hit me like a brick), his influence is never in question as hundreds of animators live action filmmakers cite him as one of their teachers, without ever meeting in person. One of these people is Screenwriter Michael Arndt who, after seeing ‘My Neighbours the Yamadas’, was inspired to finally sit down and write ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ after years of procrastination.

He rarely ever put a pencil or pen to paper during any animation process, a huge contrast to the design-based approach of his colleague. The stories he wrote and released are what made his sophisticated, character-driven films a huge success, exploring a diverse range of themes and aesthetic styles while keeping within the realm of reality.

Mr. Isao Takahata, we say goodbye to a true poetic master, but through your absolutely stunning films that you kindly left us, your name will forever live in our hearts.

RIP Isao Takahata

29 October 1935 - 5 April 2018

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ladyseaheart1668 · 6 years

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Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter Thirty-Three)

Description: It is a day to give thanks. But our heroes know they must always keep on their guard

Tagging: @mysteli @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @princesstopgun @endlesshero1122 @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11 @feartheendlesssummer

Notes: Whew! This is a long one! ^_^; Once again, I want to thank @endlesshero1122 for inventing five characters and giving me full permission to use them. Dylan, RJ, Ysa, Zig (not Ortega!), and Alex are those characters, and you will all be seeing a lot more of them. :)

Chapter 33: Days of Plenty

Grace

“May I come in, darling?”

The question shakes me out of my momentary stupor. “I...I suppose so.” I take the chain off the door and pull it open, stepping aside. My mother steps inside, the heels of her pumps clicking on the hardwood floors. I shut the door behind her. It has been awhile since I've seen her. I take her beautiful white suede coat, trimmed with faux fur, and hang it on the coat rack by the door. Months, at least. She has aged some in that time; a few more fine lines, a few more gray hairs. But she is still flawlessly put together in her sophisticated royal blue dress suit and pumps, with her hair swept back in a French twist. She is clutching a designer briefcase, with her name engraved on the edge in an elegant serif font. I can't help but feel shabby in my sweater and mom-jeans, standing in the foyer of a luxury London flat that has definitely lost some of its showroom quality thanks to baby-proofing and two busy parents who can't exactly keep up with cleaning.

“...Would you like some coffee? There's a fresh pot brewed and everything.”

“Thank you, dear, that would be lovely.”

I lead her into the kitchen, only to immediately regret my decision when I get in there and remember what a disaster area it is. I move toward the cupboard to find a coffee cup, hoping my body blocks the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Not that it will make much difference with the countertops covered in half-cleaned spills and the floors unwashed. To my horror, I turn away from the cupboard and find I am too late to stop my mother from putting her hand down right into the sticky remains of an apple juice disaster from yesterday morning. Aleister and I had blotted up the amber puddles on the countertops and the floor with almost our entire supply of clean tea towels, but we were both running late. By the time we got home, we were both too tired to do anything more. We figured that no lives would be lost if we waited until morning to dig out the kitchen cleanser and the mop. But then, neither of us were expecting guests. There's a pit in my stomach as I offer my mother a hand wipe. At least we keep boxes of those stocked in every room.

“I'm sorry about that. I was trying to fill Reggie's sippy cup with apple juice yesterday, but somehow, I managed to drop the bottle and we didn't have time to give it a proper cleaning. I was planning on doing that this morning...”

“I see...” My mother accepts the wipe, delicately blotting her perfectly manicured hands, and conspicuously moving away from that area of the counter. I wince as I hear the soles of her shoes squelch in the sticky residue on the floor. “...Have you considered hiring a bit of domestic help? Perhaps a nanny or a housekeeper?”

“We have a several babysitters on call for when we're both working,” I say firmly. “We haven't found that we have need of a housekeeper right now.”

“The soles of my shoes might disagree,” she quips.

“Well, the soles of your shoes don't live here,” I snap. As her eyes narrow slightly, I take a deep breath, forcing a smile as I hand her a cup of coffee. “Why don't we go into the living room? I can't promise it will be immaculate, but at least you're not likely to find apple juice puddles in there.”

As we head into the living room, Aleister emerges from the bedroom with Reggie in his arms. He smiles politely at my mother, though his gaze is lukewarm as he regards her.

“Mother Hall. I thought I heard your voice. What a surprise.”

“Aleister.” My mother and husband come together to peck each other obligingly on the cheek. Mom smiles at Reggie, tickling him under the chin. “And Reginald Mason Rourke. How handsome you're becoming.”

“Can you say hello to your grandmother, Reginald?” It appears that the diamond tassel earrings dangling from my mother's earlobes have caught Reggie's eye because he squeals excitedly, reaching for one with surprising speed. Luckily, Aleister is faster. “Now, Reginald, 'say hello' does not mean attempt to steal her lovely earrings.”

“No harm done. I am glad that you are home. I was honestly hoping to speak with you both. Will you join us in the living room?”

“Do you have time, sweetie?” I ask pointedly. “If you don't, I can fill you in later.”

“I am the C.E.O. Well, one of them. I can take a few extra minutes.”

We continue into the living room, where Mom sits on a cuddly toy lion when she sinks into an armchair. She doesn't say anything about it, but she does make a very pointed face as she sets it aside. Aleister and I sit on the sofa, with Aleister balancing Reggie on his knee.

“I am here,” my mother says, looking at Aleister, “because your father has been in contact with me.”

Aleister looks up sharply. I feel my chest go tight, and my hand flies to his.

“You mean...recently?”

“Early in September. He wanted me to look into a former employee at Mansingh Transglobal. The mother of your friend, Alodia Chandler.”

The silence that follows her announcement is so thick that even Reggie seems to sense that something isn't right. He goes quiet, his chubby little face scrunching up uncertainly. When he starts to squirm and whine, Aleister lets him down to crawl around on the soft carpet at our feet.

“...What did you find out?” I finally manage to ask.

“Not a lot. Cassandra Chandler was a computer science major who worked as a researcher. She died about the time I became the C.E.O. There doesn't seem to have been much that was extraordinary about her, and it isn't exactly hard to believe that Everett Rourke would be interested in her since his obsession with her daughter is not exactly a secret.”

“No, I suppose it isn't,” Aleister concedes. “But then why bring this information to us if you don't think there is anything substantial to it?”

“Because for one thing, you deserve to know that your father has been in contact with me. For another, Alodia Chandler is a friend of yours. And you two experienced Rourke's obsession with her firsthand. You might not know much about why he was obsessed with her, but you know more than I do.” She opens her briefcase, and pulls out a sheaf of papers, held together with a binder clip. “Here's what I could find on her. Perhaps Alodia will be interested in it.”

“...Thank you, Mom.” I accept the papers.

“Well, I have taken enough of your time and my own. I must be off.”

“Of course. I'll walk you to the door.”

I get my mother's coat and show her out. After watching her go, I return to the living room. Aleister is leafing absently through the papers she left us. I come up beside him to put an arm over his shoulder.

“I think I may have to hold off on those sketches. I feel like I should go through those papers today.”

Aleister looks up at me. “Do you think whatever's in here is that important?”

“I don't know. Just...something about this doesn't feel right. My mother was acting strangely.”

“Was she?”

“It seemed so to me...”

Aleister sighs, rising to his feet. He approaches me and takes my shoulders gently, bending to kiss my cheek.

“I have to leave for work now, darling. Perhaps you can agree to wait until I get home so we can go over those papers together?”

It's my turn to sigh. “You really want me to wait?”

“Yes, darling. Two heads will be more effective than one. Besides, I want you to be able to work on your sketches today.”

“In between keeping our son out of trouble and making our flat a little more presentable?”

“Precisely. Let's worry about puzzling out the mystery of Alodia's human parent together.” He pauses for a moment. “...Besides, if we find something, we may be tempted to call her, which might not be entirely welcome while she is trying to make a good impression on her in-laws—not to mention the fact that she is at least six hours behind us.”

“All right, fair.” I am quiet for a moment, frowning. “...Hey...Mom said your father contacted her in early September. That was before they confiscated his phone, right?”

“Yes, I believe so. ...Why do you ask?”

“...Like I said. Something just doesn't feel right.”

Michelle

If I have to be at the hospital working instead of with my family on Thanksgiving, at least I'm working the noon-to-midnight shift, which means that for once I can be the one making sure Sean has a decent breakfast before seeing him off and crawling back into bed for a couple more hours' sleep.

“Oatmeal,” I inform him, setting the bowl in front of him, “and whole grain toast. A nice carb-o-licious breakfast to give you energy for the game today.”

He grins at me. “I have the best fiancée.”

I come up behind his chair to wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Your fiancée wishes she could be at the game today cheering you on, instead of at the hospital.”

“I know, babe.” He leans back into my embrace. “But you're doing great things at the hospital. You know how insanely proud I am of you.”

I admit I feel a smile playing around my mouth when he says that. “I know.” I kiss his cheek. “...I hope you know I'm proud of you, too.”

“I do know. But it's really nice to hear it, too. ...Think you'll have a couple minutes to watch a little of the game?”

“It's hard to say. You know how unpredictable a hospital can be.”

“Of course. Want me to wait up for you tonight? It's only gonna be a little after midnight when you get home.”

“You're gonna be exhausted after the game.”

He shrugs. “I'll still wait up if you want me to. I'll rig up some device to keep me awake.”

I snort. “Some device?”

“You know, some pulley sytem connected to my head or my shoulder that will turn on the stereo super loud if I start to nod off.”

He demonstrates, drawing an invisible pulley system in the air with his fingers, and then pretends to be nodding off, a theatrical snore interrupted by a vocal imitation of a loud metal riff. I laugh.

“No need to go to those kind of lengths. If you're up when I get home, I will be happy to see you. But if you're tired, you should sleep.”

“All right, I'll sleep. If I am tired.”

“Good boy.”

“...I love you, Michelle.”

“I love you, too, Sean.” I give him another peck on the cheek, and go to sit down across from him where my own breakfast is waiting. “Now eat your oatmeal. You've got a big game today.”

Estela

These past few weeks have been like a dream. Me and Tio Nicholas and Mom together in a peaceful San Trobida. Having Quinn here with us only adds to the utopian atmosphere. In fact, in the moments when the chimera wavers and worries about the world outside creep in, having someone else who was on La Huerta with me has helped to keep panic from setting in. Besides that, she has been a general boon to have around the house, helping with the chores and just generally being a joy. There are moments when I worry that I am keeping her here against her will. I promise I've told her that she doesn't have to stay if she would rather go back to her own family, especially for Thanksgiving. But apparently, she has spoken to her parents, and encouraged them to make Thanksgiving romantic occasion for the two of them. Since I am clearly not holding her against her will and thus I cannot release her, the only thing I can do is to make sure she knows how much I appreciate her presence.

On Thursday morning, I wake up early to make her pancakes. I've never been much of a cook, but with her and Raj giving me a few lessons, I've at least overcome my fear of the kitchen enough to follow a recipe. I prepare a breakfast tray, garnish it with a flower in a cup of water, and carry it up to the guest bedroom where she has been staying. She's still asleep when I get up there. To my chagrin, just my entering the room isn't enough to wake her. I linger in the doorway with the tray in my hand, wondering whether I should wake her, come back later, or just stay here. It seems my hesitation makes the decision for me, because after a moment or two, Quinn starts to stir. I feel myself standing up straighter as she turns her bleary gaze on me.

“Estela?” She sits up, blinking. “What's going on?”

I clear my throat, holding out the tray. “Um...this is for you...” I wince at myself. What am I doing, standing in the doorway, holding out the tray as if I expect her to come get it? I cross the room as quickly as I can without spilling anything to set the tray over her lap. She smiles, laughing a little.

“What is this?”

“...Breakfast. It's...to say thank you. For coming with me to San Trobida, and for staying with us these past couple weeks. You have been very helpful around the house, and my mom and tio can't say enough good things about you. So...thank you.”

“Oh, Estela, it's my pleasure. Really. Having your long-dead mother return home and revealing the details of our vacation through hell to your uncle seems like the kind of thing the presence of a friend could help you navigate more easily.”

“And so it has. ...And even if I don't need to thank you, I do want to.”

She pats the bed beside her. “Well, why don't you start by sitting down and helping me eat these pancakes?”

I take a seat on the edge of the bed, pushing a small cup of warmed syrup in her direction. She picks it up and drizzles the stuff over the pancakes.

“I was thinking...that you and I could make a day of it today. I could take you into the city and show you some of the sights. ...What do you say?”

She grins. “I can hardly think of a better way to spend a day that begins with breakfast in bed.”

I smile back. “Good. Because I want this day to be special for you. Also, if you had said no, that would have been decidedly awkward.”

Raj

Shooting an episode of a cooking show is never a one-day affair, but every show handles their schedule a little bit differently. Some chefs choose to set aside a block of a few days and knock out several episodes in a single day of shooting. That's not so practical for me, since I like to travel for my episodes. But I still have to shoot each episode several times over before there's enough that the wizards in the editing department can splice the best bits together into a winning episode. By the time we have enough footage for the Rome episode, I am worn out, and I can tell Lila is, too. Neither of us feel safe leaving her on her own, even if we are in Italy, but I can't exactly invite her to help with the episode, either. We feel even less safe putting her in front of a television camera. So, she's spent a lot of time just sitting around, and I know well that boredom can be even more exhausting than work.

On the last day of shooting, we're finished before noon. I help the crew clean up, then leave the set to look for Lila. I find her sleeping on the couch in my dressing room. I shake her shoulder gently.

“Lila? Wakey-wakey.”

She blinks at me and yawns, stretching. “Are we done for the day?”

“We're done for the episode.”

“Mmm.” She pushes herself upright. “On to the next one?”

“In due time. But we've got a bit of a break now. About a week.”

“So, what will we do until then?”

I grin. “Something that I hope you'll like. How would you feel about a holiday in Tuscany?”

Alodia

I wake up with the sun Thanksgiving morning, only to find that Jake and his family are already awake. I can smell cooking from downstairs. As I make my way down, I can hear the familiar sounds of the Macy's parade broadcast coming from the television in the living room, as well as voices from the dining room where the family has gathered for breakfast.

To my great relief, my late night awakening never becomes a topic of conversation during breakfast. I am greeted warmly and welcomed into the meal, where they ask me how I am feeling and if I slept well. No one questions it when I reply that I slept very well, thank you. I make quick work of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, and help Bernadette and Rebecca with the breakfast dishes. We have to hustle, Bernadette says, because we don't have much time to dawdle before we have to begin preparing dinner.

“Are there going to be many people?” I ask, meticulously loading plates into the dishwasher.

“Depends on what you consider 'many',” Rebecca replies.

“It's the usual crowd for us,” Bernadette says. “Frank's brother Pete and his girlfriend, my brother Emile with his wife and their two boys, my mom, and a couple of our old friends who don't have anywhere else to go for the holiday.”

“Well, that's bigger than most Thanksgivings I ever had growing up. It was usually just my aunt, my uncle, me, and Diego. Sometimes his parents came too, but they didn't really do Thanksgiving themselves so that wasn't often.”

“Well, you're gonna get the full McKenzie experience this year,” Rebecca quips. “And if that isn't enough to make you regret marrying my baby brother, nothing will.”

“Oh, boy. Jake did mention it was going to be chaotic. Anything I should be forewarned about?”

“Well, you're not the only one who's meeting the family for the first time. Uncle Pete's girlfriend is someone we've only “met” over Facebook so far.”

“She seems like a nice woman, though,” Bernadette adds. “Her name is Aubrey. I think she's from Chicago originally. About twenty years younger than Pete, but once you get to be a certain age, that's not much of a difference.”

“Hey, as long as everyone is legal and consenting, I don't pass judgment,” I remark. “Well, not moral judgment, anyway. I admit to having my opinions on whether what people are doing is altogether wise, but only when it involves people I know well.”

“Sound policy,” Rebecca says approvingly. “Anyway, you'll be in good company with Aubrey. Now, about Uncle Emile and Aunt Lorraine...”

* * *

Once the dishes are done, I head back upstairs to get dressed. I've packed a long floral-printed sundress with an empire waist and a matching shrug. I add some subtle jewelry, a touch of makeup, and sweep my hair back into a French braid. I brush my teeth and head back downstairs, where the parade has been replaced on the television with a football game.

“Is this the Condors' game?” I ask, coming to sit beside Jake on the couch.

“They're not playing for a couple hours,” he answers, taking my hand and kissing it. “But don't worry. I made sure Pop knows we're die-hard Condors fans. ...You look beautiful, by the way.”

I grin and kiss his cheek. “I'll do then?”

“Absolutely. You're gonna knock 'em all dead.”

It's not even noon when the McKenzie guests start arriving. The first is an old neighbor, Sidney Everly. To describe her as an elderly widow calls up an image that is quite contrary to her actual presence. The moment I am introduced as Jake's wife, she squeals and pulls me into a hug that can only be described as crushing. Clearly, her slender, stooped appearance belies her strength.

“So someone finally snapped up Jake McKenzie! And he's put a bun in her oven!”

“Okay, okay, Sidney, don't swarm her,” Jake chides, gently but firmly separating us. “Remember she is pregnant.”

“Oh, phooey, she's not going to pop,” Sidney scoffs, but she doesn't try to hug me again. “All right, Bernadette, put me in the kitchen and set me to work!”

Next to arrive is Jesse Atwood, an equally animated bachelor who comes with a violin case and tray of exquisite-looking handmade chocolate eclairs topped with berries and dusted with powdered sugar. He is quickly followed by Bernadette's younger brother and sister-in-law, Emile and Lorraine Landry, with their teenage boys, Neil and Ethan. Seventeen-year-old Neil is friendly and seems eager to get to know everyone in the room. Ethan is fifteen years old, and I'm not sure if he's going through a surly teenage phase or if he's just overwhelmed by the number of people present, but he arrives with earbuds firmly in his ears and barely glances up from the game he's playing on his phone when I'm introduced. The family doesn't seem phased by this, which tells me that whatever it is, it's not personal, so I leave him be.

Finally, Frank's brother Pete shows up with his girlfriend Aubrey, a short, slim woman in her late forties with dark brown hair cut just above her shoulders and styled in a fluffy perm. She grins when we're introduced and shakes my hand. There is relief in her soft gray eyes.

“Glad to meet you, Alodia. I think you and I are the major curiosities here tonight.” She leans in a little closer. “Though I think you're probably a little more of a curiosity than I am. No offense.”

“None taken. Between my backstory and my baby bump I expect to be fielding a lot of questions tonight.”

“Come on, everyone!” Sidney calls from the kitchen. “There's a feast to be prepared! Anyone who's helping with the cooking, in the kitchen! Everyone else--”

“Everyone else will please heed my instructions and not Sidney's!” Bernadette says firmly, though I can see a smile on her lips. “Alodia, sha, maybe you can help serve up some cider and snacks?”

Sidney, Bernadette, Rebecca, Jesse, and Emile take over the kitchen, preparing mostly sidedishes while Frank and Pete take turkey-duty outside to the grill. I spend a little while running cider, beer, and platters of appetizers out to the living room and to the men out by the grill. To my surprise, Ethan immediately comes to help me, though he doesn't take his earbuds out. Jake has been in the living room chatting with Neil. About my third trip out to the living room, he catches my hand.

“Hey, Princess. I know Mom and ol' Sidney can turn into a pair of Major Generals when they're cooking together, but don't let 'em push you around.”

I smirk. “You really think they can push me around?”

He actually seems to consider that for a moment before smiling. “I guess not. But don't you push yourself around, either. Promise me you'll rest if you get tired?”

“Promise. But if you're really concerned, you could come give me a hand.”

He chuckles. “Okay, fair.”

A few minutes later, he and I are sitting at the kitchen table together and peeling potatoes. After a short while, Neil, Ethan, and Aubrey come to join us. Neil dominates the conversation for awhile, filling everyone in on his preparations for college. But when the conversation starts to reach a lull, Ethan surprises me by filling the silence.

“Do you know if your baby is a boy or a girl yet?” he asks me.

“Not yet,” I reply. “We're going to learn that next week.”

“Have you done the wedding ring test yet?” Sidney asks.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “The what?”

“You tie the mom-to-be's wedding ring on a piece of thread and dangle it over her belly. If it swings back and forth like a pendulum, it's a boy. If it swings in circles, it's a girl.”

“Are you sure?” Aubrey asks skeptically. “I'd always heard it was the other way around.”

“I can look it up on my phone,” Neil offers.

“Oh, there's really no need,” I chuckle. “I don't have a wedding ring.”

Sidney gasps. “You mean Jake didn't even get you a ring?!”

“...Uh...we weren't exactly married in a traditional ceremony.”

“We have a handfasting ribbon,” Jake adds. He briefly explains the handfasting ceremony, naturally replacing anything suspiciously Vaanti with something that sounds more like it was thought up by college students. “I still have that ribbon.”

“You do?” I'm startled and I don't hide it. “You've never mentioned that to me. Where is it?”

“I had it framed to keep it preserved. I put it in a safe place at my grandparents' place. ...I never thought of going to get it when we moved to California because...well...I had you back. And there was a lot going on.”

“Ohhh! You should get it as long as you're in Pearl River!” Sidney exclaims. “It's not like you're far from your grandparents' place.”

“That's actually not a bad idea,” Jake concedes.

“I wouldn't mind seeing that ribbon again,” I agree.

“Maybe you could do the ring test with that, just with a regular ring,” Ethan suggests. “Maybe the ribbon will have the same kind of...energy you need.”

“Oh, there's no need for that test,” Bernadette scoffs. “She's carrying high. It's a girl.”

“Well, the old lady on the plane yesterday agrees with you,” Rebecca snickers.

“Hey, we're not listening to the old lady on the plane!” Jake says firmly.

“Why, what did the old lady on the plane say?” Neil asks eagerly.

I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Well, I ended up getting airsick while we were landing, so I was throwing up into a paper bag while everyone was getting their things.” I go on, describing the old woman and her daughter, to the amusement of everyone except Jake.

“The old bat is wrong, by the way,” he grumbles. “Alodia looks as beautiful as ever.”

“I have to agree with Jake,” Sidney declares. “If that baby's stolen your good looks, then you must be too pretty for anyone's good. I think you've got a boy.”

“Whether or not her looks have been stolen, girls do cause more sickness,” Bernadette insists.

“What have your cravings been like?” Sidney asks.

“Well...peanut butter's been the big one...” l

“There, you see? Protein. That means it's a boy.”

“Not American peanut butter, sha,” Bernadette scoffs. “You know how much sugar is in American peanut butter?”

“Well, I have been especially fond of peanut butter cookies,” I point out.

This goes on for awhile. Everyone chimes in with the various wives' tales they've heard for predicting the baby's sex. They ask me about my moods, hair growth, breakouts, stretchmarks, and whatever else they can think of. Neil even looks up a Chinese sex-prediction chart on his phone that asks for my birthday and the month we conceived in, which my best guess places in July. That chart tells me I'm having a girl, which pleases Bernadette. Of course, no matter what the wives' tales say, she remains convinced I'm having a girl. Sidney is of the opposite opinion, and Rebecca seems to agree with her.

“Y'all are being ridiculous!” Jake declares, exasperated. “Even once we know the sex, it's not like that's going to predict their personality or anything like that.”

“Jake's got the right of it,” Jesse agrees, stirring the gravy on the stove. “Maybe y'all should keep the sex secret until the baby's a few months old.”

“Are you gonna keep the name secret, too?” Sidney scoffs.

“We wouldn't have to,” Jake retorts. “We've already chosen the name, and it's unisex.”

“I hate unisex names.”

“Sidney, you have a unisex name!”

“That don't mean I like it!”

“Well, girl or boy, our baby is River Skye McKenzie, and that's that.”

Sidney considers that. “Well, okay. That's a good name.”

“Good for a boy, but even better for a girl,” Bernadette declares haughtily.

“You're impossible, Mom,” Jake sighs.

“Yes, I am. Now go see if your Pop needs help with the turkey.”

Grayson

I prepare a small meal to take to my father for our Thanksgiving dinner. Well, actually it's more like a Thanksgiving lunch, since I am going to be eating with him early in order to make it to Rochelle's apartment on time. I did tell him I had been invited to another dinner later in the day. He didn't ask where I was going, but I suspect he knows. I have never made my affection for Tahira a secret, which does kind of worry me now. But all I can really do is swear that I will never let myself be used against her.

I arrive at the mansion where I grew up—the one that now serves as my father's prison—and make my way up the walk, clutching the cooler full of Thanksgiving food. I put it down to ring the doorbell and bounce lightly on the balls of my feet while I wait, breathing warm air into my cupped hands. I should have worn gloves, but I was running late getting out of my apartment, and by the time I thought of it, it was just too late to go back. The seconds melt into each other, and I am just about to ring the bell again when my father answers.

“You're late, Grayson.”

“...I'm sorry, dad. The turkey took longer than I was expecting.” I heft the cooler with a grunt and all but waddle through the front door. Dad raises an eyebrow at the cooler.

“What's in there?”

“Food. Thanksgiving lunch. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a pumpkin pie. Traditional fare. I also bought a bottle of wine.”

“Hmm. Anything that will require reheating?”

“Most of it hasn't had that much time to get cold. But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to warm the vegetables.”

“Very well. I suppose you had better bring that stuff right into the kitchen. I know how eager you are to get onto your other dinner.”

I grit my teeth, needled by the thinly-veiled barb in his words. “Well, it isn't like I'm going to eat and run,” I assure him, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Of course not. Shall we eat off the fine china?”

While the food rewarms, we take the our time setting the dining room table. We spread out a white tablecloth of Irish linen with matching placemats and napkins. We lay out the silver cutlery and the antique china plates that I can remember adorning the holiday tables of my childhood. Each plate is uniquely painted with pictures of various fruits and flowers in beautiful pastel colors. In a moment of nostalgia, I claim the one with the ripe peaches surrounded by raspberries for myself. That one was always my favorite. My father doesn't comment on my choice, but I do see him smile fondly at the plate for a moment. He lights a pair of beeswax candles in crystal candleholders. I carve the turkey in the kitchen and arrange it on a platter. Then we lay out the food and take our seats. For a moment, neither of us move.

“...Do you think we should say grace?” I ask hesitantly.

“I suppose.”

“We don't have to,” I say quickly. “It's only that it's tradtional...”

Dad doesn't respond. He pulls the bottle of red Zinfandel toward him and snatches up the winged corkscrew. I wince a little as he jams the sharp end of the screw into the cork, but I make myself focus on how much the corkscrew looks like a little person or a human-shaped robot with two long arms. As dad twists the robot's head, it raises its arms as if in some stiff, jerky dance. And then as Dad pushes its arms down, it detatches itself from the bottle, taking the cork with it. Dad places it aside with the cork still attached and picks up the bottle.

“Say when,” he instructs me as he tips the bottle over my glass. Dark red liquid flows from the bottle's mouth and sloshes in the basin of my wineglass. I cut off the flow at half a glass. Dad raises an eyebrow at me for a moment before moving to pour a larger glass for himself. He sets down the bottle and begins filling his plate with turkey, potatoes, stuffing, and beans. After a moment, I do the same.

“I suppose,” he says at last as he picks up his knife and fork and begins slicing his turkey into bite-sized pieces, “that you shouldn't have too much to drink if you are going to be driving to Tahira's dinner before long.”

“...No,” I agree. “That wouldn't be responsible.”

He pauses, glancing sidelong at me. “...It is Tahira you will be spending the evening with, isn't it?”

“Among others. Her mother will be there, and Dax Darcisse and Poppy Patel.”

“But Tahira is the one you really want to see.”

“Is that your oh-so-subtle way of asking if she and I are finally seeing each other?” I quip, hoping to disguise my discomfort with this line of questioning.

“It hardly seems like the best idea to be dating someone you work with. Much less someone who works for you.”

“We're both smart people, Dad. We know how to keep our personal lives separate from work.”

“Don't be naive, Grayson. No one actually knows how to do that.”

I feel myself stiffen. Deep breaths, Grayson. You don't want a fight to sour your mood before you see Tahira.

“Well, we'll just do our best then, and deal with any problems as they come up.”

“...You know what she is, son.”

I almost drop my fork as my veins turn to ice, but I manage to keep it together. I lower my fork to my plate, its prongs still sporting a lump of mashed potatoes.

“What she is, Dad, is a woman I care for deeply, and have done since we were in college together. She is smart and fun and kind and—“

“Powerful,” Dad adds. He puts down his fork and knife, leaning back and tenting his fingers. He fixes me with a penetrating stare. “Let's not beat around the bush, Grayson. Tahira is Dragonness. You know she is.”

I sigh. I consider feigning surprise, but it's probably too late for that. Besides, I'm not sure how much good it would do. Is it really that much more dangerous for my father to know that I know her identity when he already knows it himself? Suddenly, I feel exhausted.

“...What do you want me to say, Dad?”

“I only want you to be honest with me.”

“...Then yes. I know who she is. And I know you know, too. ...I also know the real reason you attacked Northbridge was because you wanted to use her power to bring Mom back.”

“And I suppose she told you that?”

“Yes! She did! Are you going to deny it?”

“No, in fact. I am not going to deny it. Nor will I deny that my plan did not work out as I had expected.”

“And what were you expecting?”

He sighs, letting his hands drop onto the table to rest on either side of his plate. He picks at a bit of turkey skin hanging off the edge of the plate.

“I had believed the power to bring Helena back existed in the world on the other side of the Prism Gate. ...The world where Dragonness was born. I had hoped that if we managed to make it there, we would find her people. Find a the power necessary. Alas, that was not the case.”

I don't answer. I pick up my fork and knife and tear into the turkey on my plate, covering my silence by stuffing my mouth with the meat. Dad watches me eat for a moment.

“...Do you not approve, Grayson?”

I choke down a mouthful. It gets stuck at the back of my throat, but I force it down with a deep drink of wine. I set my glass down and stare at my plate.

“...Mom is gone, Dad.”

“She doesn't have to be.”

“Yes! She does! She's dead!”

My father's eyes narrow, his expression darkening. “You watch your mouth, son.”

“I'm only saying what's true! Mom is dead! She has been dead for years! It's not like I'm happy about it, but it's a fact!”

“All this from the boy who wasn't willing to do what needed to be done in Bayside for fear that some people would have to pick themselves up by their bootstraps and move on.”

“Dad, you were talking about displacing living people from their homes! Do you realize how many lives you snuffed out on the day you decided to attack Northbridge?! Eight! Eight people died because you can't let Mom rest!”

My father eyes me steadily. “I could bring them back, too.”

I feel a chill cross my shoulders. “...What...? What are you...?”

“There is a way, Grayson.”

“Dad, no...please...” I reach across the table to cover his hand with mine. “Let it go. Please. Please don't make Tahira suffer to bring Mom back.”

“I don't mean Tahira. ...There is another way.”

I can feel my heart spasming in my throat. “...Dad...please. I don't know if you just never grieved Mom properly or what, but...all I've wanted for years is for us to be a family!”

Dad puts his other hand on top of mine, grasping it firmly. “And we will be! As soon as I can find the power to bring her back, we--”

“No!” I pull my hands back sharply, feeling tears burning in my eyes. “Not us and Mom! Mom is gone! I mean you and me! You're still my father! I am still your son! We're still a family! Or we could be if you would let Mom go and look at me!”

For a moment, I think I actually see genuine remorse in my father's face. It's only a flicker, just for an instant, but even when it vanishes, his expression is softer somehow. Gentler.

“...You don't understand,” he says softly.

“No. No, Dad, I don't. ...I don't understand why you turned your back on me when I needed you most. How one day we could be so close and you could show me so much affection...and then as soon as Mom was in the ground, it was like you turned cold as her grave. For years, I thought you had stopped loving me. For years, I thought I had done something wrong.” I can't hold back a few tears as the scared little boy I used to be comes to the surface of my mind, bringing his hurt, his abandonment, his confusion. “I realize now you were just in pain, but...but the fact is you still haven't dealt with that pain. ...This...isn't how Mom would have wanted us to be to each other, Dad. She would have wanted us to hold each other. Support each other in her absence.”

“She would have wanted to be with us!”

“Of course she would have! But she isn't! God dammit, for all you accuse me of not being realistic, you can't even accept...” I trail off, my voice strangled by unshed tears that clog my throat. My head drops into my hands on the table.

I feel a touch on my shoulder, the palm of my father's hand resting gently on my back. I don't shrug him off, even though my head tells me I should. To have my father resting a hand on my shoulder to comfort me...it's like a mouthful of water to a man who has crossed the desert. Such unspeakable relief. And yet...so far from enough.

“My son...my boy...my child. Please, listen to me. I know I failed you. In so many ways. I failed your mother, too. But that is what I am trying to fix.”

Now I do shrug him off.

“No. No, Dad. What you're doing isn't fixing anything.” I lift my head, but I don't look at my father. “Until you get help, we're never going to be the family Mom wanted us to be. I'm sorry.”

He knows what I'm implying. That when he comes to trial, I am going to argue in favor of having him committed. But to my surprise, his only reaction now is a sigh.

“...It's okay, Grayson. It will be okay. I promise. I know how to fix everything now. When I am through, it will be as if all those lonely years never even happened.”

He goes back to his dinner, clearing his plate in silence. I look down at the meal going cold on my plate, the moist turkey, lumpy mashed potatoes and oily green beans obscuring the delicately painted peaches and raspberries. I don't feel like eating anymore. Something about Dad's reaction has me more unsettled than ever.

Poppy

“Come on, Dax! We're going to be late! Rochelle said dinner is at three o'clock, and it's now 2:20!”

“Okay! Okay! I'm coming!” Dax sighs, reluctantly putting aside his project. His eyes linger on the tiny object for a moment before he sighs again and starts to straighten up his workstation.

“Is that the thing you told me about?” I ask. “The hologram thing?”

“That's it.”

“How's it coming?”

“Well, actually. Really well. I even think I should have it ready to present by New Year's Eve.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I'm impressed. Considering you've only been working on it for a month now.”

“What can I say? I'm motivated. Also, the technology involved already exists, it's just a matter of making it more portable and easier to disguise.”

I put my arms around him, kissing his cheek. “That's a really nice thing you're doing for them, sweetie. I'm proud of you.”

He leans into my embrace, going quiet for a moment. “...I started to imagine what he described...being trapped on the outside...while...” He swallows. “...If it were you...or Tahira. I'm closer to the two of you than I've ever been to anyone. ...If one of you were hurt or sick and I was stuck on the outside...”

“Well, if you can pull this off, that won't be something they have to worry about.”

“I can pull it off,” he says with determination. “I know I can.”

“I know you can, too. Now come on. I am not going to be late for Rochelle's famous taffy-apple salad.”

Zahra

It's another jolly holiday at the Hsiao household. And I promise I'm not actually saying that ironically. I actually like my boyfriend's family, and I will readily admit that I am very, very lucky that way. Far from being what some racially insensitive douches would imagine, Kira and Huan Hsiao are not actually super strict, conservative “tiger parents,” like Asian parents tend to be on TV. A more accurate description of them would be snarky hippy goofballs. Well...hippies who still eat meat, I guess. So maybe not hippies.

But they are animal lovers. Their house is a crazy menagerie of four cats Nikky, Snickerdoodle, Tootle, and Buttercup; a German shepherd/collie mix named Tiffany; Mindy and George, a pair of rabbits; a parakeet named Tinker; and a ball python, hilariously named Monty—particularly hilarious because the python in question is female. We humans finish our Thanksgiving feast in the early afternoon, and Kira and Huan immediately set to work making sure the animals get their own. The cats are the most insistent, twining around Kira's ankles and yowling as she dishes Fancy Feast on top of Meow Mix and garnishes it with Temptations treats and catnip. And I know I've been staying at their place too long because I have started to recognize brands of cat food.

“Yes, yes, my little darlings,” Kira sings. “Food is coming!”

“Good god,” I groan. “Those things are cute when they're all purry and keeping my toes warm at night, but they are so friggin' noisy when they're hungry!”

“They're not that different from human babies that way,” Kira quips, carrying two double-bowls of catfood to the placemat on the floor in the corner. The cats immediately go quiet, digging into their feast. Kira calls out to Tiffany, who has been waiting patiently on the floor by the kitchen door. At the sound of her name, the dog leaps up on her paws, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as her tail starts to wag. Kira reaches into a plastic bag labled “Pampered Pets” and pulls out what I realize has to be a dog treat, but which looks enough like a cupcake that I want to eat it myself.

“Aww, you got Tiffany a pupcake!” Joey laughs.

“Of course! They're her favorite special occasion treats.”

Kira makes Tiffany sit and lie down before placing the treat a few feet in front of her nose. Tiffany licks her chops, her tail thumping eagerly, but she obediently waits for the signal before attacking her pupcake, wolfing it down in two bites.

“Oh, hey!” Joey leaps up from the table. “Let's go play Road From Xanadu! We gotta finish it before you guys go back to Northbridge!”

Craig pushes back from the table, stretching his arms over his head. “Nothing like video games after Thanksgiving dinner,” he agrees. “I'm in.”

Joey comes around to grab my arm, tugging insistently. “Come on, Zahra! We can't play without you since you're Amaya!”

“Well, you could make her an NPC,” I point out, even as I get to my feet.

“But then we'd have to start over!”

“Well, we can't have that. Let's go.”

The truth is, though, I'm a little reluctant to play. Road From Xanadu is this obscure RPG game set in this weird dimension where a bunch of people from various other dimensions and alternate timelines end up. From what I can gather, it's basically a dimension converging on all other dimensions. The main character is a badass warrior woman with weather magic whose whole mission is to get back to her own dimension in order to prevent a horrific disaster from killing her family. Along the way, she's tormented by visions of a past life that seem to be hinting that the disaster was actually an attack by someone from a past that she can't remember. It all feels a little too much like AU La Huerta for me to be totally comfortable, but Joey is super into it, so I've been trying to hide my misgivings.

We head into the living room where the fireplace is going, turn on the TV and the game console, and curl up on the couch with Joey wedged between us. The game loads up and the menu flickers up onto the screen in front of us. We search for the save marked ZCJ and load up our game. I frown as my character shows up on the screen, but without Craig or Joey's, and with a completely dark background.

“Wait...where were we again?”

“Illusory Cities,” Joey reminds me. “Field of Mirrors. Remember? We're trapped in the mirrors, and you have to get us out.”

“Oh...right...”

So my character wanders through a field of mirrors where her friends are trapped inside their dreams, trying to wake them up so they can move on to collect the next item in their fetch quest to build the portal that will take them back to her dimension. Craig and Joey yell hints and encouragement, and finally, I manage to break everyone out.

“Dude, Amaya is totally falling in love with Felix,” Craig declares, grinning. “I knew I chose the right character.”

“I bet they kiss before we stop playing tonight,” Joey agrees.

“You talkin' about Felix and Amaya or Craig and me? Because if it's the latter, you'll definitely win that bet.”

“Hey!” Joey holds up a hand in front of my face. “No kissing over my head. If you wanna kiss, you gotta warn me so I can move.”

Of course, by this point Buttercup has jumped into my lap and made herself comfortable, tucking her feet underneath her body and laying her head on my knee. I know from experience that she won't move until forced to by either her bladder or mine.

“I don't think that's happening any time soon, kiddo,” I sigh. “Okay, let's get back to it. We gotta find something called 'Wild Time'...”

Tahira

By a quarter to three, everyone has arrived at my mother's apartment except Grayson. My last three texts have gone unanswered, and I'm starting to get anxious, though I try to distract myself by setting the table. Finally, I feel a vibration in the pocket of my jeans, accompanied by the chime of my text alert. I fish my phone out of my pocket and read the message.

Grayson: Waiting outside. Am I late??

I exhale, feeling an easy smile curve my lips as reliefs flood through me in soothing waves. I thumb out a response:

Right on time. I'll come down to let you in.

I call over my shoulder to let Mom know where I'm going before I rush out into the hallway and down the stairs. Grayson is waiting outside the front door with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine tucked under the opposite arm. I grin as I hold the door open for him.

“As much as presents are appreciated, don't think I haven't noticed that you can't hug me while you're holding those.”

Stepping into the foyer of the building, Grayson immediately sets the flowers and wine on an end table and pulls me in for a fierce, needful kiss, dipping me slightly in his arms. I melt into his embrace, raising my arms to wind around his neck as I taste his mouth. He tastes like he brushed his teeth just recently. Finally, he straightens, bringing me with him, and reluctantly breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on mine.

“Okay, I forgive you. ...Trying to recreate V-J Day in Time Square?”

“...I love you, Tahira.” His voice is a whisper, and there's a weight to it that puts a lump in the pit of my stomach.

“I love you, too, Grayson. But...are you all right? Did lunch with your dad not go well?”

“I have to tell you something,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed. “Something Dad said has been worrying me since he said it. But...I don't want to spoil the holiday. Just promise me you won't let me leave without telling you tonight.”

My first impulse is actually to say 'okay', push his words to the back of my mind, and get on with my holiday. But even as I consider it, I know that I'll never be able to concentrate on having a good time with that hanging over my head.

“What do you mean? What did he say?” When he hesitates, I take his face in my hands, turning it toward me. “Please, Grayson. Don't hold back. I'd rather you just say it than leave me to imagine the worst.”

He hesitates another moment. A knock at the lobby door makes us both jump. We turn to look out the clear glass door and find a man balancing a foiled-draped casserole dish in one hand and waving at us with the other. His wife and two young children stand behind him, bundled up and bouncing against the bite of the chilly November air. He gestures to the doorknob. Grayson clears his throat, blushing as he pushes the door open. The small family scurries into the warmth of the lobby and toward the elevator. He sighs.

“We shouldn't talk out here,” he mumbles, not meeting my eyes. “Let's get somewhere we can talk privately.”

“...Yeah. Okay. Maybe it can wait until after dinner.”

He smiles, but it looks a little forced. Then his eyes light up and he scoops up the bouquet he had placed on the side table, placing it in my arms carefully as if it were a swaddled infant.

“Sorry I'm later than expected, by the way. I stopped to pick those up on the way.”

I can't help but smile as I regard the colorful bouquet in my arms, pink roses and miniature carnations arranged amidst snowy white chrysanthemums, yellow Peruvian lilies, lavender, statice, and huckleberry. I put my nose in the armful of flora and inhale a fragrant blend of perfumes.

“They're absolutely beautiful.”

His smile is genuine again as he casually takes up the wine bottle and offers me his hand.

“I couldn't resist a few roses,” he says, “but I've always thought roses alone were a little...well, boring. If I'm going to bring someone flowers, I want something colorful.”

“I approve of your choice.”

Everyone else clearly approves of it too, if their gushing reaction when we get back up to Mom's apartment is any indication. While Mom is busy hunting for a vase, and Dax and Poppy are helping her find the ladle she was looking for a moment ago, I see an opportunity and impulsively decide to to take it. I take Grayson by the hand and pull him into the bedroom. I shut the door, pressing the lock down for good measure.

“So, what were you going to say about your Dad?”

He shifts uncomfortably, looking cornered. “I...thought you said it could wait until after dinner.”

“I know. But I also said I'd rather know than spend dinner imagining the worst.”

For a moment he is quiet, and I think he is going to protest again that it should wait until after dinner. But then he nods.

“...We got into a fight, which will probably not come as much of a surprise. He knows that I know who you are, by the way. I didn't tell him, but he guessed and I didn't know how to deny it, or if it would even do any good.”

“It probably wouldn't have,” I agree. “It's okay. We'll deal with it. Was that all?”

“No. ...We were arguing about his obession with bringing Mom back. I was begging him not to make you suffer for it. ...He said that he didn't have to use you. That there was another way. Some of the things he said...it started to sound like he wasn't just talking about bringing Mom back. He was talking about rewriting history so she never died at all.”

I feel an electric chill skitter down my spine. “...That...that sounds like...”

“I know. ...I can't help but wonder if he's managed to learn something about the Janus Project.”

Aleister

I come home in the evening to find that the flat has been scrubbed top to bottom. In the sitting room, the evening news flickers on the television, the volume turned to something just barely audible. My wife is curled up on the sofa under a throw blanket, her glasses set aside on the coffee table beside the baby monitor. She appears to be dozing lightly, and as I approach, I can see from the screen on the baby monitor that my son is asleep as well, contentedly sucking his thumb in his crib. I smile, kneeling beside Grace and bending to kiss the top of her head. She stirs and stretches at my touch, smiling up at me.

“Hey, honey,” she says around a yawn. “There's tuna noodle casserole in the refridgerator. I already ate, but it wouldn't take much to heat it up.”

“You're a treasure,” I reply. She reaches over to fumble for her glasses, and I guide them to her hand. “I brought home macroons for dessert. Can I fix you a plate with some tea?”

“That would be heavenly. Could you also give me a hand getting off the couch?”

I chuckle, standing and offering my hand. She takes it, groaning a little as I help pull her to her feet. Once standing, she flops theatrically against my chest, resting her head on my shoulder and pretending to snore. I laugh.

“I am not surprised you're so tired. The flat looks beautiful.” I drape one of her arms over my shoulders and wind the other around her waist, pulling her close to my side as if I am helping her walk with an injured leg. “But I hope this was not just because your mother sat on a cuddly toy this morning.”

“There are some ways Mom can still get to me,” she admits. “...But I was also trying to keep busy so I wouldn't be tempted to peek at the files she left us. Besides, the flat needed a good scrub. I just hope my back doesn't regret it in the morning.”

I guide her to a kitchen chair and stand behind her for a moment, rubbing her shoulders. “I'll tell you what, darling. Why don't you have a nice hot bath while I have my supper, and then we'll look at the files together over tea and macaroons. Deal?”

“Deal.”

* * *

Grace takes her time in the bath, and when I finish dinner, we both get into our pajamas. Curled up on the sofa with a pleasant fire going, two cups of hot tea and a tray of macaroons, it's almost easy to forget what we're actually looking for with the documents spread out across our laps. Not that we seem to be finding much that is obviously incriminating.

“I am quite surprised to hear myself say this, but it seems Alodia's mother was in fact quite an ordinary woman.”

“Well, I don't know about 'ordinary,'” Grace remarks. “According to everything here, she was a genius at computer science. She headed nearly eighty percent of Mansingh Transglobal's computer science projects in 1995.”

She passes me the page she's looking at, and I skim over it. A few project names jump out at me.

“ 'Project Jupiter'...'The Trojan Project'...Anything with a Greco-Roman theme might bear looking into further. With the Trojan Project, I'm inclined to guess it had something to do with computer viruses. ...Perhaps an attempt to develop some sort of antivirus software.”

“Or digital condoms,” Grace suggests, grinning. I snort, poking her shoulder lightly.

“Trojan always was a terrible name for a condom.”

“Huh...now this is interesting.”

“What is?”

Grace holds up the page in front of her. “Apparently Cassandra Chandler worked on one of the most advanced digital painting/rendering programs of the early nineties. She won an award for her own digital art. And...oh! I think Mom included samples...” She turns to a few glossy photo prints. “Wow. This is beautiful.”

She passes me a picture of a digitally rendered sunset over the ocean. “Impressive. The colors, the shading...very advanced for the early nineties.”

“And look at this moonscape. It's so lifelike, it's like looking at a photo.”

“Clearly, she was very talented. ...Perhaps we should send this to Alodia. I'm sure she would like to have some piece of her mother to hold...on...to...Grace...?”

Grace is staring at the photo in front of her, her dark eyes wide. I peer over at the picture and feel my breath catch in my throat. It's another beautifully rendered piece of digital art, a portrait depicting a young woman posed beneath a palm tree. It is as clear as a photograph, or a Holbein portrait. Her blue eyes, golden blonde hair, her pale skin...

“Good heavens...but...that's...”

“Yeah,” Grace agrees. “It's Alodia.”

Michelle

It's hard to have a totally good day when you're working at a hospital. Even if none of your own patients die, it's hard to ignore the fact that people do die there every day. And yet, at the same time, people are born there every day, too. Lives are saved, or changed for the better with surgeries that improve quality of life. It's difficult to have a totally good day, but if you know where to look, it's hard to have a totally bad one, too. For me, today managed to even out. I was busy, which kept my shift from dragging too much, but now I'm definitely feeling it. Now, what I really want is to go home, put on my pajamas and curl up in bed with Sean so I can fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

I finally get home at nearly a quarter to one. There's a note in Sean's handwriting taped to the door of our apartment when I get there:

Hey, Beautiful. Left something on the coffee table for you. Love you! --Sean.

I smile, folding the note and tucking it into the pocket of my jacket. The first year we were dating back at Hartfeld, he was always getting me little gifts to leave in my room at the sorority house when we were both too busy for a real date night. They were never expensive, but they were always meaningful and romantic. A refridgerator magnet with my name on it, a caduceus keychain, a bunch of lilacs from the hedge that grew on campus, my favorite spinach bread from the bakery in town, or a stick of rock candy from the old-fashioned candy shop next door. Lately, he seems to have picked the practice up again. Except now, I try to reciprocate more often.

The apartment is dark when I get inside. I turn on the light in the foyer, slip off my shoes and hang my coat in the closet. I make my way into the living room and switch on the floor lamp. On the coffee table, an Easter basket has been lined with tissue paper and repurposed to hold a small collection of bath items—body wash, lotion, and spray that all appear to be the same scent; an orange-infused sugar scrub for my hands and feet, and two bath bombs. I pop open the body wash and inhale the subtly sweet aroma of orange blossom, chamomile, and vanilla, sighing rapturously. I'm going to get Sean something really special to thank him for this. Some nice cologne or a new duffle bag for away games...or maybe a gift certificate for a massage at my favorite spa. I reach into the basket to pull out the bath bombs and hold them to my nose. As I do, a sticky note that had been attached to one of the fragrant spheres comes loose and flutters to the ground. I pick it up, squinting slightly to make out the writing in the somewhat dim light of the floor lamp:

Hi, Beautiful! =) Turn on the TV and press play! Don't adjust the volume! Love you! – Sean

I pick up the remote and press the power button. The TV flickers to life, and a frozen image of Sean in his Condors' uniform appears on the screen. I recognize the Condors' home stadium behind him, and on the edge of the screen, I can make out the hand of a sportscaster holding up a microphone. I press play.

“Sean, do you have any final thoughts before the game gets underway today?”

The volume is loud enough to make me jump a little, worried that I'm going to wake Sean. But, since his note explicitly told me not to adjust the volume, I resist the urge. On the screen, Sean smiles warmly into the camera.

“First of all, I just want to wish a happy Thanksgiving to my amazing fiancee, Dr. Michelle Nguyen. She couldn't be at the game today because she's busy being an amazing doctor at the hospital. But if you're watching, babe, I just want to tell you that I'm so proud of you and I love you with my whole heart.”

The big light flicks on overhead, making me jump. I turn to see Sean smiling at me from the doorway that leads into the kitchen.

“We won today,” he says. I smile, pausing the recording and going to kiss him.

“That's wonderful. And thank you for the gifts. But why are you still awake? You must be exhausted.”

He shrugs, kissing me back and lacing his fingers at the small of my back. “I had a nice long nap after the game. I wanted to be awake when you got home. I've got a little surprise for you.”

“Another one? I know I was bummed about working on Thanksgiving, but you don't want me to get spoiled.”

“And what if I do?” he counters with mock-haughtiness. I snort.

“Well, in that case, who am I to argue?”

He keeps one arm around my waist as he leads me through the kitchen to the dining room. As we approach, I realize that I can see candlelight flickering inside. The first thing I notice when I round the corner and Sean turns up the lights is Tricia, grinning from her seat at the end of the table. The table is spread with my favorite tablecloth, decorated with a centerpiece of pillar candles draped with evergreen branches, pinecones, and clementines. Though the table is crowded with chafing dishes and a decanter filled with some kind of spiced cider, they've managed to find room for three place-settings. Delicious smells that had been previously masked by the scent of the bath bombs in the living room fill the air. Tricia gets up, coming to fold me in a warm embrace.

“Happy Thanksgiving, honey.”

I feel tears coating my eyes as I hug her back. I think my smile might actually split my face apart. “Oh, Tricia! You're awake, too?”

“Well, someone had to make sure the food was edible. I couldn't leave that in my son's hands.”

“Hey!” Sean feigns offense, lightly poking his mother. “I helped!”

I pull back, wiping at my eyes. “You both should be sleeping,” I chide around a mindlessly happy chuckle. “But as long as you're both awake, what are we eating?”

“It's kind of a Thanksgiving breakfast-for-dinner deal,” Sean explains, going to lift the cover from each dish in turn. “Apple-pumpkin pancakes, turkey bacon, and a skillet with potatoes and green beans. Plus cider to drink.”

“Thank you. Both of you. This is...I think this is exactly what I need tonight.”

Sean comes to take my hands, kissing my forehead. “I know you've been feeling overworked lately. I want to make sure you know that you can count on me when things get rough. Whether it's by getting you a few bath bombs, helping my mom cook you a nice meal, or just by holding your hands and listening. I want to give you what you need so that you never feel alone like did before.”

I wind my arms around his torso, resting my head on his chest so that I can hear his heartbeat.

“I know I'm not alone. And that's exactly what I'm thankful for tonight.”

Tahira

Grayson's words are still bothering me the morning after Thanksgiving. I didn't repeat them to anyone at dinner last night, and I did my best to bury my anxiety. But clearly I'm not hiding it that well this morning, because Mom feels my forehead and wonders aloud if I want to stay home from the soup kitchen. I force myself to smile.

“I'm fine, Mom. Just nursing a turkey hangover.”

“Well, you don't feel warm,” Mom admits, but she doesn't look entirely convinced. “But you still don't have to come. Grayson and I can manage the food just fine.”

“It's okay. I want to come. Since I was ten years old, I've only missed one Black Friday at the soup kitchen. I'm not going to miss this one just because I'm sleepy.”

When Grayson arrives to take us over to the soup kitchen, one look in his eyes tells me that I'm not hiding my anxiety from him very well, either. As we're loading the Thanksgiving leftovers into his car, he finds a moment to take me aside.

“Are you all right?”

“Not you, too,” I groan. “I already had Mom feeling my forehead this morning.”

“...You're worried about what I told you about Dad.” It's not a question. There is an unmistakeable note of guilt in his voice. I put a hand on his arm.

“Hey. I'm glad you told me, okay? ...But yeah, it worries me. ...If he knows about the Janus Project, he might know about my cousin, too. I'm worried about how he came by that information, too.”

“I'll work on getting that out of him,” he promises, enfolding me in a hug. “I'm not just going to leave it where it is.”

“I know.” I nestle in his arms. “...You'll still stay and help at the soup kitchen though, right?”

“Of course! I'm not going to bail on you and your mom and the hungry citizens of Bayside just to interrogate my dad.”

I can't help but chuckle. “I'm so glad you have your priorities in order.”

* * *

We arrive at the soup kitchen by ten in the morning. For the next couple hours, we help the breakfast crew clean up, and then set to work laying out the lunch food. We're not the only ones who have donated our Thanksgiving leftovers. On top of that, there are canned goods and non-perishables that were collected by the Bayside public schools and churches, so there is plenty to work with and plenty to keep me busy until the people start arriving. Most of the diners come from the local homeless shelter, but there are also Bayside residents who regularly choose between paying rent and buying groceries. The Grand has been a big help in the area, but it takes time for a local economy to recover from hardship. While Mom and I serve food, Grayson helps people find places to sit and cleans up after them when they finish.

For a little while, the work keeps my mind occupied. Then the lunch rush slows to a trickle, Mom goes into the back to wash dishes, and my thoughts start to catch up with me. It's almost a relief when I see the doors open to admit a group of kids, but as they gather up their trays and make their way to the line, I start to think that they may be here without a parent or guardian. No one appears to have followed them in.

There are five of them, four boys and one girl. They all look like they're one family, all dark-haired and olive-skinned. The oldest boy doesn't look any older than sixteen, if that much. The others all look to be around ten or eleven, though the youngest boy might be as young as seven. I make myself smile in spite of my concern, counting out five plastic plates to spread out on the countertop in front of me.

“Good afternoon,” I say brightly. “What can I get for you?”

“I want turkey and stuffing!” one of the boys yells, bouncing excitedly in place. “Oh! And I want those cherries! And a brownie! And can I have grape juice, too?!”

“Slow down, RJ!” the oldest boy hisses. “Give the lady a chance to catch up!”

Eventually, RJ's plate is loaded with everything he desires, and I can turn my attention to the other children. The boy who looks about RJ's age is much more polite and reserved in his requests, and the youngest boy is so shy that he blushes as he points to each dish that he wants. The oldest boy puts his arm around the girl's shoulders.

“What do you want, Ysa?”

The girl shakes her head. “I'm not hungry.”

“I know you're not feeling well, but you gotta eat something, okay?”

I smile sympathetically at her. “Not feeling well?”

“My stomach hurts,” she replies, pouting slightly.

“Well, how about some soup? Split pea? Chicken noodle? Tomato? Broccoli chedder?”

“...Tomato...” she says after a moment. I ladle out a cup of creamy red soup, and stack some Saltines on the side of the plate. With all of them served, the kids take their trays to the nearest table they can find.

A sudden chill across my shoulders makes me shudder. For an instant, it occurs to me that I might actually be coming down with something. Then, a sharp, gnawing pain in my gut tells me what's really going on. I groan internally. Menstrual cramps. I'm an alien superhero from another dimension, and I still get menstrual cramps. So unfair. Maybe I should find Grayson and have him take me home. I know from experience that I probably won't be much use until I can either get some Midol or putting a heating pad on my belly.

“Well, this all looks like shit.” The familiar voice breaks into my thoughts. My head snaps up and my eyes lock with Caleb's, peering out from underneath the hood of a heavy winter coat. He smirks. “How ya doing, sweetheart? Can I get some grub?”

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baneismydragon · 7 years

Text

The not so secret diary of Gabriel Agreste

Because I needed some crack in my life. This is a gift for @geek-fashionista who requested my joke idea become a fic.

And because writing ridiculous Gabe content cheers me up and I needed a good pick me up. (Hopefully this will get me back in the mood to finish the next chapter of Cut from the Same cloth. If nothing else it felt good to really sit down and write again.)

Anyways- enjoy.

The not so secret diary of Gabriel Agreste

(Edited and catalogued by Nathalie Sancoeur)

March 18th

So apparently driving 4 employees to a nervous breakdown in the span of 2 weeks is a problem to my board of directors. They claim it’s ‘not good for the company’. Also, apparently, backhanding one of them during the meeting for suggesting I ‘take a leave of absence to deal with the loss of your wife’ counts as assault.

To avoid charges, and more importantly a forced sabbatical, I have agreed to see a therapist. Hence this ridiculous writing exercise. Oh well. At least it is only one wasted hour a week as opposed to several months of sitting in my house, watching them drive my company into the ground with their ineptitude.

March 25th-

My therapist says that I have a problem.

Of course I have a problem! My wife is missing. Honestly, I have to pay this man?

He says that I need to be ‘focused on healing and rebuilding a new sense of normalcy instead of lashing out at the people around me.’

Well perhaps if the people around me weren’t so incompetent I wouldn’t need to lash out so much.

Nathalie- does it count as attending my therapy sessions if I send a proxy in my place? Please investigate.

March 30th-

My therapist has informed me that I am developing an obsession, and that he is concerned that the loss of my wife and my need to get her back is driving me to an unhealthy dissociative state.

Well maybe that’s why it is so important that I get her back. Did you ever think of that? Then I won’t need to waste my time adjusting to my new circumstances, because everything can just go back to the way it was. It’s really not that complicated. For someone whose job it is to ‘help me cope with my grief’ he is quite the pessimist. He keeps insisting we discuss the possibility of if she never comes back. Thank God these sessions are only an hour long, I don’t need to get charged with assault again.

April 1st-

I told my therapist that his advice was working and that I have completely seen the error of my ways.

And Nathalie says I have a terrible sense of humor.

The crushed look on his face when I pointed out the date was priceless.

Nathalie- make sure we are having fish for dinner, Adrien will appreciate the humor even if you don’t.

April 9th-

I had the portrait artist come in today so that we could replace the family portrait at the top of the staircase. I pre-selected our mourning ensembles and Adrien was miserable the whole time. The artist asked me if he should take some artistic licence with our expressions. I asked him if he valued his commission. The finished work was a perfect testament to the state of misery in this house. Hopefully this will serve as an adequate reminder to anyone who thinks it’s acceptable to attempt to inform me that ‘things are never as bad as they seem.’

My therapist says this is yet another sign of my increased megalomania. I think that it isn’t my fault that more people don’t have the resources to afford appropriate decor for their homes based on the emotional environment. Given what I am having to pay out for these worthless sessions I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a half dozen portraits of his own scattered around some poorly decorated eyesore he calls a home.

Nathalie- please arrange for some new backlighting for the updated portrait. Either some cool blue tones or perhaps some purple.

April 14th-

Today my therapy session consisted of discussing my childhood. On the bright side I sketched out two new designs while I tuned out his prattle.

Nathalie- you owe me 20 Euro. I told you it would take less than a month for him to try the Freudian approach.

April 21st-

Yesterday was the runway launch of the new Spring line. Not some of my best work to be honest but still a far sight better than anything else released this season. Maybe the Italians will give me some competition this year at least.

One of the reporters asked if the line was being dedicated to my ‘late wife’. I ask him if he was going to dedicate this interview to his soon to be late career?

Of course Adrien heard the whole thing and has been in a mood ever since, although he didn’t let it affect his performance. Even as a child, he is more professional than a fair percentage of my staff. I am prodigiously proud of him. Now if only he would stop being so emotional. It isn’t good for him. He spent the entire morning and afternoon holed up in his room listening to angst ridden J-pop and ordering mint fudge ice cream from the kitchen staff.

My therapist says that I need to be making an effort to empathize with his grief instead of fixating on my own, and compensate more in my new role as a single parent.

Clearly the stress of this show has addled my brain because I stupidly attempted to follow his advice.

After a pre-scheduled family dinner I patted Adrien on the shoulder and told him that I promises that things will get better.

He stared at me for a few seconds like I had grown a second head, before hugging onto me like a barnacle and bursting into tears.

Wonderful.

I managed to send my own child into hysterics.

This is the sort of disaster that comes from listening to the advice of idiots.

April 22nd-

Adrien seems to have recovered from last night’s meltdown rather admirably. Thank God children bounce back from these sorts of setbacks. I am glad to see that my poor judgement in following my therapist's advice doesn’t seem to have caused any permanent damage. Now I can go back to the important business of figuring out how to bring his mother back instead of wasting everyone’s time with pointless platitudes. Really that is the much smarter approach.

It’s like I tell my employees- if you just fix the mistake you won’t have to spend your energy explaining why it was there in the first place. No one will care how many failures you went through to get there- all that matters is the end result.

Speaking of failures, what was I thinking when I chose the dining room furniture? It’s hideous.

Nathalie- remind me to set aside time to purchase a new dining set.

April 30th-

She has been gone for exactly 100 days.

May 9th-

Today is my 20th Wedding anniversary.

It was storming today. My therapist asked me how that made me feel.

I told him- wet.

I don’t think he appreciated my answer.

May 12th-

I have fired my therapist.

No the answer to my problems is not to ‘move on and accept my loss and just be grateful for each new day.’ What sort of idiotic attitude is that? If I approached my life according to the advice of this degenerate I would be designing pink sequins party dresses for some mass produced tween fashion label. Even worse, the toad-faced troll had the audacity to suggest that I should consider arranging for Adrien to have his own therapy sessions. As if my child needs any sort of support from a second rate psychoanalyst with delusions of grandeur.

Good riddance. Besides, 2 months of this charade should be more than enough to satisfy the board.

Nathalie- make arrangement for a private investigator to look into his business. Perhaps we can do the world a favor and get his licence revoked.

May 14th-

I have decided to keep this diary. I find writing about the stupidity of others quite therapeutic.

Nathalie please find a more appropriately color coordinated journal in which to properly transcribe my entries.

May 17th-

I have hired a bodyguard for Adrien. He keeps trying to sneak out, and I can’t keep losing Nathalie for hours at a time while she chases him down. I don’t understand why he is so desperate to go out and meet other people. Hasn’t he figured out by now that very few people are actually worth meeting? Clearly the stress of losing his mother is clouding his judgement. I’ll arrange for Nathalie to get a few more of those arcade machines he enjoys so much to be shipped in. Hopefully that will help keep him distracted.

Meanwhile, perhaps I should up his modeling engagements. After all, throwing oneself into one's work does provide some temporary solace. It’s certainly the best plan I have come up with so far.

May 22nd-

Adrien’s new Bodyguard has caught him attempting to sneak out twice. Both times he sent me a text informing me that the incident had been taken care of and requesting an appropriate stipend for the installation of new security cameras.

This is clearly the best hiring decision I have made in years.

Adrien may be the closest thing to perfection in this world but alas, children will be children, so I am glad I have some competent staff to manage him until he grows out of it. I believe this teenaged need to rebel in light of our recent family tragedy is what the media refers to as ‘Emo’. I will make some calls to the main office to have more of our black pieces added to his wardrobe. And my ex therapist said I ‘wasn’t paying attention to my sons needs.’ Ha.

June 3rd-

Still no progress in my plan. This morning I woke up from a dream and I couldn’t remember if that is what my wifes laugh actually sounded like.

I can’t live like this. I won’t live like this.

June 5th-

Nathalie I will take dinner in my office. Also I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the weekend.

June 10th-

Feeling infinitely better today.

It has been uncovered that my recently disgraced ex-therapist was having an affair, and with a former patient no less! Clearly he was taking out his own frustrations with his own failed marriage out on me.

Unlike that hypocritical cow, I will preserve my family no matter what impediments I may face. I knew I was right all along. Still, it’s nice to have outside validation.

Nathalie- be sure to send a sizable bonus to the private investigator, as well as a nice fruit basket.

June 17th-

Adrien had a piano recital today. It was exceptional of course. I do wish he had chosen something other than Chopin. Really, is this emo phase going to carry over into everything he does?

I will have to send a message to his bodyguard to start monitoring his packages for hair dye.

Apparently he didn’t approve of me leaving as soon as his piece was over. I don’t see why. It’s not like I have any interest in the other performers and I already paid my admission so it’s no loss to the institution. Children can be so demanding.

Nathalie- make a note, the next time I am required to attend one of these functions make sure I have a tablet with me.

June 23rd-

Why have I still not replaced that dining room table?

July 2nd-

On the plane to London because apparently the instructions “just recreate the exact same show we did a month ago” are too complicated for my employees.

I am doubly glad that I hired a bodyguard for Adrien since he is ill and will not be joining us on this trip.

Hopefully I shouldn’t be gone more than a day or so.

July 6th-

Still in London. Apparently I underestimated just how moronic people can be. I miss my wife. She always knew how to get people to do what I needed them to do with causing them to burst into tears.

She also would have appreciated my puns.

Once I get her home I swear I am going to reward myself with an entire month of not having to speak to anyone whose surname isn’t Agreste.

Except for Nathalie, of course.

July 10th-

Finally home. Adrien has made a full recovery.

He spent all of dinner expounding on the merits of something called ‘MOBA’s. I’ve found it best to just nod and pretend like I understand what he is talking about when he goes on these tangents.

Nathalie- please get me the definition for the term Noob.

July 15th-

I am truly at my wits end. Between my lack of progress on my search for my wife and my constant set backs at the company I am for all intents and purposes trying to go up a creek without a paddle.

Nathalie is less than thrilled with me at the moment as I have taken to locking myself in the office with my cellphone and computer turned off. She doesn’t seem to appreciate having to slide notes under the door.

July 22nd-

Nathalie Sancoeur is the only person to whom I am not related by blood or marriage whom I would make an effort to save during a zombie apocalypse. (Adrien’s current favorite pastime is discussing how he would react to various ridiculous survival scenarios with his bodyguard, or more accurately at his bodyguard.)

She suggested that given my frustrations with some of my staff perhaps some personnel changes were in order.

There is nothing quite so satisfying as telling a worthless employee that they should pack up their desk and go.

I am quite confident that none of the individuals fired today would survive a zombie apocalypse.

Nathalie- please give yourself a 2% raise. It might come in handy for purchasing supplies when we are under siege by an army of the undead.

July 28th-

Adrien had his friend Mllm Bourgeois over again today. He has asked if he can be allowed to attend public school with her this term.

I told him that if Miss Bourgeois is an example of the merits of a public school education I would sooner be tarred and feathered than let him within 50 feet of said institution.

He seems to believe that going to school would allow him the opportunity to make new friends- so I suppose I can at least see the appeal. Though, after observing his interactions today I am amazed he doesn’t simply swear off friendship altogether.

Nathalie- look into putting together some sort of dossier of suitable young people with whom Adrien could potentially associate. Perhaps we can arrange to have some on call for social engagements in the future.

July 29th-

Adrien is not speaking to me today. He has locked himself in his room. Why is everyone in this family so sensitive?

Apparently ‘you can’t just buy friends.’

Clearly he has never been involved in politics.

August 2nd-

Adrien is still angry at me. Fine, if he wants to get into a petty game of who can ignore the other longer I will play his game. He’ll learn that no one beats me when it comes to the silent treatment, just like his mother did. The most she ever made it was 3 days. We will see if Adrien fairs any better.

August 3rd-

Upon further reflection, at the end of those three days I ended up with a broken nose when my wife punched me in the face. Perhaps I should rethink my strategy.

Nathalie- schedule a family meeting to discuss Adrien’s grievances. Tell him it will save time if he prepares a list of his complaints and proposed solutions for me to consult before the start of the negotiations.

August 6th-

Adrien is visiting with his friend Mllm Bourgeois so I am taking the opportunity to go through and organize my wife’s belongings. (The staff has been forbidden from disturbing anything but it is starting to get a bit dusty.) It is best to do this while Adrien is gone as I don’t know if I can tolerate another weekend of melancholy foreign ballads blasting from his room. Or worse that new Jagged Stone album I was foolish enough to order for him as a reward for winning his last fencing competition. I swear that man sounds like a beached whale screaming its way through a slow and agonizing death. I don’t know what Adrien sees to admire in it.

At least his attempted breakouts seem to have come to a temporary halt. Either the efforts of his bodyguard have finally tempered his resolve or he is secretly plotting some sort of elaborate scheme and is trying to lure us into a false sense of security.

I guess we will see how much he takes after me.

Nathalie- make sure all of Adrien’s electronic devices are equipped with GPS tracking.

August 8th-

Still slowly working my way through the cleaning process. The latest edition of some video fighting game arrived for Adrien so he has been conveniently occupied by that. It’s getting harder to face him knowing that I am still no closer to having an answer as to how to get his mother back, not that he asks. He has always been far too kind for his own good.

Still, it is a parent’s job to do what is ultimately best for their children and for the first time in my life I find myself spectacularly failing.

No matter how many hours I spend locked in my office I am still no closer to a concrete plan.

At least Adrien has stopped trying to accompany when I am in there. It’s too hard enough coping with my own failure without my son having to bare witness.

I will figure out a way. I did not get where I am today without being willing to fight for what I want. And once I am successful all of this will just seem like a bad dream. Both for me and for my son.

August 9th-

I never realized just how much of a hoarder my wife was until I took on this project. How many souvenirs does one woman need?

There is an entire suitcase from our last trip to Tibet that she didn’t even bother to unpack.

I’ll take care of it tomorrow.

Nathalie- reschedule my lunch with the mayor. Until after the election if at all possible. 4 months isn’t an unreasonable delay for a man with my obligations.

August 10th-

It seems that there is some truth to the concept that one should actually OPEN the boxes one acquires. I now have in my possession a strange magical creature named Nooroo who seems optimistic in his belief that he can help me in my quest to restore my family. It seems I will have the chance to turn into some sort of super powered empath with the ability to grant powers to others to help combat the forces of evil in this world. Seems like a rather dubious power. Most people are insufferably dim and couldn’t be trusted with a butter knife much less magical enhancements. Still, it is the first positive news in months. I tried opening the other box with the peacock pin but after 10 seconds of the creature crying upon being awakened I have decided to simply return it to dormant and lock it in the safe. Perhaps it will be useful later but for now one miraculous should be more than sufficient.

Nathalie- In light of my new associate we will need a few changes to the house. Additional security, new curtains, as well as some additions to the kitchen inventory. I will upload a list to your PDA.

August 12th-

And Everyone told me I would never have a use for a secret lair. Well I showed them. I have asked Nathalie to arrange for a large shipment of butterflies to be installed for ambiance. I have also brought in a private contractor to hide the control panel. The last thing I want in for Adrien to stumble upon any of this and get the idea to become some sort of hero vigilante. Honestly I don’t know where that boy gets his ridiculous flair for the dramatic. It must be from his mother. Meanwhile I have decided to keep Nooroo dormant for a little while. He keeps wanting me to talk to him about my feelings. If I wanted to do that I wouldn’t have fired my therapist.

August 20th-

Lair is finally ready to go. I realize though that perhaps I should read the instruction manual that came with the miraculous before I attempt to utilize unpredictable magical powers.

Nathalie- please arrange for a large pot of coffee and my favorite armchair to be placed in the lair this afternoon.

August 30th-

Apparently translating ancient codes with no resources or starting point whatsoever is, in fact rather difficult. I supposed I should ask Nooroo for assistance.

#my writing #my fanfiction #crack #ml spoilers #ml season 2 #Gabriel Agreste #And I thought my last one was bad...#why do I write these things?

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