#all that’s left of clara is the knowledge he loved her. what if someone took river from him. what if someone took every last moment of

[quietwingsinthesky]

Drabble 79/366 - Doctor Who

Darillium is dark, and it’ll stay that way for years and years like a held breath. That doesn’t stop him from being afraid to wake up with the sun intruding through the closed blinds.

The light would melt across River’s sleeping face and turn her into gold—circuit boards and cold metal.

But not without knowing how much she is loved, and by no one more than him. He’ll make sure she knows.

That’s their past and future. Now, she breathes. She scrunches her nose in her sleep.

He won’t close his eyes until he believes he couldn’t forget her.

[riversofmars]

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your lovely comments, very happy you all approve of my choice of cast lol! I'm still in the early stages of setting up the story so I'm still mulling over some of the details but I think it's coming together. This chapter actually took a lot of restructuring and rewriting but slowly I'm getting there I hope. I really hope it works for all of you, I've re-read it so many times now that I can't see the wood for trees so I'm just gonna post it now and hope for the best lol :D Enjoy!

Chapter 3: There’s Stories About Us

London, late 19th Century

“Why don’t you have a seat?“ To Vastra, the Doctor’s pacing around the drawing room was becoming increasingly irritating. She was engrossed in the file River had left behind and refused to sit down.

“I think better on my feet.“ The Doctor retorted without looking up. It was the first full sentence she had spoken since picking up the file. Her expression was unreadable.

“Is it still five sugars?“ Jenny questioned, pouring tea for everyone, hoping to lighten the Doctor’s mood.

“You do know her well.“ Yaz commented while the Doctor just took the cup without comment and carried on.

“I take it she doesn’t talk much about her past?“ Vastra easily picked up on the hint of jealousy in the young woman’s voice. The Silurian had seen it many times. The Doctor was very private and by neglecting to speak about their past, they tended to make the person they were travelling with feel all the more special. To them it was like they were the first person to experience all the wonders of the universe with them. Finding out about all those that came before them wasn’t always easy.

“She never… I never expected her to have a family.“ Yaz looked over to the Doctor who was still walking up and down the drawing room, mumbling under her breath as she kept reading. She briefly put her cup down on the mantle of the fireplace so she could turn a page. Her brow was knitted in a deep frown, she was restless though more level-headed than before.

“I don’t think she expected it, either.“ Vastra conceded, taking a sip of her own tea. As she watched Yaz’s reactions to the change of circumstances, she felt reminded of the time the Doctor had regenerated and Clara had struggled to adjust to them changing. This situation wasn’t so different, Yaz was struggling as well. They were all going through a big change, and the Doctor even more so than the rest of them. Vastra could tell the Doctor was different from her last regeneration, even without the added pressure of finding out about having a child. This Doctor reminded her so much more of the one they had accompanied to Demon’s Run, than the one they had last seen. It seemed fitting as again, a child’s life was on the line; just one generation on.

“Why does her wife not travel with her?“ Yaz turned to Vastra with the question that had been bothering her.

“Professor Song travels in time as well. Their timelines are not always synchronised.“ Vastra explained, hoping not to reveal too much. It wasn’t her place.

“So like The Time Traveller’s Wife?“ Yaz asked, but found herself looking into confused faces. “It’s a book, do you not… right 19th Century…“ She waved it away but it gave her cause to think. Being out of sync with the person you loved had to be incredibly hard indeed. She remembered crying over that book and she couldn’t imagine this would turn out to be a more cheerful tale.

Suddenly, the Doctor halted in her tracks, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Is everything alright, Doctor?“ Yaz asked as their friend’s face went very white as she stared at the page in front of her.

——

Darillium, 52nd Century

River stirred slowly, a light breeze tickled her nose though she couldn’t remember leaving a window open. The bed was soft and familiar, she stretched her limbs into the silky sheets and hummed contently after a good night’s sleep. She rubbed her eyes as she sat up slowly when she realised something was off. It should not be as quiet as it was; and she should not have slept through the night. The explanation to her questions perched on the side of the bed. The Doctor was feeding a bottle to his son who quite happily curled into his father’s arm, allowing his mother some well deserved rest.

“You can lie back down if you like, we’ve got this, haven’t we.“ The Doctor gave her a soft smile when he noticed her sitting up.

“How long have you been up?“ She asked, her voice sleepy still. She hadn’t heard either of them waking.

“You know I’m always awake before you.“ The Doctor reminded her. River smiled, her hearts swelled at the sight in front of her. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her husband look so utterly content and happy. She wanted to enjoy the moment but a strange, unsettling feeling was seeping into her subconscious

“Yeah but I didn’t even notice…“ She looked around, wondering what was intruding on this perfect moment.

“Everything okay?“ The Doctor asked with a frown. He lay the empty bottle down on the bed and pulled his son against his chest.

“I just…“ River couldn’t put her finger on it. It was like things weren’t adding up. “When did we come back?“

“What do you mean?“ The Doctor started sounding more concerned. He gently tapped and rubbed the baby’s back.

“Vastra, Jenny, Strax… the Library…“ Slowly River’s memories were returning but they weren’t compatible with where she was.

���What are you talking about? Did you have a particularly vivid dream?“ The Doctor chuckled. “Or nightmare, rather, if Strax featured.“

“The sunrise.“ River looked out of the window to see orange and purple stretching across the sky.

“It’s almost time.“ The Doctor nodded with a soft smile. “First light.“

“But we’ve already seen it.“ River looked back to him, confused.

“I think I’d remember if we’d already watched the sunrise after twenty-four years of waiting for it.“ The Doctor retorted amused. “Are you feeling okay?“

“This isn’t right…“ River shook her head slowly. Her hearts sank at the painful realisation. “I’m not meant to be here…“ She wanted to lean forward, reach for her husband, touch her son, but she didn’t dare.

“River…“ The Doctor said but she shook her head more firmly.

“No, I left before I even… and you didn’t…“ She looked at him with sorrow and the genuine concern in his eyes only made it harder. This was where she wanted to be.

“River.“ He reached out for her but she pulled away.

“This isn’t real, it can’t be, I…“ River turned away and closed her eyes, shaking her head to herself. Her hearts ached. She wanted this to be real so badly but she knew better. Her mind was playing tricks on her.  

“River!“ This time, the voice changed pitch and River woke with a start.

“Anita.“ River looked up to her colleague, blinking against the morning light. She found herself surrounded by piles of books and notes, back in the artificial reality of the Library.  She must have fallen asleep on the sofa while reading last night.

“Considering we probably don’t actually need sleep in here, you were very difficult to wake up.“ Anita pointed out and held out a coffee to her. “Went anywhere nice?“

“You could say that…“ River gave a mournful smile but quickly put her walls back up, projecting confidence and assurance. “Thanks.“ She took the coffee offered to her and sat up properly. “Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it. I didn’t realise we’d dream…“ She gave a wary smile. Though it felt like real life, she couldn’t quite let herself fall for the comforting illusion; not yet anyway. Not while she was still so deeply concerned with what was going on in the universe beyond.

“It feels like real life.“ Anita shrugged and took a sip of her own mug as she perched on the coffee table. “Certainly beats the alternative.“

“Certainly does.“ River admitted.

“So what have you been up to? Everyone was meeting up for breakfast and when you didn’t show up, I thought I’d check on you.“ Anita revealed her reason for being here and River glanced to the clock on the wall.

“Are the kids up, too?“ She found herself asking, almost instinctively.

“Been up ages. CAL said they thought it best to let you sleep, you were in a happy place.“ Anita explained with a smile. She hadn’t taken River Song for the mothering type but she had taken on that role without a second thought. She seemed to be taking comfort in it.

“I suppose I was…“ River thought back to Darillium and the Doctor, the perfect family life they could have had, had she just stayed. She took a deep breath to maintain her composure.

“So what’s all this?“ Anita asked, gesturing at the mess around them.

“Ah, just a bit of light reading…“ River smiled weakly, sipping her coffee. It tasted just like the real deal.  

“You call this light?“ Anita laughed. “What are you researching?“ She picked up a sheet of paper that River had been making notes on.

“I may have… lied to you about why I agreed to lead this expedition… It wasn’t just for the money.“ River answered slowly, realising there was little point in keeping secrets now. They would be spending eternity together and River knew she needed a friend. She’d gotten on well with Anita from the start and she wanted someone to confide in. “The Library is the sum knowledge of the universe, as it were, and I needed access. Looks like I got more than I bargained for, eh?“ River joked but the sorrow behind her eyes was easily spotted.

“I’m not trying to be rude or anything but… what’s the point now?“ Anita asked, contemplating her words. “Technically, to the universe, we’re dead…“ She could tell River wasn’t adjusting all too well.

“Doesn't mean that the universe out there stops, does it?“ River pointed out.

“Are you trying to get out of here?“ Anita raised her eyebrows.

“And go where? None of us have a body to go to.“ River gave a bitter laugh. “No… but eventually, he’ll come…“

“Your Doctor? The one from your time?“ Anita asked and River nodded:

“One day, I’m sure of it.“

“And you need all this for when he does?“ Anita concluded, feeling like she was beginning to make sense of the professor’s actions. “So tell me what this is? Maybe I can help.“ She picked up more notes, skimming them.

“They’re stories, myths, every record, every…“ River started but Anita was quick to pick up on one unifying factor as she picked up more of the articles:

“It’s all about you.“ Anita looked up with amusement. River Song had a reputation of course. She was an accomplished archeologist who had published a lot of research. Who would have thought that there were also plenty of books and articles about her, not just by her.

“Some of it. I always told him there were stories about us… he was modified.“ River smiled as she recalled bringing it up with the Doctor.

“The Doctor?“ Anita asked to confirm. “Is he your husband?“ She exclaimed as she continued reading.

“Afraid so.“ River chuckled.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re doing this? Or will I have to drag it out of you?“ Anita prompted, looking back to her.

“This is just the start… it might look like a lot already but really, I’m just a tiny speck of dust in his life. There is so much more I don’t know, so much more that’s in his future and in his distant past…“ River mused. This was just a tiny fraction of the records she’d found so far.

“You’re not just being nostalgic, are you?“ Anita asked, putting the books down to give her her full attention.

“Before I joined the expedition, I received a message from a friend, someone who deals in information. They came to me with concerns about a prophecy and rumours.“ River said, tightening her grip around her mug. “Now, there are a lot of prophecies out there and I don’t pay much heed to any of them, but there was something about it… stories of a Timeless Child that somehow relates to the Doctor, to me… and as it happened, I just found out I was pregnant at the time.“ She explained and Anita’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation.

“Were you still pregnant when…“ Anita was stunned. She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“No, thankfully.“ River smiled, touched by her concern. “My son is fine, he’s with some dear friends. He was three weeks old when I set off to the Library…“ She revealed with a sad smile, wondering how the Paternoster Gang was getting on. Surely they were doing an excellent job at looking after her little one… but she regretted her choice nonetheless. She should never have come here.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.“ Anita reached out and gave River’s hand a squeeze. Immediately, she saw River’s interest in looking after the children in a completely different light. “Does the Doctor know?“

“I don’t know. They may have told him by now…“ River shrugged taking a deep breath to maintain her composure. “God, he will be furious… Hopefully furious enough to come and shout at me in here…“

“So you think your son is the Timeless Child?“ Anita asked, trying to make sense of what River was telling her.

“Maybe…“ River couldn’t be sure of anything. She had found no clues either way, despite her many inquirers; but it seemed like a funny old coincidence that whispers of a child surfaced just as she’d found out she was pregnant. “I haven’t been able to find out much at all, so I’m hoping I can now.“

——

London, Late 19th Century

The Doctor’s mind started racing, as did her hearts. Where, when and how had River heard about the Timeless Child? And why was it referenced in her file? The Doctor hadn’t told anyone about what the Master had revealed to her and she couldn’t imagine the Master would have shouted it off the rooftops either, seeing as he’d murdered everyone that could have known. Even when the Doctor had briefly spoken to Ryan about learning about the gaps in her past, she had never used this term or gone into detail. She hadn’t even filled Yaz in either. Someone out there knowing that exact term couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Doctor?“ Vastra’s voice was sharp, drawing the Doctor’s attention at last.

“Sorry…“ The Doctor snapped out of her thoughts when she realised everyone was looking at her.

“Does something stand out to you?“ Vastra prompted, gesturing towards the file.

“It’s nothing, never mind, just… it’s not related to this.“ The Doctor shook her head, closing the file disappointed, yet unsettled. This was in no way helpful for finding out where their child was or who could be behind the kidnapping. It did, however, raise some very unsettling questions. How did the secret about the Timeless Child get out? Though River might have drawn some wrong conclusions about who it might be, she couldn’t discount the possibility that there might be a connection between the myth and the kidnapping. Maybe there were Time Lords involved in this after all.

“So what do you think?“ Vastra pressed on. “Time Lords or…?“

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t…“ The Doctor shook her head. “First thing’s first. I need to find out where River got her information from.“ The Doctor decided after brief consideration. She rolled up the file and stuffed it into her coat pocket to study more intensely later on. Someone out there - Time Lord or not - knew about the Timeless Child. Maybe, whoever was behind this, already knew it was the Doctor and were trying to get to her by kidnapping her child… There were a lot of possibilities but all seemed as unlikely as each other at this point.

“So can’t we just, like, talk to her?“ Yaz interrupted. “Why don’t we go and find her, your wife, I mean. You must be itching to go. She’ll be able to fill us in far better than…“

“Can’t.“ The Doctor cut in sharply.

“It’s not as easy as all that.“ Jenny gave Yaz an apologetic smile.

“Why not?“ Yaz frowned. “You know where she’s gone, you said earlier: The Library. Let’s go there.“

“River died at the Library.“ The Doctor shot back, anger returning to her voice. Rationally, she knew Yaz couldn’t know all these things, but that didn’t change how she was feeling about it being brought up or having to explain.  

“What?“ Yaz was dumbfounded. She looked around into knowing faces and realised she was far out of her depth. There was a lot she had yet to catch up on.

“Well, Doctor, technically, we could try and…“ Vastra started but the Doctor wouldn’t let her finish:

“For all intents and purposes she died at the Library, she can’t help us now. I was there, remember? I know that she didn’t make any great discoveries about the Time Lords while we were running from the shadows. There was hardly time.“ She stated bitterly.

“There must have been a reason for her visit there and she said she would need your help.“ Vastra was getting frustrated with the Doctor’s refusal to give weight to her wife’s concerns and attempts at research. Just because she hadn’t found anything yet didn’t mean she was wrong to be looking.

“She didn’t get the Doctor she was hoping for.“ The Doctor huffed.

“Obviously not, which is why you visiting her now could prove enlightening.“ Vastra countered.

“Sorry, I’m not following.“ Yaz looked to Jenny for an explanation as she didn’t want to interrupt the increasingly tense conversation the other two women were having.

“Professor Song died but she’s not really gone.“ Jenny explained kindly. “The Doctor saved her.“

“I didn’t save her, I trapped her.“ The Doctor interrupted angrily.

“Her consciousness remains in the Library’s computer.“ Vastra clarified which only seemed to infuriate the Doctor more.

“Yes and she has to exist in the knowledge that she will never hold her child again! If I didn’t think she hated me for putting her there before, I’m damned sure of it now.“ The Doctor snapped.

“She will want to help.“ Jenny interjected.

“I will not be the one to tell her her child is gone!“ The Doctor yelled, her emotions boiling over. She had caused River so much pain. She had thought she’d done a good thing when she had saved River’s consciousness only to learn during their next meeting that she hated the idea of being trapped like that. The Doctor already carried so much guilt, she would not add this to the pile. She refused. How was she to break this news to her? “I won’t do that to her. Put that on her while she can’t do anything to help, having to rely on others, no! I can’t do that to her!“

“Doctor…“ Vastra tried to intervene but to no avail.

“No! Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. She thinks he’s safe with you and I will not tell her otherwise until we’ve found him.“ The Doctor snapped.

“If you’re sure.“ Vastra knew there was no talking to her when she was like this. She would come to her senses eventually but she appreciated the sentiment. If at all possible, they should go about things another way before breaking the news to the Professor who would have to watch from the sidelines, unable to help.

“Someone else might have got their hands on Timelord technology…“ Yaz said changing the subject and breaking the heavy silence. Perhaps her not knowing too much about the Doctor’s wife would be a good thing. Perhaps she could look at things more objectively. Tensions were running high indeed.

“It might be more likely than someone surviving the Master’s destruction.“ The Doctor conceded. “But it’s very little to go on.“

“We have to start somewhere.“ Yaz got to her feet feeling a sense of determination. They had to stop wondering about the ifs and buts and start doing something. A child’s life was on the line.

“River started investigating a myth based on some rumours that someone might be after us, after our family.“ The Doctor explained of Yaz’s benefit. “I have a pretty good idea who would have brought it to River’s attention. Perhaps we can trace these rumours back. It’s as good a place as any to start.“ She decided at last.

“Excellent. We shall carried out our own investigation and torture those we find for information!“ Strax stated in excitement as she returned to the drawing room at just the right time. He was carrying several bags.

“Really, Strax, that is not…“ The Doctor started but Vastra interrupted:

“I hope you don’t think you’re going without us.“

“I have packed three types of grenades and the caustic blaster I have been dying to try.“ Strax announced with great enthusiasm.

“And I will get the swords.“ Jenny nodded, exchanging a quick glance with her wife.

“Please, Doctor, we owe you this.“ Vastra didn’t give the Doctor the opportunity to protest. “Let us help bring your child home. We failed you. We won’t fail you again.“

“Let’s go.“ The Doctor wasn’t so proud that she would refuse help offered. She would do whatever it took to get her child back.

[doctorsgirl262]

Ranking the Doctor’s Companions (9-11)

While working on a fanfic I’ve been writing, I got the urge to rank the companions (we love procrastination). So, anyway, here we go. *Spoiler Warning for seasons 1-7 of New Who, purely because I don’t really remember a lot of Twelve’s episodes* **light cursing warning**

EDIT: I fixed a few spelling errors/name mistakes

8. Clara Oswald - A part of my dislike to her may just be Moffat’s writing, but I just never really liked Clara with Eleven. She grew on me a bit with Twelve, but I never really vibed with her. When I first watched the show, I cried when all the Doctor’s regenerated and when the companions left, but I honestly just never felt any connection to Clara. I think she was interesting in the Asylum of the Daleks and The Snowmen, but I feel like she just kinda fell short. I didn’t really enjoy any of the episodes she was in, but I think that a lot of that is one Moffat. I wasn’t a huge fan of her being intertwined in the Doctor’s history in the Name of the Doctor. If I’m being honest, she’s the only companion that I dislike.

7. Amy Pond - Amy is the low on the list because I wasn’t a fan of her character in season five. But, if I’m being honest here, from here on, this is just me showing who I like the most, not who I like the least. I’m not really a fan of how her character is made to be one of the most important people in the universe. I really liked her in the later seasons, even though I really wasn’t a fan of the episodes (but that’s a story for another day), but her relationship with Rory really changed her and I really began to respect her. I think season five was my favorite of Eleven, and the episodes were really good, but Amy’s immaturity really got to me for some reason. 

6. River Song - River is a badass and I love that about her. And she’s got her flaws and she’s done terrible things, and she understands that. But she cares so much for Amy, Rory, and the Doctor, and the fact that she’d do anything for them is beautiful. I wish we got to see more of River, but at the same time, I feel like the scarcity was also a good move. Her introduction in season 4 absolutely killed me. I think it kinda refreshing, but there’s also something so alarming seeing someone else be dangerous like the Doctor. Overall, I really enjoy her story line and character. 

5. Rose Tyler - This is something I’ve been mulling over for years. When I first started watching the show back in 2015, I adored Rose. But, as I started reading fanfiction, I began seeing a lot of Rose bashing. So, for 5 years, I have gone back and forth between hating and loving Rose. A big thing about Rose is how different she is between seasons 1 and 2. I love season 1, it’s actually one of my favorite seasons I’ve watched so far. Rose is so young, selfless, and the curiosity she has throughout the season is so nice to watch. However, I feel like she has a change in personality, and at least to me, she acts more selfish and as though she knows everything there is to know about aliens when she obviously doesn’t. Now, going back to this statement: “ I’m not really a fan of how her character is made to be one of the most important people in the universe”. It does really bother me that Rose is such an important factor in Martha and Donna’s seasons. I don’t think it’s fair how much the Doctor idolizes her, but that’s not entirely her fault. And while she is Bad Wolf, I don’t think it has the same power as Amy’s Time had. I think the Bad Wolf storyline was interesting though, with how it followed. Overall, I can say that I enjoy Rose, her flaws and all.

4. Mickey Smith - The Man in Havana is someone I’ve always enjoyed watching. Although the Doctor calls him Mickey the Idiot, he’s anything but. I mean, he literally hacked into the government from his house. I feel like he’s fairly rational for having been abducted my an alien by pulling him into a trashcan. I love his transformation throughout the series, and I love that he ended up with Martha. I always felt bad for Mickey, how he was always the second choice, and it was so nice getting to see him be the first pick. Rose and the Doctor took him for granted, and he proved that he was important and resourceful, and I’m so proud of him

3. Rory Williams - I think he complimented Amy so well. He’s honestly just the perfect guy if I’m being honest, I would love to have my own Rory Williams. I like how much he tried. He showed Amy how much he cared and loved her, he showed her what he’d do for her, but I feel like that gets overlooked by the Doctor, which just isn’t fair. When the Doctor left them behind for 2 years, Rory actually researched him and the TARDIS, he waited 2000+ years for Amy and guarded her. He’s a lot like Mickey here, as he was seen as the second option for a while, but having Amy choose him and truly love him was so nice to see. Rory is smart, caring, and a little quirky, but I think that’s so refreshing. 

2. Donna Noble - Her departure was, in my opinion, one of the saddest in the whole show. We got to witness her growth from The Runaway Bride to Journey’s End, and it was such a nice growth. I loved how caring she was, and she had such a large heart. The fact that she grew and became her best self, and then lost it all and had to forget some of the bests parts of her life. I am really glad though that she ended up married and having a baby. But I think she was just such a fun character, and that she knew how to be serious but also so funny.

1. Martha Jones - Now this is probably super controversial, but Martha has been my favorite companion since the beginning. Martha is such a badass, and she had so much respect for herself. She recognized that she was done traveling and got out of there. She used the knowledge she gained from the Doctor and used it to help people by working for UNIT. The third season is one of my favorites, and all the episodes were so good. Martha was such an amazing person before she met the Doctor, and all he did was amplify her greatness. I hated that she lived in Rose’s shadow, but I love that she didn’t stand for the Doctor’s (or anyone else’s for that matter) bullshit. She’s just so amazing *chef kiss*

[sabbaticallife84]

Lokrum

Getting up, I was excited to get ready to go. I had to grab my backpack, my sandals, clothes, towel, water bottle, almonds, and money. I had to squeeze into my wetsuit/swim suit, chug my coffee and run down the many steps to the old city, and get to the port. Luckily, I already had my ferry ticket and was ready to go. I quickly realized it wasn’t as big of a group as I wanted. But there were like 3 or 4 of us. Then 1-2 more came. So it would be five of us on this treasure hunt, our guide and our photographer. This day excursion was part of PR/photo advertisement for this company that was promoting digital nomads. I lucked into finding it cause my tour guide, who took me on the wall tour, told me they were going to Lokrum and sort of invited me along. We met at 8:45 AM, to leave at 9:00 AM. 

  I was nervous about getting sea sick. But it was a short quick jaunt to Lokrum from the port. 

I got to talk to the British photographer and and he has lived in Dubrovnik for 23 years so he had unique perspective. He said this summer, their biggest tourist group of people was Americans. He said it was crazy cause Americans were coming from like 3000 miles away or whatever, but because of Covid-19 stuff and restrictions and USA was the first to the party of the vaccines, we were the biggest tourist group they were seeing this summer. This guy was funny, he reminded me of Ricky Gervais and we were laughing and teasing each other in no time. He named us our places we were from, so I was “Colorado”, this other guy was “Uruguay”, and then we had Columbia, Equador and Suzy-Q. 

We are taken to this old Benedictine monastery, that is now like a museum/exhibit for the monks. For the millionth time, I’m asked if I have seen “Game of Thrones” Cause there is something famous on this island from that show. But nope, I still haven’t seen it. We are greeted, creepily, by a lady in a black habit who announces we are now needed to help lift this curse from the island of Lokrum. (This is the beginning of the treasure hunt) Our first clue has to do with Richard the Lion Heart and we have to find where he is mentioned in the exhibit to find our first clue. It turned out to be an herb we had to find in the Botanical Gardens. It was myrtle. Unfortunately, with all my plant knowledge, I still didn’t remember what myrtle looked like. So there are five of us, running around, being filmed by the British photographer. We are running around the Botanical Gardens, looking at every plant name, running back to the map, someone was holding, to see where it hinted the herb was.

 Eventually the treasure hunt led us to the rocky “beach”/end of the island where people jumped in and went swimming. We were looking for a shell with a necklace in it by a hole in the rock (a famous Instagram spot, apparently). I was trying to bust it up these rocks, and the photographer yelled, “Colorado, where are you going?!”.. Then Ecuador beat me to the clue and I fell and scraped my knee. I fell hard, on my knees and hands, and it took a minute for me to pull myself up off the rocks. My hands hurt, and my knee hurt. The guide came to get me and help me. Then we transitioned to the “Clara is humiliated” part of the treasure hunt. We took a detour to this lake on the island called the “Dead Sea” cause it has a high salt content, the water is filtered in from the ocean, under the rocks. So now, there are 6 people (who I just met) sitting on a bench, as my tour guide is helping me get into the Dead Sea to soak my bleeding knee, and they are just watching me, waiting for me to slip and fall on the rocks getting into the Dead Sea. I definitely am not the most graceful. The Dead Sea is close to this nice beachy bar and so my guide finds a bar tender to see if we can find a first aid kit with a bandaid or bandage for my knee. We find this sweet woman, with a half shaved head, half dyed red curly hair cut, with some tattoos and she suggests tobacco to help stop the bleeding and help with healing. I have never heard of this before. But I’m open to suggestions. She is opening her tobacco pouch, where she rolls her own cigarettes from, and is pushing the straight tobacco leaf into my bleeding knee. We wait for five minutes.. Then she gives me a grappa soaked paper towel and I wipe the tobacco out. Then she gives me another grappa soaked paper towel and I wipe out the knee until it really stings. We both decide it’s better to leave the knee open to air at this point. This chick is like a natural healer, that we stumbled upon. 

We resume the treasure hunt, run around the island some more, and “lift the curse off of the Island”. Then we go back to the Dead Sea and some go swimming, some of us sit at the beachy bar to chat and have a coffee. Then we head to a different restaurant to have lunch under the pittosporum trees. We all pick our sandwich we can have, our choice of drink and later our choice of ice cream, this was part of the island day, our luncheon. Now we have two other Americans show up, a mother daughter team. Soon, we become fast friends. We have more great conversation and then the people that still need to work, head off to take a ferry back to the old city. The rest of us head to the rocky beach to jump in the water. I am in no mood to jump off the cliffs with America and Uruguay. I climb into the water with the American kiddo, she’s 11. We swim around, meet up with her Mom and Uruguay in the water. We swim around a rocky outcrop. The water is so clear and blue. There are definitely cold patches, but it feels good. 

After an hour or two, we head to the Dead Sea, and some of us head back to the beachy bar. We drink aperol spritzs. and then the American and I order a Hugo spritz, cause it sounds delicious, and it was! It was prosecco, and maybe lime? And “Hilderberry”, which I don’t know if that is a real berry. It was delicious. Eventually someone decides to get a couple of pizzas. In between cocktails and pizza, I hang out with the USA kiddo in the Dead Sea. We swim to this cave, which is cool, we see a male peacock in a tree and wonder if he is stuck. Sometimes he screams and it’s quite a different sound. Then Croatian kids from above, almost land on us, as they cliff jump into the Dead Sea. It was actually just this amazing, sparkling fun day with people, swimming in the Sea, drinking cocktails, and talking and sharing stories. I stumbled into this great, happy, fun group of ex-pats in Dubrovnik. I didn’t want it to end. We hung out until 6:45 PM, cause the last ferry left at 7:00. We were hoofing it, to not miss the ferry. We made it off the island. It was such a good day. I loved Lokrum. I’ll never forget that day! 

[investigatingaj]

TASK ONE: ABOUT ADORA JANE AJ DARKE !

Character’s full name: Adora Jane Mary-Anna Darke Reason for name and/or meaning of name: Adora Jane is her first name... yes, both names. All of her names come from family except Adora, because her mother always loved that name and She-Ra. Jane comes from her paternal grandmother, Jane Darke and Mary-Anna is her maternal grandmother’s name. Character’s nickname: AJ, Little Darke (to a small few) Reason for nickname: Her parents have called her AJ since she was a kid, she’s always preferred it to her full name. Older people around town have taken to calling her Little Darke since she was a kid, because she looks like her mother and because she’s the youngest member of her family, naturally. Birth date: August 30, 2000

Physical appearance Faceclaim: Lili Reinhart Gender: Cis woman Height: 5′8 Build: Slim and relatively fit Eye color: Green Glasses or contacts?: No Distinguishing marks/scars: She has a couple of small, faint scars on her arms and legs, most of which her parents assumed were from her childhood as she had a tendency to scratch herself during her nightmares. She has a very faint collection of freckles on the bridge of her nose and at the tops of her cheeks. She also has quite a few beauty spots/freckles on her arms. Hair color: Blonde Type of hair: Long with a slight wave, has some layering to it and is mostly nice due to her mother taking her to get it done whenever she’s home. Hairstyle: Typically she wears it half up half down, though she’ll often do a low ponytail or just have it out too. Voice claim: Lili Reinhart but without her singing voice... AJ cannot sing at all. Physical disabilities: N/a Clothing style: Mostly can be found in pants, ranging from thick, coloured corduroys, to jeans, to suit pants and at times, even the occasional pair of overalls. She’s often not caught dead without her favourite leather jacket, passed down by her mother from the 90s and still in quite good condition. She loves to wear button up dress shirts, vests and blazers. She’s typically in something belted and high-waisted. She also frequently wears boots and sneakers most often. She’s at all times wearing a crucifix with a built in blade and caries a worn shoulder bag. AJ tends to favour shades of brown, grey, black and green. Make up: If she’s had a late night, she might put on some concealer. If she wants to look nice, she’ll add eyeliner and maybe a tinted lip balm.

Personality Good personality traits: Quick-witted, loyal, intelligent, resourceful, charming, adventurous, amicable, playful, broad-minded, brave, determined, imaginative. Bad personality traits: Headstrong, secretive, compulsive, impatient, resentful, manipulative. Mood character is most often in: Contemplative but hiding it, usually wearing a smile Sense of humor: AJ loves to be sarcastic, she loves wordy, stupid jokes, also doesn’t mind a good pun Articulation: She’s fairly well spoken and tries to always pick her words carefully, she was really into giving speeches in middle school after she finally got some confidence... she then realised how embarrassing that was Character’s greatest joy in life: Being with her friends, uncovering new information with them and putting it all together Character’s greatest fear: Not being able to help or protect her friends and somehow losing them to her own ignorance Character is most at ease when: In her element, researching or putting together the board in Scooby HQ Most ill at ease when: She’s stuck on one particular thing and can’t get past it. She’s not good at putting things down and moving on, ever. Enraged when: Someone hurts one of her friends or lies to her Depressed or sad when: Her mother leaves for another trip Priorities: Unravelling the supernatural shit in Bridgemead, her friends, her family Life philosophy: Almost nothing is impossible Greatest strength: Her determination and strength even when things feel so much bigger than her Greatest vulnerability or weakness: Her tendency to push down and hide her emotions

Goals Drives and motivations: The search for knowledge, being able to keep herself and others safe Immediate goals: Solving each mystery/helping each person as they come along Long term goals: Becoming a fixture in her town, being appreciated beyond her circle

Childhood Hometown: Bridgemead, MA Type of childhood: From the ages of about 4-8, AJ was plagued by nightmares that seemed so incredibly vivid that they made her a very anxious, exhausted and grumpy little girl. Her parents tried to give time and energy to helping her, after it became clear that ignoring the problem wouldn’t help. Professional help is what they swore saved them all. Despite some of the more horrible stuff in her childhood, her parents did their best with her even if they weren’t really the most affectionate or naturally empathetic people. They never took her fears seriously, though. She formed a much closer bond with her mother, clinging to her even more when she started travelling again. She gained a lot of independence as she got older and when her parents noticed it, it gave them the confidence to let her do as she pleased, but it also let them pull back a little as parents, guilt free. Pets: Her dad is allergic to both cats and dogs, so they had a particularly large tropical fish tank instead. AJ didn’t name them because she liked calling them their scientific names instead and she liked watching them. Most important childhood memory: The first time her mother took her to the lookout tower 40 mins out of Bridgemead. It was towards the end of her struggle with the nightmares and she was feeling exhausted and sad, so her mother told her to get on her snow gear and took her out to look at nature as the sun went down. It was beautiful and probably one of her nicest memories from this time. Dream job: Private detective, but maybe the supernatural kind Religion: Her parents raised her as Christian, technically, but they never went to Church

Present Current location: Bridgemead, MA Currently living with: Still with her parents in North Bridgemead Pets: None, she wants a dog Religion: Athiest Sexuality: Not straight, but unsure Politics: Very left learning, always votes but struggles to stay up to date with everything Occupation/education: Graduated from high school, currently an assistant for her aunt, Delia Darke Mode of transportation: Baby blue Mustang Convertible, passed down from her grandmother, the family has paid to keep it in good condition

Family Parent one: Harrison Darke, doctor at Bridgemead General Hospital Relationship with them: Though AJ and her father are always in the same house, they kind of end up being two ships passing in the night, for the most part. He’s a workaholic and so is she, in a sense, though if he ever heard what she actually did outside of working for Delia, he’d be pissed. The two of them barely speak and their relationship only worsened when AJ came home unexpectedly early one day after a Scooby Gang and found her father with another woman in his study. He asked her not to tell her mother, so she asked for cash. He’s been paying her monthly ever since. Parent two: Clara Darke, travel writer Relationship with them: AJ’s mother is quite the flighty type, she hates staying in one place too long and is a social butterfly intensified by a hundred. She loves her job and sometimes spends months out of the country. She’s a little famous for her writing if you’re interested in travel. She tried a little harder to be a good mother when AJ was younger and they have a good bond when she’s around, but it’s mostly because AJ never wants to be ruining her moments with her by getting upset/complaining. They only really talk about superficial stuff, nothing deep and while she feels bad not telling her about her dad, she tells herself there’s no reason to ruin everything. Siblings: N/A Relationship with them: N/A Other important family members: Cordelia ‘Delia’ Darke, great aunt and her father’s aunt... often referred to as just ‘aunt Delia’

Favorites Color: Dark green Music: Moody 90s indie and rock music, she loves Fiona Apple and Hole Food: Steak Film: Heathers or Hellraiser Drink: Screwdriver, probably Form of entertainment: Does research count? She likes true crime documentaries and podcasts, too. Most prized possession: Her car

Habits Hobbies: Very early morning runs, research, puzzle games, sketching, journaling Plays a musical instrument? Only a little bit of acoustic guitar Plays a sport? She used to run track in high school, but that’s it How he/she would spend a rainy day: Probably cooped up in the library or her bedroom with several books in front of her, music playing, a scented candle lit and coffee. Spending habits: She tries to save as much as she can, despite the money coming in from two sources now, it’s not actually that much. She doesn’t splurge, mostly because she also doesn’t need to let anyone know about the whole blackmail thing. Smoking/drinking/drugs?: She drinks occasionally, if everyone else is doing it. Smoked once at sixteen, never again. Extremely skilled at: Research, gently manipulating people/getting what she wants, keeping secrets/hiding what she’s thinking, talking to people, thinking outside the box. Extremely unskilled at: Opening up to others, being sensitive enough to not choose the logical option, getting eight hours or sleep, patience. Nervous tics: Her stare typically intensifies in annoyance/anger when she’s nervous. Usual body posture: She has pretty good posture, always walks with her shoulders back and her head high. Mannerisms: She tends to get lost in thought, noticing things when maybe she should be listening. She folds her arms over her chest a lot or scratches the back of her neck when she needs to think quickly and feel stressed. Peculiarities: She sometimes won’t allow herself to do certain things until other tasks are done. Like, if they order pizza, she can’t have a slice until she finishes a task.

Traits Optimist or pessimist? Somewhere in the middle Introvert or extrovert? Daredevil or cautious? Depends on the situation, she leans towards cautious Logical or emotional? Leader or follower? Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? There’s method to her mess, okay? Prefers working or relaxing? Confident or unsure of himself/herself? Animal lover? She thinks they’re okay

Self-perception How do they feels about themselves?: AJ is confident in herself because she knows her abilities and thinks she’s capable of a lot... but she also knows that she’s not really a good person, even if she justifies the things she does for the sake of the group or someone’s wellbeing. One word the character would use to describe themselves: Strong What does the character consider their best trait?: Her quick wit What does the character consider their worst trait?: Her inability to let things go What does the character consider their best physical characteristic?: Her legs What does the character consider their worst physical characteristic?: She never bought into the whole women hating their bodies thing, but she wishes she had more muscle definition How does the character think others perceive them?: She thinks people see her as strange, charming and determined. What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: She’d like to be stronger.

Relationships with others Opinion of other people in general: She thinks most people are blissfully clueless, but she doesn’t hate them for it. Opinion of the Scooby Gang: She’s protective of every member. She thinks they all have something to offer, but she also cares about them and considers all of them her friends. Does the character hide their true opinions and emotions from others? Absolutely, she’s not into sharing things unless they need to be shared. Most important person in character’s life: She would hate to answer this question. She’d say her aunt or her mother or even Arabella, but maybe it’s... herself? Best friend/s: Arabella Byrne, Dylan Frye and Kody Pierce. Dating experience: Literally none. AJ doesn’t date and claims loudly that she’d never want to date. One time a guy tried to ask her to a dance in middle school and she got so freaked out that she kicked him in the balls and ran away. That being said, her first kiss has happened and it was Arabella, but that’s not really a romantic thing. It was just the only person she trusted enough to do that with at the time and they were quite young. Romancing: First of all, AJ would probably bury those feelings so hard and avoid them so she’d never even go about romancing anyone. If she were really trying, or at least subtly trying, though, she might just do little extra things for them, leave them small gifts. It would be subtle. She has no active interest in dating.

Extra Physicality: AJ keeps relatively fit, but she doesn’t have fighting skills outside of self-defence just yet. She’d like to learn some. She also has started occasionally lifting weights to build up muscle. Species: Human How do they feel about it?: Part of her always feels a little uneasy because of how vulnerable she is, but she’s not sure she’d be lining up to be anything else just yet.

[kamandzak]

Into the Great Night - Chapter 2

I started writing this book about a year ago and finished it ~7 months ago. Performing a big rewrite and this chapter is so dismally beautiful I can’t keep it to myself.

Context: Andrew Garland’s boyfriend of eight years has passed away and he is struggling

Recommended listening: Compass and Miracle by Two Steps from Hell

     It was foolish of me to think it would be any better at Tessa’s house. Merely leaving the place Greg and I had cohabitated didn’t mean our past would leave me; that my grief would leave me.

    It was no better sitting on Tessa’s couch as opposed to my own.

    It was still lonely. It was still joyless.

    It was still too cold.

      If that was my new normal…. If that was the life of which I would be forced to live for the rest of my days, I preferred to die.

      Tessa was worried. Beth was worried. Sara and Clara were worried. They all had the right to be. Mom and Dad still hadn’t reached out. I couldn’t say I was mad about it.

      For the first month I carried the same daily, depressive routine: Wake up, shower, watch videos, eat, shower again, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Nothing to disrupt the morose mentality I held from the moment my eyes opened until they closed. Even in my dreams I continued being sad. I couldn’t escape – trapped forever.

    Jake’s constant messages of concern did nothing but send me sinking deeper and deeper into hazy nothingness. Peppered with queries about when I planned to emerge onto the gaming scene, along with the occasional ludicrous statement about how he understood my stuffy brain, each message was deleted as it was read. There was no reason to have those hanging around, reminding me why I was in Reno and not where I had once dreamed of making a life for myself.

      Whenever I closed my eyes, Greg’s face appeared in the dark. Maybe I was napping; maybe I was finally sleeping fully through the night; maybe I was simply blinking. Always, he was there.

    Sometimes it was a fleeting glance of what used to be the best part of my life. Sometimes I dreamed of things that had already happened, or things I wanted to be that would never come to light.

    One night, I dreamed we got married. Waking up was almost as painful as watching him die.

      Tessa was worried I’d off myself. It wasn’t like we talked about it or anything, of course, but I could hear her and Beth sitting over tea every weekend, hushed mutterings coming from her dining room table or her room or her little porch. My grief had thrown a wrench into the lives of those around me, Beth worrying about my life when she normally would work on lesson plans for her rambunctious class of first graders. When she was feeling brave, Tessa would ask why I kept my secrets down deep for so long. That right there was why.

    I had suffered from depression before but what I was feeling wasn’t just unadulterated sadness; it was a fierce, far more complicated set of emotions leading me to exist in a far more dangerous mindset than I had ever been in before. Instead of having an urge to kill the part of me that is making me feel so unbelievably yet nondescriptly sad, I wanted death. Death, full stop.

    Mom and Dad and Sara and Clara and Beth and Tessa weren’t good enough reasons to stay alive, and all I wanted was to see Greg just for another minute. I wanted to give up a life with my own flesh and blood just to see him again. I would have given up all the time in the world for one more night of SNL and inside jokes with a man who made me feel like so much more than who I actually was; a unextraordinary nerd with awkward social tendencies and difficulty communicating. With Greg I felt like I was more than just me; without him, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

    “Andrew! Your phone!” A crumpled ball of paper bounced off my head as Tessa’s voice cut through my outer shell, the sounds of my phone following her words. My phone beeped loudly, the tell-tale sign of a Facetime call on it’s way, and I dragged my finger across the screen to accept before I read the name. Each bodily movement seemed to take ten times longer than Before. I was living seconds behind reality.

    “Garland.”

Jake’s face popped onto my screen. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1….

    “Hi.”

    “You look like hell.”

Jake’s mouth stopped moving before I even put together the string of letters that made up his blunt statement.

    “Mm,” I managed.

    “You in Reno?” I nodded. “I’m heading out that way this weekend. Never been to Vegas believe it or not. Figured I’d go explore. Have you seen anyone since everything happened?

    “Andrew, want anything from the gas station?” Tessa stood in her door frame and as I shook my head she left without another word.

    “I’ll take that as a no?”

    “Yeah, no. No, I haven’t seen anyone. I don’t want to see anyone.”

    “What if they came to you? So you didn’t have to leave where you are?”

    “I’m not about to let a stranger into my sister’s apartment.”

    “We’re not technically strangers at this point, right?”

    “Why are you so hell-bent on meeting face-to-face?”

Jake paused, inhaling loudly, wheezily, in a way that reminded me of Greg; then again, everything reminded me of Greg whether it had anything to do with him or not.

    “The best thing that came out of the worst time in my life is now I can be empathetic to other people going through the same thing.”

The tiniest part of me wanted to know what he’d been through but the larger part didn’t have the brain power to care because what actually mattered didn’t exist anymore. I didn’t think Jake was purposely jabbing at open, festering wounds for the sake of cruelty; he was just caring for me.

    I didn’t want his caring. I only wanted one person’s caring and couldn’t get past the knowledge that I'd never have it again.

    “Let me know if you want someone to talk to. I’m only in Nevada for a couple of days. I won’t mind stopping. Really.”

    “Mm.”

    “I gotta go. Message me.”

The screen went black. Please Rate the Quality of your Call, a prompt stated, with the outlines of five stars beneath. I did no such thing.

    I wasn’t about to message him, even if I had a reason to do so. I wasn’t going to be messaging anyone because all conversations led back to Greg. How was gaming going? Was I still in Los Angeles? Was I still going to be on YouTube? All questions would eventually wind up being about him and the more I talked, the more I would have to remember. The more I would have to remember, the more I would have to feel, the more I would hurt.

    It started happening when I arrived at Tessa’s; my need for answers led me to the internet and introduced me to the term dissociation; I would simply leave my body. Up to the ceiling I seemed to float as if filled with helium, watching what was taking place below. Tessa waking up and making breakfast before going to her gaming room; her video editor Reese chatting with her about her upload schedule; Beth coming and going; myself sitting in the same spot on the same couch day in and day out.

    I didn’t know why it was happening, the only reasonable explanation being that I so desperately didn’t want to exist but was too much of a damn coward to kill myself. In the end, dissociation seemed like the best option. Just remove myself painlessly from my surroundings. Was certainly better than the alternative. It was peaceful, exiting the current plane and living somewhere else if only for just a few minutes.

    Live. That was the key word. I was still technically alive, my heart still beating and my stomach still digesting and my eyes blinking and lungs expanding with each breath. The human being my brain commanded was still moving. My mind was developed enough to operate on autopilot, doing the dumb things it had to do to keep everything in stasis. I ‘lived’, for lack of a better word.

    When I did gather the courage to look up what I was feeling on the internet, nothing made sense. Nothing could be remotely tailored to fit my situation. I could relate to none of it. These people with their inspiring stories and memoirs written in loving memoriam, and benches dedicated to loved ones… their experiences seemed to minimize what kept me awake at night. How were they able to do that? How could those strangers make me and my emotions feel trivial without even knowing me and without me actively posting in detail what was happening in my head? As hard as I tried to imagine those brave widows and widowers and left-behinds feeling the way I did, their stories always wound up being of getting over that tremendous loss.

    I didn’t want to get over it. If I got over it I would lose Greg forever. I’d already lost him once.

    The grocery lists of things I could do to help myself mocked me as I read the advice of people who claimed to know how to recover from the un-recoverable. Write them a letter, authors would write in silly, curly-cue fonts before giving me a whole page to write the letter, as if I was going to sit down and put pen to paper and tell Greg about something I saw that reminded me of our first date. List all the good times, one said, with bullet points for me to fill out five moments, as if every moment we had together wasn’t the best of my life. Find someone to talk to, another whimsically suggested as it reminded me that keeping my feelings inside was dangerous. As if I didn’t already know it was ripping me apart from the inside.

    They didn’t tell me how to start a letter to Greg where all I could do was say how much I missed him. They didn’t tell me how to find someone to talk to when I didn’t want to talk to anyone about anything. They gave me five fucking spots to talk about good times as if our six-year relationship could be reduced down to that many moments and no more.

    They said all of it was doable; they said that when the lost their husband or wife or boyfriend or girlfriend or best friend or grandparent or dog or whatever, those were the steps they took to recovering and moving on.

    They weren’t me, though. They weren’t me and they weren’t Greg and they weren’t the set of circumstances under which we had lived. Even if half of the equation was there, the other wasn’t. Maybe their loved one was sick. Were they sick with the same ailment, or one that carried similar stigma? Did they purposely risk illness for the sake of their significant other or family member or friend? Did their risk become reality because fate can be an unnecessarily cruel mistress? Did they love the other person so much they shortened their own life?

    The door opened and couch shifted as Tessa’s hands landed on the sides of my face.

    “Andrew”

I cracked at her voice, her icy hands wrapping around my head and pushing me against her. Worming my arms under hers, I clung to her small shoulders, weeping into her jacket sleeves. Eyes screwed shut I gasped for air, seeing Greg in the darkness as he mirrored the same breathy sounds. While mine were of sadness, his were of death – the only sound of him I could manage to remember despite being together for so long. Tessa pulled at my non-resisting body and we sat together, tangled in a heap of coats and scarves and unwashed hair. Much like when we were young – when we didn’t understand what the world was about or why we were with the people we were with – and Tessa would protect me, we sat close, her love drowning out the pulsing drone of fear and hatred and sadness and anger rushing through my mind as it struggled to comprehend the incomprehensible.

    For several minutes, we sat in silence.

    “Andrew.”

    “Mm.”

    “I love you.”

    “I know.”     “And,” she finally pushed me off her body, holding me in front of her. Cold air hit my hot face, adhering the salty wash of tears to my skin, “And you can talk to me about anything you need to. I know you don’t want to. I know you think you’re strong enough. Maybe the only way to become strong is to not be.”

    “Where do I s-start?” I hiccupped.

    “Let’s get the team together,” she began, rising slowly and pulling me up with her. “Maybe they can help.”

    “But-.”

    “No one knows you like we do.”

      Hours later, beneath the door of Tessa’s bedroom, I heard her. I heard them.

    “You guys have to get here as soon as you can. Please.”

    “What’s the matter, Tess?”

    “I think it’s happening…. I think the numbness is wearing off. He’s starting to feel things again. It’s not that I don’t want to be here when it happens. I just don’t want to not have you guys here with us. I don’t know what do to.”

Greg’s death wasn’t supposed to be affecting my sisters as the sounds of their video call trickled through the under-crack of the door. It wasn’t supposed to be affecting Jake or anyone else but me and the Davis’.

    It was a stupid thought and their voices continued, muffled by my sense of inadequacy. Of course it would be affecting other people. It started doing so the moment Tessa posted my video. It started affecting the girls the second I told them I was having an emergency and they needed to come see me. What I hadn’t wanted was exactly what I had dug myself into when I welcomed other people into the hell-circle I was stuck in.

    I didn’t want them to come see me. I didn’t want Beth to take time off and Clara to leave Frank and Sara to leave Duncan to come take care of me. I was twenty-four. I should have been able to take care of me.

      The front door opened several hours later and I looked up with a faux look of surprise. Out, I sent them telepathically. Please go.

    “Why are you here?” Tessa rolled her eyes at my question.

    “Boy, don’t pretend like you weren’t listening on my Zoom call with them,” she cracked a smile before reading the room and immediately coming back to our reality. “You know why.”

    “We’re just afraid that there’s more to address than just your changing grief,” Beth began and bile began rising in my throat. It was only a matter of time really, before they put two and two together. I guess I had thought it would take a little longer. Her hand landed in the middle of my back, leading me to the same sofa where Tessa and I had broken down together.

    “Don’t worry about me,” I began confidently. “I’m just-.”

    But then I coughed. I coughed and coughed and the more I tried to regulate my breathing, the harder it was. Choking; gasping.

    Hands rubbed my back while others pushed me down and a another lowered a glass of water into my field of vision. Sip, choke, swallow, repeat until I could finally shakily inhale with difficulty.

    Looking down at me were four sets of beautiful, worried eyes with which I could barely stand to keep contact.

    Clara spoke,

    “Stage three.”     “What?”

    “That’s what you’re in, isn’t it? Frank just… just lost a patient and when I asked him, especially when Tessa told me about all of your shakes and fevers, he said he thinks it's stage three. I think I believe him.”

I was at a complete and utter loss. In my molasses-filled, sloths-paced brain, grief at the loss of Greg drifted beside my own secrets and the suffering of my sisters, bouncing off of one another like oil and water.

    “You don’t understand,” I finally said.

    “Don’t understand what, exactly,” Tessa asked pointedly, further questions and opinions trapped behind pursed lips. I could practically see them stabbing her mouth, begging to be released.

    “Everything!” I exploded. I hadn’t been truly angry yet; up until then anger had taken too much effort. What energy grief didn’t zap from my system the HIV stole for its own selfish purposes. “It’s all connected, isn’t it?” I asked, huffing out laughs like a mad scientist whose madness had taken over the scientist within. “I can’t tell the world about me and Greg because I’m afraid of people finding out I’m not straight. Then I’m with Greg and he’s so afraid of never having love and I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life, so then we take a risk and guess what? Protection fails. The risk becomes reality and I get HIV but I can’t talk about the love or the disease because it’s been ingrained in me since I was a child that people who get sick with this illness get it as recompense for their actions. I don’t believe it when I look at Greg but when I stare at myself in the mirror all I can hear is Dad’s voice. I go to clinics occasionally but only outside of town and without people I even sort of know because I’m afraid subscribers who have never seen my fucking face will recognize me and assume I’m going there for a reason I don’t want anyone to know about and guess what? They’re right! I don’t want them to know about going to get HIV treatment because I’m afraid of people finding out I’m not straight.”

    “Andrew-.”

    “We keep loving each other because hey, once I’m sick, we might as well, right?”

    “Andrew-.”

    “And then Greg dies. Greg fucking dies and I can’t tell anyone because I don’t have anyone and the only reason I don’t is because I spent the first seventeen years of my life having it ingrained in my mind that if I don't date, marry, and have a family with a beautiful woman, I’m damned to a life of eternal suffering.”

    “But we-.”

    “I can’t tell the gaming community because then Dad could find out. I can’t tell you guys or Mom because I feel bad that I kept it a secret for so long but I had to keep it a secret so I could stay safe and love the man I loved because I knew he didn’t have all the time in the world. So now I’m one serious infection away from dying because I didn’t do serious enough treatments to start with because I was so afraid of people finding out I’m not straight,” I nearly screamed, throat raw, standing up and spinning around to face my audience. “How the fuck am I supposed to deal with all of this?”

From all four sides, warm sweaters hit my torso as each sister came from a different angle and held on tightly, two of them shaking against me with emotion. Long nails raked through my hair, hands rubbed my back and arm and nape of neck; hair tickled my nose. Cold, dry lips pressed against my forehead.

    When I dared to observe who was directly in front of me, Sara had tears running down her slim cheeks.

    “This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” I whispered. “All it’s doing is making you sad.”

    “I would have been sad when you first told me, Andrew. Nothing keeps human emotion from happening. But you’ve kept it in for so long, and the longer it builds up the more explosive it is when you finally release the valve. If you told me six years ago that you were in love with a boy and were scared, I would have been so proud. I would have supported you in whatever you wanted to do… however you wanted to live your life. If you told me whenever you found out about being sick that you were sick, I would have been devastated. I still am. It’s just… complicated now,” she petered off as the others nodded in agreement.

    “I’m not mad at you, in case you think that,” Clara spoke. “I don’t think any of us are. In a way it’s nice to finally know all your dirty laundry so we can be here as a family. I know you have your reasons for doing what you did. We all do. There’s a lot to sort out. A lot to do. A lot of catching up that has to take place.”

    “There’s no timeline for this stuff,” Beth began and before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth,

    “AIDS, Beth. A. I. D. S.”

    “Grief, Andrew. G. R. I. E. F.”

    “Awesome,” I mumbled. “How am I supposed to do this?”

    “Not alone. We need to get you a doctor here,” Tessa said with a sad expression that, for a brief moment, I wanted to smack off of her face. “I haven’t seen you go since we moved. You don’t want to, but we don’t want to lose you.” I wanted to lose me but that was beside the point so I kept the words inside. “I can’t lose you,” she managed and faint sounds of stifled sadness cut through the quiet.

    “I know you want to go,” Beth said as Clara and Sara ushered Tessa away from the scene. “Not to the doctor, but to him. You want to go to Greg. Right now what we say won’t change that. Nothing we say will change how you feel. Nothing feels worth living for right now and I know that. When you go through something like this, you can tell other people you really do know what they’re going through. We aren’t worth living for right now and I understand that. There isn’t much we can do, but what we can do is make sure you’re eating and at least taking some medication. There isn’t much more to do right now than sustain yourself. Let us help.”

    “Okay.”     “You loved him. I understand that,” Beth whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “And you both did what you could with the time you had. Life’s unfair. I don’t know why things happen to people the way they do. I’m sorry.”

    “Why wasn’t my best good enough?”

    “Oh, Andrew. It was. I promise. There are just some things we can’t control. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

[rhub4rb]

Of Birds and Bugs

AO3

Ch. 1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7

-_-_-

It had been an awful day.

Marinette sighed as the final bell rang and the students got up from their seats, preparing to head home.

She could hear Alya and Lila snickering behind their hands as she picked up her backpack, and she could feel the glaring eyes of her classmates boring into her neck as she stood up.

Marinette took a deep breath.

These days came, all dependant on how Lila was feeling. Sometimes, Lila would be getting all the attention in the world, praise, love and admiration flooding to her, and she would breathe it in like fresh air, as if she had been drowning. Other times, she would be bored, and then she would look to Marinette for entertainment, hunting her down and burn her at the stake.

It was awful.

But Marinette had learned to live with it, for some time. In the beginning, the promise, idea, and the hope that Adrien had her back, motivated her enough to keep going. When that promise fell through, Marinette clambered to Uncle J and Clara, drowned herself in the lyrics, and revived herself with the melody and beat.

She sighed, looking at Adrien's seat.

It admittedly took a while, but eventually, they were no longer in whatever the hell the Lila situation was, together. It had hurt, but Marinette was quick to get over it. Over him.

"Of course I was invited to the charity gala tomorrow," Lila said, eyelashes fluttering. "but I'm not sure if I'll be able to go."

The class gathered around the liar, drawn like a moth to the flame, but Marinette just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"You see, I have this important conference call with Prince Ali tomorrow, and I really can't miss it." Lila amended.

"Girl, I'm sure you'll be able to figure something out, so many famous people are gonna be there!" Alya exclaimed excitedly.

Losing Alya had been like a slap in the face.

She was probably the last person Marinette had expected to lose, but she had been the first to pack her bags and leave. Alya and Lila left the class. Marinette didn't care.

She stopped caring a couple of years ago.

As Marinette headed towards the door of the classroom, she didn't notice the foot that discreetly shot out, tripping her up, but she was quick to regain her balance, looking around in disgruntled confusion. When her eyes landed on the retreating backs of Alya and Lila, both of them cackling loudly, she just let out another sigh.

She had better things to worry about than the people Alya chose to hang out with.

The upcoming days would be busy for Marinette, so there was no point in wasting time thinking about a bond long broken.

She and Master Fu had been meeting frequently, her training for becoming the next Guardian beginning to get more and more serious.

The only "positive" thing Marinette could think came from the whole Lila situation, was all of the extra free time she had gotten.

-

Master Fu's place had always been a place of comfort for Marinette, and after the day that she had, it was a comfort that was much needed. Dealing with Lila was draining, especially on the days were Lila seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

So, as Marinette stepped inside the parlor, she couldn't help but take a deep breath, finally letting the tension leave her shoulders.

Thoughts about Lila could take a break, with Master Fu, matters of the miraculous came first, and that required a clear mind and a clear soul. As Marinette took a seat, after a polite greeting to Master Fu and Wayzz, a cup of tea was quickly placed in front of her, and they were ready to begin. For the last couple of days, they had been discussing the severity of the situation with Chat Noir, and whether or not they should be taking more drastic measures.

"Marinette, I hope you've been well." Master Fu had always been polite, and he knew that the upcoming discussion was one that made Marinette uncomfortable, so he was easing her into it. The topic of changing partners was rarely a very nice conversation.

"You as well," Marinette replied.

She closed her eyes, rolled her shoulders, breathing in for 7 seconds, breathing out for 11 seconds, before she opened her eyes again, her expression serious as she looked at Master Fu.

"It's getting worse with Chat Noir." It was a statement, but Marinette nodded anyways.

"He's getting out of control," Marinette noted.

The last Akuma attack had been intense, but Chat Noir refused to take action.

Marinette had turned him down again that day, so he was in a particularly bad mood. He had thrown another tantrum, and Marinette had barely won.

"I know."

-

The conversation replayed itself in Marinette's head all through practice with Clara.

It was a monthly thing between her and Clara, they would meet up at the dance studio, and then go through Marinette's newest choreography. It was a nice little thing they had going on, which was why it made it so frustrating for Marinette that she had a hard time enjoying it. She had been distracted the entire time, and Clara had taken notice by the end of the practice.

"Care to tell me what's wrong, or do you want me to find out myself what's going on?"

Marinette let out a sigh, letting her shoulders droop.

"I... I don't know."

Clara hummed in thought, before a mischievous grin spread across her face.

"You've been distracted," Clara noted, grin growing wider. "tell me, is it someone attractive?"

Marinette snorted, shaking her head at the rhyming star.

"I wish." Marinette sighed. "Lila was just... a little more Lila today." She explained.

Clara's teasing grin immediately disappeared, a look of worry and anger taking its place.

"Someone should take that girl down a peg. I was personally thinking, maybe a broken leg?"

In any other context, Marinette would have thought Clara was joking, but her voice had been grave with a seriousness that spoke of her anger. Marinette was quick to try and reassure that she was fine.

"Nothing happened." Marinette looked Clara in the eyes, giving her a small smile. "She was just being stupid." Marinette's smile grew a little. "She even lied and said she was invited to the gala tomorrow."

It was a small comfort to Marinette.

Despite all that Lile loved to lie about knowing all these people and be invited to all these things, at the end of the day, that was Marinette. Marinette knew all sorts of famous people, Marinette was invited to all sorts of events that Lila could only ever hear about. At least there was that.

When Marinette had been younger, she had never imagined that she would ever live the type of life that others would lie about having. Sure, she had Uncle J, and he had always told her that one day, she was going to be a star, but she had never thought much of it. If something happened, then great. If Marinette became a popular idol and sold albums, that would have been wonderful. But she would have been just as happy working from the sidelines, designing for those who chose to shine on stage.

And it had started like that, too, but then Jagged introduced Marinette to Clara and things changed.

One day she would be satisfied with just working as a designer, but at the moment, there was nothing Marinette enjoyed more than being on stage.

"Those classmates are gonna regret they ever crossed you, Netta." Clara suddenly said. "They will someday see how you are so much better."

Marinette smiled.

"I know."

-

Tikki looked at her chosen as she darted around her room, trying to get ready for the gala before her car arrived. Sure, it wasn't necessary for her chosen to be there exactly on time, but Marinette did not want to be late, especially when her popularity in France wasn't exactly at the top.

At least Asia loved her.

Tikki had been worried for Marinette, and had been ever since the first instance with Lila happened. It had been hard to see her chosen to get mistreated so much, it was something that had never become easier with each new holder.

Tikki hated being forced to watch her chosen to suffer, unable to do anything as they were beaten, bullied and killed, all because of some rules. Of course, she understood the importance of the rules, that they were in place just as much for their safety, as well as a holder's.

But knowing that never made it easier.

So Tikki took comfort in the knowledge that tonight, it was not about Lila or Ladybug, but it was more about Marinette.

"Oh shoot, I'm gonna be late, I'm gonna be late, I'm gonna be late-"

Even if Marinette was worried about not making it in time.

"Marinette!" Tikki finally yelled, after having seen her chosen run around her room, looking for something, for the 6th time. "What are you looking for?"

Marinette's pure look of relief at getting Tikki's help warmed Tikki's heart, and Tikki continued with assisting Marinette in her preparations; brushing Marinette's hair, smoothing out the deep red chiffon of her dress, helping to tighten the black corset.

Marinette had been proud of her design, even if it probably wasn't something you would normally wear to a formal gala, with a tight, knee-length black skirt, and a one-sleeved, red chiffon top, that went all the way to the floor. The black corset was something Marinette found tied the entire outfit together, and it was a nice little nod to her last mini-album.

Tikki was proud of her chosen. She had always found Marinette's ability to turn all of the negativity around her into art, something incredible.

Marinette kissed Tikki on the cheek, Tikki giving one in return before Marinette put Tikki in the black purse she had chosen for the occasion.

-

The flashing lights of the cameras reflected the stars shining brightly above them tonight, Marinette noted, as she, Jagged and Clara all posed for a picture together.

The cameras had been overwhelming for Marinette, in the beginning. She wasn't used to being in the spotlight.

Of course, Jagged, Penny, and Clara were all quick to reassure Marinette that it wouldn't always be like that. Jagged had told her that he had been deathly afraid of looking dumb in pictures for the press, and he had started his career a lot later than she had.

15 years old.

It had taken two years, but Marinette was able to finally debut at the age of 15.

When she thought of it that way, it struck Marinette how long she had been in the industry, and briefly, she worried that perhaps that was why she had gotten the downfall in her class.

Marinette smiled more to the flashing cameras, as she, as well as Jagged, Penny and Clara, finally made it inside of the giant ballroom.

She wasn't going to blame her success for her downfall. She refused to.

Everyone else in that class had things they were dedicated to, things they were passionate about, but it had never cost them this much.

Marinette greeted various celebrities and rich people, all of them having varying degrees of surprise on their face at her presence.

Marinette, understandably, was proud of her achievements. She wasn't going to let horrible classmates and a bad liar ruin that pride for her. Marinette had achieved so many things, done so much good, and even if Marinette disliked being selfish and asking for more, she felt as if it was okay for her to say that she deserved a little better than what her class was giving her.

She was cut off from her chain of thought by Jagged Stone, swinging his arm over her shoulder as he lead Marinette somewhere.

"Mari, you have to meet my old friend here." Jagged exclaimed loudly as he lead Marinette closer and closer to a very business looking man. "I don't even know how I haven't introduced you yet." He continued, tapping on the man's shoulder enthusiastically once they arrived. "Mari, this is Bruce, he's a really good friend of mine."  Jagged grinned wildly, shoving Marinette's and Bruce's hands together for a handshake. "Bruce, this is Mari, my favorite niece, and rockstar."

Bruce blinked, probably not expecting the sudden handshake, but quickly came out of his stupor, gracing Marinette with a small, professional-looking smile.

"It's wonderful to finally meet you. My sons are big fans of your work."

Her eyes widened, Marinette glowing with pride at the knowledge that the Bruce Wayne knew about her.

And his sons liked her music too.

"It's a great honor to meet you as well, thank you!"

The trio quickly fell into a comfortable conversation after that, Marinette off-handedly mentioning that she was trying to plan a class trip, but that the school's budget was a bit tight. They also talked about her next comeback, and when it was going to happen, and when Marinette felt like they had been talking about her for too long, was quick to change the subject to Jagged's upcoming projects

-_-_-

If you don’t want to be tagged in this version of OBaB, message me and I will remove you from the tag list. 

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[thoschei-rights]

A collection of Who fic ideas I cant be motivated to write

SEASON 12 FINALE SPOILERS INCLUDED.

some of these are really shit half-ideas and some are just so bad, im sorry but i need someone to write these bc i suck at writing- ilysm

1. So Clara can’t get back to Trap Street because Gallifrey is gone and I doubt its coming back this time, because they don’t deserve it- but imagine if Clara unknowingly arrived on Gallifrey, saw the destruction and then saw a small gaggle of humans making their way towards the broken citadel and she’s like oya oya I smell a conspiracy- and thus we get Clara there, and are you telling me when she finds out the truth, she isn’t going to smack The Master round the face because he’s the only Time Lord left in the Universe and she needs to get her anger out at them somehow- idk where it goes from here but I think about Thirteen and Clara a lot.

2. The Master is that child on the cliff with the Timeless Child, I’ve seen this idea around and I love it but I have no idea how I’d really write it, I just love the idea and want more people to write this thanks??

3. Angsty plot but imagine if Yaz, Graham and the other two humans got into the Cybersuits and couldn’t get back out? Like the suit took them? Thought oh hey new flesh yum good stuff?? And woops Graham you doylum you accidentally converted the four of yall into Cybermen while thinking yall clever. 

4. Someone needs to write Thirteen finding out where she’s from though, and hopefully she finds out her original race aren’t all assholes and she has somewhere she actually belongs. Make it Madagascar 2 style like at first she feels like the odd one out, doesn’t fit in, does something wrong and feels outcasted, scared to be alone again but bOOM she isn’’t and someone is there for her, heck even give her parents or smth, i just want her to belong, to have a family she knows wont leave her after only a few years like all the companions do, someone of her own species who dont age in the blink of an eye like humans- :’) am i trying to redeem myself for all the torture i put thirteen through

5. The prison is Stormcage and River hears about the fact they have a new maximum security prisoner and they are really rare bc sure the universe has lots of psychos but only the worst of the worst land themselves in the block the doctor is in and she’s like hmm I wonder- and boom prison break happens as soon as River finds out who it is and whats just happened to her :’)

6. Dhawan!Master barely escaping Gallifrey with The Doctor, the two forces to escape in the same Tardis since its the only one in range, but he’s been hit ever so slightly by the death particle, enough that his body is forced to regenerate and he becomes Missy and Thirteen is just on shock because OH it all makes sense now- Missy didn’t revert to her old ways, she’d not BEEN Missy yet, and finally there’s some hope in the Dark for Thirteen. Also Thrissy because I’m gay for Thrissy.

7. That 12.9 ending scene but instead of just standing in shock and fear and anger, the Doctor paces over to the smug bitch who just yeeted out of that boundary, slaps him across the face and then snogs the fuck outta him. Thoschei rights. Preach. 

8. When The Doctor blows the Matrix, her wiped memories start coming back to her and while in prison she has to experience some of these returning terrors alone, with no comfort. Lots of angst. Make it really dark and sad. Make me sob my heart out. 

9. The Matrix takes more energy from Thirteen than she thought and when yanking from Yaz’s hold to go blow up the Master and the Cybermasters, she collapses from exhaustion and is unconscious while Yaz takes her place and sacrifices herself. When Thirteen wakes, its too late and she has to live in a Universe with no Yaz, just even more shit for her to try and process, its all too much. 

10. Somehow rumour of the true creation of the time lords gets out among the stars, it suddenly becomes common knowledge, “did you hear about the doctor?” “the time lords experimented on her, as a child, stole her dna for themselves” and “they wiped her memories, forced her to revert to a child” and maybe even “i heard they trapped her in a confession dial for 4.5 billion years-” “wha- 4.5 BILLION years?” and suddenly everyone knows the time lords dirty secret but they also know the fragments of the doctors past, and eventually these rumours reach people who know her well, her friends whom are still among the stars, Bill, Clara and Me, Jack, River, hell anyone you wanted, and these companions are like shit we need to find the doctor?? maybe some of them break her outta prison or?? maybe some stumble upon her after shes reunited with the fam and the fam end up finding out too, after thirteen tries not to let them know too much?? idk?? this one is very ambiguous on details so go with it as you want

11. any form of feral baby thirteen. just anything where she snaps at any point will make me happy. just give me. give. me.

[dawnwave16]

Not what I expected

5; 6(here); 7

Chapter 6:

It was about 10:30 pm when there was a knock on the door, it was Marinette's turn to join in on the planning session. 

Sabine was the one to answer the door and bring her in which is why she was surprised to see so many people in the room.

“Is everything alright? Maman? Did something happen?” The questions bubbled out of Marinette before she could stop them.

“Oh honey no, nothing is like that, stop panicking. I'm sure you remember talking to Matt the other day,” Sabine waited for Marinette to nod before continuing. “He apparently recognised your eyes and made the logical choice to call in your biological dad, who then decided that since his team is like an extended family to him, that they should be included.”

Marinette, while stunned that her biological father was in the room, pushed that aside to process the rest of the statement. She was unaware that everyone was able to watch her thoughts fly across her face and that they were amused by the little display she was unwittingly giving them. They were all thankful that they were profilers at that moment as they watched as she first dealt with the relief that something was going to be done about Lila only for her eyes to widen slightly at the fact that her birth father was in the room hit her.

She took a deep breath to centre herself before saying, “Can I ask who my birth father is before we carry on? I have a feeling that if I don't deal with that first my brain might keep coming back to that rather then deal with anything else?”

The team smiled at this as it was such a Reid thing to do that they knew how to handle it. It was slightly weird that it came from someone related to Hotch but it made things more familiar none the less.

“That would be me,” Hotch said with one of his slight smiles, finding some amusement in how easy she was to read for them.

“I'm glad to meet you then, um...” Marinette stumbled to a stop as she realised that she shouldn't know their names. Sure she had looked them up online so that she could contact them as Ladybug bug she hadn't done that as yet and she technically hadn't been introduced to anyone yet. A round of chuckles sounded around the room at this before they all introduced themselves. The men decided to just give the normal introduction of their name and which team they were with as were Mae and Clara, Prentiss was able to keep herself from being over the top as was JJ though it was a close call. Garcia, however, was a different story.

“OMG, you are just too cute. I'm Penelope Garcia but most just call me Penny or Garcia. I love your outfit, is it one you designed? Of course, it is, silly question! Why wouldn't you wear your own designs?”

Marinette blinked twice then spoke in a slightly dazed voice, “I'm glad I'm not the only one who word vomits when I'm excited.”

The comment did two things though both were unintentional if anyone asked. The first was that where there had been a slight tension in the room it was now gone, replaced by a slightly more relaxed atmosphere. The second was that it allowed Marinette to focus on what she deemed important again.

“Right, nice to meet you, what would you like me to call you though? I know it won't be papa because that will always be papa Tom but I think it would be rude to simply call you Hotch.”

Hotch was quiet for a moment then said, “Well how about just calling me dad, if you are comfortable with it that is.”

Marinette nodded then almost chirped her next words, “Now that that is out the way, I'm guessing Matt has filled everyone in on what I told him the other day? I know he said he wanted to confirm something with Agent Rossi so...” She trailed off slightly though the team was more than happy to take up the tail end of her thought.

Before anyone knew it it was midnight and Tom was yawning. Marinette would be staying in Jagged suite that night as there was an extra room and she was needed to help with the final prep work for his wedding so she simply said goodnight to her parents and watched as they left. The team was surprised when no sooner then the door was closed Marinette's personality turned a lot more serious.

“I know that you've been told about what has been happening in Paris, the Hawkmoth situation that is.” She stated as she turned to look at them, they nodded and she seemed to take a deep breath and gather herself before continuing. “Right, well what I'm about to tell you will possibly surprise you and I know it will be a huge risk of my part but I feel as profilers you would figure it out anyway. You see the thing is I'm Ladybug.” Marinette bit her lip as she waited for their reaction to that bombshell.

“You mean to tell me that you are the one running around, putting her life in danger for people that don't seem to appreciate it. No offence to you, kid, but I don't buy it.” Morgans voice was firm as he spoke. Hotch's temper, which had been close to the surface due to the previous topic of conversation was now at a critical point.

“I can prove it if you want?” Marinette was calm, though that changed when she saw the dark purple butterfly approaching Hotch. It was due to this that she didn't wait for a reply before calling for Tikki to transform her and no sooner then the transformation had washed over her, her yo-yo was flying towards the butterfly capturing it. The team blinked at the speed she had moved at in awe.

“Okay, now I've seen everything.” Morgan was stunned.

“What was that? One minute you were calm then you just moved.” Hotch was the one to speak this time, his anger replaced by shock. “How and why did you do that?”

Marinette release the purified butterfly from the yoyo then dropped her transformation again with a small smile.

“Sorry, I saw the Akuma heading for you and couldn't let that happen. Not only do you know my identity but I don't think you would have liked the knowledge that you were controlled.” As she spoke Tikki had floated to the table and helped herself to a couple of macaroons that had been left on the plate. Reid was watching Tikki in fascination, the rest of the team just looked like they didn't know what to think of her.

“What are you?” Reid eventually asked.

“I'm Tikki, I'm what gives Ladybug her powers when combined with her miraculous. I'm known as a Kwami and as I'm Ladybug's kwami I am the Kwami of creation.” Tikki chirped out in between her dainty bites of macaroon. Marinette just smiled at her.

“Don't forget you are part of the reason I'm still sane despite all the madness in my life.” Tikki shot Marinette a look at that which made her laugh. “Yes Tikki, I know I need to head to bed soon as I have a big day today.”

“What do you mean you have a big day today?” Hotch asked suddenly concerned again.

Marinette smiled, “I'm part of a wedding party so I need to be awake to help keep the bride calm and keep the groom from seeing her before she walks down the aisle towards him. I hope you don't mind but could we perhaps meet up again on Sunday at about 1 pm at my parents place so that we can talk about everything else that needs to be spoken about?” 

Everyone nodded as they were getting pretty sleepy, before Marinette could leave, however, Garcia piped up. “When everything started did you get a new phone and number or did you just change your number?”

“I bought a new phone and got a new number and only gave a select few the new number. I carry both with me but I very really check my old one these days. Why?”

Garcia smiled almost too sweetly and for some reason, Marinette felt that it didn't bode well when Garcia smiled like that.

“I just thought if you still had it we could sort through everything on it to see if we can use anything on it and see if we can use anything on it to help catch Lila.”

“Oh, um, sure I guess,” Marinette replied. “You'll probably find a lot of photo's of Adrien Agreste on it though. I went through a time when I had a massive crush on him, almost to the point of obsession so I had an insane collection of his photo's. We, that is Adrien and me, have spoken about it though and we decided we better off as friends for now. If you can find anything helpful on it feel free though.” As Marinette spoke she handed her old phone over to Garcia.

“Oh don't worry, if it's on there and it can be used my Baby Girl will find it,” Morgan stated confidently.

“Well aren't you the flatterer my Chocolate God” came the flirty reply. Marinette looked on in confusion.

“They not dating nor do they want to but this is just how they are,” Hotch reassured her placing a hand on her shoulder. “We'll see you on Sunday?” He asked a little less confidently.

“Barring an Akuma attach which could make me late, you will.”  Marinette smiled, then yawned.  “Come on Tikki, let's go get some sleep, we are going to need it.”  

@northernbluetongue; @moonlightstar64; @wargraymon0709; @winter-gardenflower

[chicagocityfclanspromoblog]

Ellis Watts III→ Aldis Hodge → Jackal

→ Basic Information

Age: 99

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

Born or Made: Born

Birthday: December 25th

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Religion: Christian

→ His Personality

Ellis Watts is a workaholic. He has spent the entire duration as head of the Jackals looking for ways to better the clan and push them into more prominent positions within the city. This includes heavily encouraging the jackals in his clan to pursue a degree and better themselves intellectually. He also serves the citizens of Chicago as the City Planner. He has been making significant efforts to improve the quality of life for both supernaturals and humans. He is very dedicated to his work and responsibilities and does not falter in his duties. He is disciplined, often working nights and weekends until a project is seen through to the end.

However when Ellis relaxes, he does so in style. He loves expensive clothes and timepieces, nice cars, and excessive hobbies. Since he could get his hands on them, he’s loved anything with a motor: cars, motorcycles, and speed boats. Only recently has he begun to tackle the skies. It was a 95th birthday present to himself, and he’s almost put enough hours in to finally obtain his license to fly. He also enjoys spirits, and has begun making his own wine. This harkens back to his youth filled with mild over indulgence and a desire to escape.

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Head of Clan Jackal and City Planner

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: High end watches and Fast vehicles

Two Dislikes: Idle hands and People who ride their brakes

Two Fears: Failing at leading the Jackals and Heights

Two Hobbies: Boat Racing and Wine Making

Three Positive Traits: Responsible, Disciplined, Ambitious

Three Negative Traits: Work-Obsessed, Superficial, Stubborn

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Ellis Watts II (Father): Ellis did not have a very strong relationship with his father, contrary to everyone in their pack. They were not very affectionate towards one another and often got into spats. Though it appeared that Ellis Watts II was handing his son the keys out of respect, in reality he left out of spite. They didn’;t have any other contact with one another for the rest of his life.

Lucretia Watts (Mother): Lucretia was old, much older than Ellis’s father, when they mated and died while Ellis was 30. Ellis was close to his mother, and she instilled many of the mantras he repeats and follows to this day.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None.

Romantic Connections:

Mary-Alice Lewis (Ex Girlfriend): He met Mary Alice when he was away for school. Too many things were trying to work against them, and when he asked her to come back home with him, she said no. He still thinks about her often and has thought about trying to see if she was still with her clan.

Miriam Vance (Ex Girlfriend): They dated in the 1970s for a few years. He was just getting in the meat of his political career and she wanted lots of children immediately. They parted ways and last he knew she moved to San Francisco.

Platonic Connections:

Sarah Harris (Best Friend): Sarah has been one of his longest friends and is often the person to call him out. He is the Godfather to both of their daughters and spends most holidays with their family.

Zack Harris (Best Friend): Zack is his most trusted confidante. They throw ideas around, playing with possibilities, before eventually bringing it to Sarah who helps make the idea possible.

Shannon Harris (Goddaughter): He has known Shannon since she was born. She’s a mini-Sarah through and through and he has recently begun training her to begin as a liaison to the pack. With the new influx of supernaturals that may come due to the University, Ellis wants to be ready.

Zelda Harris (Goddaughter): He has known Zelda since she was born. She was always a very independent child, taking the harder and often more daring road. Despite Sarah’s surprise, he saw Zelda forming her own path long before she finally told her mother she wasn’t going to school. He has her placed in the water department.

Odell Rella (Friend): Ellis brought Odell on as 3rd about 9 years ago, after he returned home from going to college and travelling the world. It’s a perspective that Jackals don’t often have and he values his input because of that. He’s still an idiot, but he does a good job as 3rd.

Seth Allen (Curious about): Seth is somewhat of an enigma to Ellis, Zack and Sarah. He is wild and difficult, but the strangest thing is that he doesn’t really act like a jackal, or at least not like anyone in Chicago. He loves being shifted and running in his shifted form. Seth also seems somewhat uncomfortable with the family dynamics that most of the clan has. Ellis has been mulling over their new addition a lot, and has even gone on a run with him in shifted form to see if it’d shed any more light.

Vee Armstrong (Employee): Vee has shown her work ethic since she was in college and Ellis took notice. When Sirius proposed getting a Human Shifter elected with the jackal’s help; Ellis knew she’d be the best person to get them there. So far she’s impressed him, and the early polls indicate Fischer will win.

Leon King (Friendly): Ellis knows of Leon through his work with the kids. He increased general activity and helped spearhead a childhood activity project that got kids moving.

Clara Fields (Fellow Council Member): Ellis doesn’t often talk to Clara, actually avoids it when he can, but they’ve known each other for a long time and he respects her work ethic.

Isaac Baker (Friend): Ellis has liked having Isaac on the council. He’s smart and isn’t weighed down by a century of baggage like the rest of them. They occasionally go to sports games together.

Chris Bialar (Work Associate): Chris came to him a year or two ago to suggest creating a University for the supernatural community. Clan Cat was experienced with the education side of things, while Clan Jackal could encourage the permit and general bureaucratic business along. Before their business venture Ellis thought he was an arrogant asshole, now he’s an arrogant asshole with a plan to get more Jackals to the city.

Nick Hamelin (Fellow Council Member): He and Nick are on good terms. The rats don’t invade any areas they shouldn’t and in return they don’t try to keep too much from them.

Percy McCormick III (Fellow Council Member): Ellis is fairly neutral about Percy. They’ve never really hit off, unlike him and the Fields, and it’s not something he’s interested in trying to start.

Greer Finley (Work Associate): Greer is the 2nd of the Cats and is spearheading much of the project on the Cat’s end. He tends to work with her on projects to avoid putting her and Sarah in the same room.

Amaria Crais (Work Associate): Amaria is the main liaison between the Cats and Jackals for the University project. He finds her much easier to deal with than Greer.

Asa Fields (Old Friend): He hasn’t spoken to Asa since he has been back, but the two would occasionally meet at parties around the city. He’s interested in seeing how he’s changed over the years.

Sirius Cobic (Business Partner): Sirius proposed the idea of getting a supernatural to the top of the Chicago government about a year and a half ago. They need someone with real power to rule and a human shifter would be the only one who could make it. Together they developed a plan, and are currently seeing it play out.

Hostile Connections:

Russell Jordan (Concerned about): Russell quickly shut down many lines of connections that had existed between the hyenas and jackals since they’d arrived. He claimed it was to unify the clan under new leadership, but they haven’t opened back up.

Alan Thomas (Annoyance): He’s never seen anyone argue so much over building codes that have been public knowledge for years. Thomas takes any slow down as a personal offence and doesn’t care to restrain himself from throwing a fit.

Pets:

None

→ History

Ellis was born in Chicago to Ellis Watts II and Lucretia Watts. Unusually for jackals the pair married at quite old ages and Ellis III was the only child they ever had. Lucretia was showing signs of slowing down when Ellis was a young boy, so it was only a matter of time when she passed away. He was away for many of her last years, and when he returned from school she refused to shift back into her human form. Ellis spent much of his time shifted the last year of her life so they could communicate easier. When she finally died, he didn’t change for years. It was at this time of no shifting that Ellis discovered his love for fast machines; motorcycles, cars, boats, anything he could feel the exhilaration of. He also garnered some criticism at this time, specifically from his father who thought he was being frivolous and wasteful. This was the beginning of what would become decades of arguments between the two men.

They fought about him not using his degree or getting a useful job, about Elli II being inflexible and running members out of Chicago. This was all hidden from the packs eyes as their leader having the least happy family of all might cause an uproar in such a family oriented clan. The only members who were aware were Sarah and Zack Harris, his father’s seconds. Finally in 1941, after a particularly brutal argument Ellis II quit, told his son that he could burn the pack down if he wanted, but that he wouldn’t be around to watch. He packed up his things and left the clan to Ellis to rule, with the obvious assumption he’d fail. Ellis, like he did in many instances rose to the occasion. He hunkered down and learned everything: each pack family, who needed assistance, what needed to be done, where there were spots they could expand. It was Ellis who made the switch into the Government and slowly began securing good jobs with good pay for his people. He finally joined office himself once he was legally able to and has been City Manager on and off for many years.

After he switched into being a leader, he’s had a difficult time turning it off. It’s ruined any relationship he’s had, caused tension headaches and teeth grinding, and he rarely if ever takes a day off. He still maintains many of his hobbies like boat racing, wine making, and now piloting; but work and his clan is always in the back of his mind.

→ The Present

Ellis would like to find a wife and start a family. Sarah says it was his dysfunctional family life that’s scared him off. Which is partially true, but he’s worried that he’ll start slipping if he relaxes too much. He’s actually considered asking Sarah or Shannon to set him up, but he’s not sure that he is that desperate yet.

Ellis is also creating a University with the Cats. He, Sarah, and Zack have been in talks for about a year or so developing the idea, but they are going to break ground soon. He’s excited to have a new school for his Jackals to go to, as well as a new draw for the supernatural community. Another venture he’s taking on, though in a much more removed position, is the election of human shifter, Robert J. Fischer. It was an idea concocted with the human shifters to get a member of the supernatural community in the highest seat of power. Though the council previously ruled no species could be in the mayor’s office due to an unequal balance of power, Ellis knows they don’t understand the nature of modern politics.

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Aldis Hodge  [1][2][3][4]

[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.5)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 5626 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Our boy flirted up a storm with Marinette “Just A Friend” Dupain-Cheng—and whataya know, our girl’s got game and dished the flirt right back. Some pretty sweet puns flew all over the show. And much to our dismay, yet not at all to our surprise, Adrien sought advice on how to handle Kagami “Thinks I’m Her Boyfriend” Tsurugi. (He really needs to stop doing that.) Will Sunshine Boy make use of her counsel? And will Maribug avoid her kitty’s cake offering tonight? Let’s find out, boys and girls!

 ---

Chapter Five

Adrien rummaged through his duffle bag, the scent of sweat, leather and cheese affronting his nose. "Geez," he choked, retreating from his locker to suck in a breath, "I really need to clean this thing."

Inside the bag, Plagg lounged in an empty container, rubbing his full belly. "I happen to like the way it smells."

Pinching his nose, Adrien plucked a glove from the bag with his free hand. "Hmm. I wonder why." He sent Plagg a side glance. "Maybe because it's infested with crumbs of your stinky cheese."

Plagg burped. "I give you superpowers. You give me camembert. That's the deal, kid."

Adrien rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yeah, yeah." He sniffed the glove, breathed a sigh of relief, and slipped it on. "You could at least practice clean eating." He plonked on his helmet, though didn't yet cover his face, and puffed a stray strand of blond from his eyes. "Do me a favour and don't eat my socks while I'm gone. Or Kagami's cake."

At least he didn't have to worry about Ladybug's piece. He'd stowed it away in Plagg's cheese fridge when he'd raced (or rather, when his bodyguard had raced him) by the mansion to fetch his fencing gear.

A sigh slipped from his lips, his stomach looping in knots, as the events of last night flooded his mind like a river after a sudden storm. He wondered – not for the first time – how he could've upset Ladybug.

Hopefully, she really was just a fan.

A very surprised fan.

And all going to plan, he'd make everything right at patrol tonight.

But what if he didn't?

Maybe Ladybug hated Adrien Agreste.

Maybe that's why she'd reacted to his identity so frantically, scrambling for the nearest exit.

Maybe their partnership was over.

What if she didn't even show up this evening?

The groan of metal hinges tore through the room as Adrien shoved his locker shut, hoping to trap his crazy thoughts within its four steel walls.

"You seem distracted."

He shot to full height, his eyes darting left to find a geared-up Kagami, her red-hilted sabre in hand. She stepped forward, watching him intently, and placed her free hand to his cheek.

Her smile was as warm as her touch, yet the knots in his stomach refused to subside.

"Is everything all right, Adrien?"

He guided her hand from his cheek, managing a smile. "Sorry, Kagami. I just… have a lot on my mind right now."

She tilted her head, her dark hair following suit. "We can talk about it if you'd like?"

Adrien wished it was that simple—wished he could reveal his identity, his dilemma, his troubles, everything—but if there was one thing his circumstances weren't, it was simple. Would Kagami even understand?

Adrien flashed another smile, before retrieving his sabre from a nearby bench. "Thanks, Kagami, but I'm fine. Honestly." His eyes remained on his sabre, as he flexed the hilt between his gloved hands. "I just have a few things to figure out, that's all."

"I could help if you want?" Her voice was eager, assertive, and his smile came more easily.

"Don't worry, Kagami," he said, raising his hand. "There's really no need." Or rather, no way.

Her eyes flickered to the ground, an unfamiliar expression sliding onto her face. "If you're upset, isn't it my duty as your girlfriend to cheer you up?"

He stiffened at the title, reminded of Marinette's advice less than thirty minutes back. His lips parted, but only a dry croak escaped them.

When he said nothing—or rather, nothing intelligible—Kagami took it upon herself to continue. "Have I done something to upset you?"

Adrien nearly dropped his sabre. "No, of course not," he burst with conviction, guilt biting at his brain. "I mean, uhh…" Again, that advice flitted through his mind, and this time, he seized the chance to make use of it. "Hey, are you free tomorrow? After Alya's, I mean."

For a moment, those enthralling brown eyes seemed to scrutinise him. "Well," she finally said, "I can tell Mother our one-on-one fencing session is running later than expected." The makings of a smirk played on her lips. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking"—he moved to rub his neck, only to realise his gloves and helmet made that tricky—"maybe we could, uhh, go out for dinner?"

Kagami's smirk softened into a smile. "Did you have anywhere in mind?"

Only as his shoulders slackened did he realise they'd been tense to begin with. "It's"—his thoughts drifted back to that candlelit rooftop—"a surprise."

When her lips drew into a firm line, and she stole a glance at her shoes, Adrien worried she perhaps wasn't a fan of surprises. He bit his lower lip, readying himself for the bite of rejection.

It didn't come.

"Very well," Kagami said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I should let you know, I'm especially fond of seafood, Mediterranean, and a greasy slice of pizza"—she revealed a wry smile—"despite Mother's protests." Her hand slid from his shoulder, back to her side. "Also, I'm allergic to peanuts, but only mildly."

Adrien gaped, unprepared for that answer. It was stupid, really. She was… well, kind of his girlfriend. And even when she hadn’t been, she'd said yes to their trip to the ice rink.

A smile snuck across his lips. "Um – All right." He made a mental note of her preferences, already envisioning the night in his mind's eye—the scent of steadily burning candle wax, a sea of vibrant red roses, the freshness of tzatziki and succulent, spiced chicken. "So no peanuts and – uhh – it's a date, then?"

Her smile stretched in sync with her nod. "It's a date, Adrien."

His face brightened. "Then I'll see you at Alya's. We can head to dinner straight from there." Remembrance sparked in his green eyes. "And speaking of surprises, I have a small one in my locker for you." He winked. "I'll give you it after practice."

Kagami reached for his hand, threading his fingers with hers – at least, as much as their gloves allowed it. "I look forward to it."

At that, Adrien lightly squeezed her hand, unsure of which surprise she was referring to.

He didn't mind either way.

---

Marinette stared down her half-eaten cheesecake, a fork hanging from her mouth, as Clara Nightingale's "Big Bang" blasted through her computer speakers. From the corner of her eye, Tikki shimmied along to the upbeat choreography, and her lips quirked up at the sight.

She plucked the fork from her mouth and tapped it against her desk, a sigh sliding through her lips. Had Adrien given her this cake a week ago, she'd probably be giving a beetroot a run for its money.

Now?

Not so much.

Marinette knew she was being stupid. Sure, Kagami was getting a slice, but hers didn't need to taste so bitter because of it.

Guilt clawed at her chest.

Surely it was natural to feel some level of bitterness towards Kagami. She had captured the heart of the boy she'd been fawning over for more than a year. And on top of that, it turned out said boy was also her akuma-fighting partner.

Somehow, that fact only made the sting of jealousy all the more potent.

Marinette knew she had no one to blame but herself.

And she certainly had no right to be mad.

She'd had countless opportunities to tell Adrien how she felt.

But she'd always hesitated.

Kagami didn't.

And now he was hers.

Marinette sagged in her chair as memories of Weredad gnawed at her brain, a reminder that Adrien – in the guise of Chat Noir – had rejected her as Marinette.

For Ladybug, yes.

Regardless, that fact still stung like a sabre straight to the chest, even if it at least answered a question that had hounded her brain since the day she'd started crushing on Adrien: did he feel the same way?

When she wasn't Ladybug, the answer was clearly a resounding no; however, if the bits and pieces she did know from Chat Blanc were true, Adrien would accept her whole self in a heartbeat.

At first, she wasn't sure of how to feel about that… but as her mind continued to wander, she recalled the countless times she'd rejected Chat Noir, and the bite of rejection dulled. She cared deeply for Chat. He was one of her closest friends, someone she entrusted her life to every day—but all this time, she'd clung to the hope of one day pouring her heart out to Adrien. She'd been so blinded by her love for him that she'd never even considered her kitty beyond a few brief imaginings, all of which she'd dismissed the second she thought of Adrien.

Chat Noir was her partner and apparently, anything more between them – between her and Adrien – couldn't just complicate things; it could literally bring about the end of the world.

Her thoughts wandered to Luka, of the beautiful song he'd written her, of how he wore his heart on his sleeve, of how simple everything seemed when he was around.

Maybe, despite Chat Noir's unveiling, it wasn't so selfish to pursue Luka.

The knowledge of Chat's identity brought with it a sense of clarity, she realised. He'd given up on Ladybug – on her – in favour of Kagami. And as wounding as it was, she respected that decision.

After all, he deserved to be happy. She wanted him to be happy.

And she deserved happiness too.

With a resigned sigh, Marinette glanced at the bottom right corner of her computer screen.

8:14pm.

Just like that, she ceaselessly tapped her toes against the foot of her office chair. Only sixteen minutes until her patrol with Chat Noir—with Adrien.

Marinette set down her fork and offered the rest of her cake to Tikki.

She'd lost her appetite.

She staggered to her feet and started to pace, Tikki's quiet chews distant to her ears. "Just remember, Marinette," she muttered to herself, a hand pressed to her chin, "if the cake is for you, then oh darn, you're lactose intolerant. Unlike Marinette Dupain-Cheng." She shook her head. "Just don't say the last part out loud." Her hand dropped from her chin to toy with the hem of her black cardigan. "And if he asks if you're a fan, why yes, you are. But not a huge fan. Just a regular fan. Of his work. Not his face. So he doesn't get the wrong idea." She drummed her fingers against her temples, as though that'd drill these tidbits into her brain. "If you start to freak out, fall back on puns. If it worked this afternoon, it'll work this evening." She'd completed a full loop around her room. "And if he asks if you're on Instagram, the answer is definitely not. No—what's Instagram? Yes. Perfect!"

Tikki gave her a look from atop the now-empty plate. "Why would he ask that?"

Marinette sunk into her desk chair. "Well, if he thinks Ladybug's a fan of his, he might sift through his followers hoping to find her." She slapped her hands to her cheeks, picturing that very scenario. "Then he'd find me – the girl he already suspects – and realise that I am Ladybug. It'd be a total disaster!"

Tikki pursed her lips, as though fighting back a giggle. "You're his friend, Marinette. Of course, you follow him on social media." She paused to tap her lips, a few crumbs of cake spritzed around her mouth. "Besides, he already knows you're a fan of his." Seeing her chosen's face twist with horror, she quickly added, "As Marinette, I mean! And anyway, he has heaps of fans."

Marinette croaked out a groan, her head colliding with the desk.

Tikki settled near her face and placed a reassuring hand to her cheek. "Remember, Marinette, he's the same Chat Noir he was before. Not to mention you were making cake puns together only hours ago. Just don't think too hard and you'll be fine!"

"Y'know what?" Marinette leaped to her feet, sending her chair spinning. "You're right. I can do this!" Her eyes shone as she slammed her hands against the desk. "It's time to patrol Paris with Adrien Agreste! So, Tikki, spots on!"

---

The final fragments of day clung to the darkening sky, where bits of blue and pink and lilac slipped away with the setting sun.

After one graceful flip saw her perched near the edge of a slated rooftop, Ladybug glimpsed the time on her yoyo and stopped to admire the view. Up ahead, the Eiffel Tower set the evening ablaze with its fierce, yellow glow. And below, Friday night traffic meandered through the streets, the steady hum of car motors coating the air like white noise.

It was soothing, humbling, and yet somehow empowering… to stand on that quiet rooftop, but a tiny piece of a puzzle that formed such a striking city.

"Taking the scenic route, huh?"

Ladybug recognised that voice in a heartbeat. Thanks to the power of hindsight, she even considered smacking her head against the nearest chimney.

They sounded so alike.

"Quiet as a cat, I see." She didn't know when a smile had slid across her lips, but welcomed it all the same.

Chat Noir emerged at her side, silent as the evening breeze. "I'm nothing if not consistent." The smile he gave her was small, light, even timid, and all she saw was Adrien.

That thought seemed to hail an ocean of nerves and within seconds, her chest ached from the rising weight of it all. She pried her eyes from his, remembering the pep-talk she'd given herself only ten minutes prior.

Puns.

When in doubt, turn to puns.

Yes, she could do that.

"Consistent?" She spared a glance his way. "I think you mean purrsistent."

Chat arched a brow. "Who are you and what have you done with my partner?" The delighted lilt of his voice didn't go unnoticed, nor the way he leaned closer. Was he even aware he was doing it?

Oh, she certainly was.

Adrien Agreste, the boy she'd been crushing on for over a year, was being receptive to her jokes—to her.

And always had been.

That realisation brought with it a rush she was not prepared for.

"Your clawful sense of humour must be rubbing off on me." She snuck him a smirk, fighting the urge to jingle that silly bell of his.

"Clawful?" Chat threw his nose in the air, his pout as apparent as his sass. "I think you mean clawver!"

"Pawdon my ofurrsight." She giggled into her latex-covered hand.

"Well, colour me impurressed." He slipped her a curious glance. "Where'd this come from?"

She shrugged. "I guess I'm just feeling punny tonight."

"Well," Chat said, nodding with approval, "I'm furry much okay with that." His smile was steady, unwavering, as he turned to the Eiffel Tower, clearly content with admiring the view.

And what a view it was.

The way that fiery yellow glow illuminated every handsome inch of his face. How shadows splashed wherever that glow allowed them, highlighting the serene smile that lined his full lips, as it often did during quiet moments such as this. And least of all, those strikingly green eyes, as vibrant out of the mask as they were within it.

She turned away, drawing a hand to her chest.

"Ladybug?" Concern was clear in his voice. "Is something wrong?"

When she looked his way once more, the squareness of his shoulders weren't lost on her—like he was bracing for impact. Was he afraid of her answer?

No, that would imply he already knew it.

And he definitely – hopefully – didn't know the dangerous turn her thoughts had just taken.

She pursed her lips. No, this must be fear over her reaction last night. A reaction that, to her concern, had alarmed him so much he'd quite possibly bought her cake.

She had to remedy that.

"Adrien…"

When Chat's brows shot up, Ladybug was starkly reminded that he wore a mask for a reason. She slapped one hand to her lips, muffling a gasp, as her other frantically rocked through the air. "Sorry! Sorry! I am so sorry! I meant Chat!" She pulled her hands across her face, peeking up at him from through her gloved fingers. "I know I shouldn't say your name when you're— I – I mean, it's just… habit, I guess?" She bolted straight up, her hands slapping against her thighs. "I mean, not habit," she squealed. "That would imply I'm used to using your name, which I most definitely am not—"

"Hey," Chat cut her off, raising a paw. "No sweat, LB." He smiled, despite the way his brows furrowed beneath his mask. "Hearing my name while suited up… I just didn't expect it, that's all. It's not a big deal, honestly."

Those words gave her pause. "No sweat, Clumsy Girl," she could still hear him say, beaming her way and clutching his baton. "I'm learning the ropes too."

A small smile painted her lips. He'd always been so laidback, so supportive, so slow to judge.

So Adrien.

"Ladybug…" Chat eyed her closely, his lips twisted to one side. "Is something on your mind?"

She stared into his eyes—green, green, green—like rolling fields or mines of sparkling tourmaline. "Furgive me, Kitty? It's been a… long day."

Hold up.

Hadn't reassuring him been the plan?

Not the other way around.

His hand was on her shoulder, a wry smile lining his lips. "Hey, it's hard not to let it slide when you're making such meowvelous puns." He winked, then extended a hand toward the iron behemoth ahead of them, glowing brighter as night descended. "Shall we?"

She had to smile at that. With a nod, she spun the yoyo still clutched in her hand, and he followed suit, withdrawing his staff.

"Ladybugs first," Chat said, offering a princely bow as he flourished a hand toward the tower.

Come to think of it, Adrien had bowed like that on at least one occasion, when Great Uncle Cheng had come to stay. Did he make a habit of doing so both in and out of the mask?

Returning to the present, she hurled her yoyo at a far-off lamppost. "Don't mind if I do." And with one tug, she was off.

The whir of his staff, and the clank of metal against the pavement below, was enough to know he was close behind.

After a few swings on her end and a few vaults on his, they descended upon the esplanade of the Eiffel Tower, landing side-by-side, and attracting gapes and whispers from throngs of passing pedestrians.

"Wanna catch a ride?" said Chat, extending a gloved hand.

She clutched her yoyo close. "This ladybug stands on her own two feet, thank you very much."

He leaned in, quirking a brow. "Don't ladybugs have six feet?"

Ladybug gave an eye roll. "Of course, you'd know," she said, planting a hand over his face to shove him out of her bubble.

He poised his paws atop his extended staff. "I suppose I am an expert on all things Ladybug."

She shook her head, her smile as wry as his. "Race ya to the top?"

"I could"—he snuck her a side glance—"but we both know I'm faster."

Another eye roll. "Then winning should be kitten's play." Giving him no chance to answer, she flung her yoyo at a distant beam and launched off the pavement.

Wind whistled in her ears as she leaped, flipped and swung from one iron beam to the next, with such fluidity one would think she was running on auto-pilot.

Until a blur of black shot by, and Ladybug almost landed on her face instead of her feet.

Apparently, Chat Noir's stick could span the height of the Eiffel Tower if he so wished, given he was riding the dang thing all the way to the highest platform. He was soon leaning over the railing far above, offering a wave and a toothy grin.

Was it humanly possible to roll her eyes right out of her head?

That question hung near the fringes of her mind as she scaled the rest of the tower and, half a minute later, flew over the railing and onto the summit. "You sly cat," she called, huffing a wayward strand of dark hair from her face. "Your fancy stick did all the—"

Expecting Chat Noir, she froze at the stunning green gaze of Adrien Agreste. He sat on the ground, cross-legged and beaming up at her, between two familiar cartons and a dancing candle flame.

Her thoughts lurched back to that painfully romantic rooftop dinner, and she almost descended into an all-out wheezing fit right that second.

Yes, she knew his identity.

That very fact was never far from her thoughts.

But even so, this stark, sudden reminder was something she'd in no way been ready for.

"You took your time." His cheeky smirk seemed so out of place without the mask. "I even stopped by the groomers for a makeover," he said, flicking his perfect hair like something straight out of a L'Oreal commercial.

Frustratingly, all that occupied her mind in that moment was how that smirk didn't suit him.

Or perhaps, how the sight of it was so foreign to her.

And how she wished that wasn't so.

After a few failed attempts, Ladybug latched her yoyo around her waist, and gave the set-up a second glance. Adrien had set his schoolbag on the ground just behind him—he must've transformed while wearing it—and she didn't miss the loud chewing that came from within it.

"Sorry about Plagg." He rubbed his neck, smirk fading into a sheepish smile. "If there's one thing he's passionate about, it's Camembert."

"So I've heard," she somehow managed. Her hands threaded behind her, and her steps were unsteady as she approached. "So, um – what's all this?"

"Just a little treat from the best bakery in town." He waved a hand toward the empty spot across from him, and she wasn't sure if she'd sunk into that spot of her own accord, or if her legs had turned to jelly once she'd reached it.

Crossing her legs, she squeaked, "What bakery would that be?"

"The Dupain-Chengs." He tipped his head, his blond bangs swaying at the movement. "You've never been?"

Ladybug tensed. "Oh – Uhh – The one by that high school?" She gripped her knees a little too tightly. "Yeahhh, that's a bit outta the way for me. As – err – my civilian self, that is. 'Cause, y'know… we're clearly near there quite often as, uhh, ourselves." She cleared her throat, her lips sliding off to one side. "I mean, I do know the Dupain-Chengs own a bakery. My, uhh… mum's… uncle's… cousin's… step-son's… fiancée… She's, umm… a friend of theirs. That's how I knew about Marinette. I've very briefly met her and I, uhh… thought she'd make a good Multimouse." She could've facepalmed—would've, if he wasn't watching. "I mean, when I choose superheroes, I try to choose people I think will make good ones, but at the same time, I try not to choose someone I'm close to, y'know?" A strangled laugh left her lips. "'Cause that could – err – risk my identity and, well, we certainly don't want that."

Smooth, Ladybug.

Real smooth.

He opened his mouth, but she beat him to form words—because he probably had a bunch of questions after that little spiel, and answering any of them could very well dig her into a deeper hole. "So! What's the occasion?" She drummed her fingers against her knees, shooting glances between him and the cartons.

Adrien's shoulders went square, as Chat's had only minutes earlier, and in his lap, his thumbs ran races around each other. "Uhh… So… Well…" A hint of pink crept across his ears, steadily making its descent down to his cheeks. "You seemed a little upset last night and I…" He grabbed the top carton from the stack of two. "I guess I was worried that—"

"I – Yeah – Sorry about that." She chewed at her lower lip, only vaguely recalling her self-given pep-talk. Gosh, what perfect timing! "I – um – kinda freaked out a little last night."

The dubious look he gave her said it all.

Ladybug shrunk into her shoulders. "Okay, a lot." She barely resisted the urge to toy with her yoyo—because boy, had that turned out swell last night. "You see, Adrien… I, uhh – I'm kind of a fan of yours."

Seeing his eyes widen was enough to make her fly to her feet and pace. "Not, like, a crazy fangirl or anything. Like, I wouldn't go putting pictures of you all over my room"—she flicked her hands to one side, as if gesturing to some invisible wall—"because, well, that would be crazy."

She stilled, heat rising to her cheeks.

No no no no!

Why did she even say that?

Now he was going to think she – Marinette – was a crazy fangirl.

Yes, she kind of was.

But he didn't need to know that!

Ladybug turned away, hiding her reddening face. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with someone having photos of you all over their room. I mean, people do that for a whole bunch of reasons. In fact, putting photos of a celebrity – especially a model – all over your wall is just, uhh… commendable? Or, erm… dedication… to the arts? Yeah, it's that."

Upon re-facing him, she realised he'd jumped to his feet. His lips were slightly agape; his brows slowly furling.

Oh great. She was just confusing him!

"But," Ladybug squeaked, "that way of fangirling—or, err… expressing an art form—just isn't for me. 'Cause like I said, I'm just arugula—I mean, a regular fan. Of your work. Not your face." She gasped. "Not – Not that there's anything wrong with your face. Your face is perfect"—the grin she showed flipped in on itself—"ly fine. Yeah, it's perfectly fine. I – uh – just didn't know how to handle the fact my kitty is, well… you." She considered throwing herself over the nearby railing. "Sorry! That came out wrong! I – I didn't mean—"

Two arms drew her close and suddenly, she found herself gawking at the lean muscles of his neck, as he eased a hand around her waist, his other settling between her shoulder blades.

Heat swarmed across her skin. His cologne was almost palpable, sweet and spicy at once, greeting her nose and making it sing. The warmth of his touch seemed to melt through her suit, soothing her frantic thoughts and replacing them with only him.

She lost all sense of time.

Had seconds ticked by?

Maybe minutes?

If there was one thing she was aware of, it was the steadily heightening thud thud thud that emanated from his chest, as though his heart was pounding and pounding and pounding on his ribcage, throwing punch after punch, trying to burst free.

The sound verged on deafening by the time his hands found her shoulders, and he ended the embrace as though doing so was a chore. The second he’d pulled back, the crisp evening air had swarmed across her suit, yet the hands that remained on her shoulders somehow kept any shivers at bay.

"Absolutely nothing has changed, Ladybug," he said, locking his eyes with hers. "I'm still the same silly kitty I've always been. And we're still the same unstoppable team we've always been"—his bangs fell across his eyes as he stared at his shoes—"aren't we?"

He suddenly seemed unsure.

It made her insides coil. She'd already explained her reaction last night. That it was all on her. Why would he think they were no longer a team?

Ladybug eased his hands off her shoulders and to his sides, and didn't let go. "Of course, we are." She revealed a small smile, but it wavered when she was met by only silence. "What's wrong, Adrien?" Her brows creased beneath her mask, and she gave his hands a light squeeze. "You can tell me, you know."

His shoulders rose and fell, unsteady as his breaths. "I'm just—" His voice cracked, and his grip on her hands tightened. "I was worried," he whispered, "that maybe you hate me."

For a second, Ladybug was speechless, as though someone had tossed a tub of cold water straight over her. "Hate you?" she wheezed, and shook her head so fast she might've had whiplash if not for her powers. "Adrien, I could never hate you!"

Adrien's eyes shot up, hope flickering within them. "You mean it? You're not, well"—he looked away, avoiding her stare as though afraid of what it might tell—"disappointed it was me?"

"What?" That single word slid from her lips, soft and breathless. "No, not at all! Why would you even think that?"

Did he really think so little of himself?

Adrien Agreste, famous fashion model.

Chat Noir, treasured superhero of Paris.

Her perfectly imperfect partner.

"I'm sorry." His voice, like his gaze, was soft with uncertainty. "I just… misread the way you acted last night." He looked away and pursed his lips, as though wrestling over his words. "I thought… maybe you were… mad at me? Or maybe…" He laughed, but the sound was tear-jerkingly hollow. "Well, let's just say Adrien Agreste isn't half as cool as Chat Noir."

Her mouth hung open, a fog of disbelief falling over her eyes. "Isn't… half as…?" That fog soon scattered, and quiet determination dawned in its place. "Adrien, that's not true at all. I'm so sorry I made you think that!"

Adrien flashed a smile. It was small, strained, as if hastily woven by a thread that had long since been stretched too thin.

It was his brave face, she realised.

An aching lump lodged itself in her throat. "Listen here, Kitty." She slid her hands from his and in an instant, her grip on his shoulders was as firm as her stare, demanding his full attention. "Tikki once told me when I needed to hear it that with or without the suit, I am Ladybug. And the same goes for you, Adrien. You are Chat Noir, suit or no suit." Her voice was brimming with quiet affection as she continued, "You're kind… brave… determined… and you care so much about others. You're one of my dearest friends and every day, I happily trust you with my life. I can always rely on you—and not just when we're battling supervillains." She slid one hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek, and heard a soft breath suck in through his lips. "I was so upset last week for leading Hawk Moth to Master Fu. If you hadn't been there to calm me down…"

Horrifying images sliced through her mind. Of her friends, their eyes yellow and empty, their identities exposed to that despicable Hawk Moth. Of that monstrous sentimonster, its stinger shattering through Master Fu's shield like it was made of glass.

All that suffering.

All because she'd failed.

But once more, her kitty was there, placing a hand atop the one that cupped his cheek… the one that now shook against his skin.

As always, he soothed her with his touch, with his warmth, with his presence. He stared into her eyes, and she into his, and those awful images vanished.

"You're amazing, Adrien," she whispered. "You're enough and more. So much more." Her other hand slid from his shoulder to cup his free cheek. "And your Miraculous does not define you. You define it."

Adrien stared at her, his body still and his eyes wide, as though her words hadn't quite sunk in yet.

But she knew the second they did.

She knew by the way he stood taller, lighter, like a wilted flower does after rain.

She knew by the unshed tears that had his eyes shimmering like precious emeralds.

She knew when he stepped but a breath away, and she felt the soft heat of his lips on her cheek, fuelling a fierce blush that no doubt matched her mask.

He held her hands in his, and his smile alone said a million thanks.

That didn't stop him from giving two more.

"Thank you, M'Lady." Somehow, his smile was both shaky and decisive at once. "Just, thank you."

And for the first time, Ladybug saw him.

Truly, deeply, clearly saw him.

Like storm clouds parting to reveal a bright summer's day, she looked at him and saw her partner... her friend... her silly, maskless kitty.

And she sensed he was starting to see himself the same way—as two halves of a wonderful whole.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked and blinked and blinked again, if only to capture just another second of this moment—of his face and that joy and how perfectly it suited him. How she wished it was there every second of every day, pure and real and no less than he deserved.

Adrien tilted his head, a wry smile sneaking its way across his lips. "I'll furgive you, Bugaboo," he added, "for not mentioning my purrfect sense of humour."

She slid one hand from both of his and went to flick his bell. Upon realising it wasn't there, she found herself tapping his nose instead, and smiling at the way that made him chuckle. "I thought I'd leave at least some of the belly-scratching to you."

A minute later—as she savoured her favourite cake with a now-transformed Chat Noir—Ladybug realised their patrol hadn't gone at all like she'd planned.

And she was purrfectly fine with that.

[thewritewolf]

Inseparable Chapter 15: Animal Tendencies

Adrien struggles with his newfound knowledge.

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@ladynoirjuly2019

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Marinette - Ladybug - had asked him what he wanted to watch. Somehow, Adrien agreed to a movie. He has no memory of doing so, but since they were laying side by side in her bed, laptop on her lap as the light from the movie illuminated them in the dark, it clearly had to have happened. He risked a glance to the side, aiming to get another look at the incriminating T-shirt.

There were probably other explanations. She was a personal friend of Jagged Stone. Maybe he sent the shirt to her, or maybe she got it because she was such a big fan of his. Adrien had found a way to get it early - it was possible she managed it as well.

Then his eyes traveled up to her face and he felt his heart flip as she laughed at a joke from the movie. Logic flew out the window. There was only one girl who could make him feel this way, even if he had been steadfastly ignoring how he felt around Marinette. A flicker of a smile came to his face when he realized he’d been denying that crush out of a sense of loyalty to her alter ego.

The smile quickly passed as the gravity of the situation crushed him, doubts hounding his every thought.

There was nothing he wanted more than to stay here like this forever. Close together, the space between them practically nothing. His hand was itching to grab hers, so maddeningly close… but he couldn’t do it. Not yet. He felt lost - confused. There were too many unanswered questions right now for him to make any kind of move. Which just left him beside her, yearning to reach out but paralyzed by uncertainty. One movie ended, another began. Just when he had nearly built up the courage to say anything, a knock on the door jolted him back into reality. The world suddenly became more than just him and her.

“Adrien,” Tom’s voice called through the wood of the trapdoor, “A, um, very large, silent man is standing outside the bakery. We think he is your… bodyguard?”

Relief poured down his spine like cold water even as a part of him was sad to leave. He was galvanized into moving for the first time in hours.

“I, uh… I had fun today…” Marinette fidgeted with her hands as he was halfway down the ladder. Even in his turmoil he stopped to smile softly at her shyness. “Maybe we can…” She waved her hand at the laptop, “...again, sometime?”

A long moment passed before he registered that he needed to respond. “Oh! Y-yeah, I’d like that.” Another pause as they watched each other, words hanging unsaid in the air between them. “I’d better get going.”

“R-right, of course.”

“The Gorilla is waiting…”

“Mmhm, yup.”

“...But I’ll see you at school. Later.”

“Yes! Later is good.”

“And probably after school. Since we, uh, we have a project to do.” He hated that he was rambling but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t want to leave her, but he couldn’t stay either.

“Lots of work to do on that project.”

“So… bye?”

“Y-yeah. Night good!” She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. “Good night,” she repeated, slowly.

He nodded and shut his mouth. He awkwardly climbed down her ladder in silence and left the bakery after a few words of thanks to her parents. The Gorilla was characteristically silent as he drove Adrien to the Agreste estate before leaving for home himself. There was no one to greet him when he got home, so he shambled off to his room in silence.

At least, until they reached the privacy of his room and Plagg emerged from Adrien’s bag.

“Well, well, well,” Plagg said while rubbing his paws together with a nearly malicious glee. “Looks like lover boy has made a discovery.”

Adrien sat down on the side of his bed. “Marinette is Ladybug.” Somehow, saying it out loud made it feel all the more real.

“Marinette is Ladybug,” Plagg nodded.

“I’m in love with Ladybug.”

His kwami sighed. “You’ve made that abundantly clear, kid.”

“...I’m in love with Marinette.”

“Because she is Ladybug? Or was there something there before?” When Adrien opened his mouth to speak, Plagg hushed him. “And be honest!”

Rubbing the back of his head, Adrien struggled to find a response. “Well, I… now that I think about it I guess you could say that I… but…”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, kid. Out with it! This isn’t that difficult.”

“I… love her.” He let out a wistful sigh. “I guess I always did.”

“Great. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, how are you going to break the news to Pigtails?”

“I don’t know, Plagg… This changes everything!”

“Okay kid now you’ve lost me again. Didn’t we just cover that you definitely like this girl? What does this change?”

Adrien began pacing, nervously adjusting his ring as he did so. “Well, Ladybug was always kind of a long shot. She’s just so confident and courageous and beautiful. But I love her and I was hoping she’d be willing to give me a chance.” He stopped and looked at Plagg with a look of anguish. “But Marinette? She is definitely out of my league.”

“What.” Plagg stared at him incredulously.

“Marinette is kind, caring, creative. She could impress my father and Chloe’s mother with her work. There are lifelong designers that couldn’t do that! I can't impress my father! She’s personal friends with Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. Everyone loves her - including me, apparently. And apparently she is Ladybug on top of it all. How can I possibly measure up to that?”

Plagg tried his best to face palm with his paws. “You’re a model? And the son of her favorite designer? And you’re Chat Noir?! Does none of this ring a bell to you?”

“I didn’t choose to be a model, or who my parents were. Besides, Marinette isn’t shallow - that’s not the sort of thing she would be interested in. And clearly being Chat Noir doesn’t matter since she… doesn’t…” His eyes widened with sudden realization. “She doesn’t love Chat Noir.” He crumbled onto the bed, hands buried in his hair.

“Woah, woah, kid.” Plagg landed on his shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short - you’ve got plenty to offer.” Adrien sniffled and looked up. “You’re a sweet kid, and we both know that counts a lot to Pigtails. And you know Ladybug was turning Chat down for someone else - maybe that someone else was you all along?”

Adrien looked to the side, away from his kwami, as he felt the sting of tears. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I mean, yeah. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” Plagg zoomed in front of Adrien. “Listen, kid. You can go ahead and keep this to yourself for now, if you want. But you’ve got a patrol with her tonight, don’t you? You’ve got to decide what you’re gonna do when you see her.”

He brushed aside his tears and laid down on his bed. “I don’t know,” he whispered into the vast emptiness of the room. “Nothing, for now. I won’t let her be disappointed in me just because of how I’m feeling. She deserves that much while I get my act together.”

“Kid, I can tell you that I’m sure everything will work out fine. Go ahead and take some you time. I’ll be over here, with uncomplicated cheese and no heartache.”

“Thanks, Plagg.”

------------------------

Marinette landed on a rooftop wholly unremarkable except for the view of the moonlit Seine. The patrol wasn’t going great. Sure, they were covering ground like never before, but only because Chat Noir was being uncharacteristically bashful and quiet. Everytime he caught her staring concernedly at him, he’d blush and look away. It was a far cry from the sly alley cat she’d come to know. The stark difference had almost made her think that there was some akuma nonsense at work.

Now, she was fairly sure she was just dealing with a sad kitten. While that raised questions all on its own, it was at least something that she knew just how to handle.

“Okay, Chat,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “this looks like as good a spot as any.”

Hesitantly, he shot her a curious glance. “Good spot for what?”

“Training, of course.”

“Ah.” He settled back into his glumness, but took a defensive position.

Instead of taking out her yoyo like he no doubt expected, she kept her hands behind her back and took a few steps towards him. His confusion grew until she entered his personal space and he put both hands on his baton and leaned back, his face a red, flustered mess. She smiled and poke his nose.

“Tag. You’re it.”

And just like that, she had run away. Without looking behind her, she could feel Chat chasing her. It had been too long since they had fun on their patrols, and she knew that he could use the distraction. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who can stand to get things off their mind for a little while. She replayed her time with Adrien earlier that day over and over - whether it was in the comfort of her own head, or dissecting everything with Tikki, she felt like it was an important milestone with them. They might not have made much progress with their school project, but she’d never felt closer to Adrien.

Stolen glances confirmed that her plan was working. Worry had melted from his face, leaving only the joy of the hunt. It was just like when they had first taken up the mantle of superheroes, still exploring the boundaries of their powers. Not that there still wasn’t things they didn’t know - these recent… hiccups with their abilities proved that. But now Marinette felt the weight of her responsibilities on her shoulders, a weight she had only managed to bear this long with Chat’s silliness to keep her sane. If he needed a little of that now, then she was happy to help.

The chase lasted long enough that even her superhuman endurance was running thin. She landed and held up her hands in surrender.

“Okay, kitty, you got me. Can we take a break now? My legs feel like jelly.”

He flashed her a warm smile, her reward for a long run. “Heh. Same here.”

He sat down, leaning against a chimney. She found a spot next to him and before long, mutual exhaustion and the cold had them leaning against each other. She snuggled against him, resting her head against his shoulder. It worried her that he froze for a moment afterward, but soon his head was resting on hers and he’d snaked an arm around her waist. They’d grown close during their long war against Hawkmoth. Personal space had been thrown out the window ages ago, a casualty of cold winter patrols and the close calls of a fight.

Her eyelids became heavy as she got lost in her partner’s warmth. What jolted her awake was a strange rumbling coming from inside her chest. Instantly, she pulled away from her partner, who she noticed was gawking at her in disbelief.

That shock faded quickly, replaced by a wide grin. “Did you just… purr?”

“N-nope!” She lied, unconvincingly.

“That was adorable!” He scrambled closer to her, eyes sparkling. “Do it again!”

“I don’t want to,” she complained. Their little side effects of having their miraculous had been floating freely between them, but she thanked her lucky stars that it hadn’t swapped their powers again. She still needed to speak with Master Fu, but unless she found some time to speak with him outside their schedules, she wouldn’t be seeing him until next week. In the meantime, she’d just have to deal with it.

“C’mon, please? Just one more? You make me do it all the time.”

“Once. I had you purr on command once and you complained the whole time since you found it so embarrassing.”

“Yeah, so that means you owe me one, right?”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette took out her yo-yo. “Good night, chaton.”

“I don’t think I will now.” He crossed his arms and looked away, but Marinette could see his tail sweeping back and forth contently. He was feeling happier, at least. That was all she could really hope for.

“Oh? Is that what you want your last words to me tonight to be?”

There was a pause. He sighed and looked back at her, pouting. “Good night, m’lady.”

“There’s a good kitty. See you later!”

She was too far away to hear Chat Noir sigh under his breath. “Sooner than you think…”

[sheliesshattered]

Upon This Rock Will I Break Myself,     Until It Shows Me Your Beloved Face

It started with the tune the Doctor had strummed out in that American diner, but of course it didn’t stop there. The gap in his memory was too large to be contained by one song, his grief too complex for a simple progression of chords. The ache he felt for something lost and just out of reach poured through his guitar and out the TARDIS’s amps, reverberating against the walls, muffled here by books, reflected there by metal, until the sound surrounded him. Consumed him. And still the anguish persisted.

His memory faded until there was nothing left but the grief and the music, even the waitress and the story he’d told her reduced to vague impressions, but the pain only compounded. As that ache continued to grow, so did the music, adding up to reams of songs, all sharing a melody, a single theme tying one to the next, that lilting tune he’d first discovered in that diner that was in Nevada but should have been in Utah. Maybe some of them become songs, the waitress had said, in a voice he no longer remembered. Those chords felt like the closest thing to memory he had left, the nearest thing to truth in the shattered shambles of his life.

Clara. Maybe the melody was the shape of her smile, or the sway in her step, the spark of adventure in her eye, or her courage and kindness. Was that some edge of true memory there, or was it just that all those dear to him were kind and courageous? He’d lost companions before, people he’d loved, mourned them for years, and yet never felt this kind of hole. Never felt the need for a neural block, either.

Eventually the console room became too small for the size of the music, the speakers not able to sufficiently convey the depth of his feelings. So he donned his ‘space hobo’ look — who had called it that originally? the song was his only answer — and went looking for larger venues, bigger sound systems. Jammed with a few old friends, made a few more, but always the Clara shaped hole, always the melody just under his breath, like something he didn’t quite get to say before the neural block went into effect. Like something he never meant to stop saying.

He played the large festivals. The classics on Earth, naturally, and then followed humanity through the ages, through the star systems across the galaxy, as they found new and bigger and louder ways to experience music. He was an opening act, sometimes, or just the weird vagrant at sound check. He’d show up, connect his guitar, and strum out those chords, make the air quake with the shape of what he’d lost.

So of course he attracted a following eventually. He was late enough in the human civilization that time travel wasn’t so strange an idea anymore, and the single tune carrying across the planets and star systems, across centuries... Well, there’d always been a romantic streak in the human race, part of what he liked about them. And for some, that melody was the ultimate expression.

He’d done such a job erasing all knowledge of the Doctor from every database in the universe, back when River’s life had depended on it, that he’d forgotten what it was to be known, what it was to show up somewhere and see the spark of recognition on someone’s face. It took him ages to stop searching those faces for one that would fit the Clara shaped hole. They came for the music, for the romance and mystery and longing of it, not for him. They invented names for him, backstories of a tragic lost love that he could neither confirm nor deny. They defined him through the music, through the lilting chords that were meant to be her, not him. None of them truly knew the Doctor. None of them even knew that name.

The fan groups, then, were a mild annoyance, but not much of a surprise. The TARDIS and his guitar were strictly off limits, and he didn’t sign anything, and beyond that he didn’t much care for the milling crowd of familiar-ish faces that started to pop up along his stops through the galaxy, half of them with vortex manipulators strapped to their wrists. The opening acts had given way to featured performances, solo ‘tours’ retroactively dubbed thus by human time travellers who could pop back to a favourite event at their leisure.

Once upon a time he’d travelled like that, gone wherever the whim had taken him, a mad man and his blue box off to see the universe. He’d given it up after Amy and Rory, right around the time the hole in his memory started. All the faces before this one he could remember clearly, but sometime during his last face, the gap he called Clara began. A stationary life on Trenzalore slowly faded in somewhere around his 1300th birthday, and even that time was littered with holes. Through it all, he’d been convinced he was going to die there. He shouldn’t have regenerated again, it shouldn’t have been possible, and yet he remembered glimpses of it. He remembered taking off the bowtie for the last time, he remembered being incredibly sad to say goodbye.

It all just disappears, doesn't it? Everything you are, gone in a moment, like breath on a mirror.

He remembered Clara being there with him, but not her face or her eyes or her smile, not what she’d said or done. He remembered the sensation of the First Face settling in, so much stronger at the beginning of a new regeneration cycle, and she was seared to his hearts still, with everything but the memory of who she was. He thought Kidneys! might have been the first word he’d said to her, though he couldn’t imagine why.

It covered more than a thousand years, that Clara shaped hole. But sometimes an amp would produce a particular type of feedback, and it would feel like the gaps were peppered throughout his memory, back and back and back to his childhood, like this mystery woman had tiptoed through his life, leaving little footprints his mind tried desperately to forget. And sometimes a chord would reverberate against the backs of his teeth, and his body would suddenly be convinced that the gap was not a thousand years, but four and a half billion years.

He thought of losing her, tried to imagine their last day together, and his mind strayed to the stars going out, to the heat-death of the universe. I watched as time ran out, moment by moment, until nothing remained. No time. No space. Just me.

It was sad. And it was beautiful. And it is over.

Nothing’s sad ‘til it’s over. Then everything is.

Sad, or over, he wondered, and went in search of a venue the size of a planet, speakers that could drown out the disembodied voices drifting anchorless in his mind. He made his guitar sing and the air quake and the crowds roar, and still he ached. The size of it was too overwhelming, the scale of what he’d lost, not just the person but the time itself, almost half his lifetime, pieces of himself he couldn’t get back without breaking free of the neural block.

There were ways to cheat it, he knew, to short circuit the artificial amnesia put in place by Time Lord technology — and how was that even possible? where had he been? — tactics practiced in official espionage circles as well as by TARDIS operators and paranoid Academy students. He had, at one point or another, been all three, so he knew the sidesteps of logic one could take to subvert the programming, the more drastic measures that could be taken to disable it. If something could be remembered it could be brought back, all of it, and the neural block would cease to function.

But it had to have been put there for a purpose, hadn’t it? If the size of the forgetting was this overwhelming, how overpowering must the experience have been? What must it have been like, to know this woman who had to be torn from his mind so completely he could only identify his feelings for her by what was left behind? What had he done to try to save her to justify this large of a wipe?

Stopping by familiar stomping grounds to buy guitar strings, he checked in on Donna Noble. He kept his distance, only too aware of the harm he could cause her if he sparked her memory. But she looked well, happy, brash as ever, and he smiled to himself, imagining the two of them knocking around together now, hollering over each other, only ever speaking in acerbic endearments.

Oh, don’t worry, daft old man, I’m not going anywhere.

He missed her with a more manageable hurt, an echo of the Clara. He wondered if Donna ever felt this kind of sourceless longing, ever dreamed of someone she could almost remember, as he did. He hoped not. She seemed happy, and what else could he ask for, for his companions, for the people he loved? Amy had said she and Rory had lived a long and happy life together — fifty years, if tombstones were to be believed. River had repeatedly emphasised what each and every line of their relationship meant to her, Martha and Rose had each married for love and gone on to do great things, even Sarah Jane had eventually forgiven him for dropping her off in the wrong place, and she, too, had lived a happy and impactful life.

He had lost companions, yes, and so many more during the Time War, but against all the good he had wrought, all his long years of trying to help where he could, what had he done to deserve this? Couldn’t he, just for once, get to keep someone? After all this time, after everything I've done, don't you think the universe owes me this?

But a thousand years, off and on his entire life, four and a half billion years, what would you call that if not ‘keeping’ someone, he argued with himself. They’d had their time, and apparently he had been so unwilling to give Clara up, it had to be taken from him by force, ripped out at the root. Everything’s got to end sometime. Otherwise nothing would ever get started.

No. Stop it. You're saying goodbye. Don't say goodbye!

Everything ends. —Except you.

He suspected one of the contextless voices in his head was hers, but he had no way of knowing which. Not without breaking the neural block. So he buried himself in the music, let the chords speak where she could not.

He was mid-performance on an enormous stage on an artificial moon called Woodstock when he realised he’d once again locked eyes with one of a pair of brunettes who fit vaguely into his time travelling fans folder, into that group of pseudo-familiar people who seemed to always show up these days, no matter when or where he played. Two young women — though it was impossible to tell, really, he was visiting a century where everyone looked perpetually twenty-seven — short and thus often nearest the stage, nearly mistakable for sisters, though their noses set them apart. One with light eyes and the other with wide brown eyes, their honeyed depths calling to him out of the crowd.

The Doctor didn't make a habit of studying humans' facial expressions, but he found himself cataloguing all her little tells: the exact angle of her eyebrows, the set of her jaw, the slight sheen in her eyes. As soon as he realised he was doing it, he looked away, dropped his gaze and broke the connection. He pulled on his sonic-sunglasses, grinning at the crowd's roar of approval as he turned his attention to the particularly complex bridge of the current version of the Clara song. He could feel the woman’s gaze on him still, like a waver in gravity, and had to grit his teeth to keep from looking back at her.

Who the woman was hardly mattered, much less the precise shade of heartbreak in her eyes. He was sure, if he were to look around at the other faces in the audience, that he'd find many such expressions. It was the music, the way they experienced it and the stories they wove to explain it, nothing to do with him. He had watched the crowd plenty in the past, he’d seen how the music affected them, and then promptly forgotten each and every one of their faces. He would forget this one, too — in fact, the brunette’s face was already gone from his memory, it was that inconsequential.

The Clara melody flowed smoothly into something slower and softer, longing made audible, and he heard the audience sigh along with the music. He looked up at them again, watching it ripple outwards through the crowd, the echo of what he had lost flickering across thousands of faces in a microsecond. And still too small, still only a shadow of his grief.

Unconsciously his gaze was drawn to her again, over the heads of the handful of people that separated them. He truly had forgotten her face in those moments when he looked away, but there, there in her brown eyes, he saw it now. It set her apart from the rest of the crowd, the depth of longing held in her eyes, outweighing all the rest put together. And he wondered, in the fleeting moment their gazes met and held, if she was the only one who understood what the melody really meant, who might understand the carved-out pain inside him, the ache that not even the music could accurately convey.

But she dropped her gaze, a tear streaking down her cheek, and the moment was lost. Strangely desperate to hold onto the connection just a little longer, he reflected it back to her again the only way he could, through the music. The crowd roared along with the unexpected crescendo, but when he looked up next, she was gone, her face already fading from his memory.

Don’t run. Stay with me.

It tore out of him then, the Clara song, raw and aching and new all over again, the tune morphing beneath his fingertips as he played. The audience surged but he was deaf to them, a being of pure longing, his entire existence suspended between the pulsing soundwaves of the music. It felt real, suddenly, in a way it hadn’t even when he’d first woken up disoriented in Nevada. Clara was gone, and she was never, ever coming back. No matter how far he travelled, or how he called out to her in his music, or longed for her in silence, she was never going to come back to him.

And you'll still be gone. Whatever I do, you still won't be there.

Look how far I went for fear of losing you.

She'll die on you, you know. She'll blow away like smoke.

He blew out an amp, to the audience’s immense satisfaction, then disconnected his guitar and walked off stage without looking back, breath ragged and hearts aching.

He’d parked the TARDIS a good distance from the stage, experience having taught him that there was more safety and anonymity in quietly slipping off to the edges of the crowd than in trying to keep the TARDIS close at hand. Without the music to identify him, he was just an old man with a guitar case, hardly notable, rarely recognised. He was more grateful for it today than most. The last thing he needed was a run-in with his fan club. All he wanted was to be alone with his grief.

Look at you, with your eyes, and your never giving up, and your anger, and your kindness. One day, the memory of that will hurt so much that I won't be able to breathe, and I'll do what I always do. I'll get in my box and I'll run and I'll run, in case all the pain ever catches up. And every place I go, it will be there.

He almost didn’t see her there, leaning against a tree trunk ahead of him, the woman with the wide brown eyes and the face he’d forgotten so easily, but something drew his gaze to her while he was still far enough away that she hadn’t noticed him yet. She was staring at the TARDIS with a kind of sad affection on her face. The Doctor paused in his tracks, taking a moment to consider her without her eyes on him, as the music started up again on the distant stage.

She looked human enough, no flicker or glimmer of a holographic shell, but there was something distinctly other about her, something that set her apart from the hordes of humans that followed him through time and space. Her clothing fit into the sort of non-descript style that many time travellers preferred, nothing to link her to any particular era, and both her shoes and her hair were practical, but she didn’t appear to be wearing a vortex manipulator.

It was clear she’d been crying, and as she gazed at the TARDIS, another tear slipped down her cheek. When she reached up to brush it away, she seemed to notice him from the corner of her eye and turned to look at him more properly, her expression still mired in grief.

Feeling caught out, the Doctor resumed walking towards the TARDIS, offering the strange woman a tentative half-smile as he drew near. Emotions rippled across her face too quickly for him to name, landing on a muffled determination. She pushed away from the tree and wrapped her arms around herself, something about her body language telling him she meant to speak even before she opened her mouth.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” she asked. “From the stage?”

It had to be rhetorical, since she clearly already knew the answer, but he stopped a few feet from the TARDIS and faced her. “Yeah, guilty as charged.”

“That was quite a performance you gave.”

He attempted something like a smile. “You didn’t even stay for the grand finale.”

“Oh, I heard it well enough from here,” she replied softly, and he wondered again at her red-rimmed eyes.

“What’s your name?” he asked her, glancing at her and noting the precise tilt of her nose.

She hesitated half a moment. “Oswin,” she finally said, smiling slightly as she did. It didn’t reach her eyes. It's a smile but you're sad. It's confusing. It's like two emotions at once. It's like you're malfunctioning.

Oswin. Odd name. Odder still for him to be disappointed in it.

“Nice to meet you, Oswin,” he said, feeling like he was reciting some long-ago lesson on polite manners, drilled into him by a woman he could no longer remember. “Come to these sorts of things often?”

She smiled softly and looked down at her feet. “I have made a bit of a habit out of it, if we’re being honest. It’s hard to stay away.”

“And your friend?” he asked, without really knowing why. “The blue-eyed one?”

“Ash,” Oswin confirmed, nodding. “It’s not really her thing. She humours me, lets me drag her along, but I think she’s mostly here to make sure I stay out of trouble.”

“Do you?”

She grinned at that, and it looked genuine. “Not usually.”

“Me, either,” he said, smiling back at her.

“Oh, I can just imagine.”

Talking with her had only increased his sense that there was something distinctly strange about this woman. He fiddled with the sonicglasses, debating putting them on and running an inconspicuous diagnostic on her.

Somehow she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking and said, “Yeah, I wouldn’t look too closely at either Ash or I. We’re both HIPOAT.”

“Hip-oat?”

“Humans In Possession Of Alien Technology,” she clarified, shooting him a sidelong look. “Thought you’d’ve known that one.”

“I’m not overly familiar with this century’s lingo,” he said, smirking at her and lifting the guitar case as evidence. “I’m just passing through.”

“Ah yes, the Eternal Traveller,” she said ruefully, invoking one of the names the pudding brains had given him. “It’s quite a path you cut through the centuries, you know.”

He shrugged. “That’s the nature of time travel. Scar tissue is always the price.”

“Scars for you or for the universe?” she asked.

“Is there a difference?”

She smiled sadly and shook her head, brown hair just barely brushing her shoulders. “Most of us make it through life with only person-sized scars.”

“But not you,” he murmured, thinking back on the way her eyes had seemed to mimic his grief, while the Clara song had echoed around them.

Oswin shrugged stiffly, not meeting his gaze. “It’s as true for me as for anyone.”

Doctor, you are not the only person who ever lost someone. It's the story of everybody. Get over it. Beat it. Break free.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” he blurted out before he could think better of it.

She eyed him suspiciously. “I suppose.”

“Are you, by any chance, bio-looped?”

For a fraction of a second she looked terrified, but a fake anger quickly covered over. “Oi!” she said, hitting his arm lightly. “What did I say about HIPOAT? Don’t look too closely!”

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t help but notice.”

“Of course not,” she sighed, sounding resigned.

“A bit like Cinderella, with the clock paused at eleven-fifty-nine, isn’t it?” he asked.

Eleven’s hour is over now, the clock is striking twelve’s...

She smiled, but it was sad. “Something like that, yeah.”

“So what is it? An age-trigger, maybe? Go out and see the universe, have your adventures, then make it back like no time has passed at all, your supper still warm?” She was watching him with something he thought might be affection in her brown eyes, so he continued on, his tone teasing, lighter than he’d felt in ages. “Are you running from an impending marriage? I had a friend who did that once. Oh, or a prison sentence? Had another friend who did that — well, she took the sentence, but kept slipping out. Come to think of it, the two of them were related, maybe the running away was genetic...”

She was grinning at his antics, but her eyes were still sad. “No, no, nothing as exciting as that! Though I wonder, sometimes, at your friends.” She considered him for a long moment. “And who are you travelling with these days? Any other exciting friends recently?”

You're going to be alone now, and you're very bad at that.

He looked away, fiddled with the lock of the guitar case. “Nah, just me and the guitar, lately. I’ve got loads of good memories to keep me company, though,” he added, glancing back up at her.

Her eyebrows had drawn together, but he couldn’t quite name the emotion on her face. “Do you?” she asked, voice serious, gaze searching.

“Well, I’m older than I look, did a lot of travelling before I embarked on my musical career.”

“I’ve done a fair bit of that myself, now,” she replied. “I’ve seen so much, sometimes it’s hard to keep track. Hard to remember it all.”

I will not forget one line of this, not one day. I swear.

Her statement felt loaded, though he wasn’t sure she meant it to be. She couldn’t really know about the Clara shaped hole, of course — and besides, memories formed while bio-looped were notoriously finicky. Plenty of races had figured out how to bio-loop a living creature, but only the Time Lords had really perfected the memory side of that sort of technology. She was surely just referring to her own issues with missing memories, not his.

“Still,” he said after just a beat too long, “there are moments that stand out.”

“‘You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again,’” she quoted to him, looking up at the stars that blazed above them, her arms wrapped around her middle again.

The pieces clicked together in his head almost audibly. “Ah, so it’s terminal, then?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked away sharply, but it didn’t hide the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Everything ends,” she said, shrugging.

Except you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and realised he meant it.

“Why?” she asked, swallowing back tears. “It’s not your fault.”

I did this, do you hear me? I did this. This is my fault.

“One last hurrah, then,” he said, and Oswin hiccupped beside him. “I’m honoured that you’d include so many of my performances in your itinerary.”

She snorted damply, her large dark eyes again fixed on the stars overhead as though that would keep her tears from falling. “You’re one of the Wonders of the Universe,” she teased him, her tears barely held at bay. “There’s hardly a time travellers’ guidebook out there that doesn’t list your concert series as a do-not-miss.”

“Which ones don’t? I’ll send a sternly-worded letter to their publishers,” he said, and won the genuine laugh he’d hoped for.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked as her laughter died away.

What do you say to lunch, followed by breakfast? Because we're time travellers and that's how we roll. Then cocktails with Moses!

She returned her gaze from the sight above them and turned to him. For half a second she looked unspeakably sad, but then she was smiling over it, through it. And there's that smile again. I don't even know how you do that.

“I don’t think they’ve got ‘round to building a concessions stand on this moon yet, much less a decent pub,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oh.” He really wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

“Not to worry, you daft old man,” she said, smiling fondly and blinking back her tears. “My ship is parked just behind that hill there. Fully equipped kitchen, though I think lemonade might be the strongest thing we have on tap. My treat.”

“You’re sure your friend won’t mind?”

Oswin shook her head. “Nah, Ash wanted to stay for the next act, so the place will be ours for a bit. Come on, it’s not far,” she said, then turned and led the way, past the TARDIS and over the hill she’d indicated.

They paused at the top of the rise, and she pointed to the structure below them, blockier than he would have expected. “There,” she said. “What’d I tell you? Not far.” Something about her body language made him think she was gathering her courage for something, and he knew distantly that should put him on guard, but he followed after her anyway.

“Your ship is a diner?” he asked in confusion as they neared.

“Sometimes,” she answered coyly, shooting him a small smile as she unlocked the flimsy-looking door.

It was all too familiar, ringing too many bells in his mind that sounded far too much like the TARDIS’s Cloister Bell, but he couldn’t have stopped himself from following her through the door if he’d tried. You’d go to hell if she asked. And she would.

The interior of her ship looked as much like an anachronistic American diner as the exterior did, like something pulled directly out of his patchy memory, and the radio was playing a soft jazz tune that he almost recognised. He should leave, the Doctor knew, turn around and walk away and forget this strange woman with her inexplicable ship and her sad eyes. But when had he ever done the smart thing, the safe thing? When had he ever turned his back on a mystery? You are the only mystery worth solving. 

“Lemonade, then?” she called over her shoulder as she headed towards the kitchen tucked behind the bar. “Or I make a mean chocolate shake.”

Do you want to go and get some coffee, or chips, or something? Or chips and coffee?

“Chips and coffee?” he suggested, before he could think better of it.

She shot him a guarded look from behind the counter but nodded. “I can do that.”

“So this thing actually flies, then?” he asked, sitting down at the bar and settling the guitar case at his feet.

“When I can convince her to do,” Oswin said ruefully as she worked. “Got a mind of her own sometimes, you know how it is.”

He did know, which was exactly the problem. It was like watching a galaxy come into focus down the barrel of a telescope, the longer he sat there. He knew this sort of ship, knew precisely the sort of negotiating Oswin would have to do to fly it.

But more than that, he was certain he’d seen it before, sat at this bar with this same strange woman across from him. The memory was hazy now, formed too soon after the neural block to really stick, but as the smells of chips and coffee filled the brightly decorated room, he was sure he’d done this all before. He fiddled with his sonicglasses, debating using them to try to bolster his scattered memories.

Oswin passed him his coffee across the bar, then scooped up her own and a basket of freshly cooked chips and made her way out from behind the counter and over to a vinyl-upholstered booth, tilting her head at him to indicate that he should join her. He sat across from her and took an experimental sip of his coffee. As he suspected it contained at least six sugars and a dash of heavy cream, just to his liking. She hadn’t even asked him about his preferences.

She hadn’t needed to ask.

“Who are you?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

She glanced up at him over the rim of her coffee cup, eyes wide with surprise, then shrugged stiffly. “I’m no one. Just me, just Oswin. A traveller passing through, like you.”

He glared at her, immediately certain she was lying — as certain as he was that he had been here before, with her. There was something she was deliberately not telling him, something obvious he was missing. Something that wasn’t adding up. “Why is it I can read your emotions better than my own, but when I look away, I can’t remember your face?”

She dropped her gaze and shrugged again, overplaying her casualness. “Perception filter.”

The Doctor bit down on the urge to tell her that that’s not how perception filters work; he suspected she already knew that, anyway. “Neural block,” he countered instead.

She jerked her gaze back up to his, brown eyes wide.

“Sonic,” he went on, indicating his glasses on the tabletop. “TARDIS,” he said with a glance around the diner. “Bio-loop,” he added with a significant nod towards her. “Oh, I’m sorry, are we not just naming off out-of-place bits of Time Lord tech?” he asked acerbically.

She looked shaken but said, “HIPOAT, I told you—”

“No one has Time Lord technology!”

“You do!”

“Because I’m—!” He cut himself off, staring at her. “Who are you?”

She watched him in disbelief for a long moment, panic growing behind her brown eyes. “The Hybrid,” she choked out finally, another lie. “I’m the Hybrid. There’s an old Gallifreyan prophecy—”

“No!”

“—about the end of the universe. Yes there is!”

“I know the prophecy!” he snapped. “But you aren’t the Hybrid, that’s not possible!”

“I assure you I am!”

“Then why are you here, instead of out there, destroying the universe?”

That brought her up short, and she stared back at him, aghast. “It’s balanced on a knife’s edge, Doctor, it always has been!”

Doctor.

She realised her mistake before he could call her out on it, her mouth forming a little o of horror. He hadn’t told her his name, she hadn’t asked for it. But the moment it tumbled out into the air between them, he was certain, certain he had heard her say it a hundred times before — a thousand times, four and a half billion times.

There's one thing I know about her. Just one thing. If I met her again, I would absolutely know.

“Clara,” he named her, and to his disappointment and relief, his memories did not come rushing back to him.

She stared up at him with those big, sad eyes, tears beginning to slip silently down her face. The face the neural block would steal from him again the moment he turned his back on her. The source of the ache in his hearts, the meaning behind the chords, the black hole his entire universe had come to orbit. Clara.

“I tried to stay away,” she said, sniffling and swiping at her tears. “You didn’t make it easy.”

If you love me in any way, you’ll come back.

“I wasn’t trying to find you,” he told her honestly. “I didn’t realise it was an option.”

She searched his face for a long moment, Clara, this person shaped like the absence in his life. “It’s still there, isn’t it?” she asked. “The neural block? You don’t actually know me.”

I’d know you anywhere.

“Oh, I know you, my Clara,” he said, smiling at her with a bitter twist. “I know your shadow, I know the negative you left behind. What do you think the music’s about?”

She closed her eyes, and tears slipped from beneath her lashes. “Ash said we should keep our distance, that I was being stupid. But I— I had to see you.”

“I could break it, you know,” he said, and waited for her to look at him again before continuing. “The neural block. There are techniques to sidestep it, short it out.”

“But you haven’t,” she said. “All this time and you haven’t broken it.”

“I didn’t know what was at stake, why I had to forget you in the first place.”

“The Hybrid prophecy,” she told him, holding his gaze with nothing but absolute honesty in her eyes this time. “We were going to unravel the Web of Time. Something had to be done.”

“Time seems to be healing itself. It always does.”

“Because we did something to stop it unravelling. We did this.”

“Somehow I don’t think this is what we intended,” the Doctor said. “What good is forgetting if our feelings for each other haven’t changed?”

Clara flinched, closed her eyes and shook her head. “‘The Hybrid will break a billion billion hearts to heal its own.’ That’s what’s at stake here, Doctor. We were going to destroy the universe to chase one more moment of happiness.”

“So, what, we’re not allowed any happiness? Not even the memory of happiness?”

“It’s too dangerous. Even this— Ash was right, I’m being stupid, and the fate of the universe hangs in the balance. I should’ve stayed away.” She looked up at him, her eyes inflating with tears in a way he almost, almost remembered. “You can’t break the neural block. It has to stay.”

He couldn’t lose her again. He wouldn’t. “I insist upon my past. I am entitled to that. It’s mine,” he said.

Clara shook her head, tears flowing down her face. “Your past means the destruction of the universe, the death of everything that has ever or will ever live!”

“Tomorrow is promised to no one—”

“Don’t throw my own words back in my face!” she snapped, bringing him up short. “I know I messed up! I didn’t mean for this to happen, Doctor, really I didn’t.”

What did you do?

What else? What else do you think I did? I reversed the polarity. Push that button, Doctor, and the neural block will go off in your own face.

He sighed and shook his head. “I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t have hurt me deliberately. I remember you well enough to know that, at least.” Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?

Clara clutched at her coffee cup, to keep herself from reaching out to grasp his hand, he thought. “I’m sorry I hurt you at all,” she murmured. “If there was any other way, Doctor...”

“So what do we do now?”

She smiled at him tremulously, bravely. Let me be brave. “You are going to drink your coffee and eat your chips. And then you’re going to fly away from here, fly away and forget me, let time get back to healing. You’re going to find someone new, someone to travel with properly, run off and see the universe like you used to do. And someday — I don’t know when, but someday — Ash will find you, and tell you it’s safe to break the neural block. And then you can have all your happy yesterdays back.”

“Because you’ll be gone,” he said, hearing what she wasn’t saying. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.

She took a shaky breath and sighed it out. “Yes.”

“That isn’t what I want,” he told her bluntly. Please, I don't want this.

“The universe doesn’t care what we want, Doctor. Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose.”

“We could make the other choice,” he suggested, pain lancing through him at the thought of giving her up again.

“And risk the damage we might do to the universe? Break a billion billion hearts to heal our own?”

“Time hasn’t unravelled. We’re all still here, you, me, and the universe. We don’t have to say goodbye. So how about we just don't? Why don't we just fly away somewhere, together?” he said, echoing the anchorless voice from his scattered, shattered memories.

“Oh, that'd be great, wouldn't it?” she whispered back, like an ancient call and answer.

This is as brave as I know how to be. I know it's going to hurt you, but, please, be a little proud of me.

She was doing this to save everyone else, he realised, and him most of all. Putting on a brave face, making the hard choice, so he wouldn’t have to do. Would she never be done saving him, this impossible woman? “You're right,” he murmured, knowing he’d said it before. “You're always, always right.”

“I am so sorry, Doctor,” she said softly.

“This is right,” he said, hoping to reassure her even though this felt anything but right. “I accept it.”

Tears fell down her face unchecked. He thought about asking her to smile for him one last time, but—

How could I smile?

It's okay. Don't you worry. I'll remember it.

“Goodbye, my Clara,” he said instead, as he climbed to his feet. “Live well.”

He gathered up his sonicglasses and his guitar case and left without looking back, the sound of her quiet sobs following him all the way out into the starlight. He didn’t stop when he hit the fresh air, just kept putting one foot in front of the other, up the steep hill they’d descended together. Already Clara’s face was fading from his mind’s eye, but he clung to the memory of her bravery, her sacrifice to save him. To save the universe.

I will die, and no one else, here or anywhere, will suffer.

What about me?

If there was something I could do about that, I would. I guess we're both just going to have to be brave.

His TARDIS came into view all too soon, before the neural block had had a chance to steal away the details of their conversation. There was a woman leaned against the corner of it, one ankle crossed over the other in an exaggerated show of nonchalance. The Doctor recognised her, and quickly enough to feel bitter about it: Ash, Clara’s travelling companion.

“What the hell do you want?” he demanded as he approached.

“I suppose you don’t remember me, either?” she asked.

He paused, considering how much to tell her, then said, “Clara called you Ash.”

“So that’s a no, then.”

“Should I remember you?”

“You saved my life,” she said. “A very long time ago now. I was called Ashildr in those days. I stopped using that name eons ago, but Clara insisted. She told me once that it was your fear of losing her that made you save me, despite worrying about the ripples it would cause.”

There's nothing I can't do. Nothing. But I'm not supposed to. Ripples, tidal waves, rules.

“More of a tidal wave than a ripple, I think,” he said.

“And yet the universe is still standing. Your splashing about hasn’t brought the whole system down, and I’ve been in a hell of a lot of places I shouldn’t have been over the years.” Ash shrugged. “The universe adjusts. It gets over it. One extra immortal here or there isn’t enough to tear reality apart.”

“What’s your point?” he demanded irritably.

“My point is, Doctor, that the Hybrid prophecy is shit. ‘Break a billion billion hearts to heal its own.’” She snorted. “That could be the title of this little rock tour of yours. Maybe that’s all the prophecy meant in the first place: ‘Heaven help the idiot who separates Clara and the Doctor, for she shall have to endure vicarious heartbreak for centuries on end.’ I should have known it was really about me all along.” She sighed and leveled a serious look at him. “My point is that you already know the answer, but you’ve let Clara convince you that you’re wrong. She has wiggle room. Infinite wiggle room, and you’re treating that like it means nothing.”

“You think I should break the neural block,” he surmised. “And what, exactly, makes you qualified to make that sort of assessment?”

“Of the two of us, you’re the ‘Time Lord,’” she said, and he could nearly hear the quotes around the name, “but I am older than you,” she went on, smiling snidely. “I’ve travelled a lot, seen more than a few things. Wonderful things, monstrous things. Do you know what I haven’t seen? Any evidence that Clara’s continued existence is unravelling the Web of Time. Or any sign that the Time Lords are tracking her, or mean to force her to go back to Gallifrey and be re-inserted into her timeline so that she can die a death that, no matter how you look at it, has already happened. The universe isn’t collapsing in on itself, there’ve been no paradoxes that the Temporal Powers have had to rush to fix.

“There’s just you. And her. Being idiots,” she continued, enunciating the words sharply. “Everywhere she goes, her guilt and her grief and her need to ‘honour your memory’ drive her to interfere in the affairs of mortals. Save a life here, a civilisation there. Ripples, tidal waves, a whole goddamned ocean. And your path through spacetime can literally be purchased printed onto the back of a concert tshirt. If the Time Lords were worried, if they wanted to stop you, they would have done by now. If the universe was going unravel or implode or whatever the hell, it would have done by now.

“So stop being an idiot, Doctor. Go back to Clara. Spend the rest of your immortal lives together. Just stop making me wallow in your combined angst, because frankly? I’m over it. And so is the universe.” With that, she pushed off the corner of the TARDIS and sauntered away, back towards the stage and the distant music.

The Doctor stood for a long moment, watching her go. He should leave, like Clara said. Get in his TARDIS and fly away and let the neural block take every last moment of this day. Maybe Ashildr was right, maybe she wasn’t, but he knew if he gave himself the chance to really consider it, he’d never be able to stop himself from returning to Clara, against her wishes and better judgement.

He sighed and turned away, resting his forehead against the TARDIS. Let me be brave, let me be brave. Unprompted, the door opened, swinging inwards and inviting him home. He forced his feet to move, each step carrying him further from the woman he loved but could not remember, further from the future he wanted but could not claim. The TARDIS interior was as it had been, but felt large and cavernous now, with the almost-memory of Clara’s voice still clinging to the insides of his ears.

He walked in and closed the door. Set down the guitar case. Braced his arms against the console. All he had to do was go. All he had to do was send the TARDIS into the vortex and give the neural block enough time to finish erasing the events of the day from his memory. All he had to do was leave Clara behind.

‘You are being an idiot,’ the TARDIS whirled at him telepathically.

“When am I not?” he asked out loud, with no one else to hear him but his dear old girl. I am an idiot with a box and a screwdriver. Just passing through, helping out, learning.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ the TARDIS replied sternly. ‘Be a Thief.’

“As easy as that?” he said, huffing out a bitter laugh.

‘The door is open for you,’ the rotors wheezed, ‘as mine was. Go. Steal an immortal and run away.’

“I can’t,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to hold to his resolve. “Clara’s right, there’s too much at risk.” You're willing to risk all of time and space because you miss her. One wonders what the pair of you will get up to next.

The TARDIS huffed, irritated with him. ‘Have I not always shown you the path you need to take?’ the sentient ship demanded. ‘Perhaps not the safest path, but the right path?’

The Doctor sighed shakily. “Yes.”

‘Then don’t argue. Go to her.’

Behind him, the doors swung open of their own accord, and above him the lights dimmed, the rotor stilling into silence. He knew a dismissal when he saw one. There was no hope of heading off into the vortex now, not when the TARDIS had so clearly expressed her opinion on the matter. He supposed he could stay right where he was, wait for the neural block to kick in and steal even his desire to go back to the woman in the diner. But even the thought had the silent presence of the TARDIS balking inside his head, urging him more forcefully out the door.

And really, how many more times did he need to be told? Ashildr was right, the universe wasn’t unravelling, the Time Lords weren’t hunting for them. The TARDIS ought to have been the last word on the subject, with her pan-dimensional view of time and space, and her utter loyalty to him. But still he hesitated.

It was what he wanted, unquestionably, the knowledge that he could fill the Clara shaped hole in his life pulling at him like a magnet. But it was selfish, and reckless, and everything Clara had argued against. I'm scared and I'm alone. Alone, and very, very scared.

I guess we're both just going to have to be brave.

That was her voice in his head, his Clara, though the memory of why she’d said those words still eluded him. He could have that back, the memory of that day and every other, he could have her back, he could stop breaking himself against the wall of the neural block and just live.

Tell her that you're in love with her and that you always have been. Tell her there is no point wasting time, because things happen and then it's too late. Tell her I wish someone had given me that advice.

The Doctor was out the door before he could change his mind again, tripping on his own feet, retracing his path over the hill with his mind a single blur of Clara Clara Clara, set to the melody he hadn’t stopped hearing since the day he lost her.

Her TARDIS was still there, and he knew the woman he would find inside would be Clara, but he had forgotten her face, her eyes, her voice. Already their conversation was beginning to fade, but he held to it fiercely, refusing to give in to the neural block. Never again, he would never forget her again.

The diner’s door was locked, of course, but he rested his palm against it and reached out to the consciousness of the foreign TARDIS, asking for entry by projecting his emotion and intention. I used to know a trick, back when I was young and telepathic...

Beneath his hand, the lock clicked open and the door swung inwards, communicating back a feeling something like relief and approval. He stepped inside, immediately spotting the brunette woman sitting alone at the bar, hunched over her coffee cup and crying openly. She heard the door, and sniffed loudly, hiding her tear-stained face with a hand to her forehead.

“I’m really not in the mood, Ash,” she said, not looking at him.

“She’s not here,” the Doctor replied, watching as Clara jerked her head up, her gaze instantly finding his. And how could he have forgotten her, the colour of her eyes, the wave in her hair, the slope of her nose? How had the neural block ever managed to steal something so vital and precious from him?

“Don’t run,” he said, as she watched him with eyes like galaxies colliding. “Stay with me.”

“Doctor,” Clara said in warning.

“No, please, just, just listen. I think we need to reconsider this.” He approached her carefully and slid onto the barstool next to hers, almost afraid she would bolt before he could make his case. “I got a bit of a talking to,” he said, offering her a lopsided smile. “First from your travelling companion, then mine.”

“I thought you said you weren’t— oh, the TARDIS, of course. What did she have to say? No, wait, back up, what did Ash say to you?”

“That both she and the universe are over living with our combined heartbreak. And she made some excellent arguments about how the universe isn’t unravelling, that I couldn’t help but agree with—”

“Because they were your arguments in the first place,” Clara huffed, unable to keep the fondness out of her brown eyes.

“And several good points about how the Time Lords could have intervened ages ago, if they’d a mind to do. She said we have wiggle room, but that we’re being idiots, and she’s sick of having to put up with it.”

“You believe her?” Clara asked, watching him closely. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy Ash’s company, but she does have a history of being a bit self-serving at times.”

“I think she’s right about the Time Lords, and the Web of Time, yes.” He searched her face for a moment then added, “And the idiot thing. I think we are definitely being idiots.”

“What if she’s wrong? We can’t eliminate the threat we pose to the universe just by wishing it away, Doctor.”

“If there is a threat to the universe, it’s the same whether we’re together or not. So I vote ‘together.’ How about you?”

She looked up at him with those huge eyes of hers. “As easy as that?” she asked, the same he had asked of the TARDIS.

He smiled softly at her. “The TARDIS also told me I was being an idiot, insisted I come find you. She reminded me that she’s always shown me the path I needed, and I shouldn’t start doubting her now.”

Clara flicked her gaze to his face and away again, chewing on her bottom lip, and something cold settled into the pit of his stomach.

“If this isn’t what you want,” he said carefully. “If I’m not what you want, we can split the difference. I’ll reclaim my memories and we can go our separate ways. I won’t bother you, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Of course it’s what I want, you daft old man,” she said immediately, and his hearts flipped over. “I’ve just convinced myself for so long that there was no possibility of this, no hope for us, that it’s difficult to accept that we could have this, that the universe could let us have this.” She looked back up at him again, brown eyes pleading. “You really can break the neural block?”

“Easily,” he said, and held out his hand for hers in silent question. Please, don’t even argue.

Clara placed her small hand in his, her eyes never leaving his face, and he gently pulled her to her feet, stood in front of her, his hearts pounding against his ribs.

“There are lots of ways to break the neural block,” he said. “Sidesteps of logic, brute force, electric shock, regeneration, probably. They’ve all got their downsides. But the cleanest way? Fill in the gap with no jagged edges, no fuzzy spots? Telepathic transference from someone who hasn’t forgotten.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, you’re the touch-telepath,” she said, gazing up at him. “And I don’t think I could ever forget you.”

He smiled down at her, his Clara, saving him once again. Would it even be possible for him to love her more than he did in this moment, even once he remembered everything he’d forgotten? He needn’t wait any longer to find out, he realised. Cradling her face in his hands and opening up the telepathic barriers on his consciousness, he leaned down and kissed her.

The Clara song in his mind swelled, shifted, took on a new harmony that somehow seemed as though it had been there all along. He could feel it racing through his brain, feel the neural block start to give way, as Clara wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back like their world was ending, like the universe was beginning all over again.

Not everything ends. Not love. Not always.

If you love me, in any way, you’ll come back.

Everything you’re going to say, I already know.

I had a duty of care.

People like me and you, we should say things to one another.

“Clara,” he breathed when they finally broke apart, pressing his forehead to hers. “It’s all back. My memories, they’re all back where they ought to be.”

He paused as it suddenly hit him what memory he didn’t have. He had no other memory of her lips on his. Hugs, yes, the rare kiss to the cheek, but never like this. “Uh,” he said eloquently, floundering and starting to pull away. “I didn’t mean for that to be a first. Sorry.”

She tightened her arms around him and laughed through her tears, and didn’t sound sad at all. “We’ve had a lot of bad timing, the two of us. The first kiss was always going to be under strange circumstances. Just don’t let it be the last.”

The Doctor wasn’t sure if he leaned down or if Clara reached up, but her lips were pressed to his again, soft and warm and real. He gave himself over to it, to this new reality of the two of them, together. She beamed up at him when they broke apart, and he realised he’d been wrong: it was possible for him to love her even more, now that he remembered.

“The TARDIS is just outside,” he said, knowing she knew but unable to keep from echoing the newly-fresh memory of their last Christmas together. Please, don’t even argue.

She huffed out a little laugh, and he knew without needing to reach for the telepathy that she was reliving the same shared memory. “This time I think I’ll take a moment to pack,” she told him, smiling broadly, the tracks of dried tears crinkling around her dimple. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back, this time.”

“Running away with a spaceman in a box. Anything could happen to you.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” she said, then pushed up on her toes and kissed him, as the music in his head faded away to one last, resonating note.

(Also available on AO3, under the same username and title.)

[mimicofmodes]

Sanditon, episode 6 part ii

“I hardly know what to think [...] about anything,” says Charlotte. “I have always felt so certain of my judgement, but now I see that I have been blinded by sentiment and naivety.” 

This feels like an intended parallel to Elizabeth Bennet (and remember, a brown sleeveless gown with a white shirt was a fairly iconic costume from the 2005 adaptation) realizing that she was wrong about Mssrs Wickham and Darcy, but honestly, it doesn’t feel anywhere near as deserved. She never thought Sidney was the type to not care about his ward being abducted, and she still doesn’t think Otis is bad. How was she blinded?

Tom now tells her the story of Eliza, a young woman Sidney loved who passed him over for an older and wealthier man, which caused him to descend into drinking, gambling, etc. until Tom paid his debts and sent him to Antigua - and we know from the earlier conversation between the Parker brothers that in Antigua he was helped out by Georgiana’s father. This is definitely an allusion to Sense and Sensibility, Colonel Brandon’s sad backstory where his father made the wealthy family ward, Eliza, marry his brother; she “fell” and was divorced, which was a social death in gentry circles, and he took on the care of her daughter. Here Sidney doesn’t marry his Eliza for money reasons and also gets his own ward at the end of the deal. But it’s both less sad and less heroic than the original, and it lays his personality problems at the feet of a woman instead of giving him responsibility for his choices in response.

Sid does allow Otis and Georgiana to meet, which is better of him than I might have expected. Otis’s apology is heartfelt, but Georgiana feels that what happened is more important than his intentions. Where did her and Charlotte’s clothes come from? They didn’t appear to bring any with them. Charlotte catches Otis on his way out and finds that Sidney has paid his debts (another Pride and Prejudice parallel).

Clara ups her demand to 25% of the inheritance, which Edward doesn’t really fight her on. She then makes it clear that she knows about Edward/Esther to justify it, and he pretends not to know what she means but not very convincingly. 

Babington brings Tom an invitation to a rout (Regency parties are always routs) so he can spread the word of his regatta, and asks Charlotte to come as well, but she demurs.

Edward lies to Esther, saying that he couldn’t find the will and doubts it exists. Now that she’s back on Team Denham with no apparent thoughts of Babington, she’s wearing her signature red again. She never wants to hear about Clara Brereton again, but Edward seems not so sure, looking up as he kisses her forehead.

Sidney offers the invitation to Charlotte again, and says that he paid Otis’s debts because “a good man shouldn’t be condemned for making one terrible mistake.” Wow, quite a turnaround! Charlotte offers him an apology for accusing him of “the worst sort of prejudice,” which is not exactly accurate to the period - racism was hardly considered the worst prejudice in the early nineteenth century. But in the viewers’ eyes, yes, it’s fair, so we can look at it as a metatextual apology. And Sidney apologizes for underestimating her, which is also good. (In the sense that it’s good for his character. In terms of what it does to Charlotte/Stringer, it’s obviously a catastrophe.)

Charlotte gets a proper heroine’s Walk Down The Stairs In A Gown moment, and I am dying because this gown is so wonderful! For about 1822, but we’ve already established that it’s okay for 1820s stuff to be involved because I really like it! The neckline is too low, but that’s okay too!

Tom isn’t doing well but he’s really got the spirit,

Charlotte goes to apologize for being too headstrong and opinionated, but Sidney tells her she’s fine as she is. Brb, crying over my sinking ship again. Sidney is called away by Tom and replaced by Babington, who is clearly sad about Esther, asking if it’s possible for a woman’s feelings about a man to do a 180 in a single day. She looks at Sid, realizes that that is in fact the case, and excuses herself without answering.

Look at that gown!! The decorated and stiffened hem is in particular a late 1810s-1820s thing, so you don’t tend to see it in most Regency dramas.

Charlotte comes across a motherly woman, Susan, reading in a corner and spills her guts about everything that’s been happening. “It sounds to me as if you’re in love with him,” Susan says when Charlotte explains her confusing feelings. Nooooooooooooo! (But I also don’t like the message that being angry at someone means love ... ) Sidney comes in and asks her to dance. Um, who is Susan? Why did we just meet a new character solely to explain Charlotte’s feelings?

They proceed to do the slowest dance I have ever seen in a Regency production, with the couples spaced very far apart down the line. The movements are all accurate, but done about 4x as slow as they should be, until it suddenly turns into a waltz hold, and then it’s still slow but not accurate steps either. I don’t like this at all, shipping aside. (For real!) I’ll admit that my knowledge of Regency dance is not academic and maybe I’ve been fooled by inaccurate reconstructions that I’ve been taught, but it feels Wrong.

Tom takes Charlotte’s next dance (which is relatively more accurate), and Sidney catches sight of a woman who is probably Eliza across the room. Look at those sleeves! Very Gothic. Tom seems to be dropping hints that Sidney’s in love with her, but oops! He just meant the newly widowed Eliza Campion. (I don’t think putting her in red and Charlotte in gold is accidental color-coding.) Charlotte’s left watching Sidney happily chat with Eliza as the dancers begin to whirl around her on the floor.

[lemontaffy106]

You needn’t worry.

Mr. Sinclaire x Lady Clara (MC)

This is set in the hayloft that Lady Clara (MC) escaped to with Mister Sinclaire from the harvest festival in Book 2, Chapter 5. It is also some kind of a longer and different take on it. In fact I wrote this before reading the actual scene.

Hope you enjoy!

Ernest lay next to Clara in the heaps of hay that had been stocked up by busy farmers and their helping hands in the early shine of daylight. The green gold smelled, incomparably so, of how only the sun at noon could burn and dry and thus release the sweet aroma of herbs and clover blossoms and other healing plants Ernest had always had combined in a cup of tea should he have come down with a cold. Then he would be sat at his study or in the library and absentmindedly sip on the relieving mixture while focusing on his work, things to worry and get done. But now, now, amidst this sweet and rich, this healing scent that was introducing summer to the countryside of Grovershire, surrounded by all of the greatest glory, lay this beautiful creature that in herself seemed the most healing of all; and now, now, he was focused on nothing else, no book or business, but her. With his head tilted toward Clara’s form Ernest lay taking her in, her soft skin, her black curls softly cascading down her shoulder, still elaborate and precise but with a few strands impaled by the short ends of hay straws. She was slowly breathing, her entire body relaxed, as seemed her soul. Her eyes were closed and her face was illuminated tenderly by the ample and clear moonlight. Ernest couldn’t believe the beauty he was seeing there next to him, to think that this innocent, sweet soul was to be officially called his fiancee soon and then one day his wife, made him even more determined to get trough this, to get her through this.                                                                                                   Seeing her so relaxed, so carefree, breathing through, being able to let her guards down for once, it made Ernest both thankful for this moment but also uneasy inside, a whirlwind of thoughts imposing. There was no way on earth he could send her to an apparent home where the duke, an old man with not a single good intent whatsoever, neither in thought or action nor physically, was waiting for Clara. All this went leaving his mind to wander, to think of all the peril and ill-intent there was, waiting to sweep up his sweet Clara and put her through horror, pain and lastly scar her until there was nothing left of her as he knew her. No, he couldn’t fathom even thinking these things, not to mention let them truly happen and become reality.                                                                           Ernest instantaneously tensed up, a deep frown of worry and anger etching deep wrinkles inbetween his brows. And so he lowered his eyes back to Clara who so calmly lay there with unclenched hands, jaw and shoulders. Her young shoulders that had been carrying far too much. Within such a short time had she lost both parents, then found herself in a battle to fight to keep her home. Now she wasn’t even allowed to marry whom she chose. Him, it dawned on Ernest. It was him who she had chosen and so he should be taking care of her after all; no matter who held her hand in plain sight she had given him her heart and the honor to sustain and love her. It was both his responsibility and pleasure.            Within a second the frown melted away a little from his features to make room for a soft rise of the corners of his eyes and lips. He sat up gently and with utmost mildness he grazed the digits of his right hand along Lady Clara’s cheek and jaw, the silky soft skin feeling almost unreal beneath his fingertips. As he stroked his fingers down ever so tenderly trying to remember the exact sensation of it, Clara slowly opened her eyes, her lips in synch mimicking Ernest’s soft smile. It seemed as if time and space around them had slown down if not vanished entirely. God, was he in love, Ernest was sure of that. There couldn’t be a single pair of other eyes in the world that so enchantingly and purely reflected the moonlight right into his own. “Ernest”, softly and meaningfully spilled from Lady Clara’s lips. “I am here, Clara. My love”, Ernest reassuringly and with meaning in every word spoke back as his eyes wandered over her entire features like they would across the map of an unknown area or a constellation of the stars, trying to take everything in and understand. He tried to understand what she was doing with him, understand the beauty she didn’t even necessarily emit but simply made one feel, as much from her mind and soul as well as from her head to toe.

Admittedly, it made Ernest want to do unreasonable things. Notions started cramming and crowding his mind that he couldn’t even begin to sort through. There were a lot of people in London and at his own home, in this society who he respected as he was never one to diminish others unless they gave him a reason to. And duke Richards certainly gave him more than one reason, more than taking his first wife or keeping his potential second wife, the first woman he felt so much admiration and adoration, much more than respect, for, from him. Ernest cupped Clara’s cheek and she, seemingly enjoying it, was sinking into his touch. Ernest softly grazed her other cheek with his lips as she hummed with content and then whimpered as he trailed his lips to the corner of her mouth with two more light pecks. It stirred and churned up everything inside of him to hear these sounds and he seemed to awaken anew even though it was late at night.

How much he would have liked to pick her up in his arms, kiss her properly. He would have his horse saddled and lift her onto its back, climbing up behind her and grip the reins, lying his arms around hers and guide the horse to Ledford Park as she would softly with every thump the hooves of the animal would make  lap against his front, leaning against his chest as he would guide them home. He wanted to give her a home, a proper one where she would feel safe and secure and happy, where she would feel comfortable to tend to her duties whatever those might be in the future. No matter where this home should be, he wanted Clara there with him, happy and healthy, heck, he wanted to share his future with her. All his life it seemed he had so much respect and manner for others and love yes, deep down, but only with Clara he realized how much he longed to love and to be important to another individual, to have and be at someone’s side. For Clara he not only felt love but he felt loved as well, a sensation so long lost and kept away from him. Had he given up before? On love? On so many other things life required and also offered? And when this bubbly and young yet so wistfully smart and tender new person came into his life, he couldn’t help but fall, no matter how hard he tried to refrain from developing serious feelings.

Ernest cradled Clara’s head in his right hand and with his other he supported her body to roll onto his back into the soft make-shift bed this hay ground gave them. Clara’s eyes were slightly guarded for a moment at what was happening though not worried and then relaxed again as Ernest put her head onto his chest, right where she could hear his heart beat, even if not on purpose so, and his left arm slung around her back with his hand resting on her waist protectively. His other hand stroked along her dark curls and soft cheek. Clara clung to his body from the side and seemed even more relaxed then. “I want you to kiss me”, Clara sleepily uttered with her eyes quickly sifting up to catch Ernest’s gleaming ones for a second before slowly closing her lids again. “Even though I am so tired”, she murmured dragging every syllable without a haste in the world, “and I want to stay here with you. Forever.” “Sshhh”, Ernest gently whispers while continuously stroking Clara’s head and pressing a kiss to the top of it every now and then. “I’ve got you”, he hushed meaningfully. And again a stern and worried air consumed Ernest, he couldn’t let this go on any longer. Even if Clara did end up with anyone else but him, Mister Chambers or Mister Harper, Ernest just wanted her to feel as at ease as she was when he met Clara and as calm as he experienced her right now there in his hold. “We could move to a cottage here, and Mister Harper and Briar and Annabelle and everyone could…well they could”, Clara seemed to be entering a phase of sleep, of coming up with notions and ideas too easy and too far away from the real world. Still Ernest couldn’t help but soften up a little and smile at the childlike words leaving his fiancee’s mouth, making her seem even purer and truer to him. Though the next words surpassing her lips made his heart jump a beat and a bead of sweat form on his forehead, not sure if in surprise, embarrassment, sudden fear. “We could have a sweet dog, a rose field, an apple tree orchard like Mister Danforth and everything. And our kids would run around in the yard. A baby in my arms and one held to your chest, as we watch them play tag or ball. You could teach them about poetry and about being polite and all your knowledge. You are a smart man Mister Sinclaire”, Clara mumbled on in a state half asleep thinking about times far away. Ernest held his breath for a moment very much wanting to give her a child, and his cheeks reddening shortly at the actions required to make such a theory reality, but also he involuntarily held his breath thinking of the blood bath and dreadfulness of a pain that childbirth was. He had witnessed the remaints of it, haunting him. He never wanted to see or know Clara in such a state. But just as much as their marriage this was also far away still. He took a deep breath and squeezed Clara closer for a moment, trying to abandon the thoughts of her enduring this terrible cruelty of bearing a child, tearing her small frame apart. A sudden but half-hearted, strength-lacking gasp came from Clara. “I can’t fall asleep, we can’t- we-, they are going to be worried, looking for us. The duke, he will-”, Clara with all her last strength uttered, her eyes remaing closed as they were too weary and she herself unmoving. She had been so lively just half an hour ago and it made Ernest wonder whether she ever received a good night’s sleep and could properly rest; perhaps she was so rattled and worried all the time that only this state of relaxation just now allowed her body to admit how tired it actually was. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to fall asleep. I am as awake as I could be and”, he paused for a moment, “you needn’t worry. Ever.”

[bookwormscififan]

Absquatulate

Absquatulate: To leave without saying goodbye.

Agathokakological: Composed of both good and evill

Finally, Alto’s backstory! He’s very agathokakological.

This is an angst fic; read at your won risk (and maybe with tissues)

Word count: 1986

Look at my musical theatre knowledge! Also, this was supposed to be an Il Muto Phantom of the Opera thing, but turned out more sinister.

Oh dear, I think I put more Stories Untold vibes into it than I intended.

“Thank you, Mr Septicie. We will be in contact.” Alto smiled at the men in the seats, and left the stage.

Heading to the foyer, he looked around. A poster reading Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical Auditions Today was pasted to every available wall, people were sitting in costumes revising the audition pieces, and food was being passed around. Nobody looked at the poor people shuffling around with food.

He gulped back some water and looked at his watch. The people in seats had told him the final decisions would be announced at six, and it was currently four. He had two hours before coming back here to hear decisions, unless they called him earlier. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he made a quick call.

“Hey, honey. I just finished the audition and was wondering if I could meet you for some afternoon tea? Half an hour, the café down the street? See you there.” Hanging up, he adjusted his jacket, cracked his neck, and left the building.

Meeting his wife at the café, he ordered a chocolate cake and coffee, then told her about the audition.

“It was amazing, sweetheart. They were so engaged, asking me questions about my music background, my acting skills, my vocal range. They weren’t scared of the gravel. And when I started singing… you could have heard a pin drop. I think I’m going to get this gig.” He reached across the table and took her hand.

“As soon as I settle into this career, the kids will be happy again. And you’ll be happy, too.” She smiled at him, blonde hair covering an eye. Alto had met her on the set of the reboot movie Casablanca. She was playing Ilsa, and he was a background character. They had accidently knocked over a prop, and were trying to pick it up, when she met his eye.

They got married soon after the filming was finished. The film never saw the theatres, though. The studio with all the film had burned down two days after they went on honeymoon. Nobody could afford to film again.

“Alt, sweetie, nobody blames you for the fall of our home. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I was supposed to pay the bills. We’re all just happy you found this opportunity.” She smiled as he scratched his head. Opening is mouth, Alto was interrupted by his phone. He held a finger up to hold the thought, and picked up his phone.

“Yes? What? Really? Thank you so much! Yes, I’ll be right there!” Putting the phone down, Alto stood up, kissed his wife, and left the café, calling behind him that he had gotten the part.

“Alto Septicie as Quasimodo. Why does that actually fit so perfectly?” alto could hardly contain his excitement, recreating the choreography from Singing in the Rain, only without rain, or actually singing.

He dashed up the stairs to the theatre and ran to the auditorium to join the rest of the cast. It was a good selection, people from all races and musical backgrounds. Alto had auditioned just after the woman who was playing Esmeralda, and he remembered her saying she had never done musical theatre before.

He politely smiled at her when she turned to look at him, and she smiled back, confusion filling her features as she realised he was going to play Quasimodo. Alto looked at his shoes, face flushing.

“Sorry, sir. How does Mr Septicie look like Quasimodo? He doesn’t have a hunchback or any deformities. Wouldn’t you have cast someone who at least looked like the character?” Alto suppressed a chuckle. Wait till she hears my voice. The director smiled politely at her, and cleared his throat.

“Sometimes, Miss Crimson, appearance doesn’t give people roles. Mr Septicie, if you don’t mind, could you please sing a few bars for me?” Alto, smiling, nodded.

“With pleasure.” He sipped a bit of water, then cleared his throat.

“Bu̧t ͏s͞ud͟d̷e̛n̡ly ͘an a̷n̴g͟e͢l͡ h̴a̛s ͞s̛m̷íl͝ed at ̢m̡e͞/And ͝k͢is̴sèd m͢y̨ c̀h͢e̴ek̢ ẁith͡ou͜t ̷a̷ t͢r̛a͟cè ҉o̧f҉ ̀f͜r̀i̸gh̛t.” He paused, and looked at the director.

“Thank you, sir. See now, Miss Crimson? The voice holds the character. Now, do we have any more questions about your cast mates?” Everybody murmured slightly, still reeling from Alto’s singing, but nobody asked anything else.

“Hey! Alto, right? Alto, wait up!” Alto stopped in his walk down the steps as Miss Crimson called after him. Turning, he saw her running after him, dark hair escaping its confines, boots crunching in the snow.

“Geez, you’re a fast walker. I wanted to have a little talk with you. I’m Clara.” She held her gloved hand out to him, and he took it. He motioned for her to walk with him, and, smiling, she matched his pace.

“How did your voice get like that? You look like someone who would have a perfect voice. Like an…” She drifted off, giggling at her train of thought.

“Alto? Yeah, lots of people have said that.” He laughed as she blushed.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t judge. I was in the wings after I finished, and I heard you’ve had a bit of experience with musical theatre. If you don’t mind, I’d really like to learn from you.” Alto smiled, and agreed.

It was opening night, three months after the cast had been chosen. Alto was prepping his costume, making final adjustments as he heard the din outside.

“Honey, you look wonderful.” He turned and smiled as his wife peered through the dressing room door.

“You’re going to do a great job. Break a leg, I’ll be watching from the wings.” She left quietly. Alto finished dressing, then headed to the stage so he could wait in the wings for his cues. He passed Clara, who seemed a little distressed.

“Clara? Are you alright?” She turned around, face pale, and took hold of his arm. Her hair was neatly held back, and her red dress almost seemed to glow in the backstage lights.

“Oh, Alto, I’m so nervous. I’ve never done this before. I know the rehearsals went alright, but I’m so afraid something will go wrong.” Alto patted her back and smiled.

“You are going to do fine. Trust me.” She smiled, then let him go and headed to her post. Alto looked around at all the props, looking up at the sandbags hanging from the ceiling. It’s good to be back here.

“Alto! Quickly, it’s your wife!” He turned from his post to see that a crowd had gathered in the same place he was standing not ten minutes ago. Looking up, he realised a sandbag had fallen. Running through the crowd, he saw his wife on the ground, a large crater in her head, and a sandbag by her side.

“What happened?” He looked from person to person, begging for an answer. The lights flickered, turning off, then back on. Alto was alone with his wife backstage, all the people gathered had disappeared.

“Alt…” His wife reached out weakly for his hand. Taking it, he looked at her broken face.

“Remember… I love you…” Her hand went limp, and her eyes closed. Alt tried to rouse her, but each movement emitted more damage to her head. He held her close as tears streaked through his makeup.

“Oh, this is bad. You weren’t supposed to be here as she breathed her last.” Alto opened his eyes to see the glowing red fabric of Clara’s costume. As he looked up, the dress dissolved into a black garment, covering her head to toe in darkness. Death.

“What did you do?” She smiled sweetly at him, leaning down to take his wife from his hands.

“You needed a push in the right direction. Don’t worry, I got rid of the children.” Alto stood up, hands shaking and red with blood. He glared at her, cold in the pit of his stomach.

“Why…?” She smiled.

“Because sometimes things aren’t what you believe they are. People, cast members, even this performance. They aren’t what you think. Look around.” As Alto turned, he saw the backstage area was covered in cobwebs, wooden planks falling around him. There was no din outside. Stale air filled his lungs, and the stench of blood stung his nose.

Everything resurfaced as soon as Death picked up his wife. He had done this. His wife wanted to leave him, and take the children. He drove her to the abandoned theatre, the place where he first performed, trying to show her how far he had come since he met her. She was trying to change the subject.

A loose rope, a plank of wood. Alto looked down as he registered the blood on his hands, and the plank of wood beside his feet. He had pushed her under the sandbag and broken her legs with the plank. Each swing brought forth a line of anger. There was no production.

He fell to his knees as the realisation sank in.

“I… killed… her. She’s dead because of me…” He looked up at Death.

“You reversed time to make me forget. But it kept repeating. Each time, I’d beg you to bring me back, so I could change it. But it never worked.” Tears sprang to his eyes as he remembered the twenty do-overs she had given him.

“Twenty is my limit, Mr Septicie. I can’t give you anymore reruns. This is the end. What do you want to do?” Alto looked at Death, fear in his eyes.

“Take her away. Don’t let them see. I can’t go to jail. I’ll leave the country.” Death nodded.

“Go to England. Your cousins will be happy to see you again. Say hello to Juxta Position for me.” With that, she disappeared.

Alto left for England the following week. All his clothes and valuables had been shipped the day before, and he had called ahead to let his cousins know what was going on. Malvern had seemed happy to hear from him, so he had a feeling he was welcome.

As he closed the door to his apartment, he looked back on his past, and held back tears as he remembered his family. He hadn’t given any context as to why he was going back to England. Nobody needed to know what he’d done.

He shuffled down the stairs, dragging his feet and looking at the ground. Quietly he opened the door of the cab and climbed in. He barely spoke to the driver, looking out the window. The It Must Have Been Love scene from Pretty Woman played in his head as he looked out and wished it would rain.

He walked slowly onto the plane, and sat with his head in the screenplay of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. It was his wife’s favourite film. 

Climbing the stairs to the house, Malvern raced outside and took his bags from him. He chatted with the actor the whole way to the room, and even offered to help him unpack. Alto politely declined.

Pulling a photo from his bag, he placed it on his nightstand and looked at it with tired eyes. I’m so, so sorry.

“Well, look who followed my statement.” Death sat on his bed smiling at him. He glared at her and began to put up his movie posters.

“Aw, come on, Alt. Aren’t you even going to say hi?” Alto just waved.

“Well, at least you have a sense of humour. Hey, tell you what. I’m gonna go chat with Juxta, then I’ll play a game with you two. How does that sound?” Alto looked at her, eyes wide.

“Hey, look! A reaction. Ok, I’m off to chat with my mute friend. As soon as the rest of your cousins move back in, the game will start. Bye!” And she disappeared. Alto shook his head, and finished with his posters. Without taking his clothes off, he lay on the bed and fell asleep.