#also the lore for the s/i is so silly. they literally ONLY care about green. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

real-fakedoors · 6 years

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under leaves so green - CHPT 13 - Miraculous Ladybug

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

Cross-posted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 13: Coffee Roses, Crepe Gardenias

In which, Adrien goes out in his pajamas, Marinette bruises her knuckles, Ladybug considers a career in plumbing, Chat Noir is basically freaking out, and Chloe is... well, Chloe.

Adrien probably should go back to sleep.

It was early - really early.

It was so early that the sky was still pitched in the tones of forgiving purple and forgotten ebony, the cusp of dawn still weak in the rising daytime.

Sleeping sounded nice, but he lay awake in a dark room with a head full of thoughts.

For the second morning in a row, he had woken up without need of an alarm or the knock of Nathalie at his door, and both nights previous he had gone to bed far later than he should have.

Unlike yesterday, though, Adrien didn’t even have the excuse of early morning sunlight, glaring accusingly across his face.

Rolling over in a his valley of dark sheets, Adrien pulled his phone towards him and checked the time.

“Five o’ one,” he grumbled quietly, head heavy with lost sleep. Still, the lids of his eyes refused to droop with satisfaction, every inch of his mattress suddenly feeling uncomfortable and restrictive. It was too warm in the room, and the blankets felt like a cavern of dreams sacrificed in vain to another morning.

Rolling over, Adrien’s attention was drawn to the windows at the end of the room, where the daubs of black night still streaked the sky, and it looked inviting.

With no sound in the room but the light hum of a sleeping kwami, the teen could just barely hear the workers in the house begin their daily service. It came in waves, a tapping pair of shoes or a closing door, and once, he heard someone sneeze. Birds began to sing, and the quiet distractions added to the steady rise of awareness that woke his brain, creeping up further with each passing minute.

After several minutes of just existing - the bare minimum - Adrien realized his room had grown entirely still.

He shifted his head back on the pillows, gazing up through his fringe. A droopy pair of green eyes shined down at him, blinking slow.

“‘Morning, Plagg,” Adrien yawned as he sat up in bed. A much smaller mewl of sleepiness followed, and the kwami rubbed his eyes.

“Sup,” replied his companion, shifting on the pillows as Adrien stood up and crossed the room, unlocking a few of the windows along the wall. Plagg watched him, and Adrien could feel her curious green eyes follow his movements; it was unusual for them to go out in the morning unless beckoned by the demands of an akuma, but right now, the cool promise of a sleeping Paris seemed a welcome reprieve.

“Plagg?” He called, brows raised. Without complaint, the black presence floated up from the sheets.

“Claws out.”

Immediately, his skin felt lighter, the sweat that dried to the back of his neck caught the morning breeze and his skin erupted into oddly enjoyable gooseflesh beneath supple leather that straddled his skin. It was the feeling of being alive, and lately, he reveled in every minute he had.

Chat Noir took to the rooftops, stopping not far from his home, just high enough that passersby would not notice but near enough that he could watch the city come to life.

Cloudless sun and temperate weather was forecasted for the day ahead, which, especially after yesterday’s unbearable heat, Chat was grateful for. Legs dangling from the roof, he hummed along to the quiet overture of day switching shifts with the night. Early commuters, people on bicycles, dog-walkers following their pooches to-and-fro, and traffic began to buzz with the call of careers, cashing in their early morning dues.

Soon, he guessed, Marinette would join them in the listless symphony of work. Anxious to see her, Chat wondered if he might get to work with her again today; it was a fun partnership, much like that he had with Ladybug. Feeling a bit selfish, the black-suited hero even toyed with the idea of leaping over to her balcony right this moment, but he didn’t want wake her unfairly.

Princesses need sleep, he thought with a wry smile.

So, for the time being, Chat was content to watch the city from the sidelines. That didn’t mean he had to be entirely without company.

Murmuring a few quick words, he dropped his transformation.

“That was fast,” Plagg commented as he fluttered down to Adrien’s knee, perched over the side of the building.

The blond shrugged. “Thought you’d like to join me.”

“We are literally one being as Chat Noir, you know,” his kwami replied in false exasperation. “I see the same things you do.”

“I know that,” Adrien huffed, scratching Plagg on top of a head to calm his morning grumpiness. “But I feel weird talking to myself outloud to talk to you. I thought this seemed less weird.”

Plagg grumbled a small “... whatever,” and curled more comfortably onto Adrien’s pajamas, apparently enjoying the petting too much to come up with a more clever rebuke.

After a few moments, the teen lobbed a question at the kwami. It was heavy, one that had been weighing on his mind for a few days.

“What do you think about telling Marinette I’m Chat Noir?”

Plagg peered up at his charge, thoughtful while he considered his response.

It’s not like he could say he was surprised.

In truth, Plagg wanted Adrien to just admit it to the girl, so he and Tikki could spend their time together more easily, to just get the silly love square they were trapped in over with. A being old as time, though, he knew that was selfish and irresponsible - and that was coming from him, not to mention what Tikki would say. She was the responsible one in their little kwami world.

They had to figure out some choices on their own, but he also wouldn’t outright lie to his charge.

Slowly, he construed an answer. “Hmm… well, I think it’s dumb, and you’re dumb for thinking it.”

Adrien snorted derisively and rolled his eyes. “I was being serious, you know.”

“So was I, but I also wasn’t finished,” his kwami answered with a clipped tone.

“Oh. Well, go on then,” Adrien prompted.

Vaguely, the teen made a note that Plagg’s tail was flickering in an odd pattern, but otherwise, his expression was unreadable.

“I think it’s dumb, but I understand why you might want to tell her. It’s hard to keep secrets from the people you care about. Thinking with that heart of yours instead of your brain, as you do, it’s not a surprise you’d be want to do something dumb. The real problem isn’t what you want, though.”

Adrien already understood the meaning of his kwami’s words. Pressing his lips together, he finished the explanation. “... It’s about her safety.”

“Right.” Plagg frowned and rolled over onto his back, looking much the cat as he did so.

“That sucks,” the blond pointed out.

“Yeah,” his kwami agreed with a small shrug. “So even though you’re stupid, I think you’re just the right amount of stupid that you won’t do anything stupid.”

“Wow, Plagg, thanks. You’re such a big help.”.

Plagg rolled over and yawned. “I know, I’m the best.”

The pair grew quiet for a time, Plagg cozying up into a ball of black fur and lulling into an easy sleep, but Adrien was still feeling very awake. His mind was abuzz like the rising Paris day, still tinted in black from each horizon, but with some tonal shades of color beginning to sprout from the East.

Adrien recovered his phone from the pocket of his pajamas, doing his best not to disturb Plagg. He was intending to use the chance to Google some lore about flora, maybe impress Marinette with a “oh-so-natural” story about some obscure plant in the shop, and she would stare blankly with those pretty blue eyes.

“Wow, Adrien, I’m so impressed. You’re so handsome and intelligent, I’m just so lucky!” She might say. Maybe.

In reply, he might brush it off like she does, each time she impresses him. “Heh, well, it’s just a fact I picked up on the side. Nothing too impressive, really.”

The silly daydream played out for a minute, but Adrien nearly dropped his phone in surprise when he noticed the very same girl’s name on his screen.

Marinette had left him a voicemail, only a few minutes after he turned to Chat Noir; as his alter ego, all of his civilian wares (aside from his ring) were inaccessible.

Frowning, he lifted the device to his ear.

It crackled for a moment, there was a light swishing noise, and then it went out again.

“Hmm,” Adrien frowned at his phone. “Maybe she rolled over her phone in her sleep?”

Eliciting a very non-manly yelp, the phone started ringing again and he nearly thrashed Plagg off his lap in the process.

“AH-HEY! What gives?!” The kwami screeched, rubbing his cheek where Adrien’s knee had made contact with his face.

“S-Sorry! Mari’s calling me…” Scowling, he cleared his throat and accepted the call.

“Hi, Mari. What are you doing up so --”

Again, he was greeted by a loud crackling sound, and Adrien pulled the phone away in irritation.

He tried again. “Marinette? Can you hear me?”

A little distant, Adrien caught what sounded like a conversation. The first voice was forcefully feminine, and oddly pitched. “ --n’t you worry. You can rest easy knowing.... Paris brats ...to your rescue.”

Marinette’s voice was much louder, and much closer. “Planifcateur, you can’t do this! Snatching up local shopkeeps who weren’t able to help you - it’s not right!”

“Please,” said another voice, not quite as clear as Marinette’s, but closer than the first. Adrien thought it seemed familiar, too. “We are all trying our best to meet the needs of your -- ”

“Silence!”

That he heard loud-and-clear.

“If everything was proper, and neat, and ordered… have happened! My job… problem. Now...”

A weird clicking sound punctuated her speech.

Marinette cut in. “Madam Cesair-!”

“Let’s stay on schedule!”

The line went dead.

He blinked a few times, the feeling of cold water splashing his face and leaving him out to hypothermic danger, skin paling with the slow sense of recognition. Plagg’s own eyes had gone wide - apparently, his sensitive hearing made it easy for him to pick up on the message. Staring from the phone to his kwami, then the phone again, he felt confusion and concern course through him in the form of furious adrenaline.

“Hawkmoth,” Plagg said, almost spitting the word.

Ignoring the lump forming in this throat, Adrien did not hesitate. Now was not the time for that.

“Plagg, claws out.”

For a being without wings, Chat Noir flew across the city, leaping in the cool morning air of Paris with more pressure mounting in his chest than he’s ever known. His heart moved at a pace that would put the fastest runner of the Schneider Electric to shame. It was like someone had decided to excavate his chest cavity from the inside, and it only pushed him faster and faster over the rooftops.

He reached for his baton and tried to call Ladybug.

No answer.

Frustrated, he growled and put the device away. He was already upon the roof of Marinette’s terreanial paradise, and the place seemed empty without her. The absence of the life within, fueled by the love of a black-haired Nightingale, sucked the personality and light right from the walls. A lamp run out from oil, the place was vacant in more ways than one.

This wasn’t like the last akuma attack, a stranger with a familiar target. His - her - Marinette was in danger, and Alya’s mother, and possibly others, too.

Glaring at the glass, Chat’s reflection glared right back. The call was a serendipitous clue as to the context of the situation, but it was also terribly stress-inducing. He assumed Marinette must’ve just tried to call anyone she could without putting herself in danger, probably to notify the police.

Luckily, or not, Chat Noir was not the police.

So what did he know? Chat reviewed what little information he had.

Planifcateur, the Planner, had an interest in Marinette and Alya’s Mom. Specifically, using them as hostages to lure out himself and Ladybug. There was some sort of problem with Planifcateur’s job, probably related to her getting akumatized…

A stirring wind ruffled his hair and tickled his ears, and Chat Noir heard a buzzing sound grow nearer and nearer. His attention flickered above, spotting a familiar TVi helicopter.

“Well, that’s helpful,” he half-smirked, but his heart wasn’t really in it. There wasn’t anyone around to hear his comment or offer a witty remark.

Chat set off into the dewy mist, ill met by moonlight. The evanescent glow of a new moon provided little in the way of illumination - not that he needed it with scoptic senses - but the omen of dark skies didn’t help his growing trepidation.

It only took a few blocks of following after the news helicopter to establish a sense of the akuma’s path. Most attacks concentrated around the school, the Eiffel Tower, the television station, City Hall, or Le Grande Paris for one reason or another. Tonight, as Chat leapt closer towards a specific edge of town, he grew increasingly uncomfortable at the sight of a hotel he’d had lunch in just the day previous.

Marinette had mentioned that morning about sending away some “goons” from the store, claiming they worked at Le Grande Paris. Something about being unreasonable, and the encounter ended with her refusing their business. Given the rest of the evidence available - Madam Cesaire worked at the hotel, and the growing volume of sirens over the steady, rhythmic pounding of the city below as he neared the location - it was all likely related.

Wait…

Something about that wasn’t right.

During an akuma attack, depending on how recently the plot began to unravel, Paris was in one of two states: total catastrophic panic, people running and screaming from ground zero, or eerie, bone-chilling silence. The stacco thumping of marching feet on pavement was as unusual as it was troubling.

Chat paused in his pursuit, scowling into one of the main drags that would guide him right to the hotel, and the sight was almost beautiful, but even more, it was disturbing. An otherwordly sea of stars in the sprawling Mâcon countryside, a hundred, no, maybe a thousand? A thousand tiny lights twinkled in the hands of civilians. From apartments, houses, businesses and even stopped cars, people streamed into the roads and sidewalks, meandering in unison. All of them were, in some manner, gripping technology in their hands. By the looks of, mostly cell phones and personal tablets were secured close to each person’s chest, absorbing their attention by way of a crisp white-blue light that reflected eerily back at each person’s face, clouding their eyes.

“I’ve heard of technology addiction, but this…” Chat murmured. Reaching for his baton again, he tried to contact Ladybug (thankfully, the fundamentals of computer engineering didn’t seem apply to magical items, as the light of his baton remained acid green).

Still, no answer, and the thought brought a grimace to his lips. He could only hope she was being delayed and hadn’t happened to be on her cell phone when this mess started.

A quick inhale of night air steadied him, and Chat flashed across the Parisian skyline towards Le Grande Paris with a mixture of fear and purpose driving his sprint.

The black-suited hero had been doing this long enough to know that sometimes, it was best to wait for Ladybug, and others, it was best to gather information on the scene. His partner’s lack of response was not reassuring, and without knowing what Planifcateur had planned for the hostages, he knew there was really only one option. There was no time to waste.

“... Marinette,” he whispered through grit teeth, leaping a bit faster. Within minutes, the lights of the hotel were visible, a beacon through the morning.

His heavy boots thumped against the stone roof, landing across from Le Grande Paris. The place was a portrait of bustling activity, and he scowled at a loud, shrill laugh at the end of the street.

A massive television screen flickered to life, though none of the people mindlessly going to-and-fro so much as glanced at. The image on the screen suggested it wasn’t intended for them anyways.

Wearing a sneer, a biting tone called out across Paris. “Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

Nadja Chamack, wearing a grin he’d seen on models a dozen time - a strained, fake, forced smile - stood on the left side of the screen, and on the right must have been the Planner.

Her body was a swirl of red and crisp, bright white. Draped in a luxurious scarlet pants-suit, her attire was a level of business-professional that would have impressed even his father. Along her nose, an over-exaggerate pair of ruby-red glasses swooped out almost a foot on each side from her temples. From head-to-toe, the woman was decked out in all sorts of technology that shimmered in the darkness. A bluetooth headset, a slim tablet in her hands, some sort of sophisticated, technological watch on her wrist. Electronics under her touch were replaced by LED machinations into glowing monstrosities of power, and Chat could only guess which one might contain the akuma.

“You have an appointment in the basement of Le Grande Paris with me. The only acceptable forms of ID are your Miraculous! I’d suggest you don’t be late…”

She stepped off-screen, and Chat clenched his jaw. Tied up on a large pouf was one Chloe Bourgeois, scowling at the camera.

“I don’t --” she started to say, but Chat didn’t even hear her. Around the room, at least a dozen people marched around stiffly to the tune of the same hypnotism that drew in all the civilians below.

One of those individuals happened to have dark, messy hair.

Marinette was scowling - and damned be if it wasn’t adorable - at a large array of flowers and plants already occupying pots. He couldn’t imagine they were from the flower shop, as the place seemed in pristine (though empty) condition when he left the scene a few minutes earlier. She was one of the only people stationary, sitting cross-legged on the ground, hands ever-busy with the task she’d been set to.

Ah.

Now it clicked.

Everyone was working, and by the looks of it, working hard. Sweeping, cooking, driving, brewing coffee, and, in Marinette’s case, pruning and plucking at petals without any of her usual enthusiasm.

The Planner was putting everyone to work - tireless, back-breaking work. She waved a wicked goodbye into the camera, replacing it with a large digital timer.

5 00

4 49

4 48

4 47

…

“Five minutes?” Chat groaned, rolling his head back. A little more quietly, he glared at his baton. “LB where are you?”

Without back-up, he felt very much a kitten walking into the Canine’s Den, but what choice did he have? The Planner didn’t elaborate on what she intended to do with Chloe or the others, but the threat behind her words needed no explanation. Someone was going to get hurt.

Grumbling, he leapt down to street level, his scowl flickering at the doorman. The man gave Chat a polite smile and gestured for him to continue, but with a conspicuous vacancy in his eyes - replaced by the same radiant white glow of the Planner’’s electronics.

No one made any move to capture him or harass him for his miraculous; indeed, if he didn’t know better, no one even noticed him. Everyone seemed content to be distracted by their work, a bustle of life in the lobby that had no time for his distractions, apparently.

Chat strode to the stairs, forgoing the elevator, and quickly descended to the basement.

The level was designed to split into an octangular set of hallways, each of the eight walls in the central service areas extending to different sections for the staff - cleaning and laundry, deliveries and postal service, etc. A shadow of the glamour of the rest of the hotel, everything was still painfully polished and posh, but without the same level of detail. No velvet furniture or glittering chandelier here.

In the center of the basement atrium that connected the many hallways was a familiar picture - Chloe, being berated by the akumatized victim, tied up and her expression flashing between anger and annoyance. From Chat’s perspective at his little window in the stairwell, he couldn’t see Marinette, but none of the other workers seemed to be harmed. Alya’s mom shuffled past at one point, encumbered by a massive container of vegetables, and her expression suggested she was in pain. Judging by the size of the bin, Chat could only guess the weight was something close to Ivan’s body mass, and she was hauling it across the room and out a set of doors.

A resounding crash erupted off to one-side, drawing the eyes of few - Chat, Chloe, and Planifcateur all turned to the sound.

The Planner marched down one of the hallways, pursuing the sound. “What is this racket? Bringing disorder to my perfect schedule?”

Seizing his chance, Chat swiftly slipped through the door and looked around.

“Chat N--!” Chloe, began, but he silenced her with a succinct “shh!”

Hissing quietly, he opened the doorway to the hotel. “Everyone, listen, I’ll get you out but you have to hurry - whatever you do, don’t look… at…” His voice trailed off when he noticed no one was paying attention to him, bustling around without so much as batting an eye.

Except one person, who was positively beaming.

Chat slinked across the length of the room and almost threw himself into Marinette.

“Mari.” Chat managed to speak her name, a desperate question answered by her hug. She was okay, and her voice was a sigh of sweet relief.

“Hi, Chat,” she whispered back. “Everyone’s been - er, I don’t know exactly. Brainwashed. I think it has something to do with their technology…”

He hardly heard her, just nodding into her shoulder and relishing her perfume and soft arms. A million worries itched his throat in the form of unspoken questions. Are you okay? What happened? How did you get here? Are those your pajamas? Why aren’t you a mindless working-zombie like everyone else? Who cares - hey, I’m Adrien, and I was so worried - did you mean to call me earlier? How did you manage that? Can I kiss you again? Just to make sure you’re really okay?

They hadn’t the time for any of his words, though, as the sound of crisp heels clicked towards them. Flinching, Chat hurriedly helped Marinette to stand. “Okay. I don’t know if I can get them all to follow... but, let me at least get you and Chloe out of here…”

Marinette pulled a face. “Chloe should be plenty to disrupt her plan - she’s the one Planifcateur wants.”

The blonde swung her ponytail around and hmmp’d rather pointedly, but did not disagree. Chat pulled Marinette by the wrist towards the stairs, letting her lead the way while he stopped to scoop up a hampered Chloe. Quiet and quick, they climbed the stairwell to a bustling hotel of hypnotized workers, buzzing around to tend to their duties. It made bounding towards the glittering front doors easy enough - that is, until they reached them.

“Hold on!” A heavy-set man stepped in front of them, clad in a dark uniform that offered his name - Rémy - but his eyes were cast in alabaster by the technological hypnotism.

Chloe barked an order before Chat or Marinette could react. “Rémy, stand aside. You’re to keep unwanted guests from entering or leaving the premise, but I can go as I please, thank-you-very-much.” His gaze flickered over Chat and Chloe, eyes narrowed and nodded, but grabbed Marinette by the wrist and dragged her to one side, and she cried out in his iron grip. “Mme. Bourgeious and Chat Noir may go. But you don’t have a visitation pass.”

A cataclysmic urge bubbled at Chat’s throat, coming out instead as a growl. Struggling to put Chloe down with her bound limbs, he scowled in concern when he heard Marinette speak-up.

The girl cleared her throat, using her free hand to pat her shoulder-strap clutch. “Sir? I do have a pass, it’s in my purse.”

Squinting distrustfully, Rémy reluctantly released his hold but hovered over her, calling her bluff, duty bound to do his job by the akuma’s magic. Marinette whipped her arm back to her chest and massaged her wrist with her other hand. The blonds met eyes, and Chloe shook her head - don’t look at me.

Chat was prepared to intervene - no way Marinette’s claim was true - but something about her confident smirk made the cat swallow his tongue.

Rémy did not leave and inch of personal space as the dark-haired girl fumbled with her purse, opening the clasp and digging around.

“Here we go,” she said evenly, and in a quick flash of pale skin, she brought out her hand, balled into a fist, and made direct contact with the man’s jaw. With a sickening crack of his teeth gnashing together, the doorman collapsed backwards, sprawling on the floor.

Chat’s felt his own jaw go slack, blinking stupidly.

I’m going to marry this girl, I swear.

“W-what did you do to Rémy?!” Chloe squirmed in Chat’s grip, metaphorically floored at how easily Marinette had very literally floored her doorman.

“What I had to,” she stated with a shrug, as if she hadn’t just single-handedly knocked out a man twice her size and her age, turning briskly to head out into the Paris streets.

Chloe’s lip twisted back, curling with displeasure. “Well? Are we going or what?”

“Uhh…” Chat gulped, feeling a little flustered, and sauntered after his unfreakin’ believable girlfriend. “Right…”

Sighing, Marinette rubbed her sore knuckles, spotting Chat and Chloe emerge from the building. She had taken refuge around the corner of the first-floor cafe patio, separated from the street by an ornate metal fence. Really, it didn’t do much in the way of “cover,” but none of the people mulling about seemed interested in her. They were all too consumed with their work.

With a wry smile, she felt like she knew the feeling.

With little time before Planifcateur would noticee Chloe was gone, she waved a hand for them to join her. With his night vision, Chat had no problem spotting her, but even then it was hardly necessary. The square was plenty bright with the slightest peak of daylight starting to creep upon the horizon, enhanced by the many businesses that were open much earlier than appropriate for a Thursday morning.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Chat whispered as he fell into a crouch beside her, still holding Chloe bridal style with bound hands and feet, and his ears were drooping from stress.

Marinette gave him a sympathetic smile and opened her mouth, but she was promptly interrupted.

“I mean, of course I’m fine, that stupid coordinator wouldn’t dare touch a hair on my head.” Chloe pointed her chin forward, and Marinette rolled her eyes.

Chat merely grimaced. “That brings up a good point, but we should get out of the streets. Come on,” he turned around and offered Marinette his back. “Piggy-back?”

“Pfft,” she chuckled but did not protest, awkwardly climbing astride his hips and locking her arms around his neck while doing her best not to touch Chloe at risk of Bourgeois cooties.

Impressively, Chat managed to get to a roof with only a little fumbling, using a few awnings and balconies to help along the way. Considering he was carrying two young women, the cat had kept his balanced impressively well.

“Okay,” he began once he deemed they were high enough and far enough from the hotel. “Tell me as much as you know.”

Marinette frowned when she slid from his back, watching him pull out his baton and try to call Ladybug. She had agreed to flee the streets with him because he would have insisted anyways, but that presented a different problem to her now. How was she supposed to get away from them?

Chloe, naturally, decided it prudent that she speak first. Chat set her down carefully and worked on her bonds while she explained her half the story.

“Well, I needed a status report of my reception orders, so I summoned the staff to give a full rundown in my room.”

“Why so early?” Marinette grumbled, feeling the ache of lost sleep weighing down her bagged eyes.

Chloe scoffed. “If you knew what kind of work went into planning something like this, Marinette, then you’d understand. I’ve been up before 5 AM everyday this week. Someone’s got to keep those oafs in line.”

It took most of her self-control not to laugh at that - like Chloe understood the first thing about real responsibility. Chat seemed to be taking in her explanation seriously, so Marinette did her best to maintain some semblance of composure.

“And the Planner was one of your employees, I take it?” Chat asked, sounding about as exasperated as she felt.

Chloe seemed a little irritated but accepted his hand when he offered to to help her stand.

“Yes. Madam Pomeroy. She’s my coordinator, and I just - I didn’t mean to make her so upset, but I was upset! I’ve got a lot of pressure on me for this to go well, okay?” The blonde crossed her arms and ducked her head, looking predictably petulant in a canary yellow set of sleepwear.

“So what did you do?” Marinette asked, not impolitely. She knew Chloe wasn’t always intentionally hurtful.

“I - well, she said we weren’t going to have enough food or flowers, and those are two of the most important things when trying to make a good impression. Potential donors could be attending the reception - not that you’d know that,” she sneered slightly at Marinette, but Chat stepped between them.

“And?” He prompted.

“And I said if she didn’t get it together, I would fire her by the end of the day,” Chloe finished flatly.

Before either of them could continue the increasingly derivative conversation, Marinette offered her two-cents, partially in an attempt to get away from Chat so she could transform.

“Well, I was on my balcony, because I couldn’t sleep and I was grabbed by her and brought to the hotel. When I got there, Madam Cesaire and the others hadn’t been… uh, hypnotized, I guess? She went on this spiel about how we wronged her, how it was our fault she failed,” Marinette paused to glare at Chloe. “But anyways, I think the whole hypnotized thing has to do with looking at your technology - phone, tablet, whatever. Anything that has a calendar, I think. And she can do it with her own tech, too - if she flashes the screen at you, you’ll become a ‘worker’ too.”

Marinette frowned, recalling when Planifcateur appeared behind her on her balcony, blocking the skylight. By some miracle, she had, by coincidence, brought her purse outside so she hadn’t been separated from Tikki, and when she tried to talk the woman down, Madam Pomeroy pulled out her tablet and tried to ensorcell her into the manacles of her mind-control, but the woman stopped abruptly. She could have sworn Hawkmoth was speaking with the woman for the way she muttered, but it wasn’t clear about what. Marinette used the chance to pretend she had been put under her spell anyways, so she might find out more about the woman’s plans…

It was scary when she got to the hotel, though. Unlike when Mme. Bustier had been akumatized, these wanderers were not exactly mindless - seeking the reprieve of kisses - but everyone was all but turned to robots. No emotion, no register of familiarity when she walked into the basement, nothing. The whole thing had been plain creepy.

Chat pursed his lips, taping his claws along one arm. “Got it. I need to go back, but I want you both to stay safe. Can you stay here?”

His request, she could tell, was mostly intended for her. It was sweet how Chat worried for her, but that wasn’t a promise she’d be able to keep.

“Uhh… sure,” she lied, shuffling her slippers along the gravely rooftop.

Chloe seemed less than enthused. “Ugh, fine, but I’m not staying out here. It’s gross and dirty.”

“Oh my ganache, just go Chat Noir. We’ll go through that door and hide in the building.” She gestured towards the rooftop entrance, presumably opening to a stairwell, while shoving the cat towards the edge of the building. At present, Marinette was thoroughly done wasting time with Chloe’s complaining.

He seemed a little reluctant, and he turned back to her at the ledge. To her surprise, Chat wrapped her in a hug, holding her tightly.

“Please be careful, Mari. Hide. She’ll come looking for you both.”

“I will, now go. Paris needs you, silly cat.” She tried to sound reassuring so he might leave with some confidence, and his ears perked slightly.

In a flash of black, her partner was leaping back to the hotel, so she made quick work of ditching Chloe.

“Let’s go,” she grumbled slightly, marching towards the door, Chloe grimacing but quiet in her compliance.

She indicated Chloe to go first, and promptly slammed the door once the blonde was inside.

“Oh no, there’s tech zombies climbing up the building!” Marinette cried in false fear. “Hide, Chloe, you’re the one they want! I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir will save the day…” She let her facade fade out, listening to the door. After a pause, the sound of clipped of footsteps could be heard descending the stairs.

Marinette touched a hand to her heart and breathed a large, heavy sigh of relief.

Before her lungs were emptied, Tikki was out of her bag, and her usually bubbly gaze was hardened by the familiar call of duty.

“Ready?” She said with a stern brow, and Marinette merely nodded.

“Tikki, spots on!”

Greeted by a rush of pink light, red spandex flowed outward from her earrings to her toes, from her heart to her hands, and with a relieved intake of breath, Ladybug stood, looking out over Paris.

Thankfully, Chat hadn’t taken them terribly far away from the scene so the heroine managed to make excellent time, swinging to the hotel in mere minutes.

Screaming welcomed her to the square. Angry, lurid shouting, and the shrieks intensified each time Chat bounced around the street, over cars, off of lamp posts, behind mail dropboxes. It was a little unnerving to see so many civilians milling about during a fight, but they weren’t really paying either party much mind. A mailman stooped over Chat Noir to work on the postal bin, which comically interrupted her partner’s personal space, but otherwise none of the diligent “workers” were involved.

“Where did you take her!?” Planifcateur howled, continually trying to catch Chat Noir’s gaze in the face of her tablet, her voice amplified unnaturally by the bluetooth at her ear like a microphone.

“Ugh.” Ladybug dropped down to the pavement, opting for a bold introduction to give Chat Noir a chance to regain his wits.

“Planifcateur! Stop this madness!”

A little smug, Ladybug noted the adored look Chat shot her when she appeared, but the reception from Planner was less than warming.

Releasing a maddened cackle, she pulled back her tablet and turned it instead on herself.

The device glowed a deep red under her touch, and began to vibrate violently like an alarm clock.

“Aghh,” Ladybug moved to cover her ears, the chime going off all around them, ringing sharply from the electronic devices held by every civilian who had fallen victim to her hypnotism. Chat had just leapt beside her, but he buckled under the sound, probably having it worse for his sensitive feline-hearing.

After a painful ten-seconds of mind-numbing buzzing, reverberations echoing down each Parisian street, all of the civilians halted their industrious tasks. Eyes burnt crimson, they turned in unison towards the pair of heroes across the length of street and began marching, faces wicked and twisted.

“Ahh, LB, I was starting to think you were leaving meow-t to fend for myself,” Chat sighed and stood properly, backing up slightly as the workers began to advance on them.

Ladybug scoffed and shook her head. “Is now really the time for that, Chat?”

“There’s never a bad time to lion the mood,” he said, shimmying his shoulders up against her. They stood back to back, yo-yo and baton ready respectively.

“That wasn’t even good,” she remarked, laughing despite her claim. “Let’s get to higher ground, shall we?”

Without further ado, Ladybug lassoed herself to the nearest awning, at least to free them of the encroaching crowd. Chat touched down beside her only a moment later, and he looked uncharacteristically severe.

“We can’t hurt civilians,” he noted, using his baton to gently nudge some of them down as they started to climb the sides of buildings. “So we should focus on Planifcateur… I think the akuma is in her main tablet, by the way.”

Humming her agreement, Ladybug narrowed her eyes while gazing over the crowded streets.

“Where did she go…?”

It was difficult to tell with the hordes of brainwashed, now hostile, people swarming the streets, but there was no clear sign of the akumatized victim anywhere. Had she gone back to the hotel, to seek cover and let the people of Paris do her dirty work?

Sounds a lot like Hawkmoth, Ladybug thought grimly.

“Marinette!” Chat blanched, looking sickly pale beneath the suit, and Ladybug had much the same reaction.

“W-What?! H-h-how did…” She stuttered, windpipe unable to process his claim. How did he know it was her? What had given her away?

“What?” Chat shook his head, running an anxious hand through his hair and bringing back his baton. “She must have gone after Marinette… er, mostly probably Chloe Bourgeois - uh, civilians, I rescued before you got here. She’s really furious with Chloe for threatening to fire her, and I don’t know, probably wants to throw her from the Eiffel Tower or something. Doesn’t it usually come to that?”

“Bite your tongue, chaton,” Ladybug laughed and nudged him, feeling gravity return to her temporarily suspended reality. He hadn’t been addressing her as Marinette, but rather, answering her question. “If she’s after Chloe, then there’s no time to waste.”

A quick flick of her wrist, and Ladybug had secured her yo-yo around a far away building antenna, propelling herself back the direction she came. Chat swung ahead of her, taking the lead.

Oh right. I’m not supposed to know where ‘Marinette’ is.

Acting a little aloof once they landed, Chat Noir’s ears were perked for any suspicious sounds.

“They’re inside.”

“Thanks, genius,” Ladybug strode over to the blasted open door, smirking.

Chat seemed too on edge to acknowledge her teasing. “How should we do this? Do we just try to corner her in the building, or should we lure her out? There’s at least two non-brainwashed people here, maybe away would be safer?”

“No, this will be the best use of time, I think. The civilians should be okay if they’re hidden, but right now the building should be empty of workers. If we bring her out, more people will inevitably get involved and make things complicated.”

Scrunching his nose, Chat reluctantly agreed and followed her down the stairs, both listening intently for any sounds that would give her away.

It didn’t take very long, only going down two floors when a blood-chilling scream came from a hallway. Chat wrapped his claws around the door handle, ready to leap onto the scene, but Ladybug stilled him with a hand.

“How about we make plan to fight the Planner, first?” She offered, and at that, Chat seemed to relax marginally. He seemed more stressed than usual, Ladybug noted, but assumed that was out of fear for ‘Marinette’. As her civilian self, the two had become good friends, so it was probably a little unnerving to not know if she was safe.

A guilty little pang went off in her stomach, but there wasn’t much to do about that now.

“Lucky Charm!”

Twirling her weapon with familiar intention, Ladybug scowled in concentration while the magic coursed through her fingertips, trailing out through the weapon in a quick flash of pink light.

“Keep Chloe safe, and I’ll...” A red-and-black polka-dotted plunger dropped into her hands. “Uh…”

For the first time all evening, Chat Noir laughed, and it was a sound that brought a smile to her lips. Familiar, reassuring, she didn’t realize how much she needed to hear it until he was covering his mouth to keep quiet, shaking with giggles in the cramped space of the stairwell.

“What in the name of cats are you going to do with that?” He managed through his snickering, and Ladybug felt herself flush a bit.

“I have absolutely no idea. But I’ll figure it out, we should go while we still can,” Ladybug nodded firmly, and Chat threw open the door.

The stairs opened to a long, almost cynical-looking hallway. Vague grey walls and rough charcoal carpeting stretched far and narrow into a series of doorways, lit by ineffective fluorescent bulbs. It was almost reminiscent of a hotel or a dingy apartment building, if not for one door, busted off the hinges and hanging obnoxiously out from the wall. It might have seemed the perfect setting for a horror movie.

That wasn’t exactly reassuring, and it was uncomfortably quiet. Still, with the grounding presence of her partner beside her, Ladybug did not fear.

She led the way down the hall, inanely holding the plunger like a sword, and they turned the corner expectantly.

It was quiet for a moment, a blue-tonal office with modern accents and sleek glass windows stretching across the far wall. One was smashed, with shards littering the floor in the pretty warm reflection of the sunrise. Through it, a breeze carried with it sinister words.

“Now Mme. Bourgeious,” rang a toxic voice from outside. “You will see what it’s like to work hard for once in your life! I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

“Let’s go,” Ladybug said, voice quiet and severe, and carefully stepped over the glass and out the window.

It opened to a very thin terrace that wrapped along the building, and standing on a lift used for window cleaning, the Planner was poised with a shaking blonde gripped by two burly men on each arm. Presumably, they had been the cleaners occupying the lift before it got a little more crowded, and their eyes had the same glazed-over, empty white stare that the civilians had at street-level.

Without hesitating, Ladybug leapt to the lift and stood on the railing, gripping the suspension wires to steady herself. The whole platform began to shake and sway lazily, at least thirteen stories from the streets below, earning another hair-raising shriek from Chloe.

“End of the line, Planifcateur. Let Chloe go!” She declared, fearless despite the uneven footing.

The red-suited woman laughed and thumbed through her tablet, musing. “I’ll see if I can pencil that in - I think I might be able to, if you hand over your miraculous.”

She could feel her partner’s presence on the terrace just behind her, and he mewled an ever-Chat-like response. “While your checking your schedule, think you could work in a quick fight?”

Before her goaded response came, Chat’s baton flickered through the opening at their feet - Ladybug, still perched on the railing of the lift, was untouched - and swept it over four sets of feet, sending them all sprawling.

Seizing her chance, Ladybug dropped down and threw Chloe over her shoulder, not even bothering to check her aim, and she heard the girl plop safely into Chat’s arms.

A hand wrenched her down a moment later, and the Planifcateur was furiously irate, her tablet turned hypnotic white once again. She tried to turn it the heroine’s face, but Ladybug closed her eyes and struggled against the hands of the workers.

While the chaos of too many hands and too many voices struggled in the swinging lift, it was the instability of the whole circus act that had her worried. Even as Ladybug, she nor her three attacks would be much good against a thirteen story drop into cement, and the listless swaying of thin wires, strained by what surely exceeded the weight capacity of the metal lift, was enough to make anyone’s stomach turn ill.

In the chaos, they wrenched the plunger from her hands, and stripped her of her yo-yo. Restrained, Ladybug struggled while another hand moved to her face.

Her earrings beeped.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to live by a routine, sweet Ladybug?” Planifcateur lulled over her, and Ladybug flinched away as someone tried to pry open her eyes. “You would never be late, never disappoint anyone, never step out of line. Imagine how much easier it could be. The weight of the Paris, no longer on your shoulders!”

“Ghhhhh,” she growled, lips pressed together in her struggle. The hand came back again, and seeing no other way, Ladybug promptly bit the fingers that inched nearer to her mask.

“Yaow!” She heard, rather than saw, Planifcateur flinch backwards, followed promptly by a disturbing, squishing, sucking, suctioning sound.

Chat Noir’s voice entered the mix. “Got’cha! Usually LB handles this but…”

Ladybug’s eyes fluttered open in time with the second beep of her earrings, somewhat in surprise but mostly emboldened by the sound of her partner’s confident voice, peering down the length of her body best she could. Chat was perched on his baton, suspended from a notch in the buildings edge, and in his hands he had the plunger, with the Planner’s tablet suctioned to the end of it, and her yo-yo clasped in the other.

Looking much the cat who swallowed the canary, he smacked the tablet into the side of the building, and the front of it shattered with a satisfying crunch.

“No!” Planner screamed, reaching uselessly over the ledge at her broken eletronic. Ladybug felt the hands that gripped her to the floor of the lift loosen, and she watched the men blink away the clouds of white that distorted their vision.

“Heads up!” Chat yelled, tossing her weapon over the lift, and she easily snatched it in her fingers. The moment the weapon was returned to her grasp, a familiar mixture of duty and power rushed through her veins.

Flipping dexterously over Planifcateur’s head, Ladybug landed back on the ledge, grabbed the plunger from Chat’s outstretched hand, and quickly cleansed the akuma before it fluttered off.

“Bye, bye, little butterfly,” she waved with a comfortable sigh. As Madam Pomeroy shook her head in confusion, Ladybug tossed the plunger high into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Sure as the sunrise that finally brightened the Parisian skyline, all returned to normal, workers halted abruptly in their erroneous responsibilities, the lift, the men, and Madam Pomeroy all materialized back inside the building, glass now repaired, and Chat turned to her with an award-winning smile.

“Pound it!” They declared another victory in unison, and Ladybug’s earrings blinked for the second time.

“Ah, gotta bug out,” she said swiftly, preparing to swing off. “Til next time, chaton!”

Quick as the wind, Ladybug bolted from the scene, the air whipping her fringe from her face. Once the hustle-and-bustle of the akuma attack was out of earshot, she found an alley in time with the fourth and final beep before she lost her transformation.

“Tikki, spots off.” Ladybug exhaled with a strained sense of relief. In her place, Marinette leaned against the bricks in the damp alleyway, catching a spent kwami in her cupped hands.

“Great work, Tikki,” she declared with a tired smile, and her kwami returned the gesture.

“If you feel up for it, you might want to head back to that building,” Tikki suggested with a tiny yawn. “Chat Noir might be worried about you-you.”

“Oh, right,” she hastily opened her bag. “Okay, in you go. Sorry I don’t have any cookies, I’ll stop somewhere on the way home.”

“Thank you,” Tikki blinked blearily up at her charge, and Marinette gave her a little nuzzle with her finger before shutting the bag.

At a light jog, Marinette wound around a few blocks and caught sight of the building, now surrounded by the predictable bustle of police cars and emergency vehicles. News cameras were everywhere, the mayor was making a statement with Chloe tucked safely under his arm, and there was no Chat Noir to be seen.

That brought a worried frown to her lips, and Marinette tried to approach the entrance.

“Whoa, whoa, sorry miss,” claimed a familiar security officer. It was Monsieur Raincomprix. “Can’t go in here; it’s a crime scene at the moment.”

She grimaced. “Oh, c’mon, Ladybug fixed everything - there’s no danger in there!”

“Just standard procedure,” he stated with a set jaw. “Please, stand as--”

“Marinette!” The voice came from above, and Monsieur Raincomprix looked up with enough time to shield himself reflexively.

Not that Chat Noir was going to hit the man, necessarily, but the hero certainly did loom a little protectively over her when he landed beside them.

Swiftly, he made to hug her, but spotted the press scurrying over to them immediately. Chat bowed instead.

“It looks like I showed up just in time, we wouldn’t want you knocking out two grown men in one morning, would we?” Chat wore a cheeky smile, but he lowered his voice. “Don’t go scaring me like that, Princess. I was so worried when I couldn’t find you.”

Marinette raised her brows high along her head, biting her tongue to keep from smiling. “I didn’t take you for a scaredy cat.”

He sighed dreamily. “Oh Mari, if you ever tire of that Agreste guy, please, call me.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t hold your breath, minou,” she stuck out her tongue, and they both shared a quick laugh before Chat was entirely engulfed by the cameras. Marinette managed to catch Alya’s Ladyblogger eye and waved, walking off before anyone could question her.

By the time she reoriented herself, Marinette was on the outskirts of the din, near the the medical vehicles. Most victims of Hawkmoth’s cruelty at least suffered from shock, if not some variety of stress-induced anxiety, after being akumatized, so the EMTs usually came prepared with heart monitors and some sort of mouth tube that was supposed to help regulate breathing.

A lone Madam Pomeroy sat in the back of an ambulance, doors open wide and legs dangling over the edge, breathing steadily into the breathing apparatus. One man and one woman in uniforms stood nearby, the former filing some sort of report while the other chatted with Mayor Bourgeois over Chloe’s well-being.

“Hey there,” Marinette greeted, hesitantly smiling at the woman. Her gaze flickered up at her, then away, laden by guilt.

Frowning, the teen moved a little closer, bowing her head. “I just, um… I wanted to apologize. About the other day.”

That decidedly got her attention, and Madam Pomeroy’s eyes went wide behind her glittery glasses. Marinette squinted when they caught the light, but continued.

“I didn’t know how important the flowers were to your plans, and I’m sorry that it caused you so much grief. I was a little unfair because I knew you worked for the hotel and…” She wrinkled her nose, shooting a glance over towards the Bourgeoises. “I guess I wasn’t being a very good business person. So, I’m sorry.”

The woman looked decidedly dumbstruck by Marinette’s self-admonishment, and her breathing regulator seemed even more necessary.

“If you’re still looking for the flowers, though, I’d be happy to try to make it up to you. If you’d still like to do business, that is - I probably can’t do all seventy orders, but I’d be glad to pitch in.”

“I… ” Madam Pomeroy lowered the balloon from her lips, eyes darkened with shame. “You are very kind, Mme. I’m the one who should be sorry; I let me stress get the best of me, and then I just snapped and…”

Marinette held up a hand, wearing her warmest smile. “That’s okay. Anyone could be a villain on their worst days - the important thing is breaking the cycle. So…” she dug in her purse, and Tikki gave her an encouraging little nod. The girl handed Madam Pomeroy a business card, but only after scribbling her personal number on the back.

“Call anytime, or text me. My cell’s on the other side, and we’ll do our best to fulfill the orders. Okay?”

The woman accepted with a quizzical look, but her expressions eventually turned to one of gratitude.

“Well… thank you,” she paused, squinting at her name on the back, written above her mobile number. “Marinette.”

Bowing and starting in the other direction, she bid the woman farewell. “You’re welcome. Take care, and don’t work too hard!”

Turning the corner from the early-morning madness, she released a low sigh and gazed at the blue skies beginning to peak out through the stained sunrise. It was probably already 7, she guessed, and it would probably be a loss to actually stop to get Tikki food rather than just heading home. Her kwami was undoubtedly tired, but the time it would take to find a shop that was up-and-running properly after the confusion of the akuma would take longer than just returning to the comfort of the bakery. Besides, she knew Tikki preferred sugar of the non-processed variety when possible, so Papa’s cookies seemed a better option anyways.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t very near to home. It would be quickest to wait for a bus, if things had totally returned to normal operating procedures, but that was hindered by the same problem that came from the shops along the drag. It wasn’t clear if the buses would run on schedule, so Marinette opted to walk instead, only a tad self-conscious to be strolling down the street in her pajamas; it was like the mayor declared Dress-Down Thursday, for almost everyone was in the same disheveled, bed-headed, bagged-eyed state that she was in.

The worries over her trek back to the bakery turned out to be for naught, interrupted by a voice by the time she reached the end of the block.

“Mari! Wait up!”

She faltered, surprised by the trill that danced up her spine, and spun on the spot.

“Adrien?” Marinette sounded bemused, not as embarrassed as she should have been. It’s not like this was the first time he’d seen her in pajamas, recalling when they were running from Gorillaz. Compared to last time, her hair might not have been brushed, but she also wasn’t wearing a ridiculous disguise, so she was already a leg-up. “What are you -- oh!”

The blond caught up to her and almost knocked her over with the force of his hug, wrapping her so tightly in his arms that it felt like the wind had been forced from her lungs. Then again, Marinette was almost always breathless around him anyways.

“A-Adrien, what’s going on? What are you doing out here?” She squeezed back, reveling in his warmth, partially surprised but mostly overjoyed to see him. Honestly, she should have been more concerned about the fact that they were very publicly embracing in the middle of a Parisian sidewalk in their pajamas, but his pounding heart and haggard, but notably relieved, breathing was more invigorating a way to wake-up than any cup of coffee.

Stepping apart, his hands moved to her face, one brushing a bit of her hair away and the other holding her cheek. Marinette felt her skin redden under his touch.

“Oh, um… yeah, I guess, the same thing as you?” He grinned, wide and silly, gesturing towards his unusually casual clothing. A simple black t-shirt paired with full-length bottoms made of light, breathable cotton, the blue and gray pinstripes only made him look impossibly taller. “I, uh, guess I was ‘working on’ something. Maybe modeling? I don’t know, I just remember ‘coming to’ and the Ladyblog said that you were one of the primary people targeted by the akuma. I can’t believe I managed to find you after all of that, geez, I was so worried,” he shook his head and chuckled, the sound making her knees wobble.

Beaming, Marinette moved her hand to his, still cupping her furiously red face. “Thank you, I’m sorry you worried. I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

His attention moved to her fingers, resting over his own, and he raised a brow.

“What happened here?” Adrien took her hand in his, examining her bruised knuckles with amusement. “Did you hurt yourself during the attack?”

“...Ahh,” Marinette averted her eyes, very aware that he was holding her hand very close to his lips. “Hah, haha, yeah, sort of. I might have… punched someone…?”

At that, his smile was so bright, dimpled and brilliant, Marinette couldn’t help but turn bashful and draw her hand back.

“It’s not like I wanted to! I had to - it was this whole thing with Chloe and Chat Noir… ugh, believe me, it’s not that interesting of a story.” She ran a hand down her face, not particularly proud of the fact that she flattened a grown man in front of them, but it wasn’t like she had much of a choice at the time.

“Please, Mari, tell me everything. I’ll walk you home?” He took her arm and began down the sidewalk, hardly giving her time to process before they were on their way. Marinette had half-a-mind to ask if he’d had coffee this morning for how animated he was, but that was impossible given the context.

“W-wait, what about your schedule? Won’t Nathalie be upset?”

At that, Adrien paused and pursed his lips. They were still at the end of the block, and to their immediate left was an obnoxious round sign for the most recent Gabriel line, with his face plastered directly in the center. Beside it, there was a trash can, and Adrien promptly walked over and dropped his phone into it.

Marinette balked, and he just gave a little shrug. “Oops. Guess it was lost during the akuma attack.”

He caught her eye and shot her a silly wink, so she shook her head and fought a smile.

Shyly, she mumbled, “W-well, okay,” and Adrien resumed guiding her home.

Well, he was supposed to be watching where they were going, but he had eyes only for her, laughing along to her story, each chuckle pellucid like a soft soprano. That she had so captivated his attention was making her increasingly bouncy, adding ferverant details to the night’s antics as they went down the sidewalks, talking probably too loud to hear herself over her thundering heartbeat. It seemed so loud, Marinette was certain he could hear it too.

At a comfortable pace, she recounted everything that happened up until shoving Chloe through the door at the top of the building and turning into Ladybug, and Adrien was full of questions the whole way. What did she think of Chat Noir? Why did she think she didn’t get ‘hypnotized’? Where did the woman gather them? Each time, Marinette did her best to be honest and laugh and smile along with him, a little dazed that all of this was happening. The lack of sleep, rush of morning adrenaline from her superhero duties, and final comfortable lull of being walked home by Adrien, Adrien Agreste, Adrien her boyfriend… It was a little too much.

She always imagined the first time she woke up at the crack of dawn with Adrien beside her, both in pajamas, might not have been quite like this. (Her imagination usually included, um, fewer clothes.) Still, having this time to just talk with him early in the morning, both tired and almost slap-happy from a restless night, was better than she could have ever asked for. It was special and strangely intimate, though the streets were still full of confused people trying to return to their normal lives.

As they neared the school, the bakery just coming into view, a few young women and a pair of men stopped them.

“O-oh my god! Are you Adrien Agreste?” A redhead gushed, her friends seeming embarrassed but curious. The men were almost more excited than the the first girl, and Marinette could tell they both were wearing similar pajamas to the boy at her arm - presumably, Gabriel brand.

Adrien chuckled and scratched his neck, stopping so as not to be rude. “Uh, heh, yep.”

“Oh my - wow! Wow, I’m a huge fan,” one of the men said. She suspected he was also of some Asian descent, but his skin tone and eye shape suggested south-eastern Asia - maybe Vietnamese?

“Me, too. This is unreal!” The redhead was almost bouncing, and Marinette did her best not to interrupt. She slipped her arm out of Adrien’s and took a tiny step back, letting his fans have their moment.

“Could we, er, get a selfie with you? Please?! It would mean so much to me!” The girl asked, and at that, her friends no longer seemed ashamed. They all more-or-less layered on the request, with plentiful please’s, sounding just about pitiful.

Frowning, Adrien glanced towards her way. Marinette offered him a timid smile and nodded for him to go ahead.

“Well… sure, yeah. No problem.” Adrien adopted his familiar “model face,” and seeing it now actually made her feel a little sad. It wasn’t the Chesire, goofy grin she’d come to expect from him anymore. It was just small and a little too perfect to be right.

“Agh, there’s too many of us! Justin, back up - ”

“Stop it Danya,” another shoved slightly, and Adrien looked increasingly uncomfortable as the friends argued, trying to all squeeze into frame.

Marinette pursed her lips and stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I can take the picture for you.”

The gaggle seemed surprised but certainly pleased, and one of them handed her an iPhone. Adrien smiled gratefully, and Marinette quickly snapped a few photos.

“There,” she passed back the phone, all of them looking over shoulders to get a better view.

“Aw man, my eyes were closed in that one - oh, but that’s good,”

“Thank you again, Monsieur Agreste!”

“Yes, thank you!”

“Take care, Monsieur Adrien,” the redhead said with a rather suggestive wink, and Marinette sucked her teeth a little irritably. The girl reminded her too much of Lila for it not to leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but she tried to remind herself of her own advice to Madam Pomeroy not an hour earlier.

The important thing is breaking the cycle.

Adrien and Marinette quickly sped off after that, neither speaking for a few awkward seconds while they distanced themselves from the group.

“Sorry,” he blurted suddenly, eyes on the pavement. They were passing the school, so the bakery was only a few dozen steps away.

Marinette slowed her pace. “Why are you sorry?”

“That - they, er, I didn’t mean to interrupt your story. And then that girl at the end…” His lips twisted down, and the ebony-haired girl stopped and squeezed his arm.

Feeling unusually gutsy, Marinette cleared her throat and met his gaze seriously. “Don’t say that - they were just excited to see you. I know I would be, if I wasn’t lucky enough to be here with you myself. And...” she touched a finger to his lips, as if silencing him. “You’re too cute to frown. Smile?”

Without telling twice, he did as she bid, and Marinette could feel his breath exhale onto her finger as his lips parted into the smile that she loved.

He interrupted her quiet admiration with a gentle kiss against her finger. “Thanks. You’re pretty cute yourself, especially with bedhead.”

Now it was Marinette’s turn to frown, but it was tough to keep the smirk from returning. “Gee, thanks.”

“I was serious!” He said, falling back into stride towards her house.

The girl could only chuckle and shake her head, though her laughter quickly faded when she spotted her parents in the front window.

“Ah… Maman and Papa were probably worried sick…”

“I don’t blame them,” he admitted, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “I was nearly worried sick myself.”

“I’m sorry,” she said honestly. “I feel bad about all of this.”

Adrien sighed slowly, coming up to the front door and stopping momentarily. “Don’t be. You’re just precious to them, and to me.”

Without a care that her mother and father were watching, not even ten feet away and separated only by glass, he leaned down and brought their lips together, slow and soft, and Marinette felt herself sigh into him, lavishing the warmth that flowed through him. It was brief, a ray of sunshine through the cloudy skies, but she wondered if he could taste the love on her lips, the feelings she tried so desperately to share each time their noses bumped, each inhale of him she was granted like a gift from above.

Breathless, they pulled apart, and Marinette’s body felt strained from his absence. Just a moment of his closeness was enough to addict her to the sensation, and if not for her mother’s staring, she might have just ravaged his lips again right then and there.

Instead, the girl flickered her attention toward the bakery and tried to appear shy for the sake of her mother, but the woman didn’t seemed interested in modesty. Instead, her mother was smiling, nodding, and giving her the largest thumbs-up she’d ever seen.

“Uggggggggggh,” Marinette dropped her head, and Adrien laughed when he realized why. He gave her mother a thumbs-up in return, and Marinette nearly shoved him.

Instead, resigned, she invited him inside.

“G’morning,” Marinette yawned as she pushed open the bakery door, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The smell of leavened bread and saccharine sweets soothed her exasperation almost immediately, attuning her senses to feelings of home. More than setting off pangs of hunger in her stomach, she felt the long night catch up to her, and her body begged for sleep.

“Oh honey,” her mother replied, coming to the door to greet them and swiftly wrapping her daughter in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I’m sorry you got pulled into the chaos too, Adrien. We’re all sort of a mess, aren’t we?”

After giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek, Sabine took a step back and gestured towards her wrap-style pajamas, reminiscent of a cheongsam, covered by one her many aprons.

Adrien smiled politely. “Oh, I’m just glad Marinette’s okay. This is probably the first time I’ve ever been out of the house in my pajamas. It’s sort of fun, isn’t it?”

“Fun isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Marinette commented quietly, shooting him a good-humored grimace. “But did you want to stay and have breakfast? You’re here in your pajamas, it almost seems necessary.”

“That’s an excellent idea, but” her mother frowned, tapping her chin. “Our whole day is sort of thrown off with this akuma business, so we’re running behind on everything. Maybe you’d rather go out to that cafe around the corner?”

Her mother sent them both a not-so-subtle wink.

“Oh,” Adrien’s fingers fumbled between them, seeking her hand, so she helped him find it with electric fingers. “Well, if you’re sure, I would love that. How about it, Mari? My treat, pun-intended, of course.”

Her father piped up from the back, and Marinette could hear the sound of the oven opening; he must be working on the morning loaves. “Thatta boy! I knew I had a good feeling about this one, Mari!”

Chagrined, Marinette buried her face into Adrien’s arm, twisting to still hold his hand. “Papa…”

Her mother and that stupid head of blond hair seemed amused by her displeasure, sharing a hearty bout of laughter, but all of her irritation vanished when she felt a soft kiss against the top of her head.

Rebooting from her short-circuited system, Marinette quickly bid her parents goodbye (snatching a few day-old cookies and shoving them in her bag for Tikki) and began dragging Adrien down the street, back into the refreshing Paris air.

“They’re unbelievable, I swear. Sorry.” She avoiding his eyes, too embarrassed by the way they acted to do much else.

Adrien gave her fingers a squeeze. “That’s okay. Now you know how I felt yesterday at dinner.”

Scrunching her nose, Marinette couldn’t argue with that, but her pink cheeks did not fade until they made it to the cafe.

“So why’d your parents recommend this place?” He gazed at the sign. “Hang-Over-Easy? Oh my god, it’s a… a pun. This is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.”

She snorted and led him inside. “Well, they’re a twenty-four hour place, bar by night and breakfast by day. Maman probably figured the akuma wouldn’t mess with their routine.”

Adrien hummed a response, more concerned with his study of the eclectic bar-but-sort-of-cafe. The walls were bright yellow and boldly outlined in black, each surface decorated with varying degrees of egg-themed paraphernalia. It seemed especially funny juxtaposed beside the bar, stocked as it was with plenty of alcohol - after an early morning akuma attack, there were already a few patrons sipping on drinks.

Marinette left him to it for a moment, trying to catch the eye of the hostess.

“Um, a two-person table, please.”

The woman nodded. “Inside or out?”

“Oh,” she frowned, and turned to Adrien. “Do you have a preference?”

Blond locks shook across his forehead, so perfectly messy that it really wasn’t fair.

Swallowing her urge to shower him with a hundred kisses, Marinette sent a strained smile to the hostess. “Outside, please.”

They were led to a table, and it was certainly a treat to see everyone in Paris walking around in their early-morning wares (aside from the occasional person who had bothered to change - Adrien and Marinette agreed that those people were ‘no fun’). It seemed like most citizens were considering a productive day’s work to be a loss, and Marinette was feeling a little indulgent herself. How nice it would be to just skip out on the shop today, to spend the whole day lazing around with Adrien like this…

“Oh, Mari,” he sat up a little excitedly. “What’re these?”

“Hmm?” She blinked, following his gaze to a modest plant in the center of the little table. Bushy like a shrub, she frowned down at the yellow planter.

The flowers were tiny and few, radiant white against the deep green foilage. The small petals crossed over one another, sort of twisted to resemble a miniature vortex.

“I’m… I’m actually not sure. Maybe a Pinwheel Flower? They go by a dozen different names though - East Indian Rosebay, Coffee Rose, Crepe Gardenia... ”

Before Adrien had the chance to comment, their waiter appeared. A large, grizzly man with a kind smile and bushy gray beard, his nameplate read “Jean.”

“How’re you folks doing today?” He greeted warmly, not bothering with a pad and pen.

Adrien flashed a smile, and Marinette was pretty sure her heart stopped beating. “Absolutely great, thank you. I’ll have a coffee, please.”

“T-t-Two.” Marinette stuttered when their attention turned towards her. She felt dimwitted, forgetting herself so easily. Maybe she should have asked the EMTs for one of those breathing apparatuses they had given Madam Pomeroy.

“Cream or sugar?”

“Both please, and do you have crepes?” Adrien asked, and the man nodded. “Let’s get two of those, as well. Whatever flavor you recommend.”

Raising a brow, Marinette licked her dry lips as Jean walked away. “I thought you didn’t drink coffee?”

His cheer was irresistible, and he wore a lopsided smile. “I’ve taken a liking to it lately. And, if this is a Coffee Rose... or ‘Crepe Gardenia’, or whatever,” he pointed at the flower on the table. “I just thought, when are we ever going to get to have breakfast with a flower literally named after breakfast foods? I thought it might just be fate.”

“Fate,” she repeated, testing the word on her tongue before turning a reserved shade of pink. “I guess... it might be.”

Somehow, after years of falling for Adrien, and more than a few times actually falling over Adrien, things were finally, finally falling into place. He seemed almost as giddy around her as she him… just, with better coordination and manners. The curse that had rooted her Summer break to a halt, the job that had sentenced her to hard labor for crimes she didn’t commit, seemed to have been forgiving after all.

Marinette had him, all to herself (to Nino’s chagrin, if yesterday’s texts were any indication).

He and Alya had been instrumental to this, too, and she was abundantly thankful to her friends. Their patience with her and persistence with him had finally made sense of a stupidly confusing puzzle, sorting through the mess to find the corner pieces and wait for them to fill in the middle.

Adrien leaned forward a bit across the table. “Marinette? Are you okay?”

She would never tire of the way her name sounded from his lips. It only made her heart thump harder against her ribs.

“Yep. Just trying to remember the lore to these… I don’t remember much, since Mo never grew them. All I really remember is they’re nocturnal.”

“Nocturnal?” Adrien blinked, brow furrowing over the pot.

“Sort of. That type of flower - apocynaceae - bloom brightest during the night, and they’re supposed to smell really lovely. The sun drains them, and they don’t do super well during those hours. It might be early enough that you can still smell them... I guess it makes sense to have at a 24/7 place,” she mused, looking around the open-style patio that led into the bar.

Adrien, cued by her explanation, leaned forward and inhaled a few inches above the buds.

“Oh wow,” he remarked with a dreamy smile. “These do smell really great. C’mhere.”

Her hand had been resting on the table, and he gently tugged it forward so she would come nearer. The sudden proximity, divided simply by a small flower, made her blush even harder.

She caught his eye, and neither of them seemed at all interest in their conversation anymore.

“You’re pretty,” he said, quiet and sincere. Marinette’s lashes fluttered when his breath danced across her cheeks.

“And you’re silly,” she murmured with a teasing smirk.

Adrien squinted at her, and he looked about to say something when Jean reappeared with their coffee.

“Alright two cups -- whoa, sorry, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything!” He chuckled when they both flew apart, the sound a little uncomfortable.

Marinette, probably three octaves too high, answered. “Nope! Just fine thanks!”

The waiter left them their drinks and swiftly disappeared, the whole time Adrien fighting off waves of laughter.

“What?” She demanded, reaching for the cream.

Green eyes appraising her, he merely shook his head. “I just can’t believe you can go from fearlessly knocking someone out with your bare fist to being so cute and blushy like that. I can’t believe I get to date you.”

Marinette spilled some cream on her lap, startled as she was by his statement, and he didn’t let up while passing her a napkin.

“And not to mention how you are adorably clumsy. Gosh, you’re something, Mari.”

At that moment, she was definitely something reminiscent of a young Parisian woman, having breakfast in her pajamas, melted into a puddle of adoration and nerves. She was something, alright, something totally overcome with how in love she was with this boy.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculers #miraculous #miraculous fanfic #tales of ladybug and cat noir #ladybug and chat noir #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #marinette dupen-chang #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien x marinette #chat noir x marinette #marichat #adrinette #adrienette kiss #adrienette #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #flowershop au

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moranmagic · 7 years

Text

GDS3 Essays

I didn’t think I would do this yet but everyone else is so why not. I’ve also already written a post script about what I think I did well and where I missed the mark that you can read here.

1. Introduce yourself and explain why you are a good fit for this internship. 273 words

My name is William Moran and I've been playing and thinking about games my entire life. I graduated from Ohio State University with a bachelor's degree in English and currently operate a Jimmy John's store as the general manager.

I tackle problems with a critical eye and mind—I want to analyze how the details contribute to the greater picture. What's our objective and how do the small things we do along the way affect our ability to reach it? I trained at this in college as I looked at how all parts of a text are structured in order to convey and create meaning. I use this at Jimmy John's as I set short term and long term goals and work with my team in order to make those dreams our reality. I've observed and toyed with these interactions through games played since I was a child. I understand that changing any aspect of a game will change how it plays and I care about finding out how to make changes that will make games better.

I value gaming for the unique and entertaining experience it is, the way it creates a story, and how that brings people together. Games allow us to share a positive experience, sometimes with complete strangers. Creating that experience, giving people opportunities to make meaning and build stories with each other through game play, is the more important thing I feel a game can do.

If I am selected for this internship, I will devote myself to ensuring that Magic continues to be the incredible success that brings people together by creating fun new experiences for them.

2. An evergreen mechanic is a keyword mechanic that shows up in (almost) every set. If you had to make an existing keyword mechanic evergreen, which one would you choose and why? 343 words

Skulk was considered by R&D as an evergreen mechanic contender and I know a lot of players also thought it could be a shared mechanic for blue and black. It turns out the design space for skulk isn't very big. More than that, my assessment of the mechanic is that it's an evasion mechanic and putting it in blue and black doesn't make sense—those two colors already have the most evasion in the game and don't need more. I also think they want a shared mechanic that cares about combat between creatures. But I'm not talking about a shared mechanic for blue and black here. I'm talking about how I believe skulk could be useful to a different color.

Green's only evasion mechanic is trample. While green does get the odd Charging Badger and other small creatures with trample, it makes the most sense on large creatures that have more power to trample over blockers. Green lacks an evasion mechanic that makes sense for when its smaller creatures need a way to get through. What can we do there?

I propose skulk. I would suggest using it on small green creatures for evasion. Primary in green, then secondary but very sparingly used in blue and black only if their gluttony of other evasion mechanics really don't make sense for a design. Skulk does have limited design space and while I think green can make uniquely good use of it, my suggestion can't change that limit. Shifting it to green at least puts it in a color that has yet to see it and without it being a block mechanic it can be used more sparingly here. Some prior cards could even be made as color shifted variants in green (such as a creature with skulk and deathtouch).

Green's Giant Growth effects make pumping a skulking creature after blocks are (not) declared more of a reality. Now my 2/2 skulking bear might actually be five damage to the face if my opponent chooses not to trade with their own small utility creature.

3. If you had to remove evergreen status from a keyword mechanic that is currently evergreen, which one would you remove and why? 300 words

For me there is a hands down best answer that no other current evergreen keywords can even compete with: defender. I'd drop it.

Defender is a down side mechanic that prohibits a creature that has the mechanic from attacking. By the very nature of the mechanic, you can't use it a lot in set design. Defenders just sit there and eat damage without being able to progress the game toward an end and this simply prolong the game often without advancing the board state in a meaningful way. On the relatively few cards that use defender it would be no issue simply to write out this creature “can't attack.”

The bulk of defender designs can be classified as one of two types. The first type is 0/N creatures where they have zero power and some amount of toughness. With the ability to buff these cheaply and since they are costed knowing they can't attack, these designs absolutely need “can't attack” rules. But since you don't typically put a bulk of game play focus and rules text on a literal wall—sitting there blunting attacks doesn't make for exciting games—writing out the defender rules text on these cards won't greatly distract from other important elements.

The second type is a group of creatures designed around the idea they they lose defender. Hightide Hermit is the latest of these designs. By ditching defender and rewording he ability that causes it to be able to attack as if it didn't have defender, you can actually drop a line of rules text and the design looks cleaner to me overall. I'd word it as “Hightide Hermit can't attack unless you pay EE.” It parallels Propaganda effects and I'd really want to consider this wording even in a world where defender lives on at evergreen status.

4. You’re going to teach Magic to a stranger. What’s your strategy to have the best possible outcome? 348 words

First, let's define the best possible outcome so we know what we're hoping for: the stranger should walk away wanting to play more Magic. The best way we can get that result is for them to have fun.

When teaching a game, especially Magic, it's easy to get bogged down in the trap of explaining too much of the rules up front. Having taught a few people how to play Magic, my preferred method is to play first and explain as we go. I'll grab two of the new Planeswalker decks and give a brief hook about what they'll be doing: “You're an evil dragon mastermind and you want to make my life as miserable as possible!” Then we draw seven cards.

I like to play the very first game with our hands revealed. This lets me advise them about what to play—”Start with a land. Put it on the table in front of you.”—and if they have questions they can point to a card and ask me without feeling they're showing me information they should keep hidden. “Now you use that land to cast a spell. Turn it sideways to show you used it this turn.” Ideally they're casting a creature and soon swinging with it to attack me. Their first Magic experience is that they're really playing and I've explained the bare essentials like how lands match up with the colors of mana on costs.

They don't hear about a hundred different rules and specific game terms that would distract and overwhelm them. Perhaps most importantly, they see a narrative develop. Mighty wizards build up their forces by casting spells and increasing their power supply until one of them can tip the odds in their favor and seize the day.

I want them to enjoy the world and story of Magic they get a glimpse of through the cards. I want them to have fun trying to beat me in the game. If I can accomplish those two things then I know the answer to “Do you want to play again?” will be an emphatic “YES!”

5. What’s Magic’s greatest strength and why? 277 words

Without a doubt the best thing Magic has going for it is that game after game it still remains immensely fun. It does this by immersing the player in so many ways; the art looks cool, it's a social experience, it provides a unique challenge, there are so many ways to play it, and every game you play feels fresh and engaging.

I picked up the game back around 2006 because it looked interesting. I kept playing it because I was having fun even though I wasn't really sure my friends and I were playing it correctly. New players will come into the game out of curiosity, or because their friends play it, or because they found a sibling;s old cards in a shoebox. They'll stick with it only because they have fun with it. If they don't have fun then they'll put it down and look for something entertaining.

Players keep playing Magic because it's fun. Maybe it's the lore, or grinding tournaments, or obscure rules interactions that enable silly combos, or just spending time with friends playing a game. Whatever it is, they've found the parts of Magic that are the most fun for them. If those parts stop being fun, it's only a matter of time before they ask themselves how much longer they should indulge a hobby that stopped being as entertaining to them.

One immensely difficult aspect to continuing Magic's success is determining how all these different players, from the beginner to the veteran, enjoy the game and ensuring there's enough of that in the products released each your that they all remain happy and excited about what Magic is doing.

6. What’s Magic’s greatest weakness and why? 252 words

The answer's simple; complexity. Magic is so so so complex. It's hard to learn and harder to master. That's a big barrier to learning the game and even a barrier to continuing the game—even pros have limits as to how much complexity they can handle.

Now complexity isn't all bad. It's also a strength of Magic. The game wouldn't be as rich and rewarding as it is if it wasn't also complicated. But the trick is focusing that complexity so that there's a payoff for putting up with it. I shouldn't finish a game of Magic and feel like I just did taxes, but there can be some mentally taxing situations within the game. There can be difficult things to learn and rules to be aware of.

Ideally the complexity is fun. Tracking Storm count is just tedious bookkeeping except I know the payoff is coming and that it's me one shotting you with a Tendrils when that number gets high enough. That's the secret to making complexity work for the game; always point it toward a fun result. If the player knows a payoff is coming then the act of getting there becomes less tedious and even becomes a source of enjoyment.

The players trust that if they're doing something then there will be a reward for it. There HAS to be a reward. Point them in a direction and have it fizzle out after they've spent time and effort getting there and that's when complexity is really Magic's bane.

7. What Magic mechanic most deserves a second chance (aka which had the worst first introduction compared to its potential)? 257 words

Cipher is solid as an idea but it was executed poorly. What it did well is promise free copies of spells and require players to attack to get them. What it did poorly is hamstring development since the potential copies were unlimited, have limited design space, and use wonky wording (encode?).

I want a mechanic that still delivers free copies of spells and encourages attacking, but which can be developed better—and I'm not going to use “encode” to accomplish it, just words already commonly used in Magic. I'm calling the mechanic Spellstrike—you strike your opponent and you get spells. Think of it as Rebound meets Cipher. I'd word the reminder text something like “If you cast this from your hand, exile it on a creature you control as it resolves instead of putting it into your graveyard. After this turn, when that creature attacks, you may cast this card from exile without paying its mana cost.” This successfully navigates the failures of cipher while monopolizing its best aspects.

Because the second cast can only ever happen one time, the initial payment for the spell can almost certainly be less than what we saw for cipher (I would hope spellstrike doesn't ask 2UB for a 1/1 with flying). If triggering upon attack proved too powerful, it could be adjusted to be a combat damage to an opponent trigger as well, but my hope is that this successfully expands the design space since the mechanic now works as a combat trick and thus on instants as well as sorceries.

8. Of all the Magic expansions that you’ve played with, pick your favorite and then explain the biggest problem with it. 292 words

Eldritch Moon cranked the dial on Eldrazi to 11 when some people had had enough of them at 10. I'm not one of those people. I love Eldrazi and Shadows Over Innistrad block was such a unique blend of Emrakul and Innistrad that I fell madly in love (pun intended). That block, and Eldritch Moon specifically, is some of the best Magic I've ever experienced—from limited to constructed to the art, story, and individual cards, it all rocked! Which makes it a real shame that it came right after Battle for Zendikar block and part of the audience was burnt out on Eldrazi.

BFZ block particularly agitated people with some mechanical choices (devoid for one) that soured peoples' opinions of Eldrazi. Add into that Eldrazi are already contentious because of their specific game play previously (battle cruiser Magic and annihilator) and creatively because they look unsettling and destroy your favorite plane. People were ready to move on from Eldrazi after BFZ block and there was no better way than with the best plane ever, Innistrad. With no downtime between Elrazi catastrophes, instead the perception was that these horrors went on to destroy that plane in irreparable ways.

The lesson to take from this is to be aware of how a player's perception of “it's the same thing all over again” can link disparate mechanical elements because they share some important creative similarities. The Eldrazi of SOI block and incredibly different from the Eldrazi of BFZ block. Melding Eldrazi with horror was a spectacular move. But since the block was preceded by an Eldrazi block, all four sets were viewed almost as one mega block with shared failings when SOI block would have been better appreciated had there been some downtime between them.

9. Of all the Magic expansions that you’ve played with, pick your least favorite and then explain the best part about it. 297 words

Aether Revolts, especially draft, didn't transform the format substantially. It's not that it was bad, just that if I'm going to draft Kaladesh block, I'd rather draft triple Kaladesh instead of Kaladesh and something that feels like the set Kaladesh but isn't. What did Aether Revolt do best? Revolt!

How appropriate that the keyword mechanic that shares its name with part of the title of the set, revolt, was so dang good. I looked at revolt and though, “Seems like a remake of morbid.” And it is in part, sure. A creature dying will trigger revolt. But it's so different from morbid that it stands on its own in ways I wouldn't have guessed at first. Bouncing something back to your hand, exiling or flickering something, they all trigger revolt. I can still throw a little 1/1 against my opponent and see if they'll kill it. But I can also sac my Evolving Wilds. Let's talk about that for a moment because it highlights one of the best aspects of revolt and how it's definitely not just a morbid clone.

Typical game play with Evolving Wilds is to play it and then crack it on your opponent's next end step to search out your land, withholding the information of which land you want as long as possible while still getting it untapped to use on your next turn. But what if you need revolt active? Perhaps the best play now is to hold onto my Evolvng Wilds so I can activate revolt whenever I need to. I need to assess if the mana and fixing is more important than the revolt boost.

Any mechanic that can make me reassess a basic aspect of the game that I usually take for granted is doing some really good work.

10. You have the ability to change any one thing about Magic. What do you change and why? 282 words

I would abolish the legendary rule and make legendary simple a marker with no rules baggage.

Legendary is a negative mechanic in the rules sense—you can only control one copy of a legendary something. If you put four copies of of a legend in your deck then most of the time drawing multiple copies of that leaves you with dead cards in your hand. But on the flip side, legendary cards are usually cool and powerful cards that players will want to play even more than normal. They aren't often so powerful that a player needs to be limited to only controlling one copy at a time and the few times that is true, rules text on the specific card that recreates the legendary rule in some manner would do the trick.

Legendary creatures are things players want to play and they will be better able to play them if they can put four copies in their decks without being penalized for it with dead draws of what would otherwise be an awesome draw. Furthermore, ditching the legend rules means Magic is free to make anything a legend if it feels legendary. Why would you want to do that? Commander is such a popular format that it's snagged a dedicated yearly product slot. The best way to support that format is by printing more legendary creatures and being free to make creatures legendary especially when they will encourage a new deck archetypes in the format. If legendary is only used as a marker for cool unique creatures without rules baggage then, once again, you're free to make anything a legend if it feels legendary. Commander players around the globe will rejoice.

#gds3 #essays #mtg

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