#and roses are beautiful yet prickly! which i think can suit her well:)

[warpolomewdarkmatter]

QUICK FYI.? in my blosc:the adventure begins remake there would be a whole new storyline where everyone is convinced that buzz is zurg’s son because like 20+ years ago zurg created an offspring in a capsule but got bored very quickly and sent that child into space. and buzz was found in space debris and adopted, so it all makes total sense. but in the end of the movie zurg learns about this and laughs because that offspring 1. was tooootally evil 2. was a genetic mutant alien with horns 3. was a girl. ok? and in blosc:the movie:the remake:the sequel this daughter, roza, is a major villain who instead of conquiring the universe wants to destroy it completely and zurg has to show her that universe is actually a great place when it’s not in shambles and also that she doesnt have to be mad bc people could care about her (like her dad for example!!!) <3

[savagenutella46]

And Thus With A Kiss I Die

Jasonette 1/1 - A fic I wrote for @moonlitceleste because she’s amazing

All quotes/title in bold italics derived from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

"Banishèd' is banished from the world, and world's exile is death."

There's no finite end to where white and black meet. Everything is shades of grey; infinite on a foreboding scale of fate and destiny: entities that push you to make the choices you do.

It had ended with a flash of light—real or her imagination, she had witnessed it between her own eyes. The kind of flashing light that tells you, "you've died."

Ladybug could still hear the shrieks and screams of civilians echoing ringingly around her, confused, scared, as to why an akumatized villain was hurting them the way that it was; this wasn't how akumatizations usually went, maybe a few scratches, worn out knees, but never this.

(—And to think, it had started out as a normal day.

Marinette rose out of bed with the same grogginess lingering at the corner of her eyes, brushed her teeth, kissed her Maman on the cheek as she ran to school, late.

You'd never suspect you were going to die on a day so normal, so domestic.)

What had this person been through before submitting to Hawkmoth with such a vicinity? How had Hawkmoth prayed to a cacophony of emotions like this—to kill, order, destroy everything in its path? Marinette would never catch an inkling, dying and all that jazz.

It's easy to see the world through a rose-colored lens. To believe that people do the things they do because they're bad. (but no one ever talks about why they do the things they do because they're good.)

And Marinette, masked in all her red-and-black glory, had pushed a frozen-with-fear civilian out of harm's way, an absurd amount of unleashed dark magic from the akuma hurtling its way toward them, and she'd taken the hit. Rolled on the ground for yards from the sheer force that the akuma's magic had flew and stricken her and pierced the skin, blood splattering and trailing as she slapped and hit the street from every possible angle.

Ladybug can't move, can't call for help when she desperately needs to, because her partner is miles away trying to fight what has her plastered to the ground, laying limp underneath her dead weight, breathing muffled and heavy underneath her physical detriment.

Ladybug's eyes droop under the weight of exhaustion, barely running on fumes before she had run out in an attempt to defeat what was supposed to be an everyday activity.—Crazy, how something can seem so domestic until its so, so much more.—A hemothorax forming in her chest where Marinette had been hit, a very open thoracic cavity filling up with blood, and she's spluttering for breath, because her throat is closed up, filled with blood from where the akuma hit her to where it burned.

It burns real bad, almost like an explosion stemming from her chest to the nerve endings on her toes. Marinette feels like she's being tortured with every meek twitch of her wrist as she lays on the ground, unable to see over the car shouldering her path, the pain burning behind her eyes, the white-hot disappointment in her heart.

—And she knows it's time. Because this is the work of fate. Her life in its hands. It had seemed miles away from Marinette just this morning, and how she wished she could go back and cherish the moments since she'd arisen from unpremeditated slumber.

She cannot. This is her destiny, as it seems. No one can be saved if Ladybug cannot save herself, can't will herself to detransform and heal herself because she can't, and she feels a gripping amount of remorse before emotions hit her all around—she should've told Adrien something, she can't recall what it is—should've told her Maman she loved her before running out the door in such a rush—should've squealed about the hot superheroes in America with Alya one last time, before she feels nothing.

Nothing except for the white light. And then dark again. Absolutely nothing.

                                               _________________

It's dark when she opens her eyes, and she blinks to make sure her eyes are actually open, and sees a big, fat, load of nothing.

Marinette's—the ladybug suit had disappeared, her normal clothes taking its place—body feels light, floaty, and utterly weightless against the dark mass she's standing atop of. Her head feels eerily light, calm without the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a calm feeling washes over her.

Her voice echoes against endless sound barriers as she utters her first words since death.

"This is what death feels like, huh?" Utterly amazing. Marinette can't believe she didn't do this earlier.

—But, for a moment, she feels empathy. Empathy for the people stuck in Paris, wondering if this was the day they were going to die, the people all around the world living in fear of something so inevitable.

She closes her eyes for just a second, a moment of vengeful peace. Opens them again, and this time, she's somewhere different.

She's in a library. Unfamiliar, but welcoming all the same. The smell of crisp, unopened books float idly in her senses, a synthetic warm feeling creeping up behind her back. Distantly, she realizes that she recognizes the place, tables placed and shelves abundantly filled with books, ranging from science fiction to classic literature, and it feels exactly how it did all those years ago.

Years ago, when she'd first visited the United States of America, the first place her Maman and Papa took her was a public library in Gotham City, New Jersey. It had welcomed her so openly that she couldn't help but smile a little, slip under from her parent's grasp, and wander toward a vast section of William Shakespeare, someone she'd heard so much about in her eight—nine years, she couldn't help but be pulled toward the ordain shelf.

She'd even met someone, too. Her mother would forever deny—if Marinette had still been alive, but Marinette was convinced the little boy sitting against the mass of wooden shelves had been very, very real. Marinette had smiled at him, sat down next to him, even if he gave her a wary, and borderline aggressive look, she'd introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Marinette." She'd said with a horrible stutter and an almost unintelligible accent. The boy closed his book—a black and white cover with words she couldn't quite understand the meaning of as well as a simple name like Shakespeare's, and she smiled a little harder.

"Jason," He'd said in a heedful voice, staring at her curiously. "Whadda' you want?"

Marinette shrugged as best she could with weak shoulders, and turned her head from the person next to her to drink in every corner of the library that she could see without moving from her increasingly-uncomfortable crouch on the ground.

"Nothing. Just wanted to see what you're reading." She leaned over his shoulder, monosyllabic and complex English text alike filling her view, so many words that blurred together, and she felt a heat at the top of her head in frustration.

She couldn't read English.

The boy next to her—Jason, had seemed to recognize her distress and pull the book closer to him, floundering for a moment before he exhaled loudly, and started to read.

Words flowed out of the him, smooth and languid, and she found herself trapped in the moment, mesmerized by such an eloquent reading from a boy who looked just her age.

"What cursèd foot wanders this way tonight to cross my obsequies and true love's rite?" He reads off, breaking unevenly for gulps of air, and dove back right where he stopped without much distraction, and moments, minutes passed under his voice.

And the memory fell away from view. She opened eyes she didn't realize had closed when a voice seemed to float from the corner of her vision, a body stepping into view and a realized this wasn't imagination.

Another boy, dressed in tattered—but comfortable looking jeans finds his way over to her, a curious glint in his magnificent blue eye and a raised eyebrow, though he looks troubled, aged where he ought to look youthful.

"Who're you?" He mumbles, lips barely moving around syllables as he stares at Marinette, defensive, yet hopeful.

His voice. Despite the clearly street-wise accent, his voice is beautiful. A voice that could recite hundreds of words and never get old in the canals of her ears. Marinette found herself wanting to hear more.

"Marinette." She blinks, seems to realize the way he seems nervous, and, "You like jazz?" Blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which, just so happens to be the only sentence capable of such utterance in damning—literally—times like this one.

Jason finally cracks a smile after a few more moments of cricket-inducing silence, and the newfound tension in her shoulders seems to melt away again, just as it did with her entrance to a magnificent limbo such as this. "Not in particular, but I do like to read." His smile is utterly contagious, and Marinette feels it spread its way along her own face, eyes crinkling under the weight of emotion.

They spend their days in an endless limbo like that, reading, laughing, sometimes in the comfortable chair in the library, and sometimes they're gazing upon clouds, feeling the prickly sensation of grass under their backs as they lie next to one another under a cool breeze and warm sun—which is the scene they're settling in, when Marinette turns her head toward the boy next to her.

"It's been," She pauses for a moment, adding up the days since they've both died—it had to be around the same time—and Jason turns his head toward her in a similar fashion, an eyebrow raised. "A few months? And..." She trails off, suddenly feeling less confident in a horrid question.

She knows the way she had died hadn't been peaceful, and if the boy she'd grown so close to in months of passing had died as painfully, he might doubt their budding friendship, as new as it is.

But then Jason reaches over and covers her hand with his, a blooming warmth enveloping her hand all the way to her heart, her vision snaps back to where it had wandered down to the rest of her body, reliving a turret of emotions. "Marinette," Jason stares at her in earnest, "You can ask."

Another thing she'd never understand was Jason's ability to read people so well. He'd always know her intentions, as bad or good as they may be, like something mundane, a book she'd eyed for a few minutes before he'd sighed heavily and got up to get it for her, or when Marinette wanted to be left alone. Just for a minute, to pull herself back together.

"How did you die?" She watches as Jason closes his eyes, curling in on himself despite the foretold question, and waits.

She's good at waiting. (A familiar feeling of heat creeping up to her cheeks, the same way it did with someone else, not so long ago, but in a different lifetime.)

"It started out when I tried to steal Batman's tires—" Marinette widens her eyes in surprise.

Oh, so they're going way back then, huh?

But by the time Jason finishes speaking, pats his sweaty hands down on the slacks he wore that day that came from God knows where, Marinette finds the humor and her mood had dimmed significantly.

And Jason, he looks terrible. Like it was the first time he'd said something about it since, well, death. Almost hyperventilating, Jason is breathing heavily, gripping onto his pants with malice and intent, almost as if stopping himself from something. He'd told his beginning to end with an increasingly shaky voice, cracking at the edges where he'd relived the fear and abandonment he felt when trapped in an unfamiliar country, in a dirty warehouse, trapped in his own feelings in a suit that he thought would always protect him.

Without a dad that he'd thought would always protect him.  

Marinette feels a little sick. The boy next to her had died so brutally, alone, scared and slowly.

"I don't regret it. Being Robin." He adds quietly after a moment of hesitation. It's small, but it's there and plain. He doesn't regret something that changed his life, but— "Just the death part."

He would want to change his death, and she couldn't agree more.

If only it meant they could've still met despite living, that is.

She doesn't say that. Instead, she laughs a little. "You and me both." Marinette reaches over to hold his hand once more, and pretends not to see the tears climbing out of his eyes.

"So early waking, what with loathsome smells, and shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, that living mortals, hearing them, run mad—?"

How it felt to tear his way out of the ground, shivering, shaking, flinching at the way his fingernails tore away with every claw and scratch at the unyielding wood before him. Jason was vaguely aware of a horrible groaning noise that might've been his own, but when his hand stuck through to crisp Gotham air, dirt flinging and spilling down on his face as he gasped and choked for breath, he could only think of a single quote from such a cliche play.

He thought of it while tearing out the bloody uvula of his victim, spurred on by the Pit and Talia's ruthless training, starving for the sound of screaming that rung in his ear, continued to clang loudly even in sleep, when it bestowed itself upon him.

Because he couldn't think about anything else. Wouldn't allow himself to, because then he would start thinking about her.

About how she left him.

Jason had turned to retrieve a book from their peaceful library limbo one day, muttering to himself about something so mundane that he didn't even remember, but he'd grabbed the book—a simple fiction, because they were both bored of astronomy—and turned around to silence, instead of the shiny mop of dark hair he was expecting.

"Marinette?" Jason calls, swiveling his head around when the chair previously occupied by her stood empty.

Jason waits.

He doesn't know how long he waits, searches, but she isn't there.

And the feeling of disappointment and fear runs up his spine again, before he knows it, he's kneeling on the ground, trying to catch his breath as tears run down because he's been abandoned again, and it's just as damning as the first time.

His father, his brother, his mother, his birth mother, and now his friend.

Jason breaks down again, gripping harshly onto his hair while he cries, where he'd usually hold onto Marinette's hand.

So he doesn't think of much at all, really. Not when he turns on murder mode, not when he forces himself to stare into the eyes of the person he's killing while they die, because he wants to remember how it felt. How it felt before he met another superhero torn away from her life almost as harshly as he was ripped away from his own.

He wants to go back. Before he flew to Ethiopia unsupervised and unprepared, before he took the Robin mantle, before he decided to make quick cash off of the Batmobile, before his mother died by her own hands, loosely holding a syringe and shaking, shuddering from her overdose.

Jason wants to go back to Before. He can't stand living in the After, where he makes the choices he does.

He’s supposed to be good.

permanent taglist: @nathleigh @stainedglassm @officiallydarkgeek @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @buterflies-and-ladybugs @maskedpainter

[edendaphne]

“Discordant Sonata” Ch. 11

(Feat. beautiful artwork I commissioned from the amazing @corgi-likes-chat!) **Edit: I moved the image above the cut so it could be admired by everyone who scrolls by 😍

Time for some Ladynoir! :D

>Read it here on Ao3<

>Read it here on Wattpad<

CHAPTER 11: CAMBIARE

Music glossary:   Cambiare: a musical instruction indicating some kind of orchestral change, such as using a new instrument.

(Mood music: Love Like You (Piano cover) - Steven Universe)

Ladybug squirmed nervously on her own family room sofa, sitting face to face across from her very own parents. Her skin felt prickly and uncomfortable, and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve suspected Tikki of lacing her suit with itching powder as a prank.

The aforementioned husband and wife were none the wiser about her substantial anxiety, for they were far too shocked (as well as star-struck) about the sudden appearance of Paris’ beloved hero at their doorstep that morning. Their eyes were glued to her, following her hand as she raised a glass of orange juice to her mouth, as if it had never occurred to them that Ladybug would ever have to eat or drink. She would have found it hilarious if she wasn’t so utterly terrified about asking them to let Chat stay at their house until he was fully healed.

She’d shown up at their house an hour before the bakery opened, claiming that she’d seen Chat Noir’s signal on her communicator and had become worried; and that she was looking for him. They ushered her in and explained what had happened, and had quickly agreed when she asked them if they’d be willing to house him for a little while longer.

The superheroine took a long gulp to calm her nerves, then continued in her most professional voice, “Thank you for understanding. I’m ever so grateful that you’re willing to help us in these difficult times. If I were able to take Chat Noir into my own home, I most definitely would. But as it stands, our identities remaining a secret, even from each other, is of utmost importance.”

“Of course, Ladybug, we understand!” Sabine chirped emphatically. “We’re happy to help! Especially after all you do every day for our city; it’s the least we can do. Chat Noir is welcome to stay for as long as he’d like.”

“Thank you for entrusting us with this information,” Tom chimed in. “It’s good to know that he’s not under Hawkmoth’s control anymore.” He crossed his arms with a frown. “I just can’t believe that evil man would try to kill his own ally!”

“You and I both,” Ladybug replied, unable to conceal the sadness in her voice. “It seems Chat Noir was attempting to mediate peace between both sides; but as you can see, it backfired terribly.” She added sadly, “If only I’d known, I could have fought alongside him against Hawkmoth.”

The girl couldn’t suppress the heavy sigh that escaped her lips. She’d always tried to maintain an assertive, optimistic air about her while in the company of other people. But these weren’t just “other people”; they were her parents . Somehow, here, at this moment, with the people she was the most comfortable being vulnerable around, maintaining that composure was remarkably difficult. The emotional wounds were too fresh, the fear too overwhelming.

“Don’t blame yourself, Ladybug,” Sabine replied comfortingly, reaching forward and squeezing the hand on her lap. “You’re doing the best you can, but you can’t do everything . That’s why we want to help however we can.”

“Yes, you can count on us!” Tom exclaimed. “So, do you have a phone number or…? Is there a way for us to keep in touch with you?”

Ladybug brought out her yo-yo, opening it to show them her communicator. “Chat Noir and I can call each other from our weapons. They also serve as tracking devices between us. It’s how I found you today; I can follow his signal when he’s transformed.”

“Tracking signal?” Tom asked curiously. “Couldn’t you use it to find Hawkmoth?”

She shook her head. “It only works for miraculous holders who are allies. That’s why it works between me and Chat now… and why Hawkmoth can’t trace him anymore. He won’t be able to find him here.”

“I see,” Tom answered, pursing his lips into a thin line, brows furrowed in consternation.

Ladybug could tell that her father still seemed ill at ease about something, adding a bit of tension into the air. She brought the glass back to her lips and took her time sipping the juice, filling the silence until he could sort out what he wanted to say. The question hovered on his tongue, as if he was worried he’d offend her, but ultimately he couldn’t ignore his concern.

He rubbed the back of his head nervously when he finally spoke, “I’m sorry to ask this, but… Are you absolutely positive that Chat Noir is a good guy now? Do you truly, honestly know that he won’t betray you?”

A sliver of doubt briefly flashed inside Ladybug, its sharp thorns trying to worm their way inside her heart.

She mercilessly squashed that knot of apprehension in her chest, utterly furious at herself for allowing it to form in the first place. After all, Chat Noir was literally in the next room, recovering from his brush with death.

She chased the hated feeling away with all her memories of him, thinking about the way he made her feel; how protective she felt of him. During her daily life, her thoughts often drifted back to him, wondering if he was safe, wondering if he was happy. She thought back to how he had confided to her as Marinette just a few hours prior. She couldn’t allow any hesitation whatsoever to take hold; not after all they’d been through together so far. Despite their history, or maybe because of it, Chat had absolute faith in her; and she had to have the same amount of faith in him. She needed to believe that he was strong enough to overcome his past. That he wouldn’t allow himself to be manipulated by Hawkmoth once again.

Tom’s question was a reasonable one. Her father loved his family fiercely and would do absolutely anything to keep them safe. Last night had been evidence enough of that. However, she wasn’t sure if she could explain to her parents just how important Chat was to her, or how they were so intrinsically linked by fate. She yearned to be able to tell them more. After all, how could she possibly express that she was, and forever would be, connected to him?

She fixed Tom with a piercing gaze, voice laden with sincerity. “I trust Chat Noir with my life.”

Tom and Sabine looked at each other with matching smiles.

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Like my wife said, he can stay for as long as he wants.”

“We’re so happy that you finally have a partner,” Sabine said, reaching over and squeezing her hands again.

Ladybug smiled and squeezed back, letting out a small sigh of relief. “You’re both extremely generous. I really can’t thank you enough. I don’t think he has anywhere else to go. Not anywhere that would be safe for him, anyway. I’ll talk to him and see what he says. If he agrees to stay, I’ll be sure to visit from time to time to see how you’re all doing.”

“Sounds great,” Tom replied. “Let us know if there’s anything else you need.”

Ladybug eyed the guest bedroom door, pointing to it. “Actually, do you mind if I–”

Sabine nodded. “Please, go right ahead. We need to start getting everything ready for opening hours anyhow.”

“Thank you.”

They all rose and shook hands, with Sabine offering a motherly hug afterwards. The familiar, loving arms encircling Ladybug offered her more comfort than Sabine could possibly know. Making a mental note of doing something extra nice for them this week (she owed them big time), she made her way to the guest bedroom.

She had scarcely turned the door handle when she was knocked to the ground as the door swung open, a stupefied, rather ruffled (yet thankfully, fully clothed) Chat Noir inelegantly tumbling on top of her with a deadpan “OW.” He propped himself up on his arms, hovering above her, both of them wearing matching bewildered expressions, complete with dropped jaws.

“L-LADYBUG!! W-what a pleasant surprise!” he stuttered, face red, looking quite like a cat who’d been caught in the act of unfurling an entire toilet paper roll.

Her face paled. “Chat! Are you okay? Did that hurt?!”

He cracked an impish smile and replied with a playful chuckle, “You mean, when I fell from heaven?”

Quickly recovering from the abrupt non-greeting, Ladybug’s wide eyes narrowed and she quirked a teasing grin. “Why, Monsieur Noir, you couldn’t possibly have been eavesdropping, could you?” she teased.

“N-no, mademoiselle! Not me, not at all! Why would I do such a thing?” he forced an innocent laugh, which only succeeded in making him sound even more guilty.

“Sooo, you were just leaning on the door for no reason whatsoever?”

“T-that’s right, Milady! Nothing suspicious about that, of course!”

She made a brief hum, trying to conceal her amusement. “I must say, I’m not entirely convinced, Chaton.”

Chat pouted his lips. “You wound me, Bugaboo! I just happened to overhear that my favorite superhero had dropped by.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I believe I’m the only superhero you know, silly.”

“Well… you’re still my favorite,” he winked at her with a roguish look that caused her breath to catch, a rush of heat and color flooding to her cheeks.

A brief wheezing noise jolted them from their banter, and their heads whipped around to meet the Dupains’ flabbergasted stares, mouths hanging open like oven doors.

For a few awkward moments, the ticking of a wall clock was the only sound that resonated across the room, louder than Ladybug had ever heard it tick.

“UMMM, here,” Chat finally broke the silence, scrambling to stand up and offering his hand.

“Um… Thanks,” she replied.

A few more seconds ticked by, and Ladybug indistinctly wondered if this was what it felt like to be in a police lineup.

“SO! Uhh…” Tom began with a sputter.

“We’re just gonna–” Sabine muttered haltingly, pointing towards the living room exit.

“Yes!! Go right ahead! Please excuse us, THANKYOUFORYOURHOSPITALITY!!!” Ladybug cried, grabbing Chat by the bicep and practically dragging him into the guest bedroom, then closed the door behind them with a (louder than she intended) thunk.

(Mood music: I Was Lost Without You (piano version) - Mass Effect Soundtrack )

Ladybug leaned backwards onto the closed door with a mighty “PHEW!”, closing her eyes in thankful reprieve. The talk with her parents had gone much better than she’d anticipated, despite the ridiculous and abrupt parting. All that was left was to convince Chat to stay. Maybe he’d listen to Ladybug, since her words carried more authority than Marinette’s due to her status as a protector of the city.

“So, you found me,” Chat’s lilting voice brought her back into the moment. She opened her eyes and saw him across the room, arms crossed and leaning against the far wall. He wore his usual carefree smirk, but she noted his tensed shoulders and the position of the cape, purposely positioned to hide the bandages and bruises on his arm. Trying to downplay the severity of his injuries, she realized.

Ladybug put her hands behind her back and pursed her lips, replying impassively, “I did.”

Nervous butterflies filled her insides. Chat had told her as Marinette that he didn’t want Ladybug to find out he’d been hurt. Would he be upset that she’d shown up out of the blue? The thought of him not wanting to see her sent a cold, uncomfortable trickle down her spine. This wasn’t how she wanted their partnership to kick off. Instead of a joyous flurry of excitement and camaraderie, it had all turned somber and ominous, with the added burden of having to be even more cautious and alert than ever from now on.

UGH , this was so hard!! She hated that she couldn’t tell him her identity, or know his. It would make things so much simpler if there didn’t have to be any more secrets between them. Fu had explained why he shouldn’t know her identity; the risk of akumatization was still too great. But why shouldn’t she know his? Wouldn’t knowing who he was in real life make it easier for her to be able to look out for him? She made a mental note to visit Fu as soon as Chat recovered so they could discuss the matter further, along with the myriad of other questions about their current situation.

Putting those concerns on hold for a later date, Ladybug asked Chat hesitantly. “How are you feeling?”

Smiling wide, he replied, “Great! Fit as a fiddle, Bugaboo! Don’t you worry your gorgeous little head; I’m always ready and at your service.” As if to demonstrate, he stepped away from the wall, and bowed with a flourish.

“Is that right?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Of course! See for yourself.” He shifted his stance, suppressing a wince that she might’ve missed had she not been looking closely; and he stood hand on hip in the trademark cocky pose she’d seen countless times before, almost imperceptibly bearing most of his weight on one leg.

“Uh-huh…” she replied skeptically, eyeing him up and down. “So why are you walking with a limp?”

Chat’s face scrunched up like he’d sucked on a lemon. Shrugging, he fumbled out, “I– uh… stubbed my toe on the bedpost?” He pointed back towards the bed and gave her the phoniest, most ridiculous cheshire grin; and had it been any other occasion, she would’ve busted out laughing at his antics.

Instead, she frowned. “Chat…” she said with a disapproving tone and he winced in response.

She walked slowly towards him, stopping just past arm’s length.

“You know you can tell me anything. The most important part of being partners–of being friends – is trust and honesty.” She lifted her hand, placing it gently on top of his hidden arm. Her voice got softer, more solemn; she continued, “I’m sure you’ve had to hide a lot of things from Hawkmoth; out of fear. But you have nothing to fear from me. I promise.”

He looked away, expression changing completely, becoming downcast. Looking almost ashamed somehow, which made Ladybug’s heart ache. Chat slowly removed his cloak, revealing the heavily bandaged arm underneath, and set the garment down on the bed.

He bit his lower lip, absentmindedly rubbing his wounded arm. “How did you find out that I was… th-that I wasn’t okay?”

“I–” Ladybug’s gaze dropped, staring intently at the floor. “I don’t really know how to explain it, but… I could feel that something was wrong. Like an intuition, or a sixth sense. You and I are linked, and that connection is stronger now that we’re officially a team,” she explained. “I just couldn’t shake off that vibe, that feeling of wrongness. I had to look for you and see for myself. Your signal drew me here, and the Dupains explained everything.”

“I had no idea…” Chat said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really worried about Pl... my kwami. Plagg. He’s…” He cleared his throat; his hands fidgeted restlessly with the belt around his midsection. “I-I can’t detransform. I have no idea how long I’m gonna stay like this. Th-that’s never happened to me before. Keeping up the transformation is... i-it must really be taking its toll on Plagg and his powers.” He looked at her with eyes full of concern and fear. “I just… I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.” His eyebrows quirked upwards, as if daring to hope for answers. “Has… the Guardian ever mentioned something like this happening in the past? With other miraculous holders?”

She nodded. “I’m told that it’s a failsafe to protect the wielder. You’ll remain transformed until you’re fully healed.” She disliked having to omit so many of the details, like Fu’s involvement in this case and the special potion that he prepared for Plagg, but there was no way to share that without revealing her identity.

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s really good to know. Thank you,” he uttered with a tiny smile.

Ladybug smiled back tenderly, noticing the way some of the tension left his shoulders, his posture relaxing somewhat. Chat’s concern for his kwami touched her, reminding her of her own relationship with Tikki. It made her feel better that they’d had each other throughout these horrible past few years.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t contact you. I didn’t want you to worry. You’ve already been through so much because of us– because of me. Yesterday I promised that I’d never give you any more trouble again.” He swallowed thickly, looking away, blinking rapidly as if trying to fend off tears that were threatening to form. “But I guess I can’t even do that right. I’m sorry.”

Chat’s entire person radiated shame and self-loathing. It was obvious that he placed her well-being above his own, both physical and emotional, as if his own was irrelevant or unimportant.

But how could he possibly be upset at himself for almost dying? Why in the world would he be apologizing and thinking that he was an inconvenience to her?! Was this something he had to do often back at home with his father?

Her mind stopped in its tracks. Her brows furrowed, realization dawning upon her like freezing rain.

She understood.

This was all he knew.

Apologizing was second nature to him. Apologizing for any actions that were perceived as mistakes. Apologizing for having opinions. Apologizing for having feelings. Years upon years of having to hide his inner self for fear of repercussion.

Chat having an opinion was of no matter to Hawkmoth. As far as he was concerned, Chat’s emotions were inconsequential, trivial at best.

And the worst part was: Chat had believed him. He’d had to ignore his thoughts and beliefs since who knows when, convinced that his feelings truly did not matter. She realized this now, and it hurt. The fact that he’d managed to avoid becoming a cold, cruel person in spite of this was astounding, to say the least.

When was the last time his emotional needs were met? Did he even know, or remember, what that was like?

Ladybug’s skin felt icy, yet her insides were scorching with fiery indignation. Towards Hawkmoth. Towards herself. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest and she couldn’t contain herself anymore.

She cried, practically yelling, “NO, don’t you be sorry!!” She surged forward, crossing the remaining distance, her own eyes quickly becoming wet.

Chat’s confused gaze shot up to meet hers, eyes still glossy.

“This was all my fault! I shouldn’t have left you all alone after the akuma attack! It was.. UGH!! I was so stupid!!”

Ladybug crossed her arms tightly, curling in on herself, as if she was trying to become as small as she felt inside.

“I got so distracted by everything that had happened and didn’t even consider that you’d be in such danger. I should’ve met up with you later and figured something out, helped work out an escape plan, or something! I should have known!! I should’ve– AUGH!!” She covered her face with her hands with a choked sob, tears finally falling freely. “It was my fault that you got hurt! I’m the one who needs to apologize!!”

Chat paled, stiff as a board as he watched her crying, shaking form.

Hands shooting up to grasp her shoulders, he exclaimed in distress, “My Lady, no!! No, please don’t think that! There’s nothing for me to forgive! You had no way of knowing! Oh, please don’t cry, Bugaboo… Not for my sake. It wasn’t your fault. Never!”

He pulled her into his arms, both of them trembling slightly. He gingerly stroked the back of her head as she lay against him, sobbing quietly.

“Hawkmoth is to blame here, not you,” he cooed. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

“But I could have prevented this! I almost lost you!” she insisted, sniffling and hiccuping uncontrollably.

He squeezed her tightly. “Hey, I’m still here. It’s okay. It was a close call, but I’m alright now, I promise,” he reassured her. “There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it, believe me. He would have found me sooner or later; of that I’m sure.”

“I should’ve at least been there with you when you faced him,” she retorted.

She felt him shake his head. “I’m glad you weren’t. I couldn’t live with myself if anything had happened to you, too.”

“You… you don’t think we could have defeated him, together?” she asked hesitantly, looking up at him through a blurry lens of damp eyelashes.

“It’s hard to say.” Chat frowned, his view distant. “I found out that he’s done... something to augment the strength of his miraculous. Something risky and unnatural. I don’t know what or how. But it’s affecting him; him and his miraculous. He’s immensely powerful, but also incredibly unpredictable. Volatile. I think he’s losing control, not just of his powers, but of his own mind.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure how to respond to this revelation. An intense chill gripped her, clawing insistently from the back of her neck, and she couldn’t help but nuzzle closer against Chat’s warm chest, careful not to irritate the deep gash on his torso.

What could Hawkmoth have done to achieve such a feat? And why? A storm of questions inundated her brain, the sheer amount almost dizzying. There was so much uncertainty and danger in their future, and, truth be told, she wasn’t just scared; she was absolutely terrified. What could two not-quite-adults possibly do against this kind of a threat? She hadn’t felt this unsuited to bear the title of Ladybug since the day she first accepted the earrings.

As her tears slowed and her sight became less obscured, she froze as she caught sight of what was poking out from under Chat’s collar. Deep purple, almost black bruises around his neck, the passage of time having darkened them to their current sickly hue. She hadn’t noticed them last night, as he was so covered with blood, dirt, and scratches that one could scarcely tell one wound from another. And they certainly weren’t this color.

Her stomach twisted and her eyes widened in horror as she realized the implication of such an injury. How could that monster do such a thing to his own son?!?

She whimpered softly, trying to choke back another sob.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair!!

Why should he have to suffer so much more than she ever had?? Or more than anyone else she knew, for that matter? How could the universe be so unjust, so incredibly cruel?!

Her eyes conjured up a new flood of tears, and she didn’t even register that she’d reached up to stroke the bruises on his neck, pulling down on his collar slightly so she could examine them; caressing them as though she could make them disappear if she only wished for it hard enough.

Chat gasped slightly at the contact, cheeks reddening at the intimacy of her touch. She could feel his chest rise and fall, his breathing shifting into a new rhythm.

She spoke, voice soft and airy, almost a whisper, her breath ghosting against his neck, “I wish I’d known it sooner; known what you’ve had to go through all these years.”

Chat smiled sadly, letting out a short, thoughtful noise. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I would’ve been ready to accept your help back then. I think I had to figure out for myself just how far my father had fallen. That we were chasing after something that wasn’t meant to be.”

Ladybug made a mental note to ask him about said objective some other time, when he wasn’t under such physical and mental stress. Surely the goal was something extremely significant for Chat to have blindly obeyed Hawkmoth for all these years. But what was it?

Ladybug pressed her lips together into a thin line. “I just… Hawkmoth needs to be stopped. I won’t let him hurt you again. I need to be better. I need to do more .”

“You’re already doing plenty, Buginette. And you’ve managed it all by yourself all these years; don’t sell yourself short,” he replied earnestly. “You’ve helped me so much already. Way more than I deserve.”

A sharp pang of sorrow struck her heart upon hearing him speak this way yet again. Before the night of their ballroom dance, she’d thought that Chat’s ostentatious bravado and cockiness were merely due to arrogance and egotism. It had made it easier to fight when she believed her enemy was just a rotten smart aleck.

But now she knew better; it had all been for show.

Did he have any other loved ones in his personal life? She really hoped so. Although, she suspected that if he did, his past actions would make him feel like that love was ill-deserved.

If only there was a way that she could help him realize how genuinely amazing he was. Just… how wonderful and unique and precious. This desire, this need to make him understand this, took root inside her heart, almost like a tangible weight that would refuse to go away until appeased.

Ladybug gently cupped Chat’s jaw and turned his head down to face hers. “Kitty… That isn’t true. You deserve so much more. You’re kind, selfless, and brave. I’ve never met anyone like you. Or anyone who’s overcome as much as you have. The only thing you don’t deserve is the horrific treatment you’ve suffered at the hands of that monster. Your worth is immeasurable, whether you realize it or not.” She paused, her eyes bored fiercely into his. “But I know it.”

Chat gaped at her, his face full of emotion. “Ladybug…” he murmured, voice rough and strained, as if he were trying to hold something back.

Ladybug stared into Chat’s impossibly green eyes, which were currently looking at her as if she was the dearest treasure he’d ever held. The chill down her spine changed into an almost overwhelming heat, and yet she couldn’t help but immerse herself in the fire of his gaze.

She stroked his cheek with her thumb, her brows turning upwards sorrowfully. “If only there was a way I could help make up for what you’ve lost. Some way to help the other ‘you’. The one behind the mask.” She sighed and whispered, “I wish I could tell you who I really am...”

Chat’s face reddened further and she felt him stiffen a bit. “I-I…” he trailed off, unsure of how to reply.

He swallowed thickly, and seeing the movement of his Adam’s apple was enough to make Ladybug become hyper-aware of how far she’d gotten into his personal space. She jolted upright, apprehension drenching her like a bucket of water, and her hand jerked back as if shocked by electricity. She winced, internally freaking out that her words and actions were unwelcome or too forward.

Why did I even bring up our identities?? God, I must be making him so uncomfortable!! Why do I always blurt out stuff like a total idiot when I’m with him?!

“S-sorry, I shouldn’t have–” she stuttered, looking away and wiping furiously at her tears. She started to step away from him, immediately missing the comfort of his broad, warm chest.

“Wait!” Chat interjected. He stopped her from pulling away fully, holding her hand and keeping her close, almost touching. He gently lifted her chin with his other hand, so she would meet his eyes again. She left out a soft gasp, her cheeks heating up under his intense gaze.

“My Lady…” he uttered longingly, voice low and thick with emotion.

Piercing emerald eyes held hers captive, so mesmerizing and beautiful that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to look away even if she desired to. It felt as though he was staring past the mask and straight through into her soul, able to understand it. Able to understand her.

He continued fervently, “I swear to you that as soon as you feel it’s safe to do so, I’ll be the first to reveal my identity to you. Just say the word. I trust you, one hundred percent.”

A pleasant wave of goosebumps covered her entire body, and she could only reply with a timid smile, a bright blush creeping on her cheeks yet again.

This wasn’t how she’d planned for their reunion to go. There’d been a lot more tears and a lot less professionalism than she’d expected. Regardless, they’d cleared the air and paved the way to move forward. Together.

Ladybug squeezed his forearm lightly, trying to blink away her remaining tears. “I’m sorry… I’m supposed to be the one comforting you, not the other way around.”

“Let me,” he replied, stroking her cheek softly and wiping the wet streaks. “And let yourself accept it. You’re incredibly strong, Buginette. Both physically and mentally. But you’re not invulnerable. And you’re overworking yourself. You didn’t get any time to recover from everything that happened to you yesterday. I want to take care of you, too. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it, without question. Anything at all.”

The girl couldn’t help but blush at his honesty and forthrightness, almost too flustered to realize that he’d given her the perfect opportunity to ask for the thing that most heavily weighed on her mind at the moment. Almost.

Well… here goes.

Ladybug squeezed his hand tightly. “Chat… Will you stay? Here, with the Dupains?” she asked hopefully. “I just… I need to know you’ll be alright. Please?”

Upon hearing this, Chat visibly shrunk into himself a bit, brows turning upwards in concern. He replied nervously, “I-if that’s what you want. A-and as long as they’re really okay with it. Yes, I’ll do it. I can stay.”

She smiled broadly at him, elated to hear him agree. He was staying! He was going to be okay!! A healing wave of relief washed away the immense worry about his safety, and she felt significantly lighter. Practically throwing herself at him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave his cheek a long, loud smooch, eliciting a small gasp from him.

“That’s great!!” she cried happily, pulling him into a tight hug. “The Dupains will take good care of you, I promise! I’ve already talked to them about it. They’re willing to let you stay for as long as you need.”

He hugged back, albeit a bit flustered. “A-are you sure it’s alright? I’m just... scared of anything happening to them because of me.”

Ladybug pulled away enough to be able to look into his eyes. “I understand why you’d be worried, but believe me, everything will be fine. Hawkmoth would never think to look for you here. Taking care of your wellbeing is the priority, and they want to help us. They’re good people. It’ll be good for you to be around them. And…” She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “You’ll be safe. That’s what’s most important to me right now. You deserve to be able to sleep at night without being afraid.”

He looked upon her tenderly, gaze full of wonder and affection. He sighed and uttered, voice laden with awe, “You’re incredible… ” He cleared his throat, face turning bright pink, and stammered, “Th-that is… You’re all amazing. I’ll make sure to be the best houseguest ever.”

Ladybug giggled, her own cheeks flushed. “I don’t doubt it, Chaton,” she replied fondly, squeezing him back into the biggest hug she could manage. Chat’s arms wrapped around her waist in response, clinging onto her like a lifeline.

Ladybug sighed happily, and she heard, as well as felt, that same low, throaty purr she’d come to recognize immediately. She loved it.

It felt great to be able to rest easy knowing exactly where Chat was and that his life wasn’t in constant peril. Knowing that he was being cared for instead of being abused, or being forced to do something he didn’t want.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, just reveling in each others’ companionship. They’d earned this short reprieve.

But of course, as much as they’d both wanted it to, this moment couldn’t last forever.

Ladybug exhaled through her nose wearily, giving him one last squeeze. “I should go.”

Chat pulled away but still kept her close, standing almost chest to chest against each other. He gazed at her with eyes full of yearning and fascination.

“When can I see you again?” he asked softly. “I’d love to spend more time with you.”

Fire spread through Ladybug’s chest, quickly rushing to her face, and she had to fight the bout of speechlessness that threatened to overcome her. Her eyes dropped from his own like stones, only to land on his toned abdominals, which caused the burning to intensify. Again they fled, darting around, searching for something else to focus on, anything, until they finally settled on the hardwood floor.

Why was she reacting this way to what he said?! He just wanted to spend time together! That’s what friends do, right?! So why was she getting so hot and bothered over it??

Despite her brain temporarily short-circuiting, she miraculously managed to remember that Chat Noir was supposed to remain beside Tikki for the next two days, and should stay here at home.

She skittishly twiddled with the ends of her hair, stammering, “Oh! I- umm! My schedule? I-I have to– I need... school shopping! For school! ‘Cuz it starts next week! A-and, uh... You need to get in my bed. UM, I-I mean... I need to get in your bed. Wait, NO!!” she squawked, waving her hands around like a madwoman. “THAT IS, YOU NEED TO GET BACK IN BED!! T-to get some rest!!! S-so how about… Saturday?”

She facepalmed audibly. WOW, Marinette, just wow. Real smooth. First you amaze him with your incoherent blubbering and bawling, and get his shirt all wet. And now you astound him with your sterling display of eloquence. Great job making a good impression of a person who’s got all their crap together! UGH!

Was there any chance he wouldn’t notice if she spontaneously combusted? Why couldn’t one of her powers be for the earth to swallow her whole?! And why in the world was she acting this way with Chat Noir?! He was her partner! There was absolutely no reason for her to get so flustered!

Despite her less than sophisticated demeanor, Chat chuckled affectionately, bringing her out of her mental freakout. Smiling widely, he tilted her head upwards by the chin so their eyes would meet yet again. “Saturday sounds wonderful. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Y-yeah… Cool…” Ladybug breathed out dopily, struggling to remain upright despite her legs having suddenly turned to gelatin.

He gently tucked some stray hair behind her ear. “Thank you, by the way,” he murmured, “For looking out for me. For being so nice, for going out of your way to make sure I’ll be alright. Just… thank you. For everything.”

Chat’s eyes were soft and kind, yet intense and bold; they twinkled with a look she’d never received from anyone else before. It was new and exciting. Thrilling. Tempting. They captured her, like a snake charmer, drawing her near, and she couldn’t look away. And yet, here she was, wholeheartedly willing to become ensnared by them, inextricably drawn to his melody.

“Anytime,” she whispered breathlessly.

His hand made his way up from her jaw to cup her cheek, sending an intoxicating shiver down her entire body.

Faintly, she noticed the proximity of their faces… When she gotten so close? Her gaze flitted to his mouth all on its own, and everything else went out of focus. Chat seemed to notice her action, and he bit his lip slightly with a blush. Her hands trailed idly up to settle on his chest of their own accord, and she wondered if he could hear her own heart pounding. It didn’t seem to matter much right now. Nothing really did. Her whole world was the sound of his breathing, the curve of his smile, the feel of his hand on her skin.

Chat’s other hand settled on the small of her back, and he drew her towards him. He let out a shaky sigh, placing his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed shut, and swallowed hard.

He was hesitating. Was he afraid? Or… was he waiting for permission?

Her brain screamed at her to stop everything and analyze her thoughts before proceeding or making any decisions, while her heart urged her to stop overthinking everything and just do what felt right.

But was there even a “right” choice? Nothing about this moment felt wrong. In fact, she felt completely at ease. Although, to be fair, it was difficult to feel or discern anything outside of the whirlwind of butterflies currently swarming in her stomach.

Even though nothing had come of it, or might ever come of it, she was still in love with Adrien; of that, there was no doubt. So then, what was it that she was feeling right now, with Chat? She felt like she was being tugged in opposite directions, a cacophony of voices arguing and shouting, their words indecipherable.

While her heart and her mind were busy battling, however, her body moved on its own as if possessed, inching closer and closer towards the subject of the aforementioned internal conflict.

Her own arms snaked around Chat’s waist and his eyes flew open, accompanied by a deep blush that quickly colored his face and extended to the tips of his ears. His breath was shaky and a bit shallow, and she realized that he was having an internal debate of his own.

Did he want this? Did she want this? What even was “this”, anyway?? This whole situation was entirely new to her, and, so it appeared, seemed entirely new to him as well.

A thought occurred to her. It was so simple, but of course, it was anything but.

Why not just ask him?

After all, she had absolutely no clue what she was doing, and apparently he didn’t either, so neither had an advantage over the other. What did she have to lose?

Before she had a chance to ask, however, it was Chat who spoke first.

“My Lady… d-do you–”

A rattling door handle startled them apart, and just like that, the trance broke.

Sabine entered the room holding a small tray, but froze in her tracks upon seeing them. She let out a brief croak, but nothing else, as if her vocal chords had run away and left her behind. The couple stood there staring back, beet red with an exceedingly guilty look on their faces.

“MAMA–MA– MADAME!!” Ladybug yelped. “How nice to see you!”

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry!!” Sabine finally managed to stammer. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything! We’ve got fresh baked cookies and they’re still warm, so I thought I’d–”

“COOKIES!! I love cookies!” Ladybug interrupted, clasping her hands together. She stood stiff like a telephone pole, as if anchoring her feet heavily onto the ground would prevent her from floating away due to the embarrassment of having been caught in such an intimate position with her formal mortal enemy. She squeaked, “What a great idea! We should go to the kissing– I MEAN, TO THE KITCHEN!!”

Chat fared no better at his attempt to appear innocent. His mouth was pursed into a crooked pout; his eyes darted around like a kid attempting to hide stolen candy behind his back.

Sabine quirked an eyebrow inquisitively, eyes darting between them both. She replied, “Alright. I’ll let you wrap up in here and meet you at the, ahem – the kitchen.”

(Mood music: La Veillée - Yann Tiersen)

Sabine closed the door behind her and Ladybug let out a long, pitiful whine, hiding her face behind her hands, hoping that somehow she’d find a portal to another dimension within.

Chat wrapped his arm around her shoulders and remarked with a snicker, “Don’t be so nervous, Bugaboo! You’re starting to sound a lot like my friend, Marinette.”

Ladybug’s head whipped up like a spring and she let out a shaky chortle, a too-wide smile plastered on her face. “HAH! That’s funny! HAHAAA!! The Dupains’ daughter!! Cute, isn’t she?”

GOD, WHY DID I SAY THAT?! WHAT IN THE WORLD IS WRONG WITH ME?!!

Chat chuckled in amusement. “She sure is. She’s a big sweetheart, but she can be a bit excitable.”

Ladybug groaned internally, feeling her eye twitch. Understatement of the century.

She cleared her throat in an effort to snap herself out of her stuttering stupor and get the thumping in her chest under control, before she did something stupid.

Not trusting her traitorous mouth to not embarrass her further, she simply took Chat’s hand and made her way out of the bedroom and towards the sweet embrace of crumbly, sugary, chocolatey goodness. The one thing that always stayed the same in her life, no matter how confusing everything else got.

“I wonder where she is, anyway,” Chat mused aloud. “I’d love for you to meet her. I think you two would get along really well!”

Ladybug almost tripped on thin air, but managed to continue her speed-walk to the kitchen while internally screaming.

From the living area, Tom overheard what Chat had said and replied, “Oh, that’s a great idea! I’ll go fetch her so she can say hello! Maybe we can even get a picture of you two!”

Ladybug suppressed a shriek and dropped Chat’s arm like a sack of potatoes and whipped around to respond. “OHHH, you know what?? I just realized that I’m late for a, uh– dentist appointment!! I’d better go! Sorry I won’t get to meet your daughter! Next time, definitely!”

She rushed over to quickly shake hands with Tom and Sabine, thanking them yet again, then ran back to where Chat stood perplexed.

“Feel free to call or message me anytime,” she said to him. “My kwami will let me know if you’re trying to get in contact with me.”

He grinned back widely and replied with a wink, “Can do. Goodbye for now, My Lady.” He took her hand and, with a slight bow, gave it a soft kiss. He gazed at her with the same look as before, back in the bedroom. A look full of fondness. Respect. And… something else; that other emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Could it be…?

No… There was no way. She was just flattering herself by even entertaining the thought. Chat was just… a very affectionate friend. Someone who didn’t receive a lot of physical closeness in his daily life. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’d be so touchy-feely with her. There might be some mutual attraction, sure (something that she still needed to sort her feelings about). But to imagine anything more would be delusional.

Regardless, his boldness always managed to knock the air out of her lungs, and she couldn’t help but be rendered speechless.

All at once, however, Ladybug could feel her parents’ stares from the back of her head, which Chat most certainly had not noticed (or if he did, he didn’t seem to care).

Pretty certain that her body had abruptly burst into flames, Ladybug stepped away with an awkward giggle and a small wave. “See you Saturday! We’ll have fun and make out–I mean HANG OUT!! SORRY, I’MJUSTGONNAGONOW, BYE!!!” she screeched, practically running into the door in her haste.

“Wait! What about your cookies?” Sabine called.

Ladybug skidded to a halt, throwing her hands in the air. “R-right!!! ‘Cause I love cookies!” She sprinted back to the countertop to grab a small handful, then bolted back towards the door. Squawking one last garbled goodbye, she swung the door closed, albeit unsuccessfully, the latter bouncing off the doorframe from the excessive force. The remaining three listened to Ladybug clamber down the stairs and exit the building in a span of time that would ordinarily be considered impossible.

About sixty seconds later, a pajama-clad Marinette descended the stairs from her bedroom with a loud, theatrical yawn, stretching her arms above her head. She called out, “Good morning, everyone!”

Tom replied, “Hey sleepyhead! You won’t believe who just stopped by!”

Maintaining her ruse, she answered innocently, “Hmm? Was it Alya? It seems a bit too early for her.”

Sabine chimed in, “Oh sweetie, this was definitely the worst morning for you to sleep in! Ladybug was here! At our house! She left a minute ago; you just barely missed each other!”

Marinette gave out a dramatic gasp, bringing her hand to her mouth, accompanied by a loud groan. “Oh noooo~! I missed Ladybug?? Darn my luck! Oh well, maybe next time!” She promptly changed the subject, plucking a cookie from the tray on the kitchen counter. “Oh, yum! You made cookies!”

Tom scrunched his eyebrows. “Uh... Marinette, we always have cookies.”

She giggled nervously. “O-oh yeah! Definitely one of the best perks of living in a bakery, that’s for sure!” She shoved most of the cookie into her mouth, thus preventing herself from blurting out any further absurdities. If anyone happened to notice how shaky her fingers were as she munched on her pastry, nobody commented on it.

They sat around the table, eventually settling into comfortable chatter, and enjoyed a proper breakfast accompanied by a wide assortment of teas. Afterwards, it was time for Sabine and Tom to say their goodbyes and officially open the bakery for the day. Chat made good on his promise to Ladybug and cleaned up after the meal, tidying up the kitchen and doing the dishes, with Marinette offering a helping hand to keep him company.

Afterwards, Marinette moved to the sofa and motioned for Chat to follow. He grinned widely and eagerly complied. The couple made themselves comfortable and resumed their friendly conversation.

“So, Ladybug stopped by to see you, huh?” Marinette asked, immediately noticing the way Chat’s cheekbones turned pink upon mentioning her alter ego. “What did she say? Other than asking my parents to let you stay here for a while.”

“I– she, uh... She just wanted to say hi and see how I was doing, and, um…” he stammered. “Like you said, she asked your parents if it would be okay for me to lay low at your house for a little bit. Then she mentioned she had an appointment and had to leave.”

“And… that’s it?” she asked.

Chat turned bright red at this point, his eyes wide and hands tightly gripping his knees. “P-pretty much.”

Marinette laboriously suppressed a wry smile, but decided to let him off the hook and stop making him wriggle nervously with her secret teasing. “I’m glad you guys got to see each other. And I’m relieved that you decided to stay.”

He smiled shyly. “I’m a bit shocked at how generous you all are, to be honest. N-not that it surprises me that you guys are so nice, of course; I already knew that,” he clarified. “But it’s just… it’s a huge favor to ask from anybody. Especially for nothing in return. I’d still like to pay you back somehow, but I’m not entirely sure how to do that.”

Marinette reached over and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay, Chat! You don’t have to do anything. Really! It’s just like a sleepover. Friends do sleepovers all the time!”

Chat twiddled his fingers nervously. “I, uh… I’ve actually never slept over at someone else’s house before. Not even Chlo– uh… not even my closest friends.”

Marinette made a small, thoughtful hum. “Well, thankfully we’ve got all day to prepare for the biggest, most amazing sleepover you could ever imagine! Starting with me kicking your butt in ‘Ultimate Mecha Strike 3’!”

Chat’s face lit up with an excited twinkle in his eyes and a mischievous smile that she couldn’t help but find utterly adorable. “Oh, we’ll see about that!”

They laughed freely and began setting up their game on the television.

As Marinette got the controllers out, Chat asked bashfully, “Umm, before we begin... do you happen to have any Camembert? For some reason, I’ve been craving it like crazy.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. Camembert? That was… kind of an odd and rather specific request. Why Camembert, of all things?

Just then, a thought occurred to her. Since she was fairly certain that it wasn’t a pregnancy-related craving, she realized that that must be his kwami’s preferred food. Since Chat couldn’t detransform to feed him, the need for that extra energy must be manifesting itself through cravings.

Poor little guy is working so hard... He must be exhausted!

Making a mental note to stock up on all kinds of cheeses, she grinned at Chat with a cheeky wink.

“One cheese-fest, coming right up!”

[harlot-of-oblivion]

A Rose Among the Briars (Part 1)

After a month of quiet encounters with Vergil at the local book cafe, you finally decide to break the ice.

My attempt at writing a meet-cute, featuring you and Vergil. Some of the dialogue popped into head and I had to write a scene around it. So have some fluff, ya’ll. Hope you enjoy! 

Ever since coming back from hell, Vergil has slowly integrated himself into the human world. His relationship with Dante has gotten better, though they still fight a lot from time to time. He and his son, Nero, have made inroads towards a family bond, but it’s still so new to him being a father that he can’t tell if he’s doing it right…and he hates uncertainty, especially within himself. On days like that, where the human world and his adjustment in it becomes too overwhelming, he escapes to a coffee and antique book shop he happen to find while walking off some steam. It was quiet, had good tea, and not very crowded. The perfect refuge while he internally relaxed and recharged away from the prying eyes his brother, his son, and the rest of the crew.

Vergil sat in his usual secluded corner, sipping his favorite black tea, and reading one of the old books that cover the walls of this shop. The day was overcast, rain was expected to fall at any moment, so the shop was desolate. This suited the older Son of Sparda just fine. He was looking forward to a peaceful afternoon alone…that is until he heard the bell chime as the door to the shop opens and you step through.

“Hello again,” you address the barista, smiling brightly as you exchange pleasantries and order your drink. There goes my seclusion, Vergil thought as he secretly watches you. Both of you frequent this little nook of a shop. He took notice of you immediately because you dared to sit in the same secluded section of the shop as he, either unaware or not caring about his presence. He tolerated you invading his privacy since you never spoke. You just sipped your beverage, read, and occasionally observed him out of the corner of your eye. He found himself also observing you in turn over time, wondering why you insist on being this close to him while everything about him instinctively says stay away. After awhile he got used to your quiet company. He sometimes looks forward to seeing you, taking note what book you were reading that day…though he would never admit that in confidence to himself.  

Vergil went back to his book, but he continues to nonchalantly watch you out of his periphery vision as you wait for your order…and inevitably come over and bother his solitude. He took note that this was the first time he saw you wearing a dress. A blue chiffon summer dress with a resplendent floral pattern to be exact. At least she has elegant taste in fashion, he thought as he let his eyes wonder your form, mentally admiring your attractive form.

He quickly shifts his eyes back to his book as the barista calls your name and you retrieve your prepared beverage, thanking the barista as you made your way back to where he knew you would go…the close corner across from him. Vergil takes a deep meditative breath, falling back on his mental techniques he uses while he wields the Yamato to empty his mind of all distraction. He vowed to try his best to blend in while living here. That included playing nice while out among them. Also, he quite liked this coffee shop, and if he had to get used to the occasional stray customer to enjoy it…so be it. 

You arrive at the corner across from him, grab a book, and sit down. Your eyes spare him a glance as you scan the multitude of books on the shelved walls before leaning back in your seat and start to read. Both of you sat there a while, you sip your beverage serenely and Vergil keeps reading, showing remarkable forbearance as he once again reluctantly shared his space. He felt proud of himself in that moment; he’s come a long way if he can endure this long in a stranger’s company. 

Eventually, you finish your drink, rise up from your seat, and walk a few steps to inspect one of the walls of books. Your back is to him, and Vergil couldn’t help to notice your stature. He surmised that if he stood you would have to crane your neck up to meet his eyes. Your delicate fingers brush against the old books until they come to an empty spot. It seems she’s about to take her leave, he thought. His brows furrow in slight puzzlement. You usually stay a lot longer, but perhaps you have a prior engagement to get to and only had a few minutes a visit. Either way, it wasn’t his business, so he went back to his task and prepared for blessed solitude once more.

“You’re surrounded by briars.” 

Your voice rang out around him. After a month of your continued frivolous company you finally speak to him. He expected you to be a simpering woman, foolishly trying to engage him in some droll conversation about the weather or some other such nonsense. Instead, your blunt and cryptic statement quickly proves him wrong. 

Vergil peeks up from his book at you as his brow scrunches up in befuddlement. “I beg your pardon?” 

You look over your shoulder at him as you replace the book in your hands back to its respective place on the shelf. “Briars…you know what briars are, right? The motif on your coat remind me of briars.” 

“Of course I know what briars are,” he sneers and returns to his book, intending to continue his reading. “And they’re vines,” he adds. He may be annoyed, but he wouldn’t let you regard his attire incorrectly. 

“Ah,” you mutter, raising your eyebrows as you nod head and turn back to the shelf. He thought that was the end of this arbitrary conversation until your voice once again rang through the room. “Well, that doesn’t suit you at all.” 

“What are you prattling on about?” he snaps. Vergil didn’t bother to hide his irritation as his silver eyes glare at you, warning you that his patience was growing thin.  

“Well,” you start as you turn your body to fully face him, seemingly unaware of his agitation or just out right ignoring it. You meet his gaze head on. “Vines extend themselves and…not to be rude, but you don’t seem the type that easily reaches out to people.” 

Such insolence! He glowers at you and was about to put you in your place until he notices your modest posture. Your hands were clasped in front of you, arms relaxed, and legs standing straight close together. You show no sign of hostility nor fear. Your eyes, which are level with his since he was sitting down, never left his confrontational gaze. Vergil’s brow eases a bit. He decides to indulge you a bit since its not very often that people last this long under his intense stare…not because you impressed him or anything. 

“Hmph…have you thought perhaps it’s not people I’m reaching for?” 

You tilt your head a little as your lips curl up thoughtfully. “True.” Vergil grins smugly, thinking this one sided game of verbal sparring is over. “But I like the idea of briars for you,” came your swift reply, nodding your head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  

“And why, pray tell, is that?” he queries sternly, raising an incredulous eyebrow at you. He was genuinely curious about your answer, and if he was honest with himself, curious about you. But he refuses to show you any sign of that. Instead, he marks his place in his book and closes it, still maintaining the constant eye contact with you. He awaits what silly notions you have of him so he can decisively end it and be done with you.  

“Briars are prickly. Nature’s way of deterring creatures from treading on them. Most stay away from briars, but if one were patient and slowly step through the shrubbery, prying apart thorns with utmost care…then they may come upon the reason for the thorns. For among briars wild roses may grow…beautiful, delicate, and protected from the unwary passerby. And to those who risk pricks and scratches, yet still move forward…finding such a wonder is a reward in and of itself.” 

Your gaze never wavers from his as your pensive words flow out in to a steady stream of thought. As he listens he can feel the usual permanent scowl that accompanies his face slowly dissipate. All of the rigid coldness that always resides within him leaves his body. For the first time in a while…Vergil was stunned.   

You must have mistaken his quiet surprise as confusion because you hurriedly brushed a loose strand of hair behind ear as you clear your throat. “I guess…what I’m trying to say is…no matter how difficult it may be…you’re worth it, Vergil.” 

A genuine smile lights up your face. Time stood still and his surroundings seem to fade out around him as a soft warmth spread throughout his chest. Right then and there, Vergil didn’t see just another faceless human to be ignored. Before him was a confident and eloquent woman, who somehow managed to make a miniscule crack in his taciturn shell. He wanted to be furious that you blind sided him with this stunt, but…to his surprise, he was impressed and…flattered. 

You finally broke eye contact with him as you retreat to collect your things. “Well, I should go now. Sorry for distracting you from your book. I promise not to disturb you again in the future. I just needed to get that off my chest.” You give him one last glance, eyes gleaming with soft worry as you bid him farewell. As you briskly made your way to the exit, a soft rumble of thunder fills the air. 

His piercing eyes follow your retreating form as he was still comprehending what exactly happened. It’s been a long time since someone paid him a genuine compliment. All this time you didn’t mean to intrude on his personal space…you were just assessing him from afar, waiting until he was comfortable enough around you to finally break the ice and start a conversation. Vergil knew he wasn’t an easy man to converse with…he knew his devilish nature makes most humans steer clear of him, but you just weathered his cold bitterness and- 

Wait a moment...How did she know my name? 

Just as that stray mystery presents itself he registers the light pattering of rain outside. He looks back at your corner and spots something you forgot to grab before your rushed departure. He knew that you walked here…he’s eavesdropped on your chats with the barista on occasion and you once told them that you like to take in the fresh air and the sights of the city. But your walk wouldn’t be pleasant nor dry since right there on the table was your simple black umbrella, not with you to ease the onslaught of summer rain. 

Vergil snaps his book shut and quickly stood up. He put the book back in its proper place on a shelf, gathered his belongings along with your forgotten umbrella, and left the shop. As he steps outside, he opens your umbrella and let it shield him from the warm rain. He sometimes caught sight of you through the shop window and knew you always came and went in the same direction. He follows your path, hoping to come upon you and return your umbrella. He shook his head in disbelief. It’s not like him to rush ahead with no plan, besides returning what’s yours because it’s good manners. He wasn’t even sure if he would find you. It would’ve made more sense to just keep the umbrella and wait to return it to you the next time he ran into you at the shop. Or better yet, he could’ve given it to the barista for safekeeping. But he didn’t do either of those things…instead, he was out here, foolishly searching for you.  

 Vergil marches on for another minute and turns a corner. There she is! He spots you standing at the corner of a street. Your blue chiffon dress was swaying delicately in the breeze as the rain started to sprinkle down steadily. He heads straight for you, and as he got closer he notices that your head was leaning up towards the sky, eyes closed as your face glistens in the rain. You were the image of pure tranquility and Vergil slowed his pace until he halts just a few feet away from you. For the first time, he lets himself take in all of you. As his brazen eyes roam your body, truly realizing your beauty, he softly took a deep breath in through his nose. He thanked his demonic side for blessing him with enhanced senses because your scent was utterly intoxicating. He almost lost himself in it before shutting his eyes, chastising himself for losing his composure and reigning it back in. 

He soundlessly steps up beside you and positions the umbrella to cover both you and him. Your brows furrow as the rain ceases to fall on your face. You open your eyes and they spark in recognition as they take in the underside of the umbrella. Your eyes swivel over to see who’s holding it and they widen in shock. Vergil was staring ahead, letting the moment drag on a bit before he spoke. 

“You’re going to need this if you don’t want to get utterly drenched and inevitably sick,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Your mouth parts in awe as you continue to stare up at him. You blink your eyes a few times before you collect yourself and look away as you reply, “I suppose I do.” You don’t reach for the umbrella though. Vergil observes you from the corner of his eye and sees you biting your lower lip in thought. He waits patiently though, taking the opportunity to study you up close and mentally marveling at your lovely profile. 

“But what about you?” you ask. “It’d be a shame if the rain ruins your nice coat and uh…hair.” You look up at him inquisitively. 

Vergil peers down at you. “Why would you care about that?” 

“Because I’m trying to be decent, Vergil. And perhaps you can take it as an apology for me being super blunt earlier.”

“How do you know my name?” His eyes squint in suspicion.

“The barista told me. They always take down a customer’s name for their drink order. It felt rude to refer to you as the “alluring and intimidating blue gentleman” that sits in my corner.”

“Your corner?” Vergil scoffs, leaning his face down a little towards you.  

You, despite his intimidating height, stood your ground. “Yes…my corner. I came in one day and there you were…sitting in my chair. I didn’t feel like making a big deal about it though. Figured I could share the space since you fascinate me and thought perhaps after a while we could have a friendly chat…until I clearly screwed that up. Sometimes I don’t know when to shut up.” You close your eyes and sigh regretfully. 

Vergil lets your words sink in. The whole reason why they’re in this situation…is because he took your spot? And you were actually trying to spark a friendly conversation…with him? She thought he was fascinating? Vergil would’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of the whole thing if it weren’t for the sincerity of your words. He clenches his jaw for a moment as he collects this thoughts. As much as you bewilder him…he can’t deny there is a certain draw to you. He didn’t have to think long before he came to a decision. He pushes through the sudden feeling of being self-conscious as he taps into his humanity and attempts to open up to you just a bit.  

“I’m not…the best…at connecting with people,” he admits, his words coming out stilted. “Nor do I express my feelings in a typical manner. But if you…still find me worth it…I’m willing to try.”

Your head snaps up and you meet his gaze. You both stood still under the shared umbrella Vergil held as the rain continued to pour down around you. After a moment your eyes soften and you smile that same smile he witnessed in the coffee shop. And once again he felt warmth form in his chest again. He wasn’t used to these feelings you give rise to…but he found in that moment that he doesn’t dislike it. 

“Of course, Vergil…that’s all I ask: a small step among the briars.”

“And perhaps that small step will lead you in the direction of the wild roses you so desire,” he replies softly and for the first time since he met you…he gave you a small smile. Your eyes sparkle in wonder as a slight tinge of pink graced your cheeks. But you didn’t avert your eyes from his meekly…You held your gaze, just like he knew you would. And oh…what a daring sight to behold.  

Vergil offers to escort you home since you insist that he stay under the safety of the umbrella for as long as possible. On the way, he engages in easy conversation with you about common interests. You both like books, tea, and classical music. You don’t know much about poetry, but listen intently when he recites a favorite of his for you. Afterwards, you claim that you have a new found appreciation for it and thank him for sharing. Vergil nods curtly in satisfaction. He found that you knew a lot about the ancient classics and asked for recommendations. You beam and promise to point out your favorite volumes in the coffee shop. 

You eventually arrive at your home. Vergil takes note that its not to far from the office...which means you’re pretty safe from demon attacks if it should happen close by. When you get to the porch he passes your umbrella to your hand, careful that his body doesn’t invade your space, but surreptitiously lets his fingers brush against your hand. Your skin is silky smooth. You thank him and take it back, a slight hitch in your breath the only sign that you felt his touch, but daring not to pull away. Vergil couldn’t stop the pleased grin that crept on his face. He bids you farewell and begins to leave, preparing to brave the foggy rain head on. But you stop him by raising your umbrella high above his head, which requires you to stand on your tippy toes. 

“Please…you need it more than I do at the moment. Just…return it to me the next time we see each other at the shop,” you state, your eyes entreating him to take it and stay dry. 

Vergil regards you for a moment before giving a single nod. “Very well. See you then…soon.” He grabs the umbrella and, as you turn to go, he feels the lightest caress against his gloveless fingers. He watches you go, leaning out the frame of the front door for a second to say goodbye before heading inside.  

As he makes his way back to his domicile, Vergil contemplates the events of the day. Of all the possibilities and outcomes…he honestly didn’t expect it to end with a new found flirtatious friendship. You amaze him and he can’t deny your loveliness. You said that he was worth it. He wishes you luck pulling apart his tangled briars, because despite wanting to know you, he knew it would be difficult to open up. But…he was willing to try, just to see more of your vibrancy. Perhaps, he ponders as he came to the stairs of Devil May Cry, she’s what I’m searching for within myself. 

Perhaps you are a rose among his briars.  

Read on my Ao3

Read Part 2 here.

My Master List if you want more. ❤

[thebardisabird]

Sure thing, sure thing! The way I did it is a little different and I apologize if it’s not the best. But it’s a sweet little moment in time. Soulmate AU, Karamatsu x Reader! UNDER THE CUT! 

The day your best friend discovered her soulmate was the day you were ready to give up. Your siblings were off and married already, and now your best friend finally found her own love. You knew how this worked - but whenever you’d write on your skin, nothing would come of it. For years you tried to garner the attentions of your supposed soulmate, but to no avail. So you were starting to think you didn’t have one.

In celebration of her engagement, you headed into town to find a flower shop. Tigerlillies were her favorite - the tangerine beauties matched her personality so well and you knew she’d adore them as a congratulatory gift. Akatsuka was lively with townspeople, markets full and restaurants crowded - but to your chagrin, no flower shop in sight. You were ready to turn it in; being disappointed with your life situation was enough for one day, but being unable to even procure a simple bouquet of flowers was about to be the unraveled string to make you come apart. Fighting frustration, you halted. Before you could turn around, a voice interrupted your griping thoughts,

“Miss…are you alright?”

Turning to the voice, your eyes met with coffee hues. Dark locks framed a softly angled face, which was currently drawn in concern. You eyed him over carefully, dressed in shades of blue and carrying a prickly pear cactus.

“I’m…fine.” But were you?

Your eyes drifted off of him embarrassed. He was incredibly handsome, you had to admit. His head lowered as he tried to catch your eyes again, “Even a beautiful flower can wilt, and you seem to be on the verge of doing so, my dear.”

That voice dripped through your eardrums like velvet honey. You blushed heavily. Beautiful? No one had ever called you that before and hearing it from someone who didn’t know you made your poor heart skip a beat. Ready to cover your face in your hands, you were about to squeal until the apron around his body caught your eye.

‘Flower Akatsuka’

“A florist!”

He blinked at your exclamation, but quickly caught himself, “Ah, yes! I run the flower shop right here. A most fitting occupation for one who appreciates all beauty as I do.”

You giggled softly at his ornate words, peering over his shoulder to see the quaint little store. Outside the windows sat an array of flowers, the colors near iridescent in their hue. Entranced by the simple, yet lustrous beauty of them, you absentmindedly set your hand on his forearm.

“Tigerlillies…” you muttered.

He turned around, trying to see what’s caught your attention. Your blank staring was adorable, and he laughed as he nodded over toward the shop,

“They just bloomed a few days ago. I’d be more than happy to sell you a bouquet.

You followed him into the shop, eyes roaming over the entirety of the place. It was decorated tastefully, cuts of every flower you could think of set up in pre-made displays for customers. Setting the cactus down, he you over to the back of the store. If you’d thought the front was mesmerizing, it paled in comparison to the sight you were introduced to. A spectrum of colors graced the garden, and in the middle was a simple pathway, surrounding you entirely by flower and foliage. Walking through it, he introduced himself as Karamatsu, explaining that being a florist and gardening brought him a sense of peace. You gave him your name, telling him the flowers were for your friend’s engagement. He didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled as they reflected the garden, but lucky for him you were too busy being mesmerized by the cacophony of pigments. You were led to a small corner - there they were, a whole array of the citrus color kissing the area.

“Tender, but striking…their name suits them.”

Pulling a pair of scissors from his pocket, he clipped a decent sized bouquet. Fluidly, he removed any extra leaves and wrapped them with skillful precision. You were in awe was you watched his hands work. Taking you back inside, he picked a few white calla lillies on the way and tucked them into the arrangement. Karamatsu fit them with wrappings made from the leaves of beech trees, tying them delicately for a magnificent touch. You were floored by their beauty, almost too afraid to take them in your hands when he finished.

“They’re heavenly…” you sighed, both out of jealousy and gratitude, “How much do I owe you?”

He paid you a gentle smile, “No charge for a smile that puts them to shame.”

You flushed, his kindness and his suavity making your heart flutter. Holding the bouquet close you stuttered,

“P-Please! For such a beautiful display I…I wouldn’t feel right not paying you back somehow.”

He thought for a moment, and then a sudden snap of his fingers, “If I may…could I have your number? Perhaps we could meet for a cup of coffee tomorrow afternoon.”

You smiled. A simple but intimate date. He scrambled through his pockets for a pen once you agreed. Lifting up his sleeve, Karamatsu moved to jot down your number. His handwriting was fitting for his personality - smooth lines and careful cursive. You double checked to make sure he had it correct and grinned when he did.

“I’ll call you at morrow’s noon and we’ll go from there,” he explained; you gasped at the sudden claps of your hand, “It’s been a pleasure to find radiance in something other than flowers for a change.”

A kiss to your knuckles, “Until tomorrow, chérie.”

You giggled, “I’ll see you then, Karamatsu.” The exit from the shop left your feet feeling weightless. It thrilled you to meet someone new, and there was a lure about him you couldn’t put your finger on. Quickly your thoughts of him dissipated as you lifted your sleeved to check the time. Your best friend would be home from work soon and you wanted to surprise her with the striking display. As you checked your watch that laid under your wrist, something else appeared on your skin. Pushing the sleeve further back, there it was, in stunning royal blue print - your phone number.

You stared at the cursive dumbfounded. But that quickly melted into quiet tears at the realization. Of relief or absolute joy you couldn’t tell. Your head turned in the direction of the shop, and you hugged the bouquet to your chest with tender affection before you headed home.

You, however, were more of a rose person…and you couldn’t wait to tell him that.

[sprnklersplashes]

Hullo, saw your views on Rose, and I do agree a lot. I was wondering what you thought of the other companions, like Martha, Donna, the Ponds, River, etc?

I am glad you liked my thoughts. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, but this ask prompted, wait for it, 2.5 thousand words on my love and appreciation for each of these darlings, because I do love them all.

Under the cut we go!!!!

Martha- Martha Jones walked away from all of time and spacebecause she wouldn’t do it with someone who did not respect her (no offense to10 but she deserved better than you) and that ladies and gentlemen is thedefinition of a strong female character. Even from her first episode I lovedMartha balancing doctor training with her incredibly dysfunctional family andinstead of taking a moment to break down and scream (which is what many of uswould do) she just gets on with it, a little sarcasm and eye rolling sure but she doesn’t let it put her down and doesn’t get bogged down in her stressful life. There’s also how she is a badass withoutneeding to be physically violent or use weapons. In fact I don’t remember a lotof scenes where she does use weapons (thought it’s been a while). She walksacross the Earth using nothing but her bravery and wits, she finishedShakespeare’s spell to the witches on the spot even when the Doctor couldn’t doit (also, Expelliamus, you babe, Martha), ended Joan Redfern with her knowledgeof the bones of the hand (which is some pretty complex information she whippedout off the top of her pretty little head), and talked down to the Daleks(which yes used a weapon but it was a weapon given to her). Whether she wasbluffing or not in that instance, that took some serious guts and homegirl didnot break a sweat while doing it. A small but beautiful moment for her is inher first episode where she says “How many people want to go to the moon? Andhere we are!”. She knows how scary the whole thing is but at the same time shesees the absolute beauty and knows how unique an opportunity it is, and that’sa beautiful thing for her.

Donna- Oh Donna Donna Donna. If there was ever a characterwho was more fitting of the ‘deserved better’ label, it’s her! I don’t think itis physically possible for someone to dislike Donna. Let’s get the obviouspoint out of the way first; best lines ever. I mean between “oi watch itspaceman” and “don’t get clever in Latin” she had some of the funniest lines onthis show. Now that that is out of the way, can we appreciate the hope she has?She sticks out with the belief she will see the Doctor again after the Runaway Bride, and I feel likeher changing her mind humanised her a lot. She said she didn’t want to butthen, things changed, because people change. I liked her taking matters intoher own hands re: Adipose and investigating thinking she could run into theDoctor there. Even from there, she is on equal footing with him. Now we move onto her compassion which is so lovely, especially towards other women, like MissEvangelista (and I love their relationship because I feel like Donna was comingfrom a place of understanding with her, knowing how it feels to beunderestimated, and making sure she thanked her and noticed her even if no oneelse did), Evelina, Jenny whom she immediately bonds with even when 10 isprickly towards her. She just wants to make friends with all the people shemeets and I think that’s an amazing character trait. Not to mention how she demands to be treated as an equal, no matter if it’s a UNIT soldier (”I’ll have a salute”) or an alien ( “Every bit as important as Time Lord, thank you very much”). Her growth was amazing.She didn’t acquire a lot of new skills, just the confidence to utilise the onesshe had! I am still so bitter and upset about her ending because she did notdeserve to have all her amazing adventures and development that came with thatstripped away from her.

Amy- Amy is “my first bb girl” in that s6 of Doctor Who wasthe first one I watched, and the first fandom I was in and Amy was my firstfavourite female character, so I am very protective of her. When we first meether adult self, Amy is desperate to shed the “Amelia” part of her, kick out thechildhood dreams, but even in season 5 we still see a sort of childlikeexcitement because she has not suppressed her inner child and that isbeautiful. She also has a lot of insecurities in her arc, shown in herrelationship with Rory-not in a “I worry that he’s too good for me” way but ina “I don’t know if I am ready for this level of commitment” way-which 1. imomade for a very relateable character and 2. Gave way for a whole level ofcharacter development, because by around the end of series 5/start of series 6she was wholly comfortable in that relationship. But even then she can’t sitstill as it were, she says to the Doctor that she can’t keep a job and, while Ido acknowledge is in part to the fact she is waiting for him to come back, sheis also finding herself, which right now, I relate to massively as a youngwoman. She doesn’t keep a job because she doesn’t know what she wants. Shemodels, she writes, she makes perfumes, she can’t sit still. Amy’s story islargely about growing up and learning to stand on her own two feet, and that iswhy it culminates in her choosing to go back in time with Rory. Now this is abit of my own personal thinking here, but to me Rory represents “normality”, anadventure free, dull life while the Doctor represented everything else. Thiswas her growing up and saying she was choosing normality, her “not a littlegirl anymore” moment. She doesn’t outgrow her flaws, she’s still very impulsivein season 7 but she learns to deal with them maturely. I imagine a lot of hertroubles come from the neglect she endured as a child and I curse Moffat fornot allowing her to deal with her trauma in a healthier way. But anyways, Ithought her growing into her own and maturing was lovely to watch.

River Song- Ah River, or as I like to call her “who my 13-year-oldself aspired to be”. She’s just, so beautifully complex. I think what I lovemost about her is she lives her life on her own terms. She takes a lot of risksbut she…. well I wouldn’t say doesn’t care but she certainly seems to thinkthey’re worth it. And she lived her life totally on her terms, even when shewas in jail! She just casually breaks out and in as she pleases, just waltzingaround like a babe! She also has so much confidence it’s inspiring. She’sclever and she knows it. She has most people wrapped around her finger, evenfrom her first expedition in the library we can see she is the (unofficial)leader. I don’t know if I would call her fearless, but she rarely showed fear.Vashta Nerada? Weeping Angels? She has got this. Plus, homegirl graffitied theoldest cliff face in universe like can you get any more iconic? She is alsogorgeous and she knows it. She has a great body and flaunts it because it makesher feel good and that’s a good lesson we ca all take away from her. I thinkthere is also a hugely tragic side to River. Every character on this show hadfamily issues; Rose lost her dad, Martha’s parents split, Amy was neglectedetc. and then there is River, who was kidnapped, tortured and brainwashed. Andyet she kept on fighting and as a child managed to fight her way out of anastronaut suit and braved the streets of 1960s New York as a child. And that’sjust the tip of it. I saw a post once that in the s6 premiere, when she isalone talking to Rory, in that moment, she isn’t just someone talking to a guyshe just met, she is a little girl running to her daddy and telling her she’s scaredand wants her parents, and it hurts god damn it, it hurts. Underneath thebravado, the flirting, the teasing, she’s scared. I am not amazed that she cameout of it a good person, I am amazed she came out of it sane. But she is such agood person. She managed to overcome her brainwashing and kill the person sheloves most, and then sacrifices herself in the library. One of my favouriteRiver moments is her moment with Donna when Donna asks “How come I’m not in thefuture” and River’s face (huge props to Alex here) just falls so much and thereis so much empathy in that scene. I also think her determination to rebuild herrelationship with her parents is so beautifully inspiring and we were cheatedout of scenes. I also think her past adds to her relationship with the Doctorsince he was likely the only person outside of her parents to care for herwhich is why she latched on to him (not saying that avoiding killing him was atall right, it was definitely wrong sorry bby girl, but it is kind ofunderstandable).

Clara- Oh Clara my Clara. If you couldn’t tell by my bio, Iam a massive Clara Oswald fan, and she is currently in a three way tie forFavourite Fictional Character Out Of Anything Ever (tied with Emma Swan andKillian Jones from Once Upon A Time). Where do I even start with her? Even fromher first episodes, confidence oozes out of her every pore and it is earned.From Oswin (who I fell in love with in 2 seconds flat) and her “total screaminggenius” to modern day Clara and “Clara Oswald for the win” she just knows howamazing she is and I totally love it. It’s not conceited arrogance, not “I ambetter than you” but “I am awesome and I know I am”. Now let’s move on to asimilar topic, baby girl is very smart as heck, even without the computerknowledge uploaded into her via Great Intelligence. She noticed the littledetails “a chimney that doesn’t blow smoke”, she thought on her feet “I’m theDoctor”/ “Your daughter, Skaldak”, she keeps pushing Bonnie and manages to stayequal with her by using her wits (sidenote, can we give all the awards to Jennain that episode because good lord), her whole time in Flatline (which isprobably my favourite Clara episode ever), with the clockwork robots she keptthem talking, risking her own life in the process because she knew how to.Also, right from the word go she is making it clear with the Doctor that she ishis equal and that she is the one in charge here, right from “come backtomorrow” and “see you next Wednesday”. This continues later in her arc “you’reone of my hobbies”. One of my favourite lines of hers is “I’m not a bargainbased stand in for someone else, I’m not going to compete with a ghost” and itjust sticks with me because she is there asserting her authority on the TARDIS,prepared to walk away right now if he does not respect her for who she is, andit is marvellous to watch. And then this comes back in 12’s run where she goesoff on him for abandoning her and I feel like he needed her to ground him andmake him more human. She is not afraid to call the Doctor out on his shit,whether it’s something big like in Kill The Moon or something relating to herdirectly, “speak for me again and I’ll detatch something from you”. Now let’smove onto another, beautiful topic, Clara and kids! We see this in the Bells ofSaint John how she gave up her plans to travel to look after Angie and Artieand then again in the next episode she comforts and all but adopts Merry Gallel,and her with young!Doctor, soothing his fears. It’s a little topic but it’s sobeautiful. She is also, for a lack of a better word, beautifully badass! Shehas stared down Cybermen, Daleks, Missy, all the Doctor’s greatest enemies, andnot blinked. That is how badass she is. She is also incredibly brave, rightfrom the start she volunteers to go into the Ice Warrior, she jumps into theDoctor’s timestream, she sacrifices herself for Rigsy. She’s a beautiful exampleof how bravery and fearlessness are not the same thing. Her dying words are “letme be brave”, which is a beautiful moment for her. There is also something somagical about her, so fairytale, the excited traveller. Her first request is tosee “something awesome”. She doesn’t care, she just wants to be impressed. She practicallydances when she arrives somewhere new. Underneath her no-nonsense “bossy controlfreak” exterior, there’s an excited young woman getting to travel. She ishugely flawed but she is aware of it, which I find amazing. She says in HellBent “I’d say I’m sorry but I’d do it again”. She is reckless and a littleselfish, and she knows it. Ultimately, it is what kills her, but it still makesfor a wholly unique and beautiful character.

Bill Potts- Ah my precious Bill. I think the quote either Moffator Pearl gave “she’s got her feet on the ground and her heart in the stars” (orsomething) is so perfectly her. She is just so open and in my opinion, we needcharacters like that, who smile through rainstorms. I mean, she wanted to go tothe future because she wanted to see if it was happy, which is kind of tragicbut also pretty beautiful when you think about it. I think the fact that sheshowed up at lectures even though she wasn’t a student was so great. All shehad was a love of learning even if she wouldn’t do anything with it, and yes, anatural curiosity about the Doctor himself. The Doctor says that when she doesn’tknow something, she smiles, which is another lovely detail on her character andagain shows her curiosity and just how much of a sunshine she is. There’s nofrustration in not knowing, it’s a new chance for her to learn. Her reactionsto everything around her are so amazingly realistic, calling the Victorianorphans “cute as”. I think her question to the Doctor in her first episode, “Doyou know any sci-fi?”, shows a lot about how she is the dreamer, the one whothinks up impossible scenarios and answers, she dares to think outside the box.Bill has such a strong mind that even being a cyberman could not stop her fromcaring and fighting back. Her teasing the Doctor is absolutely adorable and isreally her way of establishing her own authority on the TARDIS, unlike Claraand Martha, she doesn’t do anything where she demands his respect, she gentlyeases it out of him with her quirky teasing (“Time Lord, sounds posh”), notsaying one way is better than the other, just that it’s a cute and unique wayof her building an equal relationship with him. I think Bill is definitely oneof those characters we so desperately need more of in TV, little rays ofsunshine who want to make everyone else’s days brighter, who want to pushforward and achieve and try because why not, even if it won’t lead them anywhere,who wants to see if the world will still be a happier place tomorrow. And Ilove her for it.

[infinitehours]

Chapter 2

The Story and Song of the Haunted Mansion is an audiobook much like a campfire story.  It’s short, it’s sweet, and it’s not meant to have in-depth discussions or thorough characterizations.  Karen and Mike were caricatures of the typical hero/heroine of the time; Mike is clearly the braver one. I hope…no one would mind if I edit the reason why Karen was so much more frightened just a little bit…

And for those of you who wondered why I made the house on Tom Sawyer’s road instead of Liberty Square or New Orleans Square, you get your answer here…

Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter).

~~~~

Table of Contents Link

~

Ch 2: Come On In (And Make Yourself at Home)

One Autumn night, not long ago, two teenagers were walking home from a date…

~~

“I hate it when strangers are right.”

Karen tried to peer at Mike through the thick sheets of rain that seemed to endlessly descend upon them.  “What do you mean?”  

“That girl.  Whatsherface; Nell. She all but told us it was going to rain tonight.”

“Maybe.  But she wasn’t terribly clear about that, was she?”

Even though both held their own jackets above their heads, she could still feel cold water creeping down her back.

“I can’t even see the way back to the road. Can you?”

“There’s a sign up ahead!”

“Where?”

“Up there!”

The two of them trudged on, practically swimming at this point.  The lightning bolt that flashed against the sky, with the thunder not far behind, was worrisome; they weren’t anywhere near town.

The sign that she saw, that she had pointed out before, was even more worrisome: it was old, with decaying letters, but it was more than enough to tell them exactly where they were.

Tom Sawyer’s Road Ahead.   Thunder Mountain beyond.   [Impossible to read] Mansion.

Whatever that was before the word “Mansion” was scratched off and replaced with “Haunted”.  

They were on Tom Sawyer’s Road.

“Did you mean to lead us in this direction?” Karen said, worried.

“Sort of.  I was aiming for it; didn’t think we’d actually find it, though.  That lady said it was faster, and I really don’t want to be out in this much longer, do you?”

Mr. Vance’s words came to the forefront of her mind.  “You actually trust that she was telling us the truth?”

“Well...at the very least it’s a path better covered by trees…Less chance of getting electrocuted.”

She gave a wry smile, which was probably lost on him in the horrible downpour.  It was lucky she could even see him at all.

They smacked through the road a while longer, slick and muddy, their jackets doing nothing to keep their legs from getting drenched.

“Oh good.  Hey, Karen there’s a building up ahead.  I think we should get out of this for a while….”

The first thing she saw when he said that were the lights.  Pinkish, bluish, and greenish hues all encircling the outline of a very fine brick house, standing tall and proud against the rain.  It was a very old, very large, and very fancy looking building that spoke of rich extravagance in a bygone era where being in a wealthy family line was the very height of social status; the true American aristocracy.

The towering spires and glass enclosure on the side marked it as being different from the other debilitated rubble of the house they had previously passed on their way here.  Different, too, in the notion of how…colorful the lights shining on the house looked.  There was no accounting for why there should be a spectrum of colors fixated on this particular house; the lightning certainly wouldn’t have made it look that way.  

She opened her mouth to protest, wanting to mention how odd it was to see a house so clearly from so far away when they couldn’t even each other standing five feet apart, but he was already sliding down the slope to the gates and she felt compelled to follow along.

The gate itself was almost as extravagant as the building.  Iron wrought, with swirling twisted metal the likes of which you might find on old embroidery.  It slowly swung open the very moment Mike’s fingers touched it.

There was a small cemetery out front.  She’d visited a few old houses in her life and none of them ever had cemeteries in the front yard.  She would have thought it would be off-putting to any guests invited over.  Stained with age and crooked, they stood lonely against the bleakness of the dark sky, save for one.  One of them had a fresh red rose that was so vibrant it could be seen even through the tears of rain.

“I don’t think we should be here, Mike…” Karen said, eyeing the grave with the bust of a woman whom she swore had just been looking at her.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice.  We can barely go through that muck of a road, never mind find our way back to town.”

She could hear him rattling a door handle.  “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get the front door open. No one lives here... we can wait inside until the storm’s over.”

Karen slowly backed away in disbelief, the prickly beginnings of goosebumps dancing over her skin.

She knew very little about architecture, she would admit, but the house in front of her was not the same as the one she saw from afar.

“It looks…different up close, doesn’t it?”

“Huh?   I guess?  What do you mean?”

“Before, it looked like a brown brick building.  With a glass room.”  She swallowed thickly.  “…This is a white building, and the glass room is gone.  It looks more like an old Southern Plantation home.  With white pillars….”

“Pillars?  What pillars?”

“The four giant ones.  Right there!  You’re staring right at one!”

“I’m sorry, Karen, I don’t see any pillars…”

“Stop playing around!  You’d have to notice them, they’re right in fr-“

‘Don’t trust your eyes’

She shrieked and spun around, unceremoniously ending up on the ground of slick cobblestones in the process.

“What’s wrong? What happened?!”

“Someone just grabbed me!  Someone just grabbed me just now!  They grabbed me and whispered…and whispered…”

Even as she spoke, trying to get her breath in the storm, she felt unsure.  Like the house’s changing architecture, there’s was something about the place that was…missing.  

‘Missing’…yes, that was the word.  ‘Missing’ was the most apt description her mind could scramble for her; looking around in the rain for the source of the voice was like looking at a jigsaw puzzle with several pieces missing.  She felt compelled to sit there, her hands wrapping around a little piece of something stuck in the ground.  Something that she felt she ought to grab….a ring…?

“I don’t see anyone.  And I don’t think there’s anybody here but us.  The storm must be getting to you.  Come on, let’s go inside.”

“Not me. I'm not going in that old house! I'd rather stay out here and get wet.”

“And electrocuted?”

As if to respond, lightning streaked across the sky, and the immediate thunder made it seem too close for comfort.

“Alright.” She said, forcing herself to get off the ground, “But we leave the door open.  This place gives me the creeps.”

Someone had grabbed her.  She was certain of it.  To be sure, perhaps she had a bit of an active imagination sometimes, but she couldn’t have imagined the unnaturally cold hands that had clutched her arms, or the eerie sensation of hot breath against her ear.  Like the house’s changing features, both were too real to simply wave away as part of her imagination.

We really shouldn’t be here.

It was that thought that lingered as the two of them ventured inside, the door barely holding any resistance against them.  It was uncomfortable how the giant pillars (real or imagined) felt like a gaping maw as if the house itself were ready to eat her alive.

“Well I'll be... this house is still full of furniture.”  Mike said as he went to light a candelabra.

And indeed there was furniture!  A few chairs, a writing desk cluttered with papers and strange objects, a marble bust, a couch in front of an intricate fireplace, and a round oil painting framed by curtains.  

The inside was no warmer than the maelstrom kicking around outside, and there was something in the air….a dreadful feeling, like a suffocation, that clung to the items around them.  She felt the feeling cadence as she went to trace a finger down the decorated wood of a nearby chair; not a single speck of dust upon it.

“It’s as though someone still lives here…” She muttered, half to herself, turning to look at the reassuring sight of the open front door and the pattering sounds of rain just beyond it.  

“Heh.  You know all the rumors they say about these old buildings up here?  Spectral people, strange lights, ‘don’t ever get lost in those woods or else’?  If I remember correctly, one of these houses was the site of a bunch of suicides-”

“Knock it off, Mike!  This place is creepy enough without you reminding me of all that.”

She tried to distract herself.  Her fingers wrapped around the ring she had found outside.  Old, yet not rusted.  And with a generous diamond at its peak.  It felt important somehow, as though she was meant to keep it for another time.  She pocketed it.

“Hey Karen, come check some of this stuff out!  A few of these documents say they’re from 1865!”

She could hardly hear him.  Her gaze was transfixed on the painting in its prominent place above the fire.

It was an old painting of a young man.  His well fitted suit suggested an air of aristocracy about him, and his dark hair and sharply defined chin would have given him a very menacing look if it weren’t for his mouth.  There was a faint smile on his mouth, so out of place with the rest of the portrait that it had to have been added by the artist out of complete irony.   It was a striking portrait, for the beautiful blue eyes seem to stare directly at her, as though to peer into her very soul…

…And the portrait man was suddenly not smiling.

Or young.

She watched, unable to look away, as the man in the portrait began to seemingly age.  Skin growing withered, hair growing gray, clothes fraying, until she was no longer staring at a man but a skeleton.  A skeleton that seemed to leer at her as she backed away, slowly, fully intending to run out the door when thunder crashed quite abruptly.

And she was on the floor.  Again.

“Are you…are you okay?”  Mike helped her up.

“Yeah...” She said glumly.  

“You think we should break up?   You know, since my presence seems to make your knees buckle all the time?”  She could hear him snicker a little behind her.  

“Stop laughing! It isn’t funny,” She glanced back at the portrait, but sure enough it had reverted to its original state.  That painted smile looking like it was mocking her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Yet he seemed to keep going; his laughter never quieting down.  She spun her head to give him a piece of her mind, but his pale face said it all.  

He wasn’t responsible for the lingering, deep voice whose laughter currently echoed around them.

                              ‘Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmm’

“Who’s there?” Mike demanded, eyeing the suspicious looking marble bust.

“Mike, look!”

The door to the next room inexplicably lay open, and in its inky darkness, in the center of the room, stood the shadow of a very tall figure.  It stood, unmoving, unbreathing, and though she could not see its face she could not help but be sure it was staring right at them.

                ‘When hinges creak in doorless chambers,           And strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls;           Whenever candlelights flicker where the air is deathly still -                   That is the time when ghosts are present,                 Practicing their terror with ghoulish delight!’

The voice was low and deep, speaking with the gravity of having all the time in the world.

“How is he doing that?” Mike said as the voice seemed to flit from one side of the room to the next.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts…”  She muttered, trying desperately to reassure herself.  But her mind was firmly recalling all of the strange happenings that only she seemed to notice, and the lingering chill on the back of her spine made her voice falter even as she spoke.

                             ‘No such thing, hmm?’

Her stomach dropped as the voice chuckled darkly.

                                ‘Well then…’

With a bang, the couch was thrown back by an invisible force, giving them a clear view of the fireplace as it erupted into roaring purple and green flames.  The lightning flashed, as though on cue, as the room flared up in the two dancing colors.

                                 ‘Welcome, foolish mortals,                          to the world’s most Haunted Mansion.                                        I am your host.

                                    Your... ghost host.’

[unto-myself-together]

OF STORIES AND SONGS: A HAUNTED MANSION FANFIC CH 2

The Story and Song of the Haunted Mansion is an audiobook much like a campfire story.  It’s short, it’s sweet, and it’s not meant to have in-depth discussions or thorough characterizations.  Karen and Mike were caricatures of the typical hero/heroine of the time; Mike is clearly the braver one. I hope…no one would mind if I edit the reason why Karen was so much more frightened just a little bit…

And for those of you who wondered why I made the house on Tom Sawyer’s road instead of Liberty Square or New Orleans Square, you get your answer here…

Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter).

~~~~

Table of Contents: 

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,

Chapter 6 , Chapter 7

~

Ch 2: Come On In (And Make Yourself at Home)

One Autumn night, not long ago, two teenagers were walking home from a date…

~~

“I hate it when strangers are right.”

Karen tried to peer at Mike through the thick sheets of rain that seemed to endlessly descend upon them.  “What do you mean?”  

“That girl.  Whatsherface; Nell. She all but told us it was going to rain tonight.”

“Maybe.  But she wasn’t terribly clear about that, was she?”

Even though both held their own jackets above their heads, she could still feel cold water creeping down her back. 

“I can’t even see the way back to the road. Can you?”

“There’s a sign up ahead!”

“Where?”

“Up there!”

The two of them trudged on, practically swimming at this point.  The lightning bolt that flashed against the sky, with the thunder not far behind, was worrisome; they weren’t anywhere near town.

The sign that she saw, that she had pointed out before, was even more worrisome: it was old, with decaying letters, but it was more than enough to tell them exactly where they were.

Tom Sawyer’s Road Ahead.   Thunder Mountain beyond.   [Impossible to read] Mansion. 

It was scratched off and replaced with “Haunted”.  

They were on Tom Sawyer’s Road.

“Did you mean to lead us in this direction?” Karen said, worried.

“Sort of.  I was aiming for it; didn’t think we’d actually find it, though.  That lady said it was faster, and I really don’t want to be out in this much longer, do you?”

Mr. Vance’s words came to the forefront of her mind.  “You actually trust that she was telling us the truth?”

“Well...at the very least it’s a path better covered by trees…Less chance of getting electrocuted.”

She gave a wry smile, which was probably lost on him in the horrible downpour.  It was lucky she could even see him at all. 

They smacked through the road a while longer, slick and muddy, their jackets doing nothing to keep their legs from getting drenched. 

“Oh good.  Hey, Karen there’s a building up ahead.  I think we should get out of this for a while….”

The first thing she saw when he said that were the lights.  Pinkish, bluish, and greenish hues all encircling the outline of a very fine brick house, standing tall and proud against the rain.  It was a very old, very large, and very fancy looking building that spoke of rich extravagance in a bygone era where being in a wealthy family line was the very height of social status; the true American aristocracy. 

The towering spires and glass enclosure on the side marked it as being different from the other debilitated rubble of the house they had previously passed on their way here.  Different, too, in the notion of how…colorful the lights shining on the house looked.  There was no accounting for why there should be a spectrum of colors fixated on this particular house; the lightning certainly wouldn’t have made it look that way.  

She opened her mouth to protest, wanting to mention how odd it was to see a house so clearly from so far away when they couldn’t even each other standing five feet apart, but he was already sliding down the slope to the gates and she felt compelled to follow along. 

The gate itself was almost as extravagant as the building.  Iron wrought, with swirling twisted metal the likes of which you might find on old embroidery.  It slowly swung open the very moment Mike’s fingers touched it.

There was a small cemetery out front.  She’d visited a few old houses in her life and none of them ever had cemeteries in the front yard.  She would have thought it would be off-putting to any guests invited over.  Stained with age and crooked, they stood lonely against the bleakness of the dark sky, save for one.  One of them had a fresh red rose that was so vibrant it could be seen even through the tears of rain. 

“I don’t think we should be here, Mike…” Karen said, eyeing the grave with the bust of a woman whom she swore had just been looking at her.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice.  We can barely go through that muck of a road, never mind find our way back to town.”

She could hear him rattling a door handle.  “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get the front door open. No one lives here... we can wait inside until the storm’s over.”

Karen slowly backed away in disbelief, the prickly beginnings of goosebumps dancing over her skin.

She knew very little about architecture, she would admit, but the house in front of her was not the same as the one she saw from afar. 

“It looks…different up close, doesn’t it?”

“Huh?   I guess?  What do you mean?”

“Before, it looked like a brown brick building.  With a glass room.”  She swallowed thickly.  “…This is a white building, and the glass room is gone.  It looks more like an old Southern Plantation home.  With white pillars….”

“Pillars?  What pillars?”

“The four giant ones.  Right there!  You’re staring right at one!”

“I’m sorry, Karen, I don’t see any pillars…”

“Stop playing around!  You’d have to notice them, they’re right in fr-“

‘Don’t trust your eyes’

She shrieked and spun around, unceremoniously ending up on the ground of slick cobblestones in the process. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?!”

“Someone just grabbed me!  Someone just grabbed me just now!  They grabbed me and whispered…and whispered…”

Even as she spoke, trying to get her breath in the storm, she felt unsure.  Like the house’s changing architecture, there’s was something about the place that was…missing.  

‘Missing’…yes, that was the word.  ‘Missing’ was the most apt description her mind could scramble for her; looking around in the rain for the source of the voice was like looking at a jigsaw puzzle with several pieces missing.  She felt compelled to sit there, her hands wrapping around a little piece of something stuck in the ground.  Something that she felt she ought to grab….a ring…?

“I don’t see anyone.  And I don’t think there’s anybody here but us.  The storm must be getting to you.  Come on, let’s go inside.”

“Not me. I'm not going in that old house! I'd rather stay out here and get wet.”

“And electrocuted?”

As if to respond, lightning streaked across the sky, and the immediate thunder made it seem too close for comfort.

“Alright.” She said, forcing herself to get off the ground, “But we leave the door open.  This place gives me the creeps.”

Someone had grabbed her.  She was certain of it.  To be sure, perhaps she had a bit of an active imagination sometimes, but she couldn��t have imagined the unnaturally cold hands that had clutched her arms, or the eerie sensation of hot breath against her ear.  Like the house’s changing features, both were too real to simply wave away as part of her imagination.

We really shouldn’t be here.

It was that thought that lingered as the two of them ventured inside, the door barely holding any resistance against them.  It was uncomfortable how the giant pillars (real or imagined) felt like a gaping maw as if the house itself were ready to eat her alive. 

“Well I'll be... this house is still full of furniture.”  Mike said as he went to light a candelabra.

And indeed there was furniture!  A few chairs, a writing desk cluttered with papers and strange objects, a marble bust, a couch in front of an intricate fireplace, and a round oil painting framed by curtains.  

The inside was no warmer than the maelstrom kicking around outside, and there was something in the air….a dreadful feeling, like a suffocation, that clung to the items around them.  She felt the feeling cadence as she went to trace a finger down the decorated wood of a nearby chair; not a single speck of dust upon it.

“It’s as though someone still lives here…” She muttered, half to herself, turning to look at the reassuring sight of the open front door and the pattering sounds of rain just beyond it.  

“Heh.  You know all the rumors they say about these old buildings up here?  Spectral people, strange lights, ‘don’t ever get lost in those woods or else’?  If I remember correctly, one of these houses was the site of a bunch of suicides-”

“Knock it off, Mike!  This place is creepy enough without you reminding me of all that.” 

She tried to distract herself.  Her fingers wrapped around the ring she had found outside.  Old, yet not rusted.  And with a generous diamond at its peak.  It felt important somehow, as though she was meant to keep it for another time.  She pocketed it.

“Hey Karen, come check some of this stuff out!  A few of these documents say they’re from 1865!”

She could hardly hear him.  Her gaze was transfixed on the painting in its prominent place above the fire. 

It was an old painting of a young man.  His well fitted suit suggested an air of aristocracy about him, and his dark hair and sharply defined chin would have given him a very menacing look if it weren’t for his mouth.  There was a faint smile on his mouth, so out of place with the rest of the portrait that it had to have been added by the artist out of complete irony.   It was a striking portrait, for the beautiful blue eyes seem to stare directly at her, as though to peer into her very soul…

…And the portrait man was suddenly not smiling.

Or young.

She watched, unable to look away, as the man in the portrait began to seemingly age.  Skin growing withered, hair growing gray, clothes fraying, until she was no longer staring at a man but a skeleton.  A skeleton that seemed to leer at her as she backed away, slowly, fully intending to run out the door when thunder crashed quite abruptly. 

And she was on the floor.  Again.

“Are you…are you okay?”  Mike helped her up. 

“Yeah...” She said glumly.  

“You think we should break up?   You know, since my presence seems to make your knees buckle all the time?”  She could hear him snicker a little behind her.  

“Stop laughing! It isn’t funny,” She glanced back at the portrait, but sure enough it had reverted to its original state.  That painted smile looking like it was mocking her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Yet he seemed to keep going; his laughter never quieting down.  She spun her head to give him a piece of her mind, but his pale face said it all.  

He wasn’t responsible for the lingering, deep voice whose laughter currently echoed around them.

‘Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmm’

“Who’s there?” Mike demanded, eyeing the suspicious looking marble bust.

“Mike, look!”

The door to the next room inexplicably lay open, and in its inky darkness, in the center of the room, stood the shadow of a very tall figure.  It stood, unmoving, unbreathing, and though she could not see its face she could not help but be sure it was staring right at them. 

‘When hinges creak in doorless chambers, And strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls; Whenever candlelights flicker where the air is deathly still - That is the time when ghosts are present, Practicing their terror with ghoulish delight!’

The voice was low and deep, speaking with the gravity of having all the time in the world.

“How is he doing that?” Mike said as the voice seemed to flit from one side of the room to the next.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts…”  She muttered, trying desperately to reassure herself.  But her mind was firmly recalling all of the strange happenings that only she seemed to notice, and the lingering chill on the back of her spine made her voice falter even as she spoke. 

‘No such thing, hmm?’

Her stomach dropped as the voice chuckled darkly.

‘Well then…’

With a bang, the couch was thrown back by an invisible force, giving them a clear view of the fireplace as it erupted into roaring purple and green flames.  The lightning flashed, as though on cue, as the room flared up in the two dancing colors. 

‘Welcome, foolish mortals, to the world’s most Haunted Mansion. I am your host.

                                         Your... ghost host.’

[chvvva]

yesterday is another world

relationship: Motojirou Kajii/Yosano Akiko

prompt: Loss / Dancing / “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” - Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind

rating: general audiences

read on ao3

[May, current year]

Evening is fast approaching, its ominous pointed shadows reaching for the riverside right next to a lively street. Its mechanical and beeping sounds get relentlessly drowned out by the curtain of rain that is keeping the girl waiting under a broad bridge, but rather than a jarring mix of discordant noises, it sounds like an elegant harmony that catches her attention and renews itself, not boring at all. Besides, it distracts her from the wait.

A prickly, bubbly, anachronistic energy wells up inside her body at every innocuous detail that reminds her of whom she’s waiting for, and it feels to close to fear to be joy, too close to joy to be fear. Like a teenager waiting for a fantasy that she only dared entertain as a secret of her heart to come true.

And what can she do besides stomaching it, because that’s the only thing to do to keep living, the only way the show can truly go on. So she stomachs it, and bits her lips with an anxious and mature passion, a raindrop rolling down her warm, grinning face. She’s beautiful, and knows this, because… Well, it’s raining. Everything is so damn beautiful under the rain.

“Yosano”, his voice gets to her, loud and somewhat uncertain. She turns to Motojirou, a wry smile on her face, feeling at the same time like the silent director and main instrument of an orchestra. His lab coat hangs from his shoulders, completely damp with rain and in no way useful anymore. His hair is also soaked, and it makes him look like he just jumped out of a swimming pool. Yosano would lie if she declared not to find it even the slightest bit amusing. Lies do not suit a woman like her.

“Don’t tell me you walked all the way here”, she scoffs. “Please.”

“Isn’t it obvious? The trains are out of service.” Motojirou scratches a spot behind his ear where his hair - in a dry condition, see - never quite lies like he wants it to. It’s not exactly a secret, but not even something a very observant passerby would catch, which is why Yosano prides herself in her ability to archive this unnecessary information in the tidy folder of her mind which reads Motojirou. The transition from unflattering labels, associated with his peculiar occupation, happened slowly, probably in spring.

The exact occasion, she doesn’t remember. And she isn’t interested in doing so, as long as Motojirou looks at her with raw admiration setting his gaze ablaze, only when she’s near,and the pride of a moth that fights and struggles not to get alienated by the devouring flame of embarrassment. Slightly speckled with fear, of getting overshadowed, or abandoned.

She wants to reach out and plant a kiss on the cold planes of his cheeks, smooth like a water-streaked glass and lightened by a healthy complexion. But she’s not sure of what would happen.

Tomorrow, I will tell him tomorrow.

[May, current year]

It’s a wednesday. Yosano strolls into the Agency with her habitual pace, the bottom of her heels hitting the floor with a quick, light-hearted cadency. She looks like she just won the lottery, is the thought crossing her coworkes’ mind. Well, maybe not quite as excited; if anything, she looks like she found a penny on the sidewalk on her way here, or like a kid looked over her shoulder as she passed each other and whispered the word “pretty”.

If only Yosano could always be so… radiant.

“I’m tired”, Ranpo complains, chewing listlessly on a potato chip. “The President sent me on a job so early. It’s the third time this month.”

Yosano places her briefcase on her working desk. “The third one already.” She wonders, quite distractedly. She’s in a good mood, and effortlessly slips into her routine, compiling the first stack of papers with ease. She notices Kyouka reading a book out of the corner of her eye. “New shoes, Kyouka?”

The little girl looks up with a strange dullness in her gaze. She seems to be pondering the answer; but finally, her mouth takes the shape of a thin, pale line. “Yes.”

The doctor observes her face for a moment, then smiles. “They suit you.”

Kyouka’s face relaxes only a little.

[May, current year]

Yosano has to wait a few seconds for a reply. The line buzzes, hesitant, and the office is quiet since everyone went home already, almost making her self-aware of the sound of her breathing and the cat-shaped clock’s ticking. Soon they’re in synchrony, and she doesn’t even do it on purpose.

“I… I can’t come to the bridge tonight.”

She knits her brows, staring with puzzlement at the road below, from a window on the top floor of the Agency’s building. “Well, it was nice of you to tell me beforehand.”

“Something cape up at work”, Motojirou sounds exasperated, and a little desperate if Yosano can read between the lines. She doesn’t want to think badly of him. “It’s okay.”

“No. Really. I would come if I could make arrangements.”.

“I said, it’s fine. My work makes me busy too. It could have happened to both of us.”

He huffs into the phone, and Yosano leans away from it slightly. She doubts it’s his own phone; he probably forgot his in some public place and asked to call her from a colleague’s. He doesn’t seem to understand the concept of amplified sound , and this says a lot about how he sees the world and takes other people into consideration. In a way, he only ever sees himself reflected in the mirror. In another, his vision is what Yosano would describe as disarmingly realistic. If, months ago, she could imagine that they could get entwined in such a close friendship after meeting in bellicose circumstances, she wouldn’t have known how to trust a person like him. Now, she thinks she understands a little better, and yet still eyes the last step with a apprehensive sense of wonder. “I’m sorry, Akiko.”

She makes to answer, but the words remain stuck in her throat.

I’ll tell him tomorrow.

[May, current year]

When Yosano opens her eyes, she instantly feels that something’s off. Her home is warm. The heater must be on. Or maybe, she thinks after some debate, maybe it’s just her body temperature. She has slept wrapped in a heap of blankets, after all. She isn’t sure what it means; spring in about to end, and she doesn’t feel sick at all. Her face is fresh like a rose.

A glass of water stands on the bedside table. Next to it, a leather bound notebook.

She gets out of bed instinctively, taking in a careful breath as she surveys her surroundings. She didn’t turn on the heater the night before, and the nightgown she’s wearing is the one she only takes out of the wardrobe in winter.

The thing is, summer hasn’t even started yet.

The whole circumstance is very confusing, before she looks out of the window, and she feels utterly lost.

It’s snow.

The notebook on the table is a journal. She thumbs through the pages, which don’t make any sense to her. The last page reads just a few sentences, but they’re overall less incomprehensible than the whole book; and Yosano knows that she wrote them herself.

Don’t panic. It’s okay.

Call Kajii. If he doesn’t answer, call The President.

She only notices that her hands are shaking like before her first surgery when she grabs the phone, conveniently placed next to the glass of water.

He picks up after the first ring. “Yes?”

“What does this mean?” She asks, her voice too calm and tight to be natural. “I found a journal. It’s… It’s snowing, Motojirou. What’s going on?”

“I… Huh… I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Tell me–” The line goes still before Yosano can finish, and she closes her eyes.

Motojirou looks like he told this story too many times.

“All right. It was on a subway train. The accident, that is. Believe me when I say I know what it’s like, but what I regret the most is… not being there with you. You were on that subway train. Now, it’s only a matter of seconds if you didn’t die, and hell, you were close…”

“Motojirou.”

“… But no, you only hit your head in the wrong place. And at the hospital, some guys were saying that you could experience various degrees of memory loss… When you woke up, you remembered everything that happened until May 28. But of the day of the accident, nothing. And the day after, still nothing. It’s like your mind is unable to create new memories since May 29.” He draws in a breath, as if to steady himself. “There is more. We got together, that day. You… You never remember that.”

A silence falls between them. Yosano’s fingers slowly massage her temples, the milky morning rays fall on her face like moondust.

That night, Motojirou helps her rebuild the events that occurred in the past months. The times he has had to tell her the whole story all over again are periodic; he stopped keeping count. To avoid making her relive the trauma, they just wait for the days she finds out on her own. She’s still keeping her job as a doctor, helping people under the considerate and understanding wing of the Agency. She wonders if she’s still herself after all, but frankly, giving herself simple, concise answers has always been a remarkable personality trait, which are hard to get rid of. Yosano writes a few more things on the journal. Some pages read, I’ll tell him tomorrow, I’ll tell him that I want us to be more, and they’re the saddest ones. So she writesbabout what she’s thinking, but not necessarily what she’s feeling. She won’t need the journal for that.

They go out in the streets, huddled close together under the blanket Motojirou’s brought. The only detail Yosano can focus on in the strange, cold air loaded with expectation, is his nonchalant touch. It keeps her warm. After a while, the fireworks start, and as the explosions ignite the sky over their heads, over the buildings, over the skyscrapers, Yosano feels Motojirou’s restrained gaze on her. It all clicks in that exact moment.

And perhaps there’s no tomorrow, not for her. The present means Motojirou’s fingers grazing her shoulder, and all the sadness not quite hidden there, the space between them burning out, and the smile he flashes at her when Yosano meets his eyes. If that’s so, and this is the only day she’s going to live for the rest of forever, there’s no beat of hesitance when she leans into him and presses her lips on his.

It feels a little like keeping a promise, a little like making a new one.

[May, current year]

She walks into the Agency with her briefcase in one hand and her car keys in the other, the usual greetings welcome her. Ranpo complaining about some absurdly early job, Atsushi mitigating a quarrel between his seniors, Kyouka calmly studying a map of the city.

“New shoes, Kyouka?”

The girl blinks a few times, looks up. Her dark orbs observe Yosano’s smiling face, almost unresponsive. “Yes”, says Kyouka. “Thanks for noticing, Yosano-san.”

If only Yosano could always be so radiant.

[May, current year]

Evening is fast approaching, its ominous pointed shadows reaching for the riverside right next to a lively street. The red, bleeding sun rays seeps into the river, turning the water a bright color that complements the sky, and the woman who’s waiting under a broad bridge is amused by the color scheme, which perhaps also suits her a little. The trees are in bloom. It is not unusual for this time of the year, but she’s taken aback by the sheer quantity of flowers. They’re tinged a faint sunset-red.

“Yosano?” Motojirou sounds different from usual, more confident, except that’s not the word she’s looking for. He sounds like she knows her better, and he only said her name.

“Don’t tell me you walked all the way here”, she lets out a winded chuckle, staring at him, as a shard of sunlight is still gleaming in her playful irises. “Please.”

“No, I took the subway”, Motojirou corrects her. “Do you even know how far from here my Headquarters are?”

“Vaguely.”

It’s a wednesday evening, the streetlights form ponds of light at their feet and Motojirou looks at her smiling. A pleasant electricity makes Yosano’s spine shiver.

Tomorrow. I will tell him, tomorrow.

[viralhottopics]

Breaking bad: Hollywood wakes up to the power of dark, dangerous women

Forget the sobbing suffering beauty. From Rebecca Halls unlikable newsreader to Jessica Chastains ruthless lobbyist, this is the year of the unsympathetic, deeply flawed femme. Thank goodness for that

The good news is that there are some great female characters coming up in the cinema in 2017. The bad news, if youre looking for inspirational feminist role models, is that you wont always find them in the movies. Lurking behind such obvious audience-pleasing instances of fine upstanding womanhood as Taraji P Henson plotting a course through the cosmos in Hidden Figures, or Rachel Weisz taking antisemitism to court in Denial, lies a monstrous army of deeply flawed femmes perverse, prickly, deluded, depressed, obsessive, venal, scary. Well, I say hurrah for that.

First up, though, is the unfeasibly perfect Natalie Portman in Pablo Larrans Jackie, not so much a biopic of Jacqueline Kennedy as a tone poem evoking its subjects transformation from trophy wife via weeping widow into American icon, a makeover forged by grief. In recreating a historical event made to seem ever more removed from reality by more than half a century of Zapruder, Warhol and conspiracy theorising, the film-maker and his leading lady transport us back to basics: the barely imaginable horror of witnessing your husbands brains being blown out. Portman knocks it out of the park, giving a masterclass in suffering beautifully.

And I mean beautifully. Whereas the likes of Claire Danes and Laura Dern convey excoriating emotional pain by snivelling like you and me, cry-faces scrunched up and shoulders heaving, Portman weeps like a lady, trying to blink back her tears, elegant eyebrows rearing up like rival caterpillars to greet each other across her lightly furrowed brow. She cries cute, a fan comments beneath one of the supercuts of Portmans comely blubbing in everything from Lon to V for Vendetta to the Star Wars prequels to Black Swan. And Larrans camera loves her, whether shes crying in the shower or chaperoning her husbands coffin on Air Force One.

Tippi Hedren in Hitchcocks The Birds. Photograph: Allstar/Cinetext/Universal

There is something exquisitely cinematic in the suffering of women, and depicting their torment in big closeup has long been a favourite pursuit of male auteurs. How often do their cameras linger on womens pleasure? Try to think of great actressy moments in the cinema and the memory veers towards heartbreak more than happiness or fulfilment. Greta Garbo may have laughed in Ninotchka, but this was already so atypical that the publicity department bragged about it on the poster.

No wonder there have been so many films about Joan of Arc – all that in-your-face spiritual agony, with the religious element providing a righteous front for the voyeuristic revelling in pain. In The Passion of Joan of Arc, Carl Dreyer dwells on Falconettis sublime anguish so relentlessly his camera is practically lapping up her tears. One thinks of the womens pictures of Douglas Sirk or Max Ophls, or Rainer Werner Fassbinder (Margit Carstensen in The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant), or Meryl Streep tortured by Sophies Choice, or, more recently, Nicole Kidman in Birth, or Marion Cotillard howling the roof down in La Vie en Rose or Rust and Bone.

Alfred Hitchcock pretty much dedicated his career to putting his leading ladies through the wringer, and duly subjected Joan Fontaine, Ingrid Bergman and Kim Novak to the sort of carefully calibrated mistreatment guaranteed to make them look more alluring than ever. This tendency reached its apex in The Birds, where Tippi Hedren starts off as the epitome of cool blonde chic (impeccable coiffure, spotless suit and pearls) and ends up decoiffed, streaked with blood, her nylons laddered a traumatised victim of assault. Hitchcock is clearly getting off on it. Male directors, few of them attractive physical specimens themselves, like nothing better than to knock perfect leading actresses off their pedestals.

The most Hitchcockian heroine of 2016 was Amy Adams in Tom Fords Nocturnal Animals. Adams plays Susan, a super-soigne Los Angeles art gallery owner who lives in a concrete and glass Bel Air mansion and sports impeccable maquillage, preternaturally straight hair, high-tone couture (as youd expect in a film from the former creative director of Gucci), statement jewellery so pronounced you half expect it to start talking and a fabulously good-looking husband who keeps her in the style to which she is accustomed.

Perfectly flawed Amy Adams as Susan Morrow in Nocturnal Animals. Photograph: Merrick Morton/Universal

But, this being a revenge thriller (albeit not necessarily the sort that youre expecting) the delivery of the manuscript of a novel by her first husband throws a spanner into the perfection. Unlike Hitchcock, Ford is a prime physical specimen, and one can safely assume his interest in her downfall isnt so much sexual as conjuring classic Hollywood by expressing emotion via screen style. But many filmgoers have felt alienated by Susan not being sympathetic, and condemnations of the film as misogynistic are not hard to find. A love letter to sexist movies (Bitch Flicks); epitomises salacious, exploitative misogyny (Ruthfully Yours); an ugly, mean-spirited story from start to finish, with a deep misogyny at its core (Bouquets & Brickbats).

I suppose if you like your films to be purveyors of Old Testament-style justice, in which anything unpleasant that may happen to, say, a career woman must be de facto punishment for sins she has committed, then Fords treatment of her is as cruel as that of her ex-husband. But Nocturnal Animals is a cautionary tale, not a moral one. I prefer to think of Susan as a tragically flawed human being, wrestling with lifes complexities and suffering the consequences of her own misguided decisions, yet in control of her own destiny, just like all the best male movie characters. Im not interested in watching the hackneyed rise and fall and rise again of a one-dimensional paragon who learns from her mistakes, triumphs over sexist opposition and emerges in the third act as a shining feminist role model. I want compelling drama and dark nights of the feminine soul. I want Shakespearean, and if that means a character suffering, so be it.

And it looks as if 2017 might be stepping up to bat. Brace yourself for a coven of female characters who are no more sympathetic than Susan. Prepare to see them make awful decisions and do bad things, with results that are sometimes tragic, sometimes comic, sometimes both simultaneously. In Christine, Rebecca Hall gives a fearlessly unlikable performance as an ambitious Florida newscaster whose refusal to play the game leads her into some very dark places. In Miss Sloane, Jessica Chastain is bracingly uningratiating as a ruthless Washington DC lobbyist. In Elle, Isabelle Huppert plays a chilly businesswoman who reacts to being raped by refusing to embrace the traditional movie roles of victim, survivor or avenger, instead striking out into unexpected and distinctly uncomfortable territory.

Elle trailer: Isabelle Huppert stars in Paul Verhoevens noir thriller exclusive video

All these are hints that the next few months could be one of the most promising seasons for choice female roles in years, and what is especially exciting is that female film-makers visions are at last entering the picture. In the three chapters of Certain Women, Kelly Reichardt presents the non-glamorous lives of Laura Dern, Michelle Williams and Lily Gladstone in a precisely observed manner that is the opposite of melodramatic, though one of the segments will still break your heart. Maren Ades Toni Erdmann may be named after the grotesque alter ego of its leading male character, but its chiefly about the strained relationship with his daughter (Sandra Hller), a workaholic businesswoman leading a bleak life in Bucharest. Like Reichardt, Ade isnt in a hurry and prefers slice of life to glamour, but the film packs at least two audience-pleasing highlights to rank with any by commercial Hollywood.

But you dont have to settle for realism, because the more we see movies by female film-makers, the more its evident that the female point of view, like the male one, is not some homogeneous, touchy feely Mama Mia!-type hoedown. Alice Lowe stars in her own directing debut, the deliciously mean-spirited Prevenge, as a pregnant woman whose foetus urges her to kill, and kill again. Lowes Arnold Bennett-ish ear for one-liners, insight into hormonal chaos, and gleeful splatter combine to present a female POV youve never seen before. From the other side of the Atlantic, Anna Biller pays visual homage to the colourful style of 1970s occult thrillers in The Love Witch, the tale of a Californian femme fatale (Samantha Robinson) whose love spells have bloody consequences, but gives the story a modern feminist twist.

Alice Lowe as a woman whose foetus urges her to kill in horror flick Prevenge. Photograph: Western Edge Pictures

And while there is no UK release date for it yet, keep your eyes peeled for Julia Ducournaus Raw, the best and bloodiest slice of body horror since David Cronenberg in his prime. Its about a naive French veterinary student (Garance Marillier) whose hair-raising rite of passage includes brutal hazing, eating raw liver, cannibalism and the funniest, most gruesome bikini waxing ever filmed.

Theres more than enough room for all these films. Some you may love, others you might loathe, but there is no longer any excuse to pin feminist hopes and dreams on to a single film or female character. We contain multitudes.

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from Breaking bad: Hollywood wakes up to the power of dark, dangerous women