#anyway all this rambling to say i should try doing SOME traditional art every once in a while 😂

[omppupiiras]

peanuary day 27: 🧂

I hope he doesn't oversalt his dinner with that huge salt shaker!

[ackerfics]

your eyes still shined, like pretty lights — mikasa ackerman

— mikasa ackerman x female reader (modern au)

— request by anon: ooh how about some childhood best friends to lovers with mikasa? also based from taylor swift’s mary’s song :)

— warnings: none? just too much fluff and a hint of angst :))

— summary: you never knew that being childhood best friends with mikasa would lead to you finding forever within her gray eyes.

— word count: 6.3k words

— author’s notes: i am so happy that this is my first request !! thank you for requesting this and i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i loved writing it. i never knew writing mikasa would evoke feelings i was so familiar with back when there were face to face interactions with people. i will be forever grateful for the request !! you are a gem.

i reposted this bc it seems like this didn’t appear in the tags :(( i hope this works now :”((

> just two kids, you and i

The scent of apple pies drifted across the Ackerman household, ensnaring the girl of black locks and starlit eyes inside her room on the second floor. It wasn’t a regular day in their neighborhood. For starters, there was a moving truck parked at the house beside them, men shouting for the furniture to be lugged inside the walls of the empty home one by one, and the quiet atmosphere was interrupted by what was ensuing in the neighboring house of the Ackerman’s. Mikasa, the only daughter of the household, wanted to satisfy her curiosity, which flared, even more, when her mother baked one of her special apple pies. Throwing away the homework her first-grade teacher gave them, the young girl padded across her room, opened the door with a bang, and ran towards the kitchen in an excited rush.

With wide eyes, she stood on her tiptoes and peered at the edge of the countertop. There was flour everywhere, or was it powdered sugar? Mikasa will never know unless she will have one taste of it. Just a little taste. And so she carefully reached out one arm to swipe the white ingredient off the counter.

“Mika, don’t even think about it.”

Mikasa froze in her tracks, looking up to meet her mother’s eyes. “But I wanted to know if this is powdered sugar.”

The older woman smiled endearingly at her daughter. “You could’ve just asked, you know? Besides, I think these apple pies are much better than the powdered sugar.” She turned to get one of the pies from the oven with her mittens, then facing Mikasa with a proud smile. “So what do you think? Will our new neighbors love it?”

“Everybody loves your pies, Mom.”

A laugh came from the woman’s lips, letting the delicacies cool down before putting them in a box for their neighbors to enjoy. What her daughter said was true. Every time the light of the Ackerman household baked treats for the neighborhood, she would always receive remarks that she needed to open her bakery, saying that every single one of her treats was divine. She wanted to open her bakery, even to the point of helping out one of her nephews who was starting to have a tea shop as a dream. Her daydreams were interrupted when she saw something move in her peripheral vision. Mikasa was once again reaching out to swipe the caramel apple toppings. “Mika, you will have your share later. For now, we’ll have to be patient, okay?”

The little girl pursed her lips in annoyance. She was getting tired of standing on her tiptoes anyway. She had nothing else to do — she ditched her homework, she was told to wait before eating the dessert, and she was bored out of her mind. The silence stretched on for a couple of minutes, all spent by Mikasa thinking hard on what interesting thing she should be focusing her attention on.

“You know, our new neighbors have a little girl your age, why don’t you introduce yourself to her?”

That was the only catalyst for little Mikasa to make her way to her room, getting the toys she wanted to show, as she brightened at the thought of making new friends. In her elementary school, nobody wanted to be friends with her, knowing that she was known for being blunt and introverted. She was trying her hardest but nobody lasted longer than a few months — they always found a new circle of kids to share their stories with and Mikasa will be left alone again. Her older cousin, Levi, always teased her (in the least condescending way possible) that she should get rid of that permanent frown on her face (like he was one to talk). But it was never Mikasa’s fault that their classroom was always stuffy, with the air conditioner not functioning well. Mikasa doesn’t like being cooped up in a room, sweaty because of the humidity. The little girl rather preferred the coolness of the library, which the other kids didn’t like at all. They wanted to have fun and run around the school’s playground the whole hour of their recess and lunch breaks.

So now, it was an understatement that Mikasa was excited. She even brought some of her toys with her to share with her new neighbor. She hoped the girl liked toy soldiers (it was a gift from Levi on her birthday last year).

The little girl her mother was talking about was sitting on the front porch swing bench.

You were smaller than she and Mikasa wondered how you ever sat in the high swing. Your head was hung down and it looked like you were coloring something, with the way your hands gripped the red crayon. The black-haired girl wanted to call out to you but she doesn’t even know your name. Taking a deep breath, the little girl of gray eyes mustered up her courage and tried quelling the pitter-patter of her heart.

Why was it beating so fast?

The moment she stepped on the lawn of the house next door, Mikasa was sure she was seeing the constellations in your eyes when you looked up to meet her expectant stare.

> take me back to the house in the backyard tree

Mikasa was eight when she had this crazy idea inside her head.

In the two years that the two of you were friends, you always talked about a little safe haven tucked from the eyes of the world. A place where the two of you can be yourselves. A place where magic can happen even in the smallest space. Your eyes would light up blindingly when you talked about the things you will put inside your safe space, Mikasa matching your starry eyes with her own, staring at you silently as you poured out your beautiful dreams to her. The last time the two of you had a sleepover, you were chattering about a hidden library that only opens at certain times at night. The next second, you were off narrating how the stars were the most amazing things that gave you comfort on nights where you miss one of your parents because they were working so late. Then, you were relaying the possibilities of having a little art studio where you’re not afraid of drawing one of your prompts.

Mikasa let you ramble with a smile on her face. She was always a listener, afraid that the shine in your eyes would die down when she would interrupt — you just look so beautiful. However, there were times where you asked her things like her hobbies and likes, almost as if you were listing them down in an imaginary notebook in your head, and it will always catch Mikasa off-guard. Stutters accompanied her answers to your questions, not used to being the center of attention when it should be you. You were just too bright and full of sunshine. When Mikasa mentioned this to you, you only grinned, “Then you’ll be my Moon, Mika. I’ll let you glimmer through the night.”

She never slept that night, staring at the moon through her open window while thinking about your words.

Now, her mission led her to her father’s study, face set in adorable determination.

“Mika? What brings you here?” Her father placed his hands on her waist, lifting her until she was situated on his lap. His focus immediately went to his laptop on his desk. Mikasa’s eyes went from her father’s face to the gadget’s screen. She knew her father’s job was something hard and fun at the same time but looking at what was displayed on the screen, she instantly thought that drawing houses was harder than it looks. There were lines that she never knew were supposed to be there, a sprinkling of equations not suited for primary school was scattered around the blueprint, making Mikasa dizzy enough to place a hand on her forehead. “Complicated, isn’t it?” Her dad asked her in amusement. “This is what your Dad does for a living, Mika.”

“You like drawing houses, right?” Mikasa looked up at her father, gray eyes twinkling.

Her father hummed, ruffling her hair before squinting at his laptop. “Yes, I do.”

“We have a big tree in the backyard, right?”

The man furrowed his brows. He looked down at his daughter who was still in a daze in front of his laptop’s screen. “Yeah, it’s pretty hard to miss, you know?”

Gray eyes matched his own as Mikasa lifted her head and squeezed her hands on her lap. “How about building a treehouse in our backyard?”

Her father’s sputter was the only thing she received as a reply but that didn’t stop Mikasa from smiling smugly, your haven becoming possible by the minute.

And nothing can compare to your star-struck face the moment you laid your eyes on your little castle with Mikasa months after it was finished.

The midnight-haired girl swore she once again saw the entire cosmos in your irises, sending her heart in a confusing tangle of beats.

> said you'd beat me up, you were bigger than me (you never did)

Mikasa was eleven when she realized that she will do anything for your happiness.

Friday afternoons were always reserved for your and Mikasa’s many traditions: watch the movies the two of you borrowed from the rental shop downtown, snack on Mikasa’s treats and your mom’s sandwiches, immerse yourselves in video games until dinner was called. It was a celebration for surviving the end of the week — something that kept the two of your going. Your mom never lets you watch television throughout the week, the time was only spent studying and focusing on academics, which must be why you were one of the top students in your primary school. Fridays were your breathers, it reminded you that there was still happiness lingering after a week of pouring everything to not disappoint your parents. And you were happy that you get to spend this with Mikasa of all people.

The movies you two watched were all romantic comedies that your mothers suggested. You were a crying mess while Mikasa only stared at the television with a blank face. She never understood how everything in the movie moved you so much when it was just a pair of people expressing how much they meant to each other. You have that in your life — your parents, your two friends who you recently introduced to her, your dog, and her. Mikasa has always told you how much you meant to her through the littlest of things, the animated little girl when you were kids becoming a soft-spoken pubescent that supported you with little actions. And now, Mikasa didn’t want to see you cry because it didn’t sit right with her. You should be smiling because that’s when you were the most beautiful for her.

“Here, figured the movie would make you cry,” the black-haired girl told you, pushing the box of tissues in your direction.

You sniffed, lips pursed and wobbly. You took out some tissues from the box and proceeded to blow your nose, Mikasa’s hand forming a pattern of soothing circles on your back. “They died together. It was so bittersweet.”

Mikasa thoughtfully stared at your hands that were fiddling with the box of tissues. “At least she remembered him.” She lifted her eyes to meet your teary ones, breath hitching and thoughts forgotten as she blinked at how the lights from the television made your irises have silver flakes on them. Looking away without moving her head, Mikasa cleared her throat. “But they can still do everything as long as they love each other. I guess it’s not a sad ending, it’s not a happy one, either. I think it’s fitting for the two of them.” She carefully reached out a hand and wiped away a stray tear at the corner of your eye, lingering her palm against your cheek. “But if the movie made you cry for varying reasons, it means you understand their feelings, of the characters, I mean. Plus, your tear ducts are still functioning.”

A bubble of giggles came from you. You stared at her with soft eyes that pinched Mikasa’s chest. “What would I do without you, Mika?”

“Probably die in a ditch or something.”

“Hey!” You playfully pushed her side, Mikasa’s slight chuckles tickling your ears. “That’s mean. I never knew our friendship could amount to a thing such as bullying.”

She ruffled your hair with a small smile. “It’s a once-in-a-blue-moon experience.” The black-haired girl then turned around, rummaging for something besides the box of movies you rented for the rest of the day. Two video games were presented in front of you with a faux look of seriousness painting your best friend’s face. “Now, how about we play some games to alleviate the sad atmosphere brought by the movie we just watched?”

“You’re on.”

A few rounds of racing games later and you were becoming agitated. Mikasa always won against you at any type of game you two dedicated your time on. At the moment, you were ranked second, meters away from Mikasa’s selected car model. You were always brushing off your poor gaming and strategic skills, blaming your loss on the equipment you picked, saying that the stats are the absolute worst because Mikasa always took the best-looking car in the choices. All of the cars present in the racing game were all good and it depends on the gamer on how they’ll manage with the listed specs. You maneuvered your red racing car to one of the shortcut routes, your side of the screen displaying a forest terrain that neither of you ever ventured in before. You can see Mikasa glancing at you from the corner of your vision, making you speed up, only for you to be thrown off course by some traps plugged in by the developers. There was a standby screen flashing in front of you, not knowing how Mikasa slowed her car.

When the countdown finished, your car was able to move again and this time, you tried to take it slow since Mikasa might have won the game by now. To your surprise, your name was the one displayed on the screen instead of your best friend. She was awarded third place instead of the second when you could’ve sworn she was just a few meters from the finish line. You looked at her curiously, wondering what happened.

She glanced at you before looking down on her controller thoughtfully. “I guess I messed up, too. I thought there are no traps in front of the finish line but it turns out a bomb was implanted at the side of the track.”

There were no traps in front of the finish line and your giddy smile was picture perfect as you celebrated your first win against Mikasa.

> i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried

Mikasa was fourteen when she realized that her heart was beating for you, something that wasn’t appropriate between best friends.

“Okay, for this small party, we’ll be playing Truth or Dare!” Connie exclaimed, the smell of his father’s stash of beer coming out of his mouth.

Your little world with Mikasa extended and created a universe with unlikely people that you never imagined would be your friends.

It all started with Armin and Eren, the two boys who became your friends in primary school. Armin was one of the smartest people in your middle school, already getting a sure spot in your town’s high school, being the candidate for valedictorian. Meanwhile, Eren was one of the members of the school’s soccer team, which in turn brought along his teammates, Reiner and Jean. The latter person in Eren’s little circle in his soccer team claimed that he and his two friends, Sasha and Connie, were a package deal. It was funny because Sasha was befriended by you and Mikasa way before the two of you knew she had some connection with the soccer player. The brown-haired girl was your seatmate in History. When you heard her stomach grumble (the subject was set before lunchtime and everyone was practically hungry after the morning hours), you offered your bar of chocolate to her. There you found your other best friend, her hugs and gushes of ‘I love yous’ made the first interaction unforgettable.

The small party held in Connie’s house was thrown because you were all graduating the following week. The short boy was ecstatic while planning out the mini-event, even threatening to kick out Sasha when she became hungry while preparing the snacks. Since the party was not limited to your friend group, Reiner invited some of his friends — Annie, Bertholdt, and Ymir. Connie was overjoyed that he was finally getting popular, to which Ymir shut down, saying that she needed the booze (she fought with Historia, her on-off girlfriend, leading to their nth break-up).

“Ugh, man,” Eren groaned. “Do you even remember what happened the last time we played Truth or Dare?”

Jean snorted. “Nobody asked you to do the dare, idiot. You could always take the shot.”

“Well, I don’t want to smell like booze when I go home, horse face. Mom’s going to kill me.”

“Who in their right mind would jump into the freezing lake naked then, Eren?”

You chuckled, remembering how Eren talked your ear off when he went home after his retreat with the soccer team. He claimed that his dick was numb to the point that he couldn’t feel anything while jerking off. Mikasa had to cover your ears while he went to that part and Armin was begging for the brown-haired boy to stop tainting his mind.

“Okay, can you guys stop arguing for just one minute?” Sasha pleaded through a mouthful of hash browns. “I’ll start spinning the bottle now!”

The game started quite well. Armin had to perform a dance number in front of all of you because Sasha wanted to let everyone know how awesome Armin was at dancing. Jean chose truth and was asked who he found hot among the girls his year. (Nobody missed his subtle glance at Mikasa, who was focused on the drink in her glass.) Reiner was asked who he last hooked up with and surprisingly, he downed a shot instead of answering. When Sasha chose dare, Reiner thought it was a good idea to witness the girl put as many marshmallows in her mouth without stopping. (Sasha managed to empty the bag.) Annie was dared to text her crush and the next second, Armin’s phone dinged with an incoming message. You and Sasha cooed at the blonde boy’s burning face. Mikasa also chose truth and drank her shot when she was asked by Annie about the person she likes. (Jean perked at this but quickly deflated when the black-haired girl held no hesitation in drinking the shot.)

Then, the bottle landed on you.

Your eyes met with Mikasa, knowing that she will be the one asking the infamous question of ‘truth or dare?’

“Dare.”

Sasha and Connie ooh’d at the background.

“I dare you to kiss the person you’re thinking about a lot.”

It was a masked question. Mikasa wanted to ask you about your recent crush but she had to be conspicuous about it. Of course, she noticed how you and Eren became close these days. Always sitting with each other during lunch and how the green-eyed boy always offered his jacket whenever you felt cold. She had to confirm it. She didn’t want Armin to pick up on her nerves every time she witnessed how Eren looked at you like you placed the stars in the sky. She was only worried for you since Eren had the most experience when it comes to dating among the four of you, having only dated one person the whole duration of middle school.

However, Mikasa didn’t expect you to place a hand on her cheek, your face inches from hers.

The entire circle became silent, jaws dropped at the scene unfolding in front of their eyes. Mikasa didn’t pay them any attention. Her eyes were wide while yours were hesitantly trained on her lips. She didn’t register that you whispered along the lines of only kissing her cheek. Her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest. Her face was burning with a beautiful shade of rouge. Her mind was muddled, panicking that you were so close to her. Mikasa remembered the times you left her breathless. They were unexpected moments that only occurred in a mundane situation but it was you. You were different from the people in Connie’s house right now. You were a force to be reckoned with, always interrupting Mikasa’s focus during class because you were there in her thoughts. You were a sight to behold, having a fair share of admirers, one of them being Mikasa, to which she was never aware until now. You were everything held tightly in a small body that fit exactly against Mikasa's when the two of you hug after a bad day.

You were so beautiful.

But Mikasa couldn’t handle the continuous pounding of her heart.

She turned around and immediately darted to the bathroom, leaving you frozen along with your gawking friends.

Oh, how Mikasa regretted running away the moment the door was flat on her back.

> take me back to the time we had our very first fight

Mikasa was eighteen when she heard the words she dreamed of coming from your lips.

“Why don’t you go back to Eren?” Mikasa grumbled, her eyes glaring at the road in front of her, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. “Why would you even go home with me? He was offering to drive you back and you’re here sitting in my car.”

There was no reason why she was being angry right now. The past years in high school were pure torture for Mikasa and the soccer game that happened hours prior was the cherry on top of the sundae. When their school’s soccer team won at the final game of the seniors, she had to watch Eren pick you up, laughing while twirling you around. Everybody knew how much Eren liked you since he wasn’t afraid of expressing his feelings to a crowd of people. However, even with Eren’s efforts of wooing you, you always brushed it off, saying that he is still one of your best friends. There was no denying that Eren was courting you with the whole school as the witness. It was like a love story waiting to hit its climax — two childhood friends intertwining their fates together until they found forever with each other.

Mikasa had to suppress a groan at the thought. Maybe she watched too many romance movies to think straight at the moment. She honked the horn too loudly, making you flinch in the passenger seat. Her gray eyes were a raging storm and even the biker at the side of the street wasn’t safe as she turned her head to the window, shouting, “Hey, there’s a bike lane for a reason!”

“Mika, calm down,” you pleaded.

She scoffed in disbelief, remaining silent even though you were expecting to hear her answer.

“Why are you so angry right now? I don’t know how to fix this if you’re going to be so quiet over it.”

The car stopped in front of your house and you didn’t even notice how Mikasa practically broke the speed limit. It was a good thing there weren’t any cops doing their patrols on your side of town. Now that there was finally time for you to ask her questions, you turned to face her. You pursed your lips at the sight of her stony visage, face still so beautiful that it made your sketches of her look like nothing.

Mikasa has been ignoring you the past few weeks. You noticed that it was only when Eren was around. You looked away at the thought, heart-pounding that maybe Mikasa finally realized her feelings for the green-eyed boy. You never fail to notice how she was constantly hovering around the boy, reminding him of the schoolwork he was missing or his forgotten lunch. It always squeezed your chest too hard.

You tried reaching for her hand, only to be swatted away. “Mika,” you whispered brokenly.

“Do you like Eren?”

Oh, so that was it.

You schooled your expression in a blank one, licking your lips in nervousness. She wanted to make sure there was nothing between you and Eren so that she can finally tell him her feelings. “Why are you asking that?”

“Stop answering my questions with another question.”

You had enough of this. “Then what do you want me to say?”

Mikasa threw her hands up in the air, shrugging her shoulders in disbelief. “I don’t know! Your honest answer, I guess. It seems to me like you do like him. With you, all cuddled up with that long-haired idiot every single day. Is it the long hair? Do you like people with long hair? If that’s the case, I’ll grow my hair! Just give me a few years at most.”

You looked at her in confusion and frustration. “What are you talking about, Mikasa?”

She flinched. You never called her by her full first name. It was always Mika for you. She was always Mika for you. You were the only one allowed to call her that aside from her parents. Mikasa turned abruptly, taking you by surprise as she placed both of her hands on your arms, firmly grasping them to make you meet her desperate eyes. “I’m just making sure that you don’t like him because...” She faltered, not knowing what to say next. Is she even confessing to you right now? Years of pent-up feelings beginning to rise and overflow because of the stars gradually appearing in your eyes. Her mouth was running on its own and she was beginning to feel the shame bubbling in her stomach.

“Because … Eren is not the only one who looks at you like you placed the stars in the sky. He’s not the only one wanting to keep you warm on a cold day. He’s not the only one experiencing euphoria whenever you’re around.” She blinked away the tears building in her eyes.

“He’s not the only one in love with you.”

“You are so dense, you know?”

“What?”

Mikasa reeled back but your hands finding their way on top of hers stopped her from backing away any further. Now, you were the one looking at her like she created the entire universe in front of your eyes. You were looking at her like she’s the first snowflake making its way on top of your nose. You were looking at her like those times you were inside your treehouse, under the fairy lights hung on the walls. You were looking at her as if she was euphoria personified. Because she is. Mikasa is so breathtakingly ethereal, your surroundings becoming more transparent by the minute as you focused on her. Gently transferring your hands on her cheeks, you pulled you close until both of your foreheads were tenderly pressed against one another.

“It’s you.”

Her breathing hitched.

“It has always been you, Mikasa Ackerman. Since that day you rejected my kiss when we were fourteen.”

Tears became more prominent in both of your eyes.

“Not Eren or anybody who was rumored to be going out with me.”

She closed her eyes tightly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Mikasa opened her eyes, revealing the entire cosmos you adored.

“I love you and only you.”

It’s not a dream, the two of you sharing your first kiss that was more than what the movies described.

> they never believed we'd really fall in love

Mikasa was twenty when she had the courage of telling the entire world you’re the love of her life.

“Oh, my God, I knew it!” Sasha screeched inside the café you and Mikasa chose to have your group study session. Most eyes inside the café turned to your table since Sasha planted her hands on your table with enough force to attract attention. You laughed nervously and apologized to some of the people inside the café but the brown-haired girl still showed no signs of sitting down. You can see Mikasa placing a hand on her forehead, sighing at the third member of your trio. Sasha, however, was experiencing the milestone of a lifetime. She flickered her gaze between you and your girlfriend, eyes sparkling in obvious excitement and adoration. “And thank God you two finally got together! I had to endure Mikasa moping around during high school.”

“We are dating for two years now,” Mikasa dryly stated. “We didn’t get together recently.”

You placed a gentle hand on hers, smiling at the black-haired girl before turning to Sasha. “We tried keeping our relationship a secret for two years but judging from your first statement, it seems like we couldn’t conceal it that well.”

Sasha finally sat down, picking up her fork with some unattended carbonara on her plate. “I had a hunch. Well, not only me, Connie and I. Ever since I got to know you, [Name], I always admired your friendship with our Mikasa here.” She pointed her fork at you and Mikasa. “Yes, Mikasa treated all her friends in some special way. For me, she tells me not to eat too much.” Mikasa eyed Sasha’s plates of lunch. “For Armin, she tends to be gentler, I mean, you know Armin, softest boy on the planet. For Eren, she’s like his mother.”

“Somebody has to do it.” Mikasa rolled her eyes, making you laugh. “He never listens to Carla any more.”

“But for you, missy,” the brown-haired girl leaned forward with a teasing smirk, “Mikasa becomes all of these. Who would’ve ever thought that that childhood friend story circulating between you and Eren became you and Mikasa instead?” She leaned back and shrugged. “I never liked Eren for you anyways.”

“Same,” the black-haired girl simply stated, taking a bite of her pizza before offering you some. “I heard you wanted this café’s pizza.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a bite of the pizza Mikasa was holding in front of you. “Annie’s right, the pizza in this restaurant tastes amazing.” You felt your girlfriend’s thumb brushing at the corner of your lips, wiping the pizza sauce smeared there.

The brown-haired girl sitting in front of you two squealed with hands covering her mouth. “You two are so cute together!” Yours and Mikasa’s face flushed, making Sasha gush again. The gray-eyed girl sighed deeply, placing her head on your shoulder to cover her red face, making you laugh at how adorable your partner is. “Wait, have you talked about this to your parents?”

You and Mikasa looked at each other, that Thanksgiving dinner flashing through your minds at the moment.

You were supposed to be enjoying the scrumptious feast your and Mikasa’s mothers prepared but you and your girlfriend were too stiff to participate in the casual talk flittering the table. The previous night, Mikasa opened the idea of telling your parents that you were dating each other. At first, you disagreed because you have seen how this would affect Mikasa. There was a time where some old woman looked at you two while you were on a date, yelling that you two should break up and find some man instead of finding comfort with the same sex. The black-haired girl nearly broke down when you arrived at your shared apartment and you reassured her that their opinions shouldn’t matter as long as you have each other. But now, these are your parents, of course, their perception of your relationship will always matter. Those worries soon vanished when your fathers rejoiced, the negative thoughts replaced with tears of relief rolling down on your and Mikasa’s cheeks.

“It’s about time, you know,” your dad smiled.

“We were supposed to place a bet but we were scolded,” Mikasa’s father sheepishly admitted.

“You shouldn’t bet on the girls’ relationship!” Mikasa’s mother replied, her playful expression turned soft when she turned to you two. “Don’t ever think we would go against this. We have been watching you two grow up and we always knew that there was a possibility that you’ll come into terms with your feelings for one another.”

Your mom perked up with glee visible on her face. “So … when’s the wedding?”

You shared a laugh with the love of your life. “They’re planning a wedding as we speak.”

“Make me one of your bridesmaids please!”

“I think you’re suited to be [Name]’s maid of honor instead.”

“Hell yeah!”

> we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

Mikasa was twenty-three when she knew you are the constant in her life.

Graduation was only a few months ago and you have never felt so happy in your life. Gone were the days slumped in front of your laptop way past midnight trying to perfect your thesis papers. Gone was the day where caffeine was the only thing keeping you going during exams. Gone were the days you had laboratory periods that span the whole half of the day. All the stress was piling up on your shoulders the past four years, molding themselves in a huge ball that made you think you carried the entire world as Atlas did. Now you got your degree and you were ready to settle with the person driving the car with ease along the road leading to your neighborhood. As you stared at her side profile, you smiled, knowing that she has been in every part of your life, in your downtimes and zeniths brought by your achievements. You vaguely remembered how the car stopped in front of Mikasa’s house, the two of you immediately making your way towards their backyard.

Years of care were seen in her mother’s flower and vegetable garden but the only thing that took your breath away was the treehouse she surprised you with when you were both eleven. You blinked at the pristine condition of the small castle in the canopy of green, your smile pulling on the corners of your lips. “I can’t believe it’s still here.” A hand made its way on the small of your back, its warmth seeping through your French chiffon floral dress. You looked up at Mikasa, her casual ensemble of her gray suit and white shirt sending your heart in a frenzy. You pulled on her collar, your lips meeting hers in a slow dance, her hand on your back transferring around your waist.

When you pulled away, Mikasa placed her forehead against yours, her breath tickling your face. “Let’s visit our castle, shall we?”

The inside of the treehouse was still the same as ever. Aside from the thick layer of dust covering every surface of the small abode, it still gave the same feeling when you first laid your eyes on it. The knick-knacks you and Mikasa placed were still in the same position as you left them. The star projector you brought when you were thirteen was placed in the middle of the treehouse. You made your way to it and a sea of stars filled the crevices of the treehouse after gently turning it on. A myriad of purples and blues painted themselves on the ceiling, swirls of galaxies accompanied the constellation map you knew by heart when you were a kid. You faced Mikasa, only for your breath to hitch at the sight of her kneeling on one knee on the dusty floor. The first thought coming to your mind was how the dust would cling to her gray slacks. But that quickly erased itself when Mikasa tenderly presented a small velvet box.

“You made me believe in love, magic, myself, and the universe,” Mikasa whispered things meant for your ears only. “The way you love me and the way I look at you makes life worth living. Every single minute I’ve spent with you, I wanted to stop time to preserve it in my memory. I wanted to swim in your divine because I swear, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I promise to give you everything to make you the happiest woman in the world. I’ll still look at you like the stars that shine no matter how many years go by. You deserve the very best, someone who will back you up without limits, let you grow without borders, and love you without end. So, [Name],” she opened the small box, revealing the most beautiful piece of jewelry — a golden band with a sparkling diamond at the center of smaller gems shaped like stars, at the sides of the huge gem were crescent moons, “will you let me be the one?”

You were crying now, you never thought that this would happen.

The woman of your dreams was kneeling in front of you and there was only one answer that will seal your fate with hers.

“Yes, Mikasa, always and forever.”

> we'll rock our babies on that very front porch

Mikasa was twenty-five when she wanted a small family with you.

“How about using Eren?”

“Mika, why would you suggest that!”

“I mean, he has the hots for you.”

“I can’t believe you’re selling me to one of our friends.”

“Don’t leave my side. Here’s a kiss as an apology.”

“You’re lucky I love you, Mika.”

“And I love you, too.” Mikasa paused, turning the laptop to you as she opened the tab for one website she found. “How about adopting a toddler?”

You looked at a website displaying one of the orphanages in the city, chest filled with butterflies at the next step in your life with Mikasa.

“I think that’s a perfect idea, Mika.”

“I think so, too, Mrs. Ackerman.”

[capituloperdido1]

ACOSAS Chp5

Happy Friday Everyone,

I apologize ahead for the short chapter, I've been traveling a lot the last couple of days and have not been able to write as much as i wanted. I promise to come back with 2 chapters next week.

As always, let me know if you have any feedback, or if you want to be added to the list.

Enjoy!

Warnings: sexual language, but other than that pure fluff.

Gwyn's stomach was fluttering as she walked behind the shadowsinger, Azriel's look towards her still piercing her even after five long minutes of walking. She checked herself again, her dress, her shoes, her necklace; she could not see her face but tried to touch and check if there was anything on her face.

Trying to decipher this male was more complicated than all the tasks she had done for Merrill.

The way he had just looked at her was just... lustful.

She had felt his scent changing as he took her in, combined with the intensity of his gaze.

But she still was not going to accept that it was out of attraction, there had to be another explanation. Because Azriel had too much history of tangling himself with far more beautiful women.

Elain... Mor...

She had heard bits and pieces from Nesta about the shadow's singer's love life. She knew from these short conversations that Azriel did not think himself worthy of having someone who chose him first.

She also knew that at the moment, he was pinning over the middle Archeron sister, graceful and wonderful in her own essence.

She could not blame him, from what she had seen of Elain, she was the beauty of the sisters. Her whole presence was light, class, and divinity. Even she would probably fall for Elain if she had the chance.

So there was no way he was looking at her with attraction, she probably had something on her face.

Feeling her stomach flutter even more at the idea of Azriel being attracted to her, she blurred "i read something really interesting today, about the history of Valkyries".

Azriel stopped, waiting for her to catch up to him, "i saw you reading today. I'm sorry i did not pay attention to you earlier"

"No! no please don't worry," she said, grabbing his elbow slightly, "it's not something that important anyway. I mean, the temples were probably destroyed after the Valkyries were ambushed".

"temples?" Azriel looked towards her confused.

She blushed slightly at the sight of his eyes, "right... i should start in the beginning. Basically, Valkyries were training in temples all across Prythian. They each specialized in different forms of training and powers, each court held a temple that would train females of all ages. Once their training was complete, they would be sent to a temple at the border of the Spring and Summer court. They called it Ivor, and it was said to be in a jungle-like environment that allowed only the worthy to pass through. Amanecer told me that this temple held the final test of the Valkyrie, only the women who passed through were considered full Valkyries."

She stopped, afraid she was rambling and talking incoherently.

Azriel looked amazed, "Ivor... I remember Ivor, there were rumors of soldiers who were male that were killed after setting foot there".

Gwyn's eyes opened widely, sometimes she forgot how old he was.

He continued, "it is weird i had forgotten about the temples, i remember Rhys, Cass and i would read about them. Mother.. even Rhy's sister dreamed about training in the temple of the Summer Court".

She smiled sadly, the mention of her high lord's sister squeezing her heart a bit. "So many women could've been warriors, they could've helped the last war", she looked at Azriel, "many of us could've been saved from so many tragedies if we only knew how to defend ourselves".

"There is no doubt in my mind that you would've kicked some Hybern ass out there in the battlefield. Everyone would've been scared shitless of the redhead Valkyrie running towards them", he said jokingly.

She laughed, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood.

"In all seriousness, besides looking for the trove, we should definitely try to figure out how we can incorporate all of these Valkyrie books in our training. We have expanded in the last couple of months, but i know many more females have heard about you guys and want to train with you. That includes Amanecer" Azriel said.

She blushed, looking down to her hands,  "thank you Azriel, we will. I will make sure every female at least hears about us, and i will help them as much as i can."

The sound of fair music interrupted their conversation, Gwyn directed her view towards the street they were approaching. Stores overwhelmed the view of the road, vendors selling sweets, foods, clothing, armor and art. The smell of fresh fruits and vegetables filled her nose as she took in the sight before her.

The noise, the sight, the smell...

She was actually in a city, it was not Velaris but it was a place where normal people would go to.

She saw a few people walking, living in their own worlds as if nothing could suddenly happen that would change that.

There were only about fifteen walkings, but for Gwyn, that felt like if a pride of people was coming to surround her.

Her throat began to close, her heart racing faster by the second.

Vile rose at her throat, sweat poured through her pores.

She could not breathe, she needed to run away and get to a safe place.

She tried and failed to control her emotions, telling herself that it was fine. That all the people around her would not hurt her.

But she could not stop the panic rising in her body.

She took a step back, ashamed and humiliated.

She could not do it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Azriel's eyes were closed, taking in the delicious smell of spices traditional to the Day court. Out of all the things he had missed from visiting Helion, the food was at the top of his list. He remembers the night where Helion would take him walking through the city, feeding him all types of meats, rice, vegetables.

He smiled to himself, remembering when life had been a little easier.

His shadows began swirling fast around him, trying to catch his attention.

Panic, she is in panic.

Mistress is in distress.

She is leaving.

Azriel opened his eyes, turning towards the priestess.

Her brave face had turned into panicked and terrorized as she took steps to retreat from the city. Her eyes were sad, and she seemed to avoid his looks, afraid that he would judge her if she decided not to go through with this.

He extended his arms towards her, "we have two options, you can either tell me to take you back to the palace, and we will try again tomorrow. Or you can take a step forward, grab yourself on to me and look forward."

Her blue eyes shined with tears as she looked at him, hesitant to take that step.

Come on Gwyn, tiptoe if you must, but take a step towards me.

Her eyes widened, and Azriel blushed slightly at the realization that he had said that out loud.

She took one step towards him,

Two

Three

And then she grabbed his arm, looking straight in his eyes.

His shadows began to envelop themselves onto Gwyn, surrounding her arm and holding her.

She smiled again, turning her face and looking forward, "let's do this".

They take a step forward, and soon they are surrounded by the city lights.

Azriel guides her towards the small bookstore that he had visited all those years ago. The owner was an old fae who had collected books from the continent throughout the years, all genres and authors in his small stall.

Not surprisingly, Gwyn ends up almost buying the whole store. Enjoying particularly the romance section.

"This one is definitely Nesta's level of romance," she says, showing him the brown leather book with yellow pages.

"What is it about?" he says.

"A romance between an assassin and the princess" she hands him the book, "look, maybe you will finally read some good literature. Not those boring war books"

He smiles, opens the book in a random chapter, and begins reading.

I couldn’t get enough of him. I was tired and sore but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted the ache. I wanted him in me, all the time. His weight on top of me. I wanted to squeeze him in further and further. I wanted to watch his face. I wanted his sweat to drop onto me.

I got on top of him. Letting my breasts touch his face as i held him and put him in. He felt so warm in me.

I'll never forget it.

His face as i took control and he liked it. As i held his hands down and moved on top of him.

Azriel felt heat rising up his cheeks, looking shocked at Gwyn, "all you guys read is smut".

She flushed, noticing the page he now held open. Her face now of regret as she tried to take the book away from him, "that was just a coincidence. If you had opened any other page there would've been romance and adventure. This author writes really passionate romances, it just you don't know anything about romance".

He laughed, extending his arm high up so she would not be able to catch it.

Is that how she likes it? does she like to control? Words screaming in his mind.

He looked down at her neck once again, noticing the pendant moving as she jumped up trying to reach for the book. He noticed the red lips that pouted as she grew frustrated. He noticed the flushed cheeks giving away her shyness and embarrassment.

He stared at her intensely. She looked so flustered, that his mind could not help but wonder if she could be flustered in many other ways. After a kiss to her cheek, or to her mouth, or her neck. After a passionate encounter between them.

She stopped jumping, catching his strong gaze.

Her face became even redder. Which she quickly tried to hide as she looked down and began playing with her hair. Grabbing pieces of hair and tugging them behind her ear.

Azriel's temperature begins to rise at the sight of the smooth skin of her neck, the urge of grabbing it and kissing it overtaking him.

The image of Gwyn grabbing his wrist while on top of him on his mind.

Wait... What, he thinks.

Clearing his throat he extends his arm towards her and gives her the book back, "would you like to walk for a couple more minutes?"

She nods, still flushed and looking everywhere but him.

Idiot, you made her uncomfortable.

"I will take you to a couple more stores before we go, are you comfortable with that?" he asks.

"Y..yeah, it's just a bit chilly now. But i want to keep walking, if that's okay" she says, her voice soft and low.

Without thinking twice, he takes off his leather jacket, placing it around her shoulders.

Gwyn lifts her teal eyes towards him and smiles, "thank you".

They keep walking around the boardwalk, neither of them physically touching each other in fear of making a wrong move. Gwyn stops in a store that sells handicrafts traditional to the Day court. Telling him that she wants to take the chance to buy as many gifts for her friends as possible.

He waits for her outside of the store, as she insisted to go inside by herself.

Sitting on the stairs leading into the small building, Azriel traces his thoughts back to their encounter in front of the bookstore.

He had been feeling pressure in his heart, ashamed and angry at himself for making her uncomfortable.

He had lost control over his feelings, letting his mind play dirty thoughts with someone who was most likely not interested in any sexual activity.

But his mind also took him to her beautiful face, the way she seemed to shine every time she looked at him. The way the necklace highlighted the divinity of the priestess. The way her red hair looked during the day. The way her eyes changed shades during sunrise, sunset, at night.

Something in him wanted more, he wanted to see what she looked like when she slept when she awoke in the morning.

He wanted to inspect her completely, find out if she had freckles anywhere else besides her face. He wanted to taste her lips and find out if they tasted as sweet as they looked.

Sighing, Azriel grabbed his hair and looked towards the floor, frustrated and now even more angry with his selfish mind.

He was lusting after the priestess, while had unresolved issues with two females who he had also lusted over.

Elain and Mor, the two women who he could not have.

What made him think that someone like Gwyn would ever choose him?

She had to know, Nesta would've told her.

Told her how much he had hurt Elain, how Mor had done horrible things just to keep him away from her. How he had pushed his feelings onto them without thinking about the women he claimed to love.

Both Elain and Mor deserved so much better.

Gwyn deserved someone better, not him.

He could never be what they needed, his past had been clear enough.

He was destined to love but never receive love back, he was destined to hurt, destined to be alone.

"Azriel?" her sweet voice came to his ears.

Mother, he was obsessed, even hearing her while daydreaming about her.

"Azriel" sounded again.

The light and soft pressure of her hands on his arms startled him.

He looked up, finding the female looking at him with worry.

"are you alright?" she said

He quickly stood, "y...yeah I'm sorry, i was falling asleep", he lied.

She smiled, extending a paper bag towards him, "well we can head home after you open this".

A small pearl bracelet of blues and whites welcomed him once he opened the bag. White, teal, and navy blue pearls cold and smooth as he touched them.

"I know you probably won't always use it, but I wanted to give it to you, as a thank you for everything you have done for me," she said, flushing slightly.

Azriel's heart threatened to beat out of his chest, a knot forming in his throat.

No, I definitely do not deserve her. He thought.

"I will wear it, every single day," he said, putting the bracelet in his scarred hands.

She smiled, "Want me to put it on you?" extending her hands towards him.

He nods, looking at her smooth skin touching the imperfections of his hands. Looking at how the beautiful bracelet contrasted with the horrors of his skin.

"Beautiful," she said.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Neither of them said anything else as they walked back to the castle, both seemed too busy in their own minds to concern themselves with conversation.

They parted ways, promising each other to sleep only a few hours before meeting for their next challenge.

They go into their rooms, falling on their beds and closing their eyes as they hold on to that new piece of each other.

Gwyn smells the male she loves, covering herself with his jacket as she falls into a deep sleep.

Azriel touches the pearls, his mind imagining each color and what it represents. The navy blue of his siphons, which had and will dust anyone who might hurt her. White of her robes, the purity, and innocence of her heart. Teal of her beautiful eyes, that always looked at him so hopeful, so happy, so proud.

Even though the nightmares came, even though they were even more horrible than the ones before.

Neither of them noticed.

Whether by their exhaustion or by what they held so tightly, the couple awoke unaware of the terrors their mind just had endured.

Their only thought was each other.

TAGLIST: @imsointobooks @gwynkyrie @trashforazriel @meher-sumedha

Chapter 6

[luiletulip]

Little Women.

I’ve always wondered what my purpose in life is.

What does it have to do with the things I like? Are we born into this world equipped with passion, interest, talents to fulfill our purpose? Or are we simply lying to ourselves, thinking we might actually have meaning to live? 

Faith tells me it’s the first option, but most times my darker side whispers and believes it’s the latter.

I rewatched Little Women last night. I’ve always been fond of the book, as well as the 1994 movie starring Winona Ryder. However, the one I watched last night was the modernized version that premiered last year in 2018. 

I’m surprised at just how many Little Women movies there are, seeing that they’re going to be releasing another one this December, and well, where was I going with this? I had a story to tell.

Ah yes.

Little Women.

Out of the four March sisters, Beth has always been my favorite.

Growing up I didn’t really have a specific reason as to why I find her the best sister other than, “She’s so kind, so gentle,” (as I would tell my mama). My mama was more of a Jo fan, she says she sees herself in Jo March one way or another. 

This got little Luika thinking, “Which March sister am I most similar to?” 

Obviously, it wouldn’t be Beth, no matter how much I hoped I would be. She was basically an angel, and I am not that kind, patient, supportive sister I wish to be if I’m being honest.

I’ve always thought that if Beth was out of the options, then perhaps the best choice would be Meg? 

I tried identifying with her in my teenage years in a sense that I too wanted a family, I too wanted to fit in, I too wanted to live a simple life. I wanted to value tradition, home, and everything else that would fit perfectly in our society. 

Only to later find out (as I matured and grow and heal) that I couldn’t, I wouldn’t want to live a life like Meg’s.

There’s nothing wrong with it, obviously. It’s a beautiful dream to have a family. It’s a wonderful thing to fit in and be accepted. It’s all good, all valid. I used to think it was all I’ve ever needed and wanted as well, which is why I sided with Meg all those years every time I watched the scene where Jo confronted her about her life choices. 

In a way, I still do, the way Jo forced her opinions and values on her sister wasn’t the right thing, but I’ll admit that now I somehow do understand where Jo is coming from. 

Could it be because I feel the same way?

I’m a dreamer. There’s no one in my life (if they know me really well) who would say otherwise. I’ve always been, and most probably always be a dreamer.

When I was in the ninth grade, I’ve mapped out my life in the happiest, “quirkiest” way I wished to live. Owning a beautiful house by the beach? Happily married to the love of my life? Living lavishly off my art and writing? Having adorable twins at the age of 26? 

Now that I’ve reached 26 years of age, all I could say to myself was, “Dude for real, what were you thinking.” 

In short, I felt like current me was in a way criticizing ninth grade me the way Jo did to Meg. But there’s nothing wrong with Meg’s dream (or mine back in ninth grade)! Nothing wrong at all. It just wasn’t my dream, at least not anymore.

The more I grow (mentally and spiritually as well as physically) the more I start to accept myself; my flaws, my thoughts, my feelings, my struggles, my strengths, my faith, and the more I start to become myself.

See, I have this tendency to please people. I’m a people pleaser. It’s not even about making people like me, it’s more about having people not disappointed in me. 

As good as this tendency might be in certain times (like when it motivates me to do better in everything I do or putting others first in decisions always) it is just as toxic when I have no control over it.

And so I do believe that ninth grade me, trying so hard to fit in and conform into what my friends, family, and society wants me to be, buried my bigger dreams, because younger me back then had huge plans of saving the world. Literally.

There was a shift in my heart, and even if it sounds fake, I really do still remember the feeling.

As a child, I was imaginative, sensitive, and already overthinking things. You can most definitely confirm this with my mama who noticed this first. 

She told me I’ve always been a future-oriented kid, telling her, “When I grow up… Later in the future… A few years from now… Once I’m able to… Older me would…” and all those kinds of talks.

My mama, a person who also loves to talk about the future, saw a little bit of herself in me, but she added, “You were already so idealistic about things. You were a kid. You didn’t need to be, but you were.” 

I suppose she referred to where I started talking about changing the world for the better and saving people at a young age.

Not here to praise my “idealistic” and “unique” personality as a child (because I know I’m not alone, there are so many children out there who think this way) but to show that I was born with this kind of personality. 

I grew to be an idealist, a dreamer.

Back to discussing the shift in heart and burying my “bigger” dreams.

I thought I just “grew out of it” and began to accept reality, when in truth, I was just adapting and changing myself, accommodating to society. 

The need and want to fit in was so strong in me that I remember getting nervous every time my school would make us take personality tests. I tried so hard to score a Sanguine, a type I believed to be popular and well-liked.

But as I was taking the test, halfway through I realized that I can’t lie to myself. This isn’t who I was. I’m not the energetic and sociable Sanguine I wanted to be. Nor am I the strong and confident Choleric I wish I was. I stopped halfway and decided to just be honest. I got an invalid result.

Curious me began to learn more about these personality-related things, and it took me a couple of years to finally settle and accept myself as a Melancholic-Phlegmatic.

Not the most exciting type or combination, I guess, but it’s me.

Now that we’ve established that about my personality, I’ll bring this back to Little Women.

Jo March. I’m not much like her. I’m not assertive, not as brave to speak up my mind, and not confident in myself as she is. I am, however, as passionate and as idealistic as this character . . . and I find myself relating to her a little more than ever.

I came to understand that it’s okay for me to dream big, to feel like I have a different purpose, a different path than what the general public does. It doesn’t make me “special” or “weird” or “unique”. It just makes me, me.

Studying MBTI and personality traits (some psychology in general too) helped me see that no one is the same in any way. Alike, maybe, but never the exact same. 

Everyone is different.

Everyone has their own character, their own dreams, goals, struggles, pain, strengths, weaknesses, stories, motives, nature, nurture . . . I can go on and on.

The point is that I think no one should change to fit in. Because sure, we’ll fit in in some cases, but are we ever truly who we are? 

My friends who are in the MBTI community online (yes, there is such a thing) have this “joke” where we say, “We live in an extroverted world, where everything is trusted in senses.” 

Basically, if you’re an introverted intuitive, you’re screwed. Great.

Some might embrace the weirdness, having a sense of pride being “different” and “unique” and “special”, some others (like me) feel burdened. 

Feeling like you don’t truly belong to any social group or even in this world isn’t a pleasant feeling for me personally. Having to shift and change and morph into someone different other than my true self is uncomfortable.

I’m not saying I change a good 180, but I’ll admit I tweak my actions and behavior here and there to adapt to the person I’m with. I’m only ever truly myself when I’m alone. That shouldn’t be the case. My people-pleasing tendency gets the best of me most times.

You shouldn’t change your personality to fit in. Not saying change is bad, in fact, change is very good depending on what your motive is. 

So I guess what I’m saying is that if there is change, it shouldn’t be for society, it would be best to change for the better. The better version of ourselves. For ourselves.

Changing for the better is also known as growth, healing. 

I’m really trying to do this, taking it one day at a time, finding my purpose in life. Which is it again? Wait, I’m back to square one with the whole life purpose and all. 

I guess to summarize: 

I feel like I’ve gotten to know myself better through learning about personalities, I’ve accepted the way I am and now learning to better myself to fulfill my life purpose, in which I have always thought to be something else. 

I feel like I’m not made to walk down the road most people go, not in the pace society sets for me, but that’s the thing: I shouldn’t. 

I should go in the pace God set for me, fulfilling the purpose He has for me, and being my true self that He has created me to be.

Sigh.

This post isn’t even about Little Women anymore. It’s a great book, please read it if you haven’t.

Anyway, yes. 

This is just a little rambling, a little journaling for me to sort out some of my thoughts. It may not reach anyone, but I’m glad I did it. I’d love for it to be some sort of help or comfort to anyone reading this, but most importantly it was to me. Healing, growing, taking it one step at a time.

(This post is a mess, but so am I haha)

Lord, let me live my life the way You want it to be. Use me and my life for Your good. Help me change the world even by the littlest things. Amen. Soli Deo Gloria!

See you sometime, maybe. Here’s to all the dreamers. All the love.

[1-800-444-tune]

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Then for Relationships I also read their energy their spiritual realm guides and read the advice from yoyr partners, also spirit guides, that's another thing I can do that's just so great!!

I can tell you your Spirit Animal Guides and the message they being to you, everybody has over 50 Animal Guides but I will likely pick up just on the most potent ones spiritually apparent to me. I give usually 3 Guide Animal Cards and you do not have to stop there because there's so many more that the oracle will tell me about and alert my attention to, my intuition is key, I trust it like family, yo

Spiritual Realm Messenger Advice Reading- and Spirit Guide Wisdom- this is for your usually, loved ones who have passed on and they're always always trying so very hard to reach out to you, so this is a chance fir you to actually communicate with the deceaxsed for once and finally get a chance to see what they're saying and thinking about your life choices, this reading can also be done for just simple spirits that have chosen to be your guides or to communicate with your actual Guardian Angels, yes I am for real!

Which brings me to this point that I can actually give specific guidance that's from the real #Archangel Michael, if you're really having a hard time or ever thought about what if the angels forgot about me type thing, then this is a reading just for you to lift up your spirits and give you that much needed appreciation and love that you alot of you anyways so often craves, I suggest this reading strongly!

Chakra Readings, these are simply great examinations for your heart mind body and soul , I pick up on your total vibe of yoyr energy centres and points on you and this reading can reveal some major insights as to where you could have blockages and also too gives the remedy, just what you need to do to fix it. This is so intense if you're into the healing arts yourself and are ready to finally level up, or maybe you're someone who's into spirituality or trying to astral project or maybe open your third eye? This Readings for you most definitely if you answered yes to any of those , please seek my help.

Shooting Arrow Spreads, these are just for special dates like New Years, Birthdays, Marriages, Starting a job, Anniversary events of any kind, Traditional or Seasonal Celebrations, I use this one for the Moon Phases, I do one for New Moon and one for Full Moon, you might also be wanting this in general for actually I just thought of this but the 1st of the month, to predict the motivational energies surrounding the coming months like, or at any other important marking dates you associate with movement forward .

6 card Week Spread, to predict your future fir the week ahead, this is a wonderful tool to use to plan your week around these pointers and also to just remember the times that a certain something is going to occur, so you can dodge it or embrace it depending on the event or situation!

Horseshoe Spread - will depict the themes of a signifior and their motives and how their belief systems affect their future at least help to shape the outcome

What Should I Do ? Spread. 3 cards. Tells exactly the situation you are dealing with in the top card then the two on the bottom are your What Not To Do and What to Do cards in the spread, the actual best best for making tough decisions or if your in a position and you just feel like you're really stuck at the moment this spread will absolutely clarify the issue and give you peace of mind n knowing that you have finally got the correct answer now all you have to do is apply your advice you ever been given right? Not so bad after all, see.

This decision/That Decision, when you're at a fork in the road, you know your two options but aren't sure which one is the correct one😇have no fear, my dears, because this is the spread right here! It tells exactly the outcome if you pick say option A. And the outcome if you pick then option B, or I can say #1 option or #2option, and gives you yoyr results and then based on that you can then choose which path you feel you'd like to see your life head in, if you still aren't sure which isn't likely, then we could possibly do it either again or do another spread I'd say to clarify and boost your confidence in one of the options, I have ever got so many more spreads that are not listed here and I just do them if we need to, I just giving you all something genre to choose from , the basics to my self healing art and just my ways of tarotcraft okay, so check these out carefully and try decide what in your life you really need most , and you just don't worry about my end I'm all covered always, and truly won't be a disappointment to you, if anything you'll become a weekly of daily customer I think, after u see what I can provide.

The Big Story Spread- tells you of many different areas in your life, it's by far the largest spread that I really do most often, and it's the most comprehensive.

Houses of Astrology Spread, tells you some insight into some different areas of your life using the 12 houses of astrology. This is one of my faves!

Then I have a few other love and relationship spreads of which, one is for a Broken Heart, one for the Compatibility of a Couple, General Relationships Spread, Readiness for Love, and the Torn Between Lovers Spread, alot more but I'd have to talk about the issue with you first to a session whether they're what you need, so hit me up for love advice and just look into the future of love

There are a few specialty spreads desixgned to tell you about your Financial situation and how to improve it, also my Career Spread to tell you advice of where to head in that regard , all the time money matters eh!

And of course I do dream interpretations , I have a 3 card spread that I love doing that directs your entire dream it tells you what it truly means in your waking life

Then we can discuss if you want some other specialty spreads that I offer we can chat about this one okay I'm stopping the list shortly right after I explain, that everyone abopsolutely must get

A Chakra Reading! Tells you your strengths n weaknesses and what blockages

Rune Readings now Offered at a very fair set Price!

And amazingly detailed and intriguing I ching Readings that you won't wanna miss

There's my fairy oracle deck which I find I'm most connected to, I saved best for last, well, I can basically do all of these spreads with them oracle cards giving the fae wisdom definitions but I simply like to stock to the 2 or 3 card Readings for these oracle cards, this deck is temperamental, it doesn't like to be pressured, but it works well l on shorter answered things I find, just it's personality haha

Now you know everything I do do you want to know my prices ?;!

Prices for Readings are a set rate of $3.55CDN per Card

You can pay by debit card, credit card, Visa, prepaid Mastercard, also your bank account,e transfers to paypal tho. My link should be at the very top of this long msg

You can also now pay with your very own paypal account to my business paypal. Okay simple yes? Payments time no? If you want an honest truthful reading that gives you something to go on to the next level with I have specific life altering advice that's vital to you right now as we speak, the Divine are connected to me and I am channeling so many messages, don't you want to hear yours, your future? I can give you straight up real talk honest and accurate predictions if you give me the chance please try me today yoyr life counts on it!

Click this link to pay for a reading

I'm online and open right now, get ready to have your mind blown!

You can choose absolutely any reading from this list that you'd like me to do or if you've found one online that you like then tell me the detailing of it the how-to and maybe provide a screenshotting of one and it's questions, then I will do my best to provide you with that exact service then! See, I'm so not hard to get along with, I of love and light, I am here to just assist people and get them through tough times! You're top priority and my problems are not even in my mind when I giving a paid reading I do my job and do it very very well, there's absolutely noo way that you'll want to say you didn't get your money's worth, I totally worth this! I have been doing reading in tarot fir ten years so I think I am actually just a bit experienced yup, so come on down, don't be shy, tel me all about your issue and the type of reading you'd like and we will get to it and give you some damn answers yeah?

[lady-of-lies]

Princess of Fangorn forest

This is only my second fic ever so sorry for being so bad, and please excuse my bad grammar but English isn't my first language. Thoughts on how I can improve is very apritiated! I don't own any of the characters they belong to J.R.R Tolkien Warnings: none Lindir x Reader

I didn’t plan on going this far away from home. I live with my papa in Fangorn forest, a place that share border with the famous Misty mountains. Papa, or as you may know him, Treebeard took me in and raised me when I was a baby, or at least thats what he told me when I asked, if you are an ent everything the size of your forearm probably qualifies as a baby. But I’m not complaining I love my papa and he is a phenomenal teacher. I know every language spoken in middle-earth as well as communicate with animals and nature. He also taught me that war and weapons don’t solve everything, since no weapons were aloud in the forest he taught me martial arts I don’t even know what that word means but it’s a type of hand to hand combat.

I should be back home with papa but on my search for something intressting to do, the scent of rotten and death filled my senses. My first impulse was to run in the opposite direction but in the end my curiosity got the better of me and here I am following the horrible smell.

I followed it for the majority of two days not letting go and when I finally found the source it looked like an orc pack of around 50 orcs marching in the direction of Imladris. Papa had learned me about orcs. Foul creatures they are, so I decided to follow them a way behind just observing.The horn that spread it sound over the valley really got the orcs going. Elves, probably the warriors of Imladris that finally noticed the orc had gotten a bit too close. I stayed hidden in the trees just observing when I noticed one of the elves getting separated from the rest, he was doing fine until one of those horrible beings decided that attacking from behind was a good idé. I could see that the elf had noticed the attack but was too occupied with one of the big wolves to do anything in time, and that’s when I decided that I had done enough of observing and it was time to take action.

I jumped down from my hideout and sprinted to the elfs aid. I did one of my favourite moves, a front handspring up on the orcs shoulder and break his neck kinda thing. But that was only the beginning, once I started I didn’t stop until every orc ley dead on the ground. When they were all dead I didn’t see the point in staying so I started retreating back up my tree when the elf I saved called out to me.

“ I believe a act of gratitude is in order, I am Lord elrond and if it’s alright with you I would like to know the name of my saviour “

I stopped in my tracks but didn’t turn around. My shyness started kicking in and the urge to just run the other way was getting really hard to resist.

“ How about coming with us back to Rivendell and stay for a few days so I can thank you properly “

That actually sounded nice and he didn’t look like the type of person that would use you. I decided to take him up on his offer but still too shy to speak so I just nod in response and started walking slowly so I was standing a few feets away from the elf who called himself Lord elrond.

“ you are very welcome to ride on my horse… “

I felt that I needed to say something now, anything really since he was being so nice to me.

“ y/n “

“ Well y/n, my horse is yours “

“ Thank you but I prefer traveling by feet “

“ are you sure?”

I nodded once again and when he had gotten on his horse and started moving I could tell he was walking more slowly than he would have if I wasn’t there so I took of running surprising everyone with my speed.

I ended up arriving at the same time as the horse's much to their surprise. I kept myself in the background when the kind lord talked to another elf in red and navy robes with brown long hair, he was actually really handsome.

*******************************

I had now been in Imladris a few weeks and my crush on the elf whose name I had found out was Lindir had now blossomed to a full fledged love and I was no step closer to even say anything else than ‘good day’ to the man. I was doing what I normally do a sunny day, hanging in a tree.

Lindir P.O.V

I was standing on the balcony facing one of the many gardens, watching her climbing her trees. I still couldn’t figure out how to tell her I loved her. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice my lord elrond coming up behind me.

“ You still haven’t told her I see “

“ How could I, everytime I even come close she looks like she have seen one of the valar themself “

“ that is not necessarily a bad thing Lindir “

“ What do you mean my Lord? “

“ You may not be able to do the traditional courting proposals but how about you try telling her in your own way? “

“ how? “

“ Well you like to write do you not? “

That got my brain working and already the same day I had a poem ready and tried to find the most beautiful girl that had been haunting my mind. I found her hanging upside down her favorite tree.“ y/n, can you come down a bit? “

The look on her face still showed insecurity and fright but she come down none the less. And when she was right in front of me I gave her the parchment and watched her eyes gleam with curiosity and then gleam over with tears. She cried. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen what do I do!

“ Hey… Hey don’t cry you were supposed to smile “

And for the first time she spoke to me. I can’t believe the first time she spoke to me she was crying and it was my fault.

“ I don’t understand “

Were my poem that unclear?

“ You can’t understand the poem? “

“ No I can’t read. I’m sorry I ruined your sweet moment “

“ You can’t read? “

she shakes her head no and I watched her eyes get filled with shame. I dried some of her tears away with my thumb, it was now or never.

“ It’s alright, the idea was stupid anyway “

She seemed confused and with all right since I apparently had started to speak in tongues.

“ writing down your feelings is a cowards way out, I...I. “

In the name of Valhalla just say it you twit.

“ It seems I am no better than a stubborn dwarf when it comes to showing my feelings, I have come to like you y/n, under the few weeks you’ve been here and I was wondering if you could consider letting me court you, I know I’m not much, I have no fancy title, I don’t know how to wield a sword or the proper way of riding a horse but…. “

My rambling was cut short by a pair of arms that was flung around my waist trapping me in a hug.

“ I would be very happy if you where to court me Lord Lindir, You see I too have come to like you “

**************************

Lindir couldn’t help but smile at the happy memory as he watched you, the princess of Fangorn forest and love of his life walk down the aisle made of ranks and flowers with the trees of Fangorn forest towering above our heads only letting a few rays of sunlight reach the altar where Lord Elrond, myself and treebeard was waiting for you. You where slowly getting closer to me in that beautiful and simple white silk dress and flower crown you had picked for the occasion. As you stepped closer and made it to one of the lighter spots of the aisle I couldn’t help but snicker a bit, you where barefoot. You had probably gotten tired of the “ tripwire surrounding my feet” and decided to throw them of somewhere. But that was just one of the many quirks I love about my beloved y/n, who slowly walked closer to once and for all become mine forever.

[thespoonplayer]

(DJ) Spoon’s Review of 2018

This year I haven’t listened to much music at all, at least not in comparison to previous years and I certainly haven’t been to many gigs. I’m sure this won’t last but this year I’ve been busier at work so less likely to plug in, I’ve stuck to the radio in the car just to keep up with how messy Brexit really is (ooer a bit of politics) and my runs have been 100% fueled by podcasts so music has just taken a backseat. However, I couldn’t let the year go past without some kind of list...so here is a pot pourri of my favourite discoveries of 2018.

1. Podcasts

Seeing as these have been so important this year I’ll start here...and cheat slightly by bigging up some oldies, but good enough to bang on about again.

Old favourites : Running Commentary (Comedians Paul Tonkinson and Rob Deering take you on their runs and chat sometimes about running, but always about life, kids, comedy and anything that pops into their heads), Adam Buxton (always entertaining ramble chat from Dr Buckles whoever is on, I’ve learnt stuff and I’ve laughed a lot), My Dad Wrote a Porno (Sheer filth as ever but genuinely caused me to LOL during my runs, wondering if people can hear that I’m listening to chat about vaginal lids).

New entries : Off Menu (Ed Gamble and James Acaster opened their genie run fantasy restaurant a month ago and it has quickly become one of my favourite podcasts ever. Eclectic guests pick their fantasy 3 course meals, simple premise and it works. The Scroobius Pip episode was a perfect clash of two excellent pods), Blank (another late entry into 2018 from Jim Daly and Giles Paley-Phillips ostensibly about blank moments in life but just rammed with infotaining chat from ‘non standard’ guests including a jaw dropping episode with Michael Rosen and fun with Gary Lineker and Susie Dent), Poddin’ on the Ritz (sadly now finished with maybe its only series) this pod recorded backstage at Young Frankenstein by Hadley Fraser and the sublime Ross Noble made me laugh more than any other in 2018, it might be about musicals but their search for Kenneth Branagh’s snowglobes and Lesley Joseph adoration was a joy.

2. Board games

They say a family that plays together, stays together. Well we are together more than you can imagine. We’ve played over 220 games this year! Here are our favourite new games into our collection:

The game of the year is Azul, a seemingly simple tile grab and place game, building up a mosaic prettier than anyone else, is full of strategy and a little (but not too much) shafting of others. If you really want to shaft your fellow players though then pick up Unstable Unicorns, a card game where you aim to grow your stable of unicorns, whilst stopping others filling theirs. SO many different cards, tactics and ways to mess it up, you will swear at some point. Discovered in the excellent new board game cafe The Dice Box in Leamington, we bought Meeple Circus before we left, it’s that much fun. Rehearse and perform the best tiny wooden meeple circus performance, accompanied by a bespoke playlist. Stack the acrobats, balance the lions and raise the bar. Another board game cafe, Chance & Counters in Bristol introduced us to the frantic game of Klask, a cross between air hockey, pool and table football. Slide the magnets around to flick a ball into your opponents hole, avoid the magnetic biscuits and don’t KLASK! When is a game not a game? another game of the year has been played a lot in our house, and it’s The Mind. 100 cards numbered 1-100, no words between players and a tense task to lay cards in ascending order. Simple? yes? possible? nope! but it’s sure to cause fun and arguments. The final two of MY favourite sadly aren’t quite as loved by my family, but I’ll get them there. Sagrada is a similar game to Azul with you attempting to build a beautiful stained glass window with coloured dice. More variations and thinking needed than Azul which adds to the challenge. And finally and lovely chess like 2 player game which transports you to the sun dappled Greek island of Santorini. Take the powers of a god and build the traditional blue domed white houses of the island whilst trying to stop your opponent climbing onto a roof. A lot of ‘aha, you’ve stopped me’ moments.

3. TV

It’s been a long old year at work, and in the world of parenting so we’ve found ourselves flopped on the settee many evenings just soaking up great drama, comedy and chilling ;o)

We are very late to the party with Suits but that means we have 8 series to wade through! Really neat writing, bants and relationships between characters, a ‘don’t worry they will always win’ calmness about it and you get to see the Queen in her knickers...ish. Another Netflix treat this year was Magic for Humans with Justin Willman, a hugely likeable and funny magician pulling off tricks that constantly make me smirk with a huge dollop of WTF? amazing. A huge recommendation. A late entry to my TV highlights of 2018 is from the warped warped mind of Charlie Brooker...of course with Bandersnatch. An interactive choose your own adventure TV ‘event’ (I know) that had us hooked for the full 90 minutes (only if you want to see how much bloodshed you can invoke!). Completely on the other end of the spectrum was the sublime and minimalistic Mortimer and Whitehouse: Gone Fishing. I don’t like fishing and why would I find two old mates just teasing each other for half an hour entertaining? No idea but it was beautiful. Like Radio 4, comforting and perfect. Then a few suspenseful dramas that got us on the edge of the settee, Killing Eve (quirky AF), Bodyguard (did they really kill Keely Hawes that early?) and Informer (bleak bleak bleak) and sweaty bullocks in ‘should be in the next section really’ Bird Box (made Informer seem like a giggle fest).

4. Films

Really haven’t been to the cinema much in the last 12 months and only once to see a ‘grown up’ film I think but kid’s films are SO good at the moment that’s ok. A few stand out films for me were:

Ralph Breaks the Internet, much better than the first one, lots of #lolz internet jokes and more than a little heart. Wrap me up in a duvet and give me a hot cocoa and Paddington 2 any day, tears at the end. A little more sighing but just as much emotion in Christopher Robin, not sure why Eeyore had an American accent but the characters were spot on and nicely faithful to the original concepts. The one time I did venture out for an adult (it’s a 12 so almost ;o) and saw Ready Player One I was delighted, yeah it might not be a) as good as or b) anything like the book but a visual treat and an enjoyable romp.

5. Books

I read A LOT, until my Kindle donks me on the head in bed anyway...literally a tiny selection of books that have kept me awake. 

The Secret Lives of Colour - Kassia St Clair. They say never judge a book by its cover. Well that didn’t work...I bought this purely because it is a beautiful package, the hardback a lot more pleasing imho. Simply 2 coloured pages about how each colour was discovered, invented and introduced throughout history. I never really gave it a thought that colours were...made. Weird and fascinating.

This Is Going to Hurt - Adam Kay. A hilarious ‘secret’ diary of a junior doctor that horrifies at the same time. I think we all knew it was a hard life but bloody hell, if you didn’t love the NHS before you will after this. A thoroughly enjoyable and insightful story of Adam’s journey through medicine. And that ending...wooof.

Moose Allain - I Wonder What I’m Thinking About. I love Moose, I love his colour-me-advent calendars, I love his tweet threads that show the best in Twitter, I love his cartoons and this book is all of those wrapped up in one. And a certain Mr Spoon is to thank for the publication, find me in the back of Unbound funders! An inspiring book for anyone who loves art, creativity and childish humour.

Factfulness : Ten Reasons We’re Wrong About the World - Hans Rosling. A brilliantly clever and educational book about why the world is NOT as shit as it might seem some times. It’s all backed up by real data and lovely lovely graphs!

Lee Child and Ian Rankin. A highlight of the year is the next Reacher and Rebus novels and these two didn’t disappoint. Rebus’ latest adventure Past Tense, is a self-contained story that could introduce anyone to the man machine that is Jack Reacher. Rebus however is back, retired but won’t lie down, in In A House of Lies, an old case comes back to haunt him and will this finally be his downfall? I doubt it!

6. Music

As mentioned, I haven’t ‘been into music’ as much in 2018 for various reasons but I’ve still enjoyed some great new discoveries:

Barns Courtney - The Attractions of Youth, discovered via the use of Glitter and Gold for the theme tune of Netflix’s Safe. An album of ‘cheesy, commercially viable blues and folk rock’ apparently. I just liked the visceral nature of some of the tracks and it always fired me up at work on slow days.

Isaac Gracie - Isaac Gracie, a rare listened to recommendation from my wife. Isaac is everything I claim to like, fragile thin sensitive boys with acoustic guitars....and I do very much with this. Painful screeched out tales of heartbreak. Sublime.

R.E.M. - Live at the BBC, 104 rare and live tracks from arguably one of the best bands ever. Some of the tracks I haven’t heard since my bootleg cassette buying days at Sheffield Uni, when the world was in black and white. Not all tracks are of the greatest audio quality but bliss for a fanboy like me.

Creep Show - Mr Dynamite, a spin off project for Mr John Grant and even from the eclectic crooner this is an odd one. Glitchy electronica with vocoders all over the place. Weird and very Marmite.

Public Service Broadcasting - Every Valley and everything else. The latest offering from the other PSB was a trip through the miner’s crisis and Thatcher years. Bleak? yup but fascinating snippets of well, public service broadcasting and guest stars including the obligatory Welsh rockers the Manics. This album is perfect by itself but it ‘forced’ me to go back and really discover all the PSB albums. The Live at Brixton release is a huge recommendation, I wish I was there.

Rex Orange County - Apricot Princess, maybe I just added this in to seem cool as Rex, aka Alexander O’Conner, was ‘one to watch in 2018′ from the BBC. A multi-instrumentalist that dabbles with hippity hop, R&B and piano pop. The first track alone contains about three musical styles if you wait. 

7. Food & Drink

I run, because I really like food. And thankfully I’ve run a lot in 2018 so I got to enjoy a lot.

I was introduced to the weird fermented tea monstrosity that is kombucha by my sister-in-law. Vinegar tasting drink that may or may not help your gut that grows in your living room. WTAF? However, health benefits aside the LA Brewery Strawberry and Black Pepper drink is something, alongside my pilgrimage to Leon, worth going to London for. I’ve heard it’s also for sale in Solihull but I don’t often travel that far beyond my class ;o) I’d say, try it...but I suspect 9/10 people with hate the flavour. 

I suspect 10/10 people that try the Aldi Black Forest Mince Pies would love them, but you won’t get a chance as I’ve bought them ALL. Aldi are a bugger for getting you hooked then never restocking. I only managed 10 boxes in 2018 and we’ve rationed well so have 12 left to get us through the bleak January weather. Cherries, Dark Chocolate, Chocolate pastry and a smidge of mincemeat. Perfect!

There are many ingredient delivery services available and I’ve only tried Gousto but I don’t know why you’d go anywhere else. 33 recipes tried and 32 of them I’d have again, with the one not so good one was still far better than anything I’d cook by myself. So easy, so tasty and if you want to try it I can give you a big discount that will help us buy another box, a tad expensive without a discount but worth a treat every so often.

Genuinely I traveled to London just to visit Max’s Sandwich Shop...kinda. It was certainly the deciding factor in a day out at the Summer Exhibition (see below). I downloaded the Kindle version of this book when it was promoted in an email, I bought some Scampi Fries and made a Fish Finger sandwich, I crumbled up some Ginger Nuts into a Mascarpone and Jam sandwich and I made a Fried Egg, Shoestring Fried and Gammon sandwich then I NEEDED to go and see how it’s really done. Amazing over the top sandwiches in a rough little hipster cafe in Stroud Green (no me neither and it’s a long walk from the tube!). So good I had to a) buy the hard copy of the book and b) carry half the sandwich home as even I couldn’t manage it all...not with deep fried macaroni balls filling me up ;o)

8. Places

A family that plays together, stays together as a great man once said. And we don’t just play inside, we love adventures so adventures we had.

I’d never been to the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, as it’s in that there London which often seems hundreds of miles away...but I’m so glad that I visited this year. A trip with a good friend with neither of us knowing quite what to expect. We saw, and laughed, and marveled at, paintings, sculptures, videos, photos, models, and weirdness by Banksy next to Joe Lycett next to Grayson Perry next to Harry Hill, next to me mate Lorsen Camps from Coventry. The SA allows ANYONE to submit artwork for consideration and anyone can be accepted. I think this has to become a yearly visit, awesome.

My parents have been wanting to take our kids, and their big kid, to The Forbidden Corner in North Yorkshire for a few years now...and I’m so happy we finally got round to going. Started as a folly to entertain his children this huge labyrinthine site is crammed with strange sculptures, mazes, tricks and squirting fountains. Many hours were spent squeezing through holes, getting lost and getting wet. Beautifully eccentric.

A family holiday to Brittany meant we could visit the loopy city (it’s their phrase!) of Nantes and more importantly Les Machines d’Ile. Ostensibly the workshop of  a group of engineers and artists that make huge animatronic machines and animals...that you can ride on! Needs to be seen to be believed, the Elephant brings out the big kid in everyone...and we can’t wait to go back in a few years when they’ve built a huge forest over the river with ride on caterpillars and dragonfly. Incredible. The city itself is dotted with crazy art and interactive pieces encouraging play, I know a city closer to home that should be the UK Loopy City of Culture!

Luckily Tilly is a Harry Potter obsessive AND it was her birthday last year so it gave us the excuse we didn’t need to visit the Warner Brothers Harry Potter Studio Tour. Wow, just wow. The incredible detail in everything made for the film, the engineering, the amount of artists involved and the presentation of the exhibition blew us away. I’ve enjoyed everything in this list but this maybe was the most magical in the best way.

Many many amazing experiences warrant a mention, but I just don’t have enough words, include Talking Birds - Walk with Me, Print Manufactory Darkroom Workshop, Ludic Rooms Random String Festival, Go Karting with Tilly, some dancing balloons in Broadgate, Godiva Festival with Tony Christie et al, Bristol Gromit trail, Disc Golfing with my girls, Edinburgh Fringe with Dick and Dom and with another wonderful dick from Coventry starring in Bon Jovi musical We’ve Got Each Other, Pandas! at Edinburgh Zoo, Matilda the Musical with Tilly at last, running the Coventry Mile with the girls’ school, Dippy the Dinosaur in Brum, Wicksteed Park (amazing family fun theme park like what they used to be), Cycling on Stratford Greenway in the sun, Autotesting at MotoFest, Bourton-on-the-Water (it’s just a shame 3 million other people know about this gorgeous village), Giant Pac Man in the city centre, Pork Pie making with a good friend, CET several times, Novelty Automation in London and being on The One Show, a couple of Hope & Social gigs and much much much more fun with my wonderful fam and friends. Roll on 2019!

[mermaidmaiabelle]

congrats on your follower milestone ali! since it’s the holidays, and bc ‘last christmas’ is my favorite christmas song, how about malec + ‘last christmas’ for a song to inspire you?

prompt me for 1k followers celebration fics!  

(also available on ao3)

I'm going to propose to Camille tomorrow.

The message lights up Alec's phone at 9pm, on Christmas Eve. He's sitting around, watching It's a Wonderful Life alone in his apartment. There's an inexplicable sinking feeling in his chest, and Alec idly rubs his fingers together, watching the chat he has with Magnus on his phone. Magnus is typing again.

Do you think it's a good idea?

No, his heart says. No, don't marry her. She's crazy, she's trying to make you something you're not and I miss the old you. I miss the Magnus Bane I met in college, the Magnus Bane that was my best friend. The Magnus that partied until dawn and did whatever he wanted, fuck what anyone else said. The Magnus that was proud of himself, no matter what.

Ever since Camille, it had all been different. She'd tried to make him respectable, saying stupid simpering things about how Magnus' reckless actions reflected badly on her and her reputation, and how he was disappointing her. And he actually listened. She was manipulating him and it worked.

But Alec had tried to talk him out of it before. Magnus wouldn't listen. She had him so good, that the only thing he could do was wait and hope that Magnus saw it himself. They'd all tried. Ragnor, Catarina, Izzy, Raphael.... but if Magnus didn't want to listen, he wouldn't. He was too stubborn to talk out of anything.

It didn't matter what he told Magnus. He would do whatever he wanted anyway.

If you think you should, then do it.

There's a pause. The screen blinks with little dots. Magnus is typing.

Thanks, Alec. You're a good friend.

That should be enough. But there's lead in his stomach, and a vague feeling of sickness in his soul. He sits there for a moment, alone, watching George Bailey walk through the horror of the world he had wished for.

His fingers hit dial on his phone before he's consciously realised what he's doing.

"Hey big brother. What's up?" Izzy asks chirpily.

"He's getting married," Alec says with little preamble, the preoccupation evident in his tone. "Magnus. He's going to propose to her tomorrow."

"Oh, Alec." The sadness in Izzy's voice makes him feel worse.

"It's fine. He's happy," Alec says flatly, wishing he could believe it.

"But what about you?" Izzy asks.

He's a man in love with his best friend, too afraid to say anything, too afraid to ruin their friendship, and too afraid about what the world would say. Magnus was always the bold one. Magnus was the one who showed him how not to care. And that was gone. Without that.... if Magnus couldn’t be bold, then how could he? Magnus was with Camille. And Alec... Alec needed to move on.

"I'll be fine," Alec says. And for a moment, he believes it.

We're not getting married.

It's the middle of Christmas Day. His mother is fussing in the kitchen, whilst Luke pours the drinks. Clary is moving a beautifully decorated cake into the lounge, whilst Izzy and Maia are curled up together on the couch. It's maybe half an hour from turkey o'clock. Phones are probably banned about now. He's supposed to be setting the table. Instead he's looking at his phone, text from Magnus drawing his attention away.

What happened?

He’s spending the day with Camille's family. Alec had been surprised to hear that at the time. He hadn't imagined there would be a Christmas Magnus wouldn't spend with his mother. But instead she was at Ragnor's place, with Raphael, Catarina and Madzie, and Magnus was on the other side of town.

She said she never loved me like that. That it was never serious.

Alec swore. That bitch.

Alec walks out of the dining room, past the lounge and down the hall to his old childhood bedroom. He feels Izzy's eyes on his back. She's the only one who knows how he feels, and she obviously knows something's up with Magnus. But she leaves him be anyway.

As soon as he closes the door, he dials Magnus' number, praying to God that he picks up. It rings once, twice, three times. By the time it reaches six, Alec's wondering if Magnus is going to pick up at all. But then there's static, and the sound of traffic in the background. Magnus is obviously not at Camille's place anymore.

"Alec?"

Oh God. Magnus sounds like he's been crying. Alec can remember every single moment that he's heard Magnus cry in extreme detail. It's usually serious. Which means this isn't good.

"Magnus. Where are you?" Alec asks immediately. Magnus takes a deep breath in, seeming to gather himself.

"Somewhere on East 96th? I think. I don't know."

That's not far from Camille's apartment.

"Where are you going?" Alec asks.

"I... I don't know. I just... I thought...I'm such an idiot." Magnus mumbles, and Alec immediately hushes Magnus down the line.

"No. You're not an idiot. You're not an idiot for hoping for something amazing."

"You tried to tell me. Ragnor and Catarina and my Mom... oh God, my Mom," Magnus says shakily. "I can't see them right now."

"Come here," Alec says automatically.

"Alec, I couldn't interrupt-"

"You won't be."

"Your mom probably already got all the food ready-"

"We have room for one more. We always have room for you."

Magnus breathes in deeply.

"Okay. Okay," he says, almost trying to reassure himself.

"Get on the subway. I'll meet you at the station," Alec promises solemnly.

"Thanks, Alec," Magnus says softly, so softly that the emotion leaks out of every sound.

"I'll be with you the whole way here. All you need to do is message me," Alec promises. He's never been happier that his phone is fully charged.

"Okay. I'll see you soon."

Half an hour later, he's standing at the subway station, wrapped up in a winter coat, waiting with open arms when Magnus stumbles out of the station, looking for all the world like an utter wreck. Alec can't help but reach out, and Magnus falls into his arms with a warm hug that's such a contrast to the bite of the cold air around them.

An hour later, and Magnus is squeezed onto the corner of their dining room table, sitting between Maia and Izzy, laughing at a joke Luke just told. His smile lights up the room, and Izzy shoots Alec a pointed look. Alec just shakes his head softly.

He shouldn't be happy for his friend's misery. He shouldn't be happy, given how this all happened. But for all the world, it feels like Magnus is home.

He'd feel guilty if it didn't feel so right.

And then he remembers he's in love with a man he can never have. And suddenly, it doesn't matter.

A year later and it's 9pm, and he's watching It's a Wonderful Life again. Alec's not quite sure when this became a tradition for him. Last year it was just on TV somewhere. This year he actually sought it out.

In some ways, nothing has changed. He's still going to his mother's place tomorrow, spending Christmas with the same people. But in other ways, it's different. His sister finally moved in with her girlfriend. Alec didn't know how she'd waited this long - she'd been head over heels for Maia for far too long. Clary graduated art school, and his mother actually started dating Luke Garroway. Alec liked him. She seemed happy again, something she had never really been with his father. That’s a fact Alec can only recognise now, looking back.

Things were better. And yet some things never really changed.

Are you home?

Alec picks up his phone, the message from Magnus glowing on his screen. Magnus' profile picture is different from last year. He's visibly happier. It's a picture from Pride a few months ago. They'd gone together, along with Izzy and Maia. They'd dressed up in rainbows and danced through the day. Alec had fallen a little more in love, something he hadn't even thought was possible.

The picture is one of them together, Magnus' arms slung around his shoulders, the blue, pink and purple of Magnus' make up sitting next to the rainbows on Alec's cheeks. Magnus had painted them on himself. Said it was time to embrace the spirit of Pride. Magnus had spent the last year teaching him how to truly embrace his identity. Pride had been a celebration of all the things that had been missing between them for so long. They’d laughed and joked and drunk a little too much. Alec had never been happier.

But he still wasn't brave enough to say what he wanted to say.

Yeah, why?

The reply comes quickly, which makes him think Magnus was waiting on him.

I'm outside your apartment.

Alec frowns, getting to his feet and heading to the window. He pushes it open, leaning out into the cold night air, looking down at the street below. And sure enough, Magnus is standing there, looking every inch the supermodel as the snow flutters into his hair. Alec feels his heart leap a little, and he smiles. Magnus always looks amazing, but something about the image of him standing on his doorstep on Christmas Eve, snow falling through the air.

Alec shuts the window, heading to his door and pushing the buzzer to let Magnus into the apartment building. He then unlocks his front door and leans out into the landing, watching as Magnus walks up the stairs. His cheeks are flushed red. He looks amazing.

"Hey. Didn't realise you were visiting," Alec says, leaning on the door. Magnus smiles softly.

"Neither did I," Magnus admits, and Alec moves aside to let Magnus into the apartment. It's a Wonderful Life is still rambling on his TV.  But Alec can't bring himself to care, when Magnus is lighting up his drab little apartment more than a ton of Christmas decorations could.

"What's up?" Alec asks, instinct telling him this is more than a social call. He closes the door softly before pulling his hoodie tighter around his body, yanking the zip closed.

"I was with Ragnor. And we were talking. About last year."

Last year. Last Christmas, when Magnus had decided to propose to his heinous bitch of a girlfriend. At least she'd been enough of a bitch to refuse. Magnus was better off out of that relationship.

Magnus had tripped through a few rebounds over the year. But he seemed better now. Happier. He hadn't dated anyone since Pride, actually, but he seemed good. Maybe it was a sign of progress. Something had changed that weekend, and Magnus was all the better for it. Alec could tell.

"Yeah?" Alec asks, leaning on the back of his sofa. Magnus is standing in the middle of the room, snow gently melting in his hair. The glowing of his Christmas tree sets off his makeup with a glow of yellow and red and green. It's a vision.

"He says I give my heart away too easily," Magnus says softly, and Alec shakes his head.

"Being willing to take a risk like that is brave," Alec says honestly. After all, he'd always been too much of a coward to do it himself. Magnus smiles, shaking his head in return.

"I don't know. Something he said made me realise I already gave it away to someone else."

Oh. Magnus is in love. Alec wonders how he didn't know. Magnus has always been good at keeping his own counsel when needed. No doubt after the Camille business, Magnus wanted to test things out himself. He’d probably had enough relationship advice to last a lifetime.

"Oh," Alec verbalises. "Well, I'm happy for you. When can I meet them?" He says the words on autopilot. He finds this strange feeling, of meaning the words but also not, also desperately, strangely hoping for the impossible. But Alec's never said anything. He's never been brave enough, and things do not just fall into his lap like that. He's not that lucky.

Magnus chuckles softly, and Alec feels his heart sink a little. What does that mean? Something bad or good?

"You know, I should have realised sooner. But I guess I was just... I never really thought I could be that lucky." Magnus reached up, toying with the button on his coat. Alec frowned a little. "I should have realised years ago."

"What are you talking about, Magnus?" Alec asked.

"It's you, Alec."

His whole world freezes.

"And look, if you don't want the same things as me, it's fine," Magnus rambles. "This doesn't need to change anything, but Ragnor was just talking about his relationship with Raphael, and he made me realise what love really is and how I've been looking for all the wrong things and.... honestly, I've had a crush on you since that mixer at college, but I never wanted to rush you and you seemed more comfortable with-"

Alec pushes himself off the sofa, moves across the lounge in two steps, and presses his lips against Magnus'. It's a flood of emotion, of longing and years of hoping and wishing, and as Magnus' lips move against his, Alec feels a rush of endorphins like nothing else. He's kissed guys before, but nothing like this. Nothing that's a rush like this.

Magnus pulls away for a moment, but Alec can't help but give chase. The kiss lasts for a few seconds more before they inevitably break for breath, foreheads bumping together gently. As their breaths intertwine, Alec can see the individual shades of eyeshadow on his face. Magnus has never looked this beautiful, Alec swears, even if it's probably not true.

"Wow," Magnus breathes.

"I should have done that a long time ago," Alec whispers quietly.

"How long?" Magnus asks.

"Ever since you talked me into having pizza and nachos at 4am."

Alec remembers the night well. A late night of studying at college, followed by a party Alec never would have been brave enough to go to alone. Magnus had looked beautiful, dancing under the neon lights, and had still gone home with him. They’d ended up eating cold pizza in his dorm room after, lying on the floor and talking about nothing and everything. There was something so intensly beautiful about the man lying beside him, past the physical attraction. It was in that moment Alec had realised he couldn’t imagine life without Magnus. That he didn’t want to.

"Oh," Magnus murmurs. Alec shakes his head softly.

"You were always with someone else. It never felt right," Alec tells him softly. "And after Camille.... I'm sorry I -"

"No. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you in the first place. You've always been there for me."

"So have you," Alec retorts. Magnus opens his mouth again, but Alec just leans in, pressing another brief kiss to Magnus' lips just to get him to stop talking. Also because he'd wanted to do that for so long, he was going to savour the luxury of being able to now.

"We're here now. That's all that matters," Alec replies.

After a moment, Magnus nods in agreement.

"Spend Christmas with me?" Alec offers. "Your Mom can come too. Hell, I'll invite the whole of Brooklyn if it makes you happy."

Magnus chuckles softly, and nods. In the background, the bells are ringing for George's happy ending in the movie, and Alec can't help but feel the bells are ringing for them too.

Everything feels perfect.

It feels like home.

[thesecretsantaofdoriangray]

Two Birds in Flight

My (@thisblogislit-erature) gift is for @queersandcommies! One of the things you wanted was “Something in London where Dorian is nice to Basil,” so I wrote this. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you like it!

Word count: 2,007

Sunlight streamed into the studio through the open window, illuminating the pages of the, admittedly, rather dull novel that Dorian Gray was only pretending to be interested in while his friend worked on his newest masterpiece.

Dorian raised his head and watched as Basil Hallward delicately swept his brush across his canvas, an entire forest sprouting from the tip of the paintbrush. Despite only knowing him for a couple of weeks, Basil had begun to invite Dorian over nearly every day while he was painting, and even though Dorian had come to admire Basil’s skills immensely, he still had not grown completely comfortable with basically doing nothing in the studio while Basil worked. But as long as his company made him happy, Dorian did not mind too much.

Dorian stood, placing the book down, and crossed to the piano. He passed his hand over the smooth ivory keys, sat down, and began to sift through Basil’s collection of music, finally settling on a selection of Liszt’s compositions.

He started off quiet, so as not to startle Basil, watching to see if he had any reaction to the music. Basil’s concentration did not break from his work, as Dorian expected. He never understood why Basil was always so insistent on his presence while he was working, since he never paid attention to anything other than his art. Perhaps he really did enjoy Dorian’s company as much as he said he did. His adoration was still something Dorian had not quite gotten used to. His grandfather had been distant at best, cruel at worst, the Radleys, his current guardians, left him to his own devices, and everyone else he considered himself close to really did not know much about him besides any of the awful, twisted rumors about his mother that they might have heard and foolishly believed. Basil’s attention was unprecedented, but not entirely off-putting. Even, perhaps, a bit … pleasant. Yes, Dorian admitted to himself, he really did like Basil’s friendship towards him. It was definitely something he could get used to.

He played the final notes of Liszt’s piece, the soft ending chord fading as he reached to turn the page for the next song.

“That was beautiful, Dorian.”

Dorian turned and saw Basil looking at him, a smile on his face. “I am not used to music being played while I paint, but it was quite lovely. Almost as lovely as yourself.”

Dorian laughed, stood, and strode over to Basil. “Stop, that cannot possibly be true. Have you finished your picture yet? As much as you like my being here, I cannot entertain myself by reading dusty old novels and playing piano for hours at a time when I know there is someone perfectly capable of entertaining me himself right here in the room.” He sat down on the bench next to the artist.

Basil shook his head at Dorian. “It is the truth, Dorian, and you should know it.” He turned back to his picture, brushing the most delicate leaves onto the top of a tree. “And you know I have to get this painting finished by the end of the week. I have no time to entertain anyone, even you, despite how much I want to. I do want you here, however, because you … inspire me, shall I say. You give life to my art. Without you, my art would be nothing. I would be nothing. I apologize for boring you, but please know that I need you here, or else … I might as well be dead.”

Dorian hesitated, then laughed. “You are so dramatic Basil! Sometimes I think you would have suited the theatre better than painting. Then I remember that, in a way, are they not the same thing? Or, at the very least, closely connected?”

“How do you mean?” Basil asked, most of his focus still on the picture.

“Well, they are both art, despite being different kinds of art. Still, in painting you act out a life you want to live through a stagnant medium, and in acting you paint the life you are told to live through a wandering medium,” Dorian rambled, not fully aware of what he was saying, transfixed by the small strokes of the brush against the canvas.

Basil stopped and looked at Dorian, his usually warm copper eyes darkened with … was that suspicion?

“What?” Dorian asked, suddenly defensive, that horrible feeling he used to always get when his grandfather would accuse him of something he had nothing to do with creeping back into his chest. That tight, hot feeling of indignation mixed with shame.

“Nothing, it is just … that sounds so much like something another friend of mine would say,” Basil said, his voice hesitant.

“Oh? Who is this other friend of yours?”

Basil scoffed, turning his head back to the picture. “No one you should ever concern yourself with, Dorian. You are too good to associate with him.”

“And you are not?”

“I am used to his poisonous personality and theories. Someone like you, someone so pure, should not even be in the same room as him, let alone start a friendship. I am sorry I spoke of this friend, and I ask that you forget I ever so much as mentioned him. Can you do that for me? Please?”

Dorian, a bit disappointed at Basil’s insistency, but trusting nonetheless, replied, “Yes, yes, of course, if you are so adamant about it. My curiosity is piqued, however. If I ever do get the chance to meet this mysterious friend of yours, I am not sure if I would be able to turn down the opportunity.” At that, Basil furrowed his brow and tightened his lips. “Oh come now, dear Basil, I am not being serious. Since you don’t want me to meet him, I won’t.”

“Thank you.” Basil took his brush away from the picture and contemplated it for a moment. “What do you think of it so far?” he asked, swirling his brush in a glass of water and cleaning it off on a paint-stained cloth.

Dorian gazed at the painting. The limbs of the trees stretched out, tangling together and reaching towards the heavens. The verdant grass was swept to one side, pushed down by a breeze frozen forever in the paint. The sky was the color of a shining aquamarine, dotted with wisps of clouds. He pointed to the top right corner of the canvas.

“I think you could add something right here.”

Basil stared at the spot for a moment, then dipped his brush in the same dark brown he had used for the trees. In a couple of short, precise strokes, he had given life to two birds, flying above the treetops.

“Is that the right ‘something’?” he asked.

Dorian smiled. “It is the perfect something. Why only two, though?”

“Well,” Basil said, turning to meet Dorian’s clear azure eyes, the same color as the painting’s sky, “there are only two of us, are there not?”

Dorian’s face grew warm and he ducked his head, trying to hide his smile, his heart fluttering like the birds’ wings would have, if they had been real. “Is that what you think of us as? Two birds in flight?”

“Yes,” Basil nodded, “and I hope neither of us ever lands.”

~~~

Two weeks later, Dorian arrived outside of Basil’s door, a near daily tradition now. As he waited for Parker to let him in, he drummed his fingers on the package he held impatiently.

Ever since that day when Basil added the two birds to his painting, Dorian had been consumed with the desire to get the perfect gift for him. After all the kindness Basil had given him, he felt like he had to give some back in the slightest way. He had agonized for days over what would be the perfect item, and as soon as he had decided on it, he felt as if the day it was ready could not have come soon enough. He had scoured London for the best person to make it, and would not accept it until it was the perfect embodiment of what Basil’s kindness had felt like to him.

Parker opened the door and led Dorian to the studio, like usual. Once he entered, Basil stood up to greet him as he took off his hat, his gilded curls falling over his forehead.

“Good afternoon, Dorian,” Basil said with a smile. “Parker brought our drinks just before you arrived. Would you like to go out to the garden?”

“That would be wonderful,” Dorian replied, taking the drink Basil handed him.

Once outside, they sat on the bench on the opposite end of the garden from the giant flowering lilac bush, the heady scent drifting towards them on a soft breeze. After taking a sip of his drink, Basil commented, “I finally got someone to come down and hang up that landscape in my room. I am glad I did not give it to Agnew. I needed something on the wall in there. It is strange how, despite being an artist, I have very little art on the walls of my own home.”

“Why didn’t you give it to Agnew? You were offered a great sum of money for it.”

Basil shrugged. “The money is not what is most important to me anymore. I am paid now in memories, most of which contain you.” A red blush crept into Basil’s cheeks as Dorian tried to fight back his smile. “You were what made that painting good. I didn’t want to give it up for something I already have.” The two looked at each other and smiled. Basil’s eyes drifted down to the package sitting in Dorian’s lap. “May I ask what you have there?”

Dorian’s smile grew wider. “It is interesting that you brought up that painting, because … well, I had wanted to get you something … to thank you for being a wonderful friend … anyway, here you go.” He placed the package in Basil’s hands.

Basil slowly tore open the paper and slid out a leather-bound book. He turned it over and gasped lightly.

“Two birds in flight!” he exclaimed softly. He lifted the cover and flipped through. Each page was an empty white sheet, ready to be filled with drawings.

“Oh, Dorian, it is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. Thank you so much,” Basil sighed, clasping the book to his chest and smiling at Dorian.

Dorian smiled back. “I am happy you like it. I just hope you know how much our friendship means to me.”

Basil’s smile softened, and he placed his hand on top of Dorian’s “I certainly hope it does. It means more to me than you will ever know.”

“What do you think will be the first thing you will draw in here?” Dorian asked, tracing the wing of one of the birds.

Basil’s eyes followed Dorian’s finger, then traveled up his arm and finally rested on his face, taking in each detail, as elegant as a Greek sculpture. His mouth curled in a small smile. “I think I have an idea.” He looked back down at the sketchbook. Images of Dorian dressed in the costumes of the ancients filled his mind, and he longed to spill them onto the pages. “Yes, I have some ideas. But for today, all I want to do is be with you.”

“I like that plan very much,” Dorian assented. Across the yard, the lilac bush rustled, and two birds burst from the top of it and soared into the sky. Dorian leapt up from the bench. “Just like us!” he cried, nearly spilling his drink in his excitement.

Basil laughed, clutching the book and watching Dorian’s sparkling eyes and flushed, happy countenance. Dorian turned to Basil, beaming at his friend’s joy. No, he thought, I don’t believe either of us will ever land.

[zi-tales]

Interview: Phecda

1) Father

My mother sang praises of him. I had nothing to go off other than this. At the very least, I should have heard of him in my time living in Nashaba. Someone looking for my mother, asking what happened. Yet, I have heard nothing. Years of silence. I am under the impression perhaps he is too afraid to know the truth. A spineless fool like that never deserved my mother, and will not recieve any respect of mine. He could be dead for all I care.

2) Mother

Her name was Najma. In the village, she was an incredibly skilled huntress, and the one designated to travel to places like Nashaba or Alshuba and establish trading relationships. This made her worldview much broader, and thus much more dangerous. The village was always hellbent on maintaining tradition, and keeping things as they were without outside influence. And yet, my mother respectfully continued to push this conviction, always bringing medicine, or magics, or what have you even at risk of trouble. Beyond this, she was a trainer for the village militia, apparently known as a skilled duelist for years. So, yes, my mother was an intrepid woman, and an incredible fighter. I only hope to be as accomplished.

3) Childhood

My childhood was full of isolation and self-restraint to not interact much. My mother's story for me was being an adoptee from the dunes, and to hide the fact that my ears were the only real tell for my abnormal status. Since the risk of someone noticing such a distinct trait was very high, I had to live mostly alone. This did not bother me much, as I accepted it as a norm eventually. My mother insisted we would move away at some point, so I shouldn't bond with anyone strongly. Until I was... I am unsure. 15? 14, perhaps? I believed it would happen easily. At around that time, I was made aware of our village's distinct xenophobic tendencies, after the subject never appearing until then. That was when I realized the implication of my existence, and when I began to question things. This prompted my mother to accelerate what training she could of vocational things like hunting and fighting, although she didn't manage to do it enough before I slipped up. Perhaps I am rambling a bit. Things happened so long ago, and it is a... A haze.

4) Hometown

My mother's actions and presumed death seemed to have caused a large rift between people within the village. She was influential due to her role as the sole link to the outside world, and without her, the connections fostered were severed. While I was expecting a decline from this, I did not expect self-destruction. No one seems to want to talk about what happened to my mother, either, so I cannot even say for certain that she perished the night I fled. I simply assume so, so I do not spend the trances distracted. It was not somewhere I would call home, regardless. Most people kept their distance from one another, and it was a place of quiet reverence and obeying the law. I cannot say I miss it.

5) Time as an Assassin

The Asterius League was truly a band of interesting folk. Individuals like Arista and Eltanin used to be such... Role models, I suppose? To see them fall so far... It continues to disturb me. We trained with a distinct intimacy that bonded us together as contract killers with meaning, with purpose. Constant reminders that we were not murderers, but forces by which to shape the nation, guided by the many sources of influence. I hardly see killing as a sport, but it comes close. It is an art form, in a way. Every combat is a blank canvas waiting to be used, to observe every detail of the opponent. To kill perfectly, with grace and professionalism. These tenants separated us from the shady, unwashed masses within the Ahlbaali. Anyone can kill for money. We could kill with unparalleled expertise. There were elders, instructors, and acolytes as the organizational structure. My mentor and the man who took me in from the dunes was Errai, an expert marksman and venerable warrior. He taught me everything my mother didn't, like the hidden elegance of Common, how to infiltrate, and anything else that assisted being a true killer. Although, he despised the title of killer. It was far too inelegant for what we were doing. Am I rambling again? Please, let me know. I do not often talk of these subjects, and it can get very messy for me.

6) Transitioning to normal life

Frankly, I was hardly an assassin. I hadn’t ascended ranks past acolyte, which usually gave you the authority to actually take assignments independently. I had taken support roles in contracts with veterans like Errai, but I was not truly an assassin. Simply trained in the disciplines of one. Regardless, losing the Derelict as my home and being alone did force me to carve out a name for myself in Nashaba almost immediately, although contacts of Errai’s recognized me and helped as best they could to establish me as a mercenary or courier. From then, it was a matter of self-sufficiency and living day to day in the organized chaos of the Ahlbaali capital. I was used to the culture already, only had to adjust to the lack of companions and the discrimination behind being a half-elf. People don’t trust knife-ears as much, I suppose. At least I’ve rectified that these days.

7) Sircius

Ebmeros is innately a good man, despite some shrewd behavior and hot-headed mannerisms.  Truly, I have never met a man with more insistence on hiding his own nature than Ebmeros. He is clearly a father at heart, and yet, refuses to let this out due to what I can only assume to be fear of attachment. His fixation on what he can lose seems to be almost overwhelming, although I suppose coming from myself, I cannot begin to criticize this. I have lost what I can, and simply seek retribution. He still stands to suffer, but I intend to stand by him to prevent that as long as I can. Other than this, the ferocity by which he commands his offensive magic is incredible, if only ever disappointing when attempts to put individuals to sleep consistently fails.

8) Roc

A warrior from another time that I incidentally discovered in an Ahlbaali ruin. I can say I have thought of many things to find within the dunes, but a companion is not one of them. The apparent pain of her history forces me to be cautious when I feel a need to inquire about it, as I am one who prefers privacy of those matters myself. Nonetheless, as it does not interfere with her ability as a fighter, I do not plan to push the subject. That being said, I am highly curious what possible circumstances could lead to such a state of being, and wonder myself how I will eventually cope with being in my own accursed state upon expiry. I should consider asking Roc about that, ah?

9) Eleniel

Eleniel... I hope she realizes what she is capable of. Her capacity for goodness is matches only by her desire to martyr herself in the name of personal redemption, to the point where it can be easily construed as suicidal tendency. I worry for her. Eleniel is proof to me that there are indeed selfless individuals in this world, and how dangerous such a devotion to those ideals is. While I cannot say I envy any such obligation, nor can I begin to comprehend the mental fortitude necessary to constantly seek charitable action, I respect her unerring faith in her dogma. It is a rarity in these times, truly.

10) Herself

What do I think of myself? What an odd question. I do not reflect on myself often. To do so feels vain, and my time would likely be spent better elsewhere. I suppose I am... Learning to be normal. So long have I been accustomed to being a wolf of sorts. Everything is a potential meal. I have to negotiate, push myself, ignore pleasantries. Efficiency, displays of skill, et cetera. I live every moment to advance as a person, or something of that nature. And now, I do not know. I continue to try and socialize, which is incredibly alien to me. I have much to learn yet still, clearly. The killing arts should not be all that matters in this life.

11) The Future

I am unsure. I seek to hone my skill with a bow to an impeccable fault, at the least. Perhaps even with a blade, if I can balance my practice that well. Perhaps I am to find a worthy successor to the Umbra? Re-establish the Asterius League once I’ve killed the remnants? Or maybe, I go back to Nashaba, and return to my humble life in the sands? Options wax and wane in appeal always. Nothing ever goes to plan anyway. For all I know, I may learn to romance someone, and I settle down and start a family like Belzer and Veii. I merely hope I am not alone in all of it.

12) The Vermilion King

Normally, I would not put him under concerns of mine. His dogma and apparent ambitions seem to fall more in line with something the churches should combat, not someone like me. But, he holds Eltanin in his employ, which speaks to his shrewdness. On that virtue, I seek the Serpent’s head, and so I may as well help topple this Vermilion King’s schemes. As for him as an opponent... I generally don’t fear dying. He is no exception. Whatever bleeds can die, and if he is a being of blood, then the statement remains relevant all the same.

13) The Umbra

The Umbra is, in short, mine. Only mine. I would not hand it off willingly to anyone unless I believe they will wield it responsibly. The latent power in this bow cannot be underestimated in the slightest. It burrows deep into your soul. Like cruel tendrils that drill into your heart, feeding off of you, but pulsing energy back. We are one. A single entity whose bond continues to grow stronger. It is strange, surely, and I am well aware it will devour me in the end, but... It is not evil, necessarily. It feels akin to an animal. Its instinct is to keep its wielder alive, and only devour them when they no longer matter. If this is my fate, so be it. As long as I make it worthwhile, I have no issues with a cursed death.

14) Malerus I only hope we do not have to tamper with such dangerous materials ever again. Resurrection is one thing, sacrifice is another. Rellus should not have had to make that decision.

[cherieofthedragons]

In Which Blackwall Somehow Manages Not to Kill His Coworkers

A Knight Shop AU fic

So yes, the Knight Shop AU. Which involves so many people that I’m afraid I’m going to forget some. @trulycertain, @aphreal42, @sarcasmfish, @celeritassagittae, Tru’s mum, um... tell me who else and I’ll add them. It’s brilliant and so much fun.

It’s a modern-ish AU, basically Thedas/modern England, in which there exists a shop where one can hire knights. A knight shop. Hence the name. Typically, knights are hired to do odd jobs, attend social events, act as bodyguards, etc. etc. And many of our favorite Dragon Age characters are knights-for-hire.

The first chapter of Blackwall/Mirevas ridiculousness is here. Huge thanks to Tru and Aphreal for use of their characters and contributions to the writing.

“She’s absolutely brilliant, you know.”

Blackwall sighed and set down his magazine, bracing himself for more lovesick rambling about the accomplished young lady Alistair refused to admit he had fallen for. Blackwall should have known he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on transmission schematics when Alistair was on duty with him.

“I’ve never seen anyone who fights like her.” Alistair’s voice was dreamy as he scribbled in the margins of the ledger. Josephine was not going to be happy when she saw he’d doodled in her official paperwork. Again. “She spent all of yesterday teaching me all of the moves from the guy who beat her last time, so that if I learn to fence like him, she can practice against me-as-him and beat him next season. She’ll probably win the whole thing then. I told you she placed third this year, right?”

“Once or twice,” Blackwall said drily. In point of fact, Alistair  couldn’t seem to shut up about it. Every time he was in a room with Blackwall, he found something new about his lady to rave about. And the tournament had been nearly a month ago.

At first, Blackwall was genuinely impressed. In his time in competitive fencing, he’d seen a handful of women qualify to compete in men’s tournaments, but he’d never heard of one placing so highly. Alistair’s lady was clearly a skilled fencer, and the boy had every right to be proud of her.

But being proud was one thing. Sharing the depth of his pride with every person he could corner into listening was another. Blackwall had retired from fencing nearly a decade ago, and for good reasons. He simply couldn’t maintain the obsessive level of interest in fencing he’d had when he was younger. And no one could maintain Alistair’s level of obsessive interest in this particular fencer.

Alistair prattled on, oblivious to the ever-increasing exasperation of his one-man audience. “I was able to copy the bloke’s remise pretty easily, once she showed me all the steps he’d used. Don’t ask how she remembered them all, by the way, because I have no idea how she can perfectly copy a set of attacks made against her one time weeks ago. I mentioned she’s amazing, didn’t I?”

“Once or twice,” Blackwall said again. As far as he could tell, it was Alistair’s favorite adjective when it came to his lady.

“The passata sotto took longer to get right.” Alistair winced, and Blackwall smirked into his beard at that typical novice reaction to a move that relied on a controlled crouch. “A lot longer. My legs are going to be sore for a week, at least. But she’s such a patient teacher, and I eventually got it, and then…”

The recitation was cut off by the shrill ring of the shop phone.

“Thank the Maker…” Blackwall moved to answer it, eager to hear any other conversation at this point, even if it was someone calling to complain. Or the persistent woman who kept insisting they stage some sort of joust for her son’s birthday party and refusing to accept it was not possible. Where would they even get and train the horses for that, much less transport them across town?

But Alistair was closer, and he grabbed the phone before Blackwall could get to it. “Knight Shop, how can we help?”

He paused, listening, then glanced at Blackwall. “Sure, let me just take a look at the rota.” Quickly, he flipped open the scheduling book. “Ah, sorry--Mirevas, was it? Blackwall is booked on Friday evening. Would you like someone else--”

Blackwall’s heart jumped into his throat. He sprang up from his seat, waving his hands wildly.

Alistair frowned. “Er--hang on a minute.” He pressed the mute button. “What?”

“I want this job,” Blackwall hissed.

The other knight raised an eyebrow. “But you’re already booked. Mrs. Renfrow.”

Blackwall grimaced. Mrs. Renfrow was a seventy-year-old woman who hired one of the knights to move heavy furniture around her house every week -- and then, unfailingly, decided she wanted it back the way it was and snapped at the knight for changing it. She had a nasty temper and a terrible superiority complex, and every single one of them hated working for her.

“Cover for me,” Blackwall begged.

Alistair let out a bark of laughter. “No way. I did it last week. It’s your turn.”

“Please. I’ll take your next turn.”

“Uh-uh. Friday’s my day off, and I have plans.”

Blackwall was getting desperate. “You can have the fee for both jobs.”

Alistair’s eyebrows went up.

Blackwall gritted his teeth. “Please.”

With an immense sigh, Alistair crossed his arms. “You’ll take my next two turns.”

Blackwall bobbed his head in agreement.

“And cover for me on Monday.”

“Yes, yes.”

“And--”

Blackwall growled in frustration. “Alistair.”

Alistair put up his hands in surrender, clearly aware that he’d pushed his luck to the limits. “All right, all right. I’ll do it. My plans are earlier in the day, anyway. Keep the fee for the second job.”

His plans were --

Blackwall glared at Alistair. He didn’t have plans at that time at all. He’d tricked Blackwall into--

Alistair held out the phone quickly. “Er, you’ll take this, then?”

Furious, Blackwall snatched it from his hand, then took a deep, calming breath. He didn’t want to sound angry when he spoke to Mirevas. When his breathing was even, he jabbed a finger at the mute button. “Hello. Mirevas?”

“Blackwall!” The golden tones of Mirevas’s voice were music to his ears. “Hello!”

“Hello.” He’d said that already. “Er--I understand you wish to request my services on Friday evening, my lady?”

“I do, yes. My artwork is being featured in a gallery show, and the opening is on Friday. I thought maybe -- if you were available -- well, I don’t think anyone else there will have a knight on their arm.”

Ah. So it was the novelty of bringing a knight that she wanted, not Blackwall himself. He pushed down his disappointment. It was a job, nothing more. Beautiful young women did not notice middle-aged men like him.

But--she’d asked for him specifically. She could have asked for Gal; she knew him better, after all. That meant--that had to mean--she wanted to see him. Blackwall.

“I would be honored to be on your arm, my lady.”

“Always a gentleman.” He thought he could hear the smile in her voice, and he closed his eyes and imagined it. “The opening begins at six and goes until ten. It’s at The June Gallery. Should we--do you want to meet there? Maybe fifteen minutes early, before the guests start to arrive?”

“Your wish is my command.”

Mirevas chuckled. “Right. Good. I’ll, ah, print the contract from your website, shall I? And...I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I, my lady.”

“Goodbye, then.”

“Farewell.”

The line disconnected. Blackwall opened his eyes and gently set the phone back in its cradle.

“Does she fence?”

Blackwall turned to face Alistair. “What?”

Alistair tilted his head. “The lady. Does she fence?”

“No.” Blackwall didn’t even try to hold back his exasperation.

“And she’s worth two weeks of Mrs. Renfrow? Even though she doesn’t fence?” Alistair’s teasing smirk made Blackwall’s jaw clench, and with his usual instinct for recognizing a line right after he’d crossed it, Alistair quickly changed the subject. “So about the passata sotto…”

Blackwall put his head in his hands.

When he saw Mirevas the next day, he was completely caught off-guard. It was Wednesday; he had two days until the art gallery. Two days to spend every waking hour daydreaming about her, or so it seemed. Somehow, he couldn’t manage to think of anything else. Two days. Just a little over 48 hours, now. And then he’d have four whole hours in her presence.

He sat on a stool behind the shop counter and tried to follow the debate about music, but with little luck. Any other time, he would have had plenty to say about the merits of heavy metal as compared to the traditional jazz Gal’s Tevinter client was raving about. But Erren seemed to have the matter well in hand, and Blackwall knew that if Gal or Cassandra decided to join in, he’d likely approve of what they said.  So Blackwall’s mind kept floating away, going back to--

Mirevas.

Mirevas.

Mirevas was stepping through the door.

For a moment, Blackwall thought he was still imagining her. But no, she was there. In the flesh. Physically standing before him. Her eyes scanned the shop, then focused on him.

Maker’s breath, this was real. He all but lurched off his stool, coming round the counter to greet her.

“Hello, Blackwall.” Mirevas smiled. Maker, he loved the way his name sounded on her lips. The two syllables had never been so beautiful.

“My lady.”

He couldn’t think of what to say next. Her brown eyes blinked as she tilted her head up to look at him, and Blackwall became aware of exactly how huge he was. Andraste’s ass, he had to be a foot taller than her. Suddenly his body seemed to take up entirely too much space.

As Mirevas continued to look up at him, Blackwall realized that he was staring at her silently like an idiot. Quickly, he tried to pull his thoughts together. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, my lady.”

“Oh.” Mirevas looked down at her hand, and he realized she held a folded-up paper. “I thought I should come in and drop off the contract.”

Somewhere in the background, Blackwall dimly registered that music had started coming out of the break room.

“The contract, yes, of course.” Maker’s balls, he was a bloody git. “Thank you.”

Mirevas bit her lip. “I suppose I should have just emailed it to the shop.”

Lyrics began floating out to him. You catch his eye from across the room, you catch his eye…

“Not at all,” Blackwall said. “I’m--I’m very glad to see you, my lady.”

You think, oh my, he’s got quite the beard, oh my…

Blackwall’s head jerked up.

And now you want to but you can’t look away. His beard is black and bushy with a hint of grey…

Horrified, he turned back to see Erren standing next to the break room door looking entirely too casual.

And now you find yourself walking his way...

“Excuse me a moment--”

Without waiting for an answer, Blackwall lurched in the direction of the music, just in time to hear the song continue with the words, Hey hey, you should consider having sex with a bearded man!

Fucking hell, he was going to murder Erren.

You’ve got these feelings that you can’t understand, sex with a bearded man!

He banged through the door and lunged for the music player.

You think you can’t, but you can! Don’t try to fight, just get freaky with a beard tonight!

Desperately, Blackwall jabbed at the stop button, and the music thankfully cut off.

He slumped over in relief, but it was short-lived. Andraste’s fucking tits, how much of that had Mirevas heard?

He growled. Erren was going to regret the day she was born.

With barely controlled rage, Blackwall emerged from the break room, his eyes settling on Erren where she still stood, leaning against the wall. He took a step towards her.

Erren glanced at a non-existent watch on her wrist. “Look at that, it’s time for my break!” she trilled. With that, she darted for the front door and disappeared in a matter of seconds.

Blackwall took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Later. He’d deal with her later. Right now he had to face Mirevas again.

Dear Maker, what would she think?

“...and I was thinking about what I could do on my other calf. Something to set off the work you’ve already done. I’m not sure what’d work best. Do you have any ideas?”

That was Gal. Blackwall looked over to see him standing next to Mirevas, who was nodding with interest.

“I could put together some sketches using the themes we’ve been discussing. You’re wanting to complete what you have into more of a coherent whole?”

“Exactly. I’d love to see what you’d come up with.”

Blackwall realized what was happening, and he wanted to kiss Gal. Which was not something he’d ever thought to want. But Gal had saved him. He’d distracted Mirevas with tattoo talk to keep her from noticing that horrible song. A weight lifted from Blackwall’s shoulders. All was not lost.

Gal glanced over at Blackwall. “You have business to take care of?”

“Indeed.” Blackwall pulled himself together as best he could and approached Mirevas once more. She stepped towards him, smiling that smile that always did him in.

“This is for you, then,” she said, holding out the paper.

“Thank you, my lady.” He reached to take it from her, and as she put it in his hand, her fingers touched his, sending a jolt of electricity through him. Had she done that on purpose? He hoped she’d done that on purpose.

He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, but if there was anything he’d learned from the last time he’d accepted a job with her, it was that he ought to be prepared. So he unfolded the paper and scanned it quickly, satisfying himself that there was nothing unexpected in this particular contract. A social obligation at an art show. It seemed simple enough. A Friday evening spent with the most magnificent woman he’d ever been lucky enough to lay eyes on. There was nothing he wanted more.

Mirevas tucked a strand of black hair behind a long, pointed ear. “Does everything look all right?”

“Perfect.” Blackwall set the paper down on the counter. “I shall count the seconds.”

Too much, it was too much. He shouldn’t say such things. She’d come seeking professional services, not a date. But Mirevas just ducked her head with a grin. “Such chivalry,” she said. “I look forward to it, too.”

She looked up at him once more, her piercing gaze locking him in place. For a moment, he thought he saw something in those dark eyes. Something...something…

Then she nodded and turned away, crossing to the door. With one last glance in his direction, she stepped outside, and he watched through the window as she walked quickly away.

Blackwall let out a breath and realized how wobbly his knees had become. He leaned his weight against the counter and tried to calm the fluttering of his heart.

“You’re going to her gallery opening, then?” Gal said.

Blackwall nodded.

“A gallery opening?” The Tevinter client -- Blackwall thought he’d heard him called Dorian -- squinted at him in undisguised scrutiny. “Is that...a common sort of job for you?”

Blackwall frowned at the man. “Not exactly.”

“I hadn’t thought so. No offense, but you look the sort one hires to lift heavy objects, that sort of thing.”

He bristled. “I can handle myself at an art gallery.”

“Of course you can,” Dorian said smoothly. “Tell me, what are you intending to wear?”

Blackwall opened his mouth to reply and found himself stuck. What was he going to wear?

The Tevinter nodded smugly. “That’s rather what I thought.”

Blackwall was caught between anger and despair. He would be fine at an art gallery. He would wear--erm, he would wear--

“Fear not.” Dorian stepped forward and patted Blackwall once on the arm. Blackwall’s answering glare caused the man to take a step back, but he continued in a patronizing tone, “I can help.”

“I don’t need help.”

The Tevinter ignored him. “You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard, but you don’t want to look like a prat, either. Do you have anything in brocade?”

Blackwall glowered at the man.

“No, of course you don’t.” Dorian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You may need to make a shopping outing. A waistcoat, perhaps. Double-breasted. Yes, with an ascot. Very nice.”

Blackwall tried to picture himself in a double-breasted waistcoat and ascot, and immediately shook his head. “No.”

Dorian tilted his head. “Not an ascot? No, I suppose that might be a bit pretentious. Well, for you, anyway. A jauntily-tied scarf may be a better choice.”

In frustration, Blackwall looked towards Gal, who looked back at him blankly and shrugged.

At that moment, Cassandra made a disgusted noise, and all three of them turned to look at her. They’d entirely forgotten she was in the room.

“Wear a blazer,” she said. “And dress slacks. With a button-down shirt in a nice color. That will be enough.”

The Tevinter frowned. “I suppose, if you don’t want to be creative--”

“I don’t,” Blackwall interrupted.

“It’s better that you’re not.” Cassandra folded her arms. “You’re not an artist. You don’t want to make a spectacle of yourself. It may work for some--” she glanced at Dorian “--but it’s not for the uninitiated. No. Blazer, trousers, shirt. Top button undone. That’s all.”

They all blinked at her for a moment.

She huffed. “If there’s one thing you learn as a child in the Pentaghast household, it’s how to dress for social events. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something to discuss with Josephine.” With that, she stepped past them all, knocked on the office door, and entered, closing the door behind her.

The three men looked at each other. Then Gal turned to Dorian. “We should go,” he said. “If you want me to sort out those shelves today.”

“Yes, yes,” Dorian answered in distraction, and followed Gal to the exit. Just before he left, Dorian looked back over his shoulder. “Cornflower blue,” he told Blackwall. “For the shirt. It will bring out your eyes.”

Then the door closed behind him, and Blackwall was alone.

Cornflower blue. Surreptitiously, Blackwall examined his reflection in the glass window. Hmm.

He’d think about it.

The song: “You Should Consider Having Sex With a Bearded Man”, by the Beards, from the album Having a Beard Is the New Not Having a Beard. It’s not exactly what I’d call an explicit song, but it’s not innocent either, so listen at your own risk.

Continuing on: Chapter 3 - In Which Blackwall Is Not Dalish

[twiwrite-flare]

Hey there all! Kind of leaning heavily on that whole “. . . or so . . .“ part in regards to how often I’d be posting status updates aren’t I? Darn it, I feel like all I do is apologize every time I get on here to talk to you guys and galls.  Sorry about tha-DANG-IT!  I DID IT AGAIN! Anyway, welcome to my first official status update for The Adventures of Pom the Sheep on my old, re-purposed mod blog.  YAY! Sadly, I have to say that I’ve only just begun on the next part thus far.  The last few weeks have been anything but kind to my free-time and stress levels in both by personal and professional lives.  Don’t worry; it’s nothing too serious.  Just a few family scares and work not really cooperating with me. Here’s hoping I can start focusing on this again now that most of the crazy is over. I’ve got the next part of scene 2 all planed out and I am just now starting on the line art.  The line art is what takes me the longest out of everything that goes into these panels.  Once that is finally finished things should come together much quicker.  I need to learn to speed my sketches up.  I feel like I need to develop some better habits in my day to day life to allow for more traditional practice at sketching so I can start getting quicker and not relying so much on all the fancy tricks and cheats that digital art programs offer.  Sometimes I feel like they give me TOO much control and I end up losing myself in the minutia of my line art and my OCD, perfectionist qualities. Sorry, I know I’m rambling.  These little status updates will get more streamlines as I go. I’ll try to be more active on this mod blog from here on out, but I just wanted to actually have something to say other than “haven’t started yet“ for my first mod-blog post. If it’s any consolation, up top is just a quickly thrown together background for the best Pom I’ve ever drawn.  Even got some neat special effects thrown in there from when I was playing around. I’ll be using that picture of Pom in just one more piece that I have planned in the future and will actually be giving it a legitimate background rather than just lazy, abstract hills and hollers at sunset.  I hope it turns out half as good as I imagine it at least. Till next time guys, Peace! Twilus Write

[2djdanger]

RAMBLINGS OF AN ANIMATION STUDENT ON THE BOSS BABY AND THE INDUSTRY ITSELF AND WHY I LOVE THE BOSS BABY WITH ALL MY HEART AND SOUL:

Words cannot describe the love I have for The Boss Baby. I saw an advanced screening of it a few weeks back with the director there & it blew my mind it’s like 3D animation meets 2D along with gorgeous art & so many opposites attract motifs like the baby acting like an adult & the graphic bold bright comic book feel type scenes that also meet this almost soft pastel 1950s/1960s vibe going on. AND THE EMOTION IN EVERYONES FACES AGH IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY AS AN ANIMATOR!!! It’s such a fast paced movie & everything happening at once & throughout all this everyone’s showing a variety of different emotions in a few seconds & the writing is amazing like not many animated films these days go back to the roots of traditional animation & just making it for a wide variety of an audience from all walks of life instead of making the same movie over & over again with great animation but a story line that seems rushed & choppy & not thought out but they keep making sequels anyways whether we wanted them or not just because m o n e y. I’m looking at u Disney with almost everything & Illumination with Despicable Me. It’s not to say that I don’t like sequels bc those companies have made some I enjoyed but it makes me disappointed when they could be putting their talents towards something fresh & new & original. This movie was o r i g i n a l in every sense of the word. Go take your kids to see it, yourself, your parents (I took mine & im a fully grown adult as are they & we loved it), your grandparents, your grandparent’s grandparents!!! It’s so great!!! It’s literally what the 3D animation community needed. I’m a traditional/2D animator myself & it seems more of the 2D movies out there recently have been trying to keep it original and don’t even get me started on the amount of work the animators do in not only 2D but 3D as well. But like recently 3D animation seems obsessed with the technology realizing they can make anything look more & more realistic nowadays then say when Pixar created Toy Story & their shorts in the 80s. These big companies keep churning out these movies not putting much thought into it & spending everything to make it look as real as possible. But that’s not the point of animation at all! They’re losing touch with why we animate in the first place!!! As my old storyboarding teacher once told our class on why we animate, we animate because it shouldn’t be possible in the real world. When you make anything animated you should stop & think: why am I making this story animated? Does it really need to be animated? Can I do this in live action? If you can make a story in live action then why are you animating it at all in the first place? It doesn’t need to be animated! Literally animation is just beautiful. You can do anything with it. And more & more especially with the technology in 3D films they’re slipping away from those values & ideas & making things that can be replicated in live action. So to see The Boss Baby really utilize the original concept of animation to tell that beautiful crazy impossible story & to top it off tell it through the bright eyes of an over imaginative child make it all the more better because it gives way to these big brilliant imagination sequences with these bold graphic designs that I’d die for. The editing and the animation in this movie is literally perfection it’s one thing flows into another into another into another & it works ANNND THERES EVEN GOOD COMEDIC TIMING!!! Sometimes movies live action & animated just can’t capture that kind of fast paced back to back tension followed by good comedic timing so to the writing team on The Boss Baby I say bravo to you & to the animators as well because God knows how difficult it is to draw out a normal sequence of actions but to follow the writing & get that vision out there in the open & follow it & draw it out so every detail works that’s just insane. This movie just inspires me so much & it’s relatable. My childhood was like Tim’s where everything was perfect & I was happy until my baby sister came along & we went at it for years. Another thing back to the genius writing in the film is this style where it forces you into Tim’s shoes because when they first introduce Boss Baby & for the first half of the film you’re made to hate him & he acts as the villain of the film until about halfway through Boss Baby really comes out of his 1 dimensional evil villain shell & just sees Tim in distress & reveals why it’s not only bad for Tim the current situation but why it’s bad for him too & then proceeds to give Boss Baby this insane narrative & beautifully tragic multidimensional backstory. Tim as the first main character has already been developed as a multidimensional character with different feelings & emotional expressions because he doesn’t know much about the world except for his imagination since he is a kid but by showing this then completely flipping everything on it’s head & giving Boss Baby real flaws & strengths that balance out Tim’s strengths & weaknesses it makes them seem a lot more like real relatable people & more so like siblings who depend on each other. As an older sister I can say some of my weaknesses end up being my sisters strengths & vice versa. Then by the end of the film,Boss Baby is this character you can't help but love & root for hoping he wins & can get out of the bad situations like when his formula was stolen so he kept going baby again it's like you feel panicked because you don't want Boss Baby to be normal you want him to be his crazy quirky self. Also this whole tragic narrative really hit me like it just stuck with me because I’m a sucker for these kinds of dark/sad stories layered in a brighter happier story & they coexist in harmony like that’s when you know a film’s really working. So SPOILERS AHEAD even though if you got this far there have already been some light spoilers I couldn’t avoid talking about but these get right into the grit of it. So the idea that Boss Baby was never really born fascinates me. In this world in the movie it makes sense. It’s also really sad as Tim points out as we’re finding out more about Boss Baby that he never had a childhood & how Boss Baby even says himself he was “born” or more so created (in both the universe of the movie & if he was self aware ((which he isn’t but for the sake of explaining this just humor the thought if he was)) that he was created as a character to work in this movie world realm plane of existence whatever you want to call it) all grown up as an adult in a baby’s body. Just think about that for a minute. What if you were born an adult & never went through childhood, never had a family, no one ever loved you or played with you or anything, all you knew was co-workers & business stuff. You never had fun or imagined things. That’s a really sad life if you ask me personally. He never had a chance to be creative or find himself all he knew was what the cold adult business school taught him from day 1. Most adults these days forgot what it was like to be a child & have fun & I think that’s what they were trying to get at with this backstory especially when Tim’s on the plane to Vegas with Boss Baby & just trying to teach him in small little ways how to use his imagination & just be a kid & not be so serious & black & white all the time. Also, I feel like that’s the issue sometimes with my own parents. As an animator I see animated movies as just another way of telling a story whereas people like my parents who don’t understand much from my line of work see it as a children’s media with no substance & pretty pictures. I want to break that barrier because the first animated pieces were NOT made for kids they were for other adults. I feel like it shouldn’t matter anyways if the movie’s marketed for kids because it could always be a good movie regardless of that & people like my parents forget what it’s like to have fun & see a good kids movie. They were kids once, we all were. As with many animated films before it, The Boss Baby brings subtle tasteful adult humor to the film as well as some just downright outrageous adult humor like Boss Baby running around butt naked with a censor bar over his nether regions. When you can marry adult & child humor together in a movie & make it work nicely it’s always a sign of a good movie. So tonight’s the opening night of The Boss Baby in cinemas everywhere & because I have so much love for this movie after seeing the advanced screening & listening to the director, producer, & designer from the movie speak about it & their own experiences they put into this film, like I stated before I dragged my parents out of the house on a Friday night when they would normally be in bed sleeping really early & shared the joy & beauty of the animated feature film with them. Normally my dad’s the one who will give almost any film a try & watch it & really like it. My mom however is extremely picky & if it doesn’t please her in the first 10 minutes or less she will zone out & fall asleep taking a nap through over half the movie. Both of my parents were on the edge of their seats tonight paying the utmost attention to the movie. It was a really beautiful moment to see my parents actually giving this animated movie a shot & they both ended up loving it as much I did on my second go seeing it. I’m not gonna lie I saw the trailers for this movie late last year & it caught my interest but I had this nagging thought that it wasn’t going to be a fresh new story it would just be typical & only made to make some money & keep Dreamworks in the game another year. I was happily proven wrong & this movie just takes everything about these money making no story movies & flips it on its head entirely. I even bought the art book for The Boss Baby because the artwork alone is enough to inspire me while working on my own projects. And that my friends is why you need to see The Boss Baby

TL;DR: The Boss Baby is an A+ gorgeously animated film with a breath of fresh air new story told in a way that’s really interesting & new & takes you back to the old days of 2D animation classics despite being a 3D film so disregard Rotten Tomato’s obviously wrong ratings & go see it for yourself because as an animator this movie makes me happy & I want to live in it forever ❤️❤️❤️

[sadrien]

tangled ribbons, ch13: reverance

on Ao3 | on ffnet

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Wow. Ok, so, here we are. Before we start, a few things:

(this note is super super long so the full thing is on ao3!!!) 

THIS is the inspiration for Mari’s solo. It’s more contemporary than I imagine but it gave me a jumping off point. THIS isn’t the inspiration for Adrien’s because I didn’t have one but it’s really amazing. THIS I’ve linked several times and again I had no real inspiration for the duet but I used this for a few reference points 

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented and reblogged and left kudos! Thank you to everyone who created something for this fic because every time I saw anything in this tag I cried for hours. Thank you to readers who have been here since the beginning, who joined along the way, who jumped on now, and who will read in the future <3 

Thank you to the @ml-network​ and @mlfanfiction​ for your endless support. For being such fantastic friends and providing me with so many laughs and so so much love. Thank you to @matchaball​ for listening to me ramble and for giving me your lovely thoughts. Thank you to @ladriened​ and @reyxa​ for promising to cry with me. Thank you Rey for inadvertently giving me this deadline. <3 Sorry it’s not a coffeeshop au, but I did my best. Happy birthday!! Thank you again to @zoenightstars​, @chassecroise​, @adastrabella​, and @chatstronaut​ for being with me since the beginning. 

And finally, thank you to @gabzilla-z​. Thank you for inspiring me with your art because and thank you for supporting this fic <3 Without you, we wouldn’t be here 

I hope you all enjoy~

Marinette carefully makes her way through the class of younger dancers who are milling about in the lobby while waiting for their costumes. One of the girls gasps, her eyes sparkling.

“You’re so pretty!” she coos, clapping her hands together.

Marinette thanks her and can barely keep the smile off her face as everyone else starts chiming in. Marinette turns pink as she ducks inside the studio, leaving the group to talk loudly and excitedly about their own costumes.

“Finally fight your way through your adoring fans?” Adrien jokes as he chaînés out of a turn. He spins to face Marinette and his eyes go wide in surprise.

Marinette bites her lip and glances to the mirror. She twists to see the back of the bodice, her heart feeling like it’s going to burst out of her chest.

“Do you like it?” Adrien asks. He walks over to her with a soft smile on his face.

Marinette laughs breathlessly. “Promise not to judge me if I just scream?”

“No judgement,” he promises. “How does it fit?”

She forces herself to focus on the feel of the costume. She twists left and right before doing port de bras forward and backward. She throws a quick double and then relaxes as much as possible. “I think that the bodice probably needs to be just a little bit more snug. But other than that, it fits really well.” Tiny alterations, nothing more. She could do them herself, but she has a feeling that the costume director would rather handle them. “You?”

Adrien studies himself in the mirror. “Honestly, the pants are a nice change. I’m kind tired of wearing white tights. And I’m always afraid that I’m going to ruin them.”

Marinette laughs. She moves back and forth so the skirt twists around her legs. “This might be the nicest thing I’ve ever worn,” she murmurs.

“You make everything look nice,” Adrien says honestly.

She feels her cheeks grow warm as she meets his eyes in the mirror. She pulls away her gaze to look at their costumes together, not thinking about what he just said. She appreciates that Tikki — and Plagg, but mostly Tikki — chose less lavish costumes for the duet. Marinette adores her costume for the production, a deep red traditional tutu with intricate designs and embroidery that reminds her vaguely of her own ladybug tutu, but she can’t help but love the simplicity of these costumes just as much. A simple white satin bodice with embroidered pink flowers and a thin skirt made of silky light pink fabric that reaches just below her knees. The flowers continue down the skirt getting darker and darker in color. Adrien’s shirt is light teal with loose sleeves that come together at the wrists and has stitching done in different shades of blues and greens.

They look like they belong together.

The thought makes her cheeks turn pinker. Anyway.

“Think it fits well enough for a test run?” Adrien asks. “Tikki and Plagg won’t be back for at least twenty minutes. They’re helping Nooroo and Trixx with the costumes for all of the younger groups.”

Marinette brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “You say twenty minutes, I say four years. Have you ever worked with a large group of thirteen year olds?”

“Uh…”

“Exactly,” she says. “They are never getting out of there.”

Adrien shrugs. “More time to ourselves then.”   

Marinette yanks her mind out of the gutter as Adrien moves over to the stereos to turn on the music. She adjusts the placement of the skirt on her hips, trying to find the same spot were the costume director had told her her other tutus should rest.

She frowns as the music plays through the speakers. “This…is not our music.” She swears she’s heard this song somewhere before, but certainly not well enough to know why Adrien would choose it.

He smiles playfully and takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “No, it’s not. But like you said, we have time.” He pulls her into closed position and starts waltzing her around the room. “Dancing through life,” he sings along softly, “skimming the surface, gliding where turf is smooth—”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Okay, I get it now.”

Adrien raises his eyebrows. “Are you saying you don’t know this song?”

She shrugs. “I’ve heard it before?”

He stops spinning them. “I can’t believe you don’t know Wicked. I feel like we can’t be friends anymore.”

Marinette snorts. “Really?”

“Really. The duet is cancelled.”

“Are you saying I need to give back the costume?” she asks. “Because I really don’t want to.”

Adrien gives her a once over. “Duet is momentarily postponed,” he decides. “Because I can’t believe you don’t know Wicked.”

“I know Wicked!” Marinette protests. “I know some of Wicked.”

“Defying Gravity doesn’t count.”

“…I don’t know Wicked.”

He laughs lightly. “I know you don’t. I’ll have to bring you to see it sometime, then you’ll know it.”

“R-really?” she asks. That’s not just going out to coffee, that’s more. That’s a lot of money. That’s—

Adrien smiles. “It’s a date.”

Marinette’s breath catches in her throat as Adrien pulls them back into a waltz. She wonders if he realizes that he’s casually planned multiple dates for after this summer intensive is over. She wonders if he considers them actual dates. She wonders if it’s weird that she’s keeping count. He’s at six.

“You’re a nerd,” she says instead.

“For the time being, I’m your nerd,” Adrien says.

Marinette wishes she could get rid of the first part of that sentence.

Marinette hums in agreement whenever Alya pauses to breathe. She’s not exactly sure what Alya is ranting about at this exact moment, she’s trying to figure out the best way to get her ballet bun exactly where it needs to be. It’s been slipping in class after lots of turning and she needs it to not do that during the performance.

“…how I grew a ears and tail.”

Marinette frowns. “Excuse me?” she asks through a mouthful of bobby pins.

Alya raises her eyebrows. “I knew you weren’t paying attention.”

Marinette spits the bobby pins out on the counter. “I am paying attention.”

Alya scoffs. “Sure you are. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Marinette insists. “I’m just…distracted.”

Alya wiggles her eyebrows. “By a certain someone?”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “By my hair.” She thinks about Adrien a lot but he doesn’t take up all of her thoughts.

“Oh. Well…that’s less fun. Are you sure you’re not a little bit distracted by him?”

“Shut up,” Marinette mutters. “You know I am, you don’t have to rub it in my face.”

Alya snorts. “At least you’ve made progress. Let me tell you, for like the first half of the summer I actually wanted to scream. Like come on at least get his phone number.”

“Why are you so invested in my love life?”

“Because it’s more entertaining than most forms of media. And also because if I wasn’t so invested you wouldn’t even have Adrien’s number. I got that for you.”

Marinette examines her hair in the mirror. This might work. “I’m sure I would’ve been fine without your help.”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Speaking of the bae—”

“He’s not my bae—”

“Not yet. I was just going to ask if he’s back yet or if he’s dancing himself into the ground in the studio.”

“He has additional solo work today with Plagg.”

“Aw it’s so sweet how you know each other’s schedules.”

Marinette takes a step away from the counter and does a single pirouette in the cramped space. Her hair feels fairly solid, but she’ll need to test it out in an actual studio space to be sure. “Of course I know his schedule,” she says. “We live together, it’s hard not to.”

“You’re so married,” Alya coos.

Marinette feels her face grow hot. “Shut up,” she mumbles, gathering up the bobby pins scattered around the sink.

“You so wish you were, though.”

“You remember that we’re teenagers, right?” Marinette asks.

Alya sighs dramatically. Marinette looks to the screen to see her resting in her chin in her hands. “You can be teenagers and still be hopelessly in love.” Alya raises an eyebrow.

“I kind of hate having you as a friend.”

“I know you do.” Alya blows a kiss at the screen. “And as much as I’d love to continue this truly thrilling one sided conversation—” Marinette rolls her eyes. “—I’ve got a shift in ten minutes and school debts that I have to start thinking about.”

Marinette groans. “Please don’t remind me of that.”

“Too late darling,” Alya singsongs. “We’re best friends, we’re stuck in this mess together. We suffer through this together.”

“Well that’s unfortunate.”

“Tell me about it. Text you later?”

Marinette hums in agreement as she starts tugging bobby pins from her hair.

“Let me know when the marshmallow gets home from practice, yeah?”

“Of course.” Marinette makes a face as she yanks out the hair elastics. “It’ll probably be pretty soon. He’s been gone for a while.”

“You dancers and your lack of chill,” Alya teases. “Love you lots, bye!”

“Bye!” Marinette shuts her laptop once Alya’s ended the call. She undoes the rest of her hair and dumps her hair stuff into her bag. She can organize it later, right now she’s just sort of wiped.

She curls up in the desk chair with her laptop once she’s put away all her dance stuff for tomorrow and has changed into pajamas. It’s not even that late, but there’s no way she’s leaving the room tonight. She finds a random movie on Netflix and plugs in her headphones, letting the movie fade to simple background noise as she doodles mindlessly in her sketchbook. Tonight, her sketches are less about the designs and more about the people, which is a rare event. She draws swooping arms and twisting bodies and movement fills the page. Marinette has never really been one for anatomy. Fashion sketches don’t require that type of precision and usually are inaccurate to actual proportions and body structure. It’s more about the clothes than the anatomy.

Marinette finds herself drawing motion, flowing from one person to the next, the designs dancing off the page.

She groans and puts her head down on the desk.

The sketches might look brilliant in the morning, but she needs a few hours away from dance. With the showcase only three days away, her mind has become consumed entirely by dance. She can’t get the instrumental music out of her head or her feet to do any other steps. She finds herself doing balancés down the hallway more often than usual and piques her way around empty rooms. She drags her steps into tendus and falls into tombés. She pas de bourrees when she can’t stay still and found herself doing the footwork for her solo when standing in line at Starbucks.

Adrien had given her an amused smile, dragging his toe in a small rond de jambe.

Marinette sighs and lifts her head from the desk. She’s going to miss this. The Starbucks runs and the crammed schedule. Late nights and pillow forts and Disney movies. Rose’s laugh when she finally perfects a combination and the way Nathanael lights up whenever he nails a turn. And Adrien. What won’t she miss about Adrien?

She turns her attention to the movie. She’s not entirely sure what’s happening. Something dramatic. Probably cheesy and cliche and romantic. Something Adrien would love.

Marinette misses home, but she’s going to miss this just as much.

Just as she’s getting invested in the characters, she swears they’re going to kiss as soon as they’re standing close enough together, the door swings open. She lifts her head from her knee to see Adrien standing in the doorway looking completely exhausted and worn down. She hits the spacebar to pause the movie and tugs out an earbud.

“Good rehearsal?” she asks.

Adrien drops his bag on the ground and leans against the door to close it. “I hate Plagg,” he murmurs. He runs a hand through his hair, immediately make a face of disgust. “Oh god.” His hair sticks up in all directions and Marinette knows the feeling of finishing a rehearsal and just feeling like a gross sweat rag.

She motions to the bathroom. “Shower. I can order food. Same as usual?”

“Please. Pajamas already?”

Marinette shrugs. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, that’s relatable.” Adrien pulls at his shirt and makes a face. “I’m going to join you.” He grabs his clothes and disappears into the bathroom.

Marinette hears the shower turn on and spins lazily in the desk chair as she orders food for them. She’s not exactly sure how she picked up Adrien’s order, she thinks she just heard it enough times to know it. Once she’s finished, she goes back to her movie because, frankly, she’s far more invested in it than she should be and she just really needs to know the outcome.

Once the food is ordered, she goes back to the movie. The characters kiss, finally, with swooping music and dramatic lighting and everything about it is perfect and romantic, from the clothing to the location to the actors’ hair. She was right, Adrien would love this movie and all its overdramatic goodness.

Marinette is scrolling through Netflix — she suddenly has an awful lot of recommended movies of a similar caliber to the one she just watched — when the food arrives. She pays quickly and puts Adrien’s food on his bed, returning to the desk. She eats slowly as she watches, amazed by the pure predictableness of the movie she’s chosen. She doesn’t really know why she chose it. The title was bland and she had the “plot twist” figured out as soon as she read the description but here she is, half invested in another bad movie.

How has this become her life?

A few minutes later, Adrien emerges from the bathroom, hair damp and still sticking up in all directions. He grabs his glasses from the bedside table and slides them on. “I’ll pay you back later,” he promises as he gets his own laptop and sits on the bed to eat.

Marinette waves him away. “It’s fine, I’ve got this one.”

“You sure?”

She nods. “Positive. You buy Starbucks all the time anyway.”

“If you’re totally sure.”

“I am.” To prove her point, and end the conversation, Marinette turns back to her movie.

She hears Adrien say ‘thank you’ over the fairly cliché dialogue and can’t help but smile.

—«·»—

“Hey, Mar?” Adrien asks suddenly.

She pulls out one of her earbuds, eyes trained on the action on her screen. “Yeah?”

“What do you think would happen if I bathed in Icy Hot?” he muses.

Marinette snorts and takes out the other earbud, pausing the movie. “You’d probably smell like mint for the rest of time. And it’d burn in places you do not want it to burn.”

He hums thoughtfully.

She narrows her eyes and glances over her shoulder to look at him suspiciously. “…why?”

“I’m not going to do it,” he promises. “I was just thinking about what I could do with all this Icy Hot. Since I have more than enough to last a lifetime.” He drops the Icy Hot he’s holding onto his bed, where it joins eight other tubes of Icy Hot.

Marinette stares at the pile of Icy Hot. She did not realize he had so much. “Nathalie?” she asks after a moment.

Adrien nods. “I can’t tell if she thinks I get injured more than I do or if she just doesn’t realize how little Icy Hot you need for like…your entire back.”

Marinette shoves away from the desk and spins the chair so she’s facing Adrien. She takes one of tubes. “I’m almost out.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but how long have you had that one thing of Icy Hot.”

Marinette taps the tube against her chin. “Maybe a year?”

Adrien gestures to all of the Icy Hot in front of him. “Exactly!”

“I think Nathalie just likes to be prepared,” Marinette says as she spins away to hide a smile. When she’d been getting ready to leave for the summer, her parents had gone overboard with buying things she might need. It was just how they showed her how much they were going to miss her and worry about her while she was gone. She tosses the Icy Hot onto her bag on the floor. “I’m sure someone in the studio needs Icy Hot, I’m sure if you asked around you could get rid of it all in seconds.”

“Nathalie likes to over prepare,” Adrien corrects.  

“Is that a bad thing?” she asks.

He looks down at his mountain of Icy Hot thoughtfully. “No, not really,” he murmurs.

“We can bring it to class tomorrow,” Marinette says. She wraps her earbuds around her finger. “It’ll be gone in the blink of an eye.”

Adrien gathers up the Icy Hots in his arms and dumps them into his bag. “Sounds like a plan,” he says with a smile. “Maybe I can pawn most of them off to Nathanael without him realizing.”

“If you just stuff them in his big when he isn’t looking. you might actually get away with it.”

“Christmas comes early.” He flops back on his bed.

“Icy Hot as the new stocking stuffer,” Marinette muses. “I don’t think it’s going to be replacing oranges any time soon.”

Adrien shrugs. “I tried my best. What are you doing, anyway?”

She glances to her computer. “Watching mediocre romcoms on Netflix.”

“Sounds like something I’d like.”

She smiles. “Probably. It’s all gross and emotional.”

Adrien gasps. “Hey! I am the perfect amount of gross and emotional.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Did you want to join me?”

“Not particularly,” Adrien admits. “You just seem…tense.”

Marinette stops playing with her earbuds. She had nearly forgotten all the fidgeting she was doing while watching. The movies were distracting enough, but she had needed to do something with her hands. She drops her earbuds into her lap. “Just a little stressed.”

Adrien scoots over and pats the bed next to him.

“Are we having a therapy session?” Marinette asks as she closes her laptop and gets up to join him.

“Only if you want to.” He opens his arms and she sighs before leaning into them, resting her head on his shoulder. He wraps her in a loose hug. “Is it the showcase?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ll be fine,” Adrien promises. “Besides, we’ve still got two days of rehearsal. That’s plenty of time to clean anything you think needs to be better.”

“Saturday’s really close,” Marinette murmurs.

“Yeah, but we’ve been training non stop for almost ten weeks.” He runs his hand over her hair. “We can’t get much better than we already are. It’s like a test. You know what you know, cramming the night before isn’t going to help much.”

She closes her eyes. “I guess you’re right.” She sinks into his embrace. “It doesn’t exactly feel real yet.”

Adrien hums softly. “I get that. When do you think it might feel real?”

“Ten minutes before?” she offers.

He snorts. “That sounds like it’s pushing it.”

“I like to live life on the edge,” Marinette deadpans.

Adrien shifts and she can feel his nose pressing against her hair. She wonders if his mind is taking frantic notes of how they’re sitting, how they’re touching, how they’re breathing. She’s noting everything about this that she can— it’s going to be gone so soon.

Marinette’s not going to think about that.

She sighs and pulls away from Adrien just a little so she can see his face. “What do you want to do tonight?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Honestly, I was going to binge Disney channel movies.”

Marinette nods and scoots over to make herself more comfortable on the bed. “That sounds perfect to me.”

Marinette braces herself as she spins en pointe on the smooth, gray Marley floors. It’s been weeks since she danced on Marley and she’s forgotten the feeling.

She arches back and falls down from pointe with ease, gliding back to hide among the back row of dancers while a different row takes the front of the stage.

The theater the showcase will be held in is gorgeous. The large chandelier and the intricate designs along the walls of the stage make Marinette feel like she’s in a fairy tale. She can feel the music in her bones more than she could in the studio and it seems like ages since she’s had real stage lights on her, hot and blinding.

She ducks into the wings once the song has ended and Nooroo has given critiques, mostly about the spacing. She weaves through the dancers squeezed backstage and makes her way to the dressing rooms. The youngest dancers share large rooms, but as one of the eldest, Marinette has one of the small, offstage rooms. She only has to share with Rose, Sabrina, Aurore, and Chloé.

They’re dealing with that as well as they can. And by dealing, she means that her and Chloé aren’t speaking. In turn, Marinette and Sabrina aren’t speaking. Aurore is staying out of it and not speaking in general and Rose is being her sweetheart self and trying to fix it.

The most interaction Marinette and Chloé have had is when Chloé raised a judgemental eyebrow at Marinette’s solo costume. Yes, it’s much more simple than Chloé’s elaborate and sparkling costume, but Marinette thinks it fits the dance and she likes dancing in it. It’s just a white romantic tutu that falls just below her knees and a top that’s really nothing more than a white sports bra, but Marinette wouldn’t have anything else.

Marinette meets Chloé’s eyes in the mirror when Chloé enters the dressing room. Chloé scrunches up her nose and looks away while Marinette rolls her eyes and focuses on taking out her hair piece.

If they can survive this dress rehearsal, they can survive the performance.

Marinette gasps, arms shaking as she struggles to hold the last pose. The gentle notes of the next song on her playlist start up and it takes all the energy she has left in her not to collapse to the ground in a quivering heap.

“It’s beautiful,” Tikki says, her eyes sparkling. She clasps her hands together. “As near to perfection as it can be.”

Marinette drops pointe and sinks to the ground. She brushes away the sweaty bangs that have come loose and reminds herself to make sure they’re extra gelled for the performance.

If only she had danced this way a month ago.

If she had, maybe her jumps at the end wouldn’t be so weak. She’d put her all into the run, but she has no stamina left for the final bars.

She looks up to Tikki and places her hands on her head, taking measured breaths to try and slow her heartbeat. “R-really?”

Tikki joins her on the floor with a sparkling smile. “The best I’ve seen it,” she promises.

“If I’d done that a week ago it could be even better now,” Marinette murmurs.

Tikki tsks. “Hush, look at how brilliantly you just performed it! And with less than ten weeks to perfect it? Marinette, all I have to offer are little critiques and tips, there’s nothing drastic you could change to make this routine any better than it can be with the dancer you are right now.”

Marinette gives her a worried look. “What if I know I could be a better dancer?”

“If you came back to this dance in a year, you would dance a million times better than you just did. If I gave it to you a year ago, you would’ve given me a fraction of what you showed me today. You will keep improving with time, what’s important is that you show how good you are in this very moment. Which I know you can do. You’ve proven it to me time and time again.”

Marinette sighs and gives Tikki a small smile. She feels a little relieved and a little more relaxed but nothing anyone can say will release the anxiety in her chest. It’s going to haunt her until tomorrow night, when she steps onstage and shows the world what she can and can’t do. “Thank you,” she manages. “I… Sorry.”  

Tikki shakes her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Pre-performance anxiety is nothing to scoff at, we all get it sometimes. Some worse than others.”

“You?” Marinette asks hesitantly.

“Plagg gets it worse,” Tikki whispers lowly. “He uses an awful lot of bravado to offset his nerves.”

Marinette raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Plagg?”

“Mhm.” Tikki nods. “It was a lot worse when we were kids, for the both of us. It’s something you get a little more adjusted to over time.”

Marinette thinks back to her first competition. At the time it’d been nerve wracking but she doesn’t think she really understood everything enough to be nearly this anxious. Her first solo though— that was another story entirely. She’d been an anxious mess. She was just lucky that her anxiety hadn’t transferred to her dance like she’d been so sure it was going to.

“Don’t stay in here too late,” Tikki says, snapping Marinette out of her thoughts. Tikki presses a kiss to Marinette’s forehead before she stands. “You need your rest.”

“Of course,” Marinette mumbles, still slightly stuck in the confines of her mind. It’s not until the door clicks shut behind Tikki that she can get out.

Marinette looks around the studio. Large and empty and blank. Like a canvas she could cover in art. Tikki had dimmed the lights slightly when she left. All that’s left is Marinette.

Marinette pulls herself off the floor. She runs her solo. She runs it without music playing aloud, but the notes float through her head, her internal metronome keeping the beat. She lets herself not care as much about the technical aspects of the pieces as she does when being watched. She lets herself sink into the music and just let go.

The boxes of her shoe hit the floor hard as she jumps and lands en pointe.

There’s something about practicing in a darkened, quiet studio that makes her bare her soul in a way that she usually doesn’t.

She finishes her solo and moves on to the duet.

This is harder. She can’t do any of the lifts. She has to imagine Adrien there as she ghosts through the steps, allowing herself to feel far more than she ever does during this dance. Because feeling more while dancing with Adrien can only end in heartbreak.

And yet, she’s never felt more while dancing than with him.

Marinette brushes the thoughts away as she throws herself into a grande jeté. She arches backward and bends her foot up to her head before straightening to land with a gentle ease. She spins as she runs out of the leap, twisting to an invisible partner that she keeps imaging stepping up behind her.

It’s easier to practice group dances on her own, where she’s not relying on another person’s support and existence for a performance. It’s a group dance, but she can do it on her own.

Marinette’s shoes are pinching her feet. She knows that if Tikki finds out how long she’s been en pointe, she’ll be chided relentlessly, or as relentlessly as Tikki can manage. Marinette just sighs and sinks against the barre. She slides down it and lets herself fall backward to hit the wall, dropping to the floor.

Sometimes, dancing makes her feel alive. Sometimes, she finishes and just feels empty.

Marinette unties her pointe shoes and pulls them off, wiggling her toes. She’ll stay off of her feet when she gets back to her room. But for now…

Marinette checks her phone. It’s only seven, not that late. Not late enough to warrant going back just yet. Classes had ended early so everyone could rest for tomorrow’s performance. And she will. She’s just not done here yet.

Marinette tucks away her pointe shoes. She’s at a loss, not exactly what to do next. She only knows that she’s not ready to leave the studio just yet. She stares herself down in the mirror. She looks exhausted and drained. She has better posture than she did at the beginning of the summer and stands with her chin raised with a sort of elegant ease she didn’t think she had before.

She looks different. Maybe not everything she learned had to do with dance.

If she listens closely, she can hear the strains of soft ballet music coming from the studio next to her. Suddenly, Marinette knows exactly what she has to do.

She tugs down her leotard and breathes.

She breathes away the anxieties and the stress and the nerves. She tugs on sweatpants and pulls her tights off her feet, rolling the top of her leotard down to her waist and rolling down the waistband of her tights to meet them. She pulls out a select few bobby pins and shakes down her bangs, pausing for a second before pulling out the elastic that holds her hair up in a bun.

Marinette studies herself in the mirror.

This is the Marinette she knows beyond anything else. Wearing baggy sweatpants and an old sports bra, hair back in a messy ponytail, exhausted and sweaty from dancing till her muscles gave out.

At times in the past ten weeks, she felt like she was losing this part of herself. But she hasn’t. She’s still right here. All of her. Ballerina Marinette, competitive dancer Marinette. She’s embraced the ballet part of herself more this summer than ever, but the rest of her is still here.

She feels sort of empty, but it’s not because of this. She doesn’t know what it is.

She looks away from herself and plugs in her phone. She doesn’t find a playlist so much as her fingers do, moving by with memory than anything else. She soaks in the pulsing bass and surprisingly soulful lyrics.

And she dances.

—«·»—

Marinette finds Adrien in his studio. Honestly, that hasn’t been a surprise for weeks, it’s just expected at this point. Unlike her, he’s still wrapped up in the world of ballet and it’s pristine, glittering lights and elegance.

At this point, she knows his routine as well as her own. She’s watched him struggle perfecting combinations and stumble through steps. She knows Plagg’s running commentary almost as well.

She inhales sharply and bites her lip as Adrien chaînés before launching himself into a butterfly jump. She remembers Adrien telling her how Plagg had demonstrated it with an easy grace before letting him have the floor. And then Adrien continued to mess it up again and again and again. The timing was wrong, he wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t rotating enough. Marinette had spent hours with him in the studio, working mostly on turning sequences while he tried to get this one jump down.

He’d pulled her aside, a grainy old video pulled up on his phone. They watched in amazement as Gabriel Agreste — the Gabriel Agreste, ballet legend and Adrien’s father, a fact that Marinette has never exactly gotten over — executed the butterfly jump flawlessly with unimaginable ease.

“I’m going to do it,” Adrien said with new determination in his eyes. “I’m going to do this and it is going to be perfect.”

Marinette hadn’t doubted him for a second. Even as he crashed to the floor.

Her heart is in her throat as he soars through the air for a single beat before landing gracefully on the floor and spinning to a kneel. She can’t keep the smile off her face. She’s seen him land it countless times at this point but that doesn’t stop her from feeling a surge of excitement and pride whenever he does.

She lets him finish the run of his routine before she makes her presence known. She knows how he gets during runs, lost in his own mind that it’s nearly impossible to break him out of it.

Adrien smiles at her from the corner across the room where he finishes his solo. “Good?” he asks through heavy breaths.

“Amazing,” Marinette corrects.

“You flatter me,” he insists. He runs his hand through his hair. “I stumbled going into the pas de chat.”

She shrugs. “That’s an easy fix. Just make sure your footing is more solid out of that turn next time.”

Adrien stretches out his arms. “One more run and I swear I’ll stop.”

“Want me to put on the music?”

“Yes please.”

Marinette restarts the song and leans against the wall as she watches Adrien melt into his solo. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of watching him dance. Watching videos on YouTube and Instagram had been one thing, seeing him dance in person is another experience entirely. Dancing with him…

The footwork into his pas de chat is perfect.

“Good?” she asks as the song comes to an end.

“Better.” Adrien joins her by the stereo. “Did you want to go home?”

Marinette shrugs. “It’s not even eight.” He checks the time. “No, it isn’t.” The corner of his lips lifts in a smirk as a familiar pop ballad starts. “Wanna dance?”

She smiles and puts down her bag. “I’d love to.”

—«·»—

Adrien turns off the stereo and lights in the studio as Marinette ducks behind the front desk. She picks up the cloth bag that remains, other is in her bag at her hip.

Marinette opens the bag and peaks inside, sighing softly as she looks at the shining pink pointe shoes inside. She closes the bag and holds it to her chest.

This is it.

Marinette wakes before the sun rises.

She stares at the ceiling for a very long time, too anxiety ridden to move. Competitions always leave her a little jittery. She doesn’t eat well on competition days and someone usually has to remind her to stay hydrated. Her emotions are high strung and on the surface. The stress leaves her tense until the music starts up when she’s onstage. And as soon as it ends, it’s right back the nauseating anxiety.

It’s exhausting, but she loves it.

At least her mind is fairly empty.

Her anxiety is shimmering, but it’s not at the forefront of her mind. It’s kind of just tugging at her gut. Mostly she just zones out. Her thoughts go nowhere in particular, flitting from topic to topic, too distracted and out of it to settle on anything.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been awake when Adrien says, “You up?”

“Hm?” Marinette turns her head to look to the other bed. She wishes they’d been able to move the beds together so they could be closer. The distance between her and Adrien feels awkward and wrong. Usually she’d rather squeeze onto Adrien’s bed with him, but they had to actually get a decent night’s rest with the showcase the next day

No, not the next day. The showcase is today.

“Been up for long?” Adrien murmurs.

Marinette rubs her eyes. “I have no idea. Wha’ time is it?”

“Um…” He squints as he checks his phone, momentarily blinded by the brightness of his screen. “Too early,” he grumbles, flopping back down on his pillow. He covers his eyes with his arm. “G’night.”

She can’t keep lying here.

Marinette sits up and runs her fingers through her hair. She winces as they get caught in knots. She didn’t want to have to deal with a tangled mess of a bedhead today. Whatever.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed and flexes her toes before getting up and wandering around the room. She needs a purpose before she has to start getting ready for the showcase.  

Adrien lifts his arm from his eyes. “Where are you going?”

Marinette gestures vaguely with her hands before kneeling down next to her bag. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Nowhere?” She finds a scrap of fabric and some thread. This works.

“You okay?”

“Restless.” She drops down on the foot of Adrien’s bed and curls her legs up under her. She threads the needle and starts mindlessly embroidering the scrap.

Adrien sits up. He yawns and squints at Marinette. She glances up from her work and gives him a half smile.

“I need sugar,” he mumbles.

“Before a performance?” Marinette asks. “I thought you’d be a health nut about this.”

“I want to be awake.” He ruffles his hair. “If I’m avoiding anything, it’s going to be caffeine.”

“Yeah probably don’t start drinking coffee today.”

Adrien slaps his cheeks a few times and then shakes his head, opening his eyes wide. “Right. I’m alive.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

He tries to hold back a yawn and fails. “Never mind.” He lays back down and covers his face with the pillow.

Marinette stabs at the fabric a few times. “I don’t like this,” she mutters.

“What?” Adrien asks, his voice muffled.

“This,” she says, gesturing to nothing. “I don’t like…this.”

He lifts the pillow to look at her. “Mari, I love you, but I’m not telepathic. I can’t read minds. This feeling, this day, this bed, this fabric, this weather, this air, this—” Marinette feins poking at his leg with the needle. He jerks away and curls up in a ball. “Sorry, sorry!”

She glares at him before she falls back into the spot next to him with a sigh. “I don’t know.” She holds the fabric up to the light. “This…feeling. I guess. Which is weird because I get competition anxiety and it doesn’t exactly feel like…this.”

Adrien uncurls and studies the fabric with her. “Does it feel worse? Better? Is it indescribable?”

“…indescribable,” she decides softly. “I just know it’s not the same.” She lowers the fabric and turns her head to look at him. “Do you feel it?”

He purses his lip and holds out a hand.

Marinette hesitates before putting her hand in his.  

“Squeeze.”

She chews on her lip as she squeezes hard, knowing exactly what Adrien is doing.

“I feel it,” Adrien says after a moment. “Unfortunately, I can’t feel my hand anymore.”

Marinette can’t help herself, she laughs. She covers her eyes with her free arm and laughs and laughs and it’s not even that funny but she can’t stop laughing.

“Better?” Adrien asks when she’s breathing normally again. He gives her a crooked smile and squeezes her hand tight.

Marinette sticks her tongue out at him and squeezes his hand harder. “Sure.” She does, just a bit. Some of the pent up…feelings are gone now. It’s kind of unfair that Adrien always seems to know what to do when she never knows what to say to him.

Adrien studies their hands. “I’m not good with performance anxiety,” he murmurs.

She scoffs. “You seem fine to me.”

“Oh well, yeah. I’m sort of used to it at this point. I meant in other people. I’m not good with people.”

That’s a blatant lie. “You’re good with people,” Marinette insists.

Adrien shakes his head. “I am really really not. My role model growing up was Plagg.”

Marinette giggles. “Okay, fair point. You had Tikki too, though.”

“True. But still, I’m still figuring things out.” He kisses the back of her hand.

Her heart flutters. So am I, she thinks. “You wanted sugar?”

Adrien raises his eyes. “Starbucks?”

“Please.”

—«·»—

Marinette takes in the heavy coffee smell and the familiar background sounds of the Starbucks. She’s found that most Starbucks are similar in both aspects because of course they are, it’s a chain franchise. But this is different, because it’s her and Adrien’s Starbucks.

She swipes his drink to take a sip of it.

Adrien raises his eyebrows at her and takes her hot chocolate, muttering, “Fine then.”

“It’s hot,” she says as he goes to drink it.

He rolls his eyes and drinks it anyway.

She doesn’t bother hiding her smile when he makes a pained expression. Their phones vibrate on the table.

From: Nino To: the fellowship      you up?

Adrien yawns as Marinette looks up from her phone.

From: cupcake queen ✌ / adrien’s gf / Marinette To: the fellowship      Barely

She takes a picture of Adrien staring off into the distance looking half asleep and sends it in the groupchat. He looks down at his phone as it buzzes.

“Anything important?”

She shakes her head. “Nope,” she says innocently.

From: Nino To: the fellowship      he looks ready to dance

From: the greatest person ever To: the fellowship      i know ur dancers      and ur super extra      and have rehearsals      but it is a saturday      and i want to sleep      so pls

Marinette rolls her eyes, but she can’t blame Alya. When Marinette had checked her phone this morning, there had been messages from Alya that were sent after two in the morning and the website Alya was insisting upon making had an entirely new navigation system.

From: Nino To: the fellowship      my bad dude      see you all tonight      break a leg!!

From: the greatest person ever To: the fellowship      ditto!

From: cupcake queen ✌ / adrien’s gf / Marinette To: the fellowship      Thanks guys!! See you then <3

She frowns as she sips Adrien’s drink. She flips through her messages a few times. There has to be a way…

Her thumb freezes over Nino’s contact. Perfect.

From: adrien’s gf To: Nino      Hey do you want to do me a favor??

From: Nino To: adrien’s gf      sure my dude      how can i help?

Adrien takes another sip of Marinette’s hot chocolate, apparently past the point of caring that it was too hot to drink. “What do you want to do until we have to be at the theater?” he asks.

From: adrien’s gf To: Nino      Give me a minute and Ill explain

Marinette hums and puts her phone down. “I don’t know, what are we supposed to do with…sevenish hours?”

“Nap?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Alright not nap.” Adrien runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, usually on performance days I just lay around and stretch and watch TV. Try to eat healthy and make sure I don’t tire myself out beforehand.”

Marinette sips Adrien’s drink thoughtfully. “So…grocery shopping then binge watch something on Netflix.”

“Yup, that sounds pretty perfect.” Adrien puts Marinette’s hot chocolate down in front of her and takes his strawberry acai. “I think that’s yours.”

—«·»—

Adrien eats a bagel while he stretches his calves out against the wall. Marinette flips through Netflix before deciding on a sitcom they’ll both probably get way too invested in. She pulls out of her split once she presses play and twists into a backbend.

“I was going to ask if you were hungry, but I’m thinking now might not be the best time,” Adrien jokes.

She pulls her chin to her chest. “Yeah, maybe not,” she says, voice slightly strained from her position. “I am, but give me a minute?”

“Sure thing.”

Marinette straights her right leg up into the air and holds it before switching to the left. Then she drops onto her elbows and rocks back and forth a few times before she pops back up to her hands. She holds the bridge for a few seconds more before pulls herself up to standing.

“Show off,” Adrien mutters.

Marinette rolls her eyes and flicks her bangs out her eyes.

“Alright what do you want to eat? Healthy or healthier?”

“I’m thinking or,” she says, dropping down onto the bed.

“Or it is.” Adrien tosses her a box of granola bars. “Bon appétit.”

Marinette opens the box and pulls out two granola bars before throwing it back to him. “They’re going to date,” she says, nodding to the screen where two characters are sharing a not so subtle gaze.

“Before or after midseason?” he asks. “I’ll bet you the plum.”

She takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “Episode…seven.”

“Very exact.”

She shrugs. “Lucky number.”

“Fair enough.” Adrien sits down on the other bed and crosses his legs. “This is going to be terrible, isn’t it?”

Marinette nods. “Almost definitely.”

He gives her a half smile before leaning back against the pillows. “I look forward to it.”

—«·»—

Marinette tries to keep her mind focused solely on stretching.

It is not working.

Everyone else onstage seems to be fine, stretching on their own or with partners, listening to music, relaxing and enjoying the last few hours before the performance, running tricks and turns… She knows other people are feeling exactly what she is, but she can’t stop feeling incredibly alone. And also a little bit like she’s going to throw up.

Marinette closes her eyes and tries to focus mostly on her music. Usually before performances she likes to listen to the songs she’s dancing to, but she’s been listening to the dance playlist Alya made her since her and Adrien arrived at the theater.

She gets up mindlessly and follows the rest of the dancers off the stage when one of the teachers announces that select dances are going to do quick run throughs. When those dances are completed, the stage will be open for anyone to practice on if the space is there. They have three and a half hours until curtain and need to be dressed with hair and makeup complete half an hour before.

She finds herself sitting on the floor of her shared dressing room, surrounded by glittering costumes and makeup bags. The whole room smells like hairspray and anxiety. Lovely.

Chloé rolls her eyes and scoffs when she opens the dressing room door.

Marinette looks up at her with a flat expression. “Yes?”

Chloé grabs Marinette by the arm and hauls her to her feet. “Time to dance, princess,” she grumbles. “This isn’t flopping because of you.”

Marinette rolls her eyes and yanks her arm away, but follows Chloé out to the stage regardless. She wouldn’t stay back just to be petty. Besides, Chloé’s words don’t seem to hurt as much anymore. Not now that Chloé has gone past words. It’s almost as if Chloé has hurt her so bad in other ways that she no longer feels the little things any more.

Marinette joins Chloé centerstage and lets the music wash over her.

—«·»—

“Marinette, breathe.”

Marinette gasps, inhaling all the air she’d been keeping out. Adrien rubs his hands up and down her arms. She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. Breathing. Right. “You’re going to do fine,” he promises. “You’re going to go onstage and you’re going to dance beautifully. Brilliantly. You’re going to give it your all and everyone will be able to see it. And they’ll love you.”

She closes her eyes and nods a few times. She bites down on her lip to stop it from trembling but she can’t do anything about the fact that her eyes are watering up and oh god she’s going to throw up or pass out or something and she can’t do this she doesn’t— 

“Hey, you’ll ruin your makeup,” Adrien teases softly.

Marinette forces a laugh. “Priorities,” she mutters.

“Definitely a priority, your makeup looks great and it took you forever.”

She takes a shaky breath before opening her eyes. “Adrien, I-I can’t—”

“You can.” He slides his hands down her arms to hold her hands. “Mar, you already have. And you did great.”

She glances over her shoulder to the stage where a small group is dancing. She had already been onstage. It had been a group dance. It had been fine. It had been…incredible. Probably should be considered life changing.

She feels numb. She feels like she’s going to fall over.

“It’s different,” she whispers.

“I know, but once you start dancing, you won’t even know they audience is there,” Adrien promises. He lifts their hands so their in line with her chest. “Squeeze.”

“I don’t want to break your hands,” she jokes weakly.

He raises an eyebrow. “Squeeze.”

Marinette takes a deep breath and squeezes his hands as hard as she can. She squeezes out the anxiety and the panic and all the negative thoughts her brain has spun up. She squeezes until her hands cramp. Then she let’s go.

“Better?” Adrien asks.

She shakes her head. Yes. No. Neither. Both. She just feels weird. Wrong. But she knows she needs to get out on that stage.

He pulls her into a tight hug. “You’ve got this,” he murmurs. “I believe in you.” He presses a kiss to the top her of her head and she has to resist the urge to bury her face in his chest. She has makeup on. She’ll ruin both it and his costume.

“Ready?” Adrien ask as he pulls away.

Marinette nods. “Ready.”

“I’m going to go find a better spot to watch, but break a leg.” Adrien squeezes her hand before letting go and walking away.

Marinette stays turned away from the stage. She makes sure her skirt is smooth — not that it’ll matter in a few minutes — and tries to stay calm.

She’s fine. She really is fine.

“Hey, Marinette,” a voice says softly. Marinette turns to see Chloé nearly hidden in the folds of the curtains. Chloé wraps her arms around herself. “I just wanted to say…break a leg.”

Marinette blinks in surprise as Chloé looks away. She didn’t think—

She doesn’t have time to mentally do anything other than gratefully accept Chloé’s well wishes.  

Marinette nods to Chloé, glancing towards the stage as the last notes of Aurore’s solo music waver. “Thank you,” she says sincerely before stepping into the wings.

Marinette slows her breathing. She closes her eyes and puts herself into the performance mindset, locking onto her solo and blocking out everything else, all thoughts, all emotions, all worries. She doesn’t process any of Aurore’s solo, she just notices the end and her cue to step out onto the stage.

At her cue, she gathers up her skirts in her arms and takes three steps out onto the stage. She lifts but the armful of tulle and buries her face in in. The fabric scratches her face but it keeps her from facing the reality of the dance.  

The music starts and Marinette loses herself.

She drops the fabric and pushes it away, walking forward slowly before sinking into a rond de jambe and kicking a leg out to the side. She knows this routine better than almost any other routine she’s danced in her entire life. It’s probably one of the most accurate representations of herself that she’s ever had.

She slowly rises up en pointe and lets herself perform. She tries to hold on to what Tikki had told her one night when she had been working herself to death, feet bruising and bleeding and no happier with the routine than she had been four hours before when she started dancing. There had been something that Marinette had been missing and she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You’re cutting yourself off,” Tikki had said. “That’s no way to perform.”

Tikki had told her that dancing ballet doesn’t mean she has to cut herself off from the audience. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

Marinette knows she can’t match the skills of Chloé or even any of the other dancers here, who have had infinitely more training than her. But what she lacks in ability, she would make up in heart.

Every since she was little, she’s been told to leave her soul on the stage. She always did her best to do so, but it was sometimes a hard thing to understand. She could work her hardest physically, but never understood how you just left your soul.

The dance is halfway over before she’s even began.

Marinette can feel the slight panic bubbling up inside of her that always comes around this point. Because she hasn’t shown enough. She hasn’t danced enough, she hasn’t given her heart and soul in the way that she’s supposed to.

The panic starts dissipate with the next assemblé.

The years of performance and hours of rehearsal have made it easier for her to shove that panic away. Her confidence feels back and unwavering when she lifts up to pointe for a grande battement and this isn’t really a smiling dance but she’s having a hard time keeping a straight face because despite all the anxiety she can’t help but feel like she’s finally breathing and finally living.

There’s a reason she loves performance. Hopefully the expression on her face comes off as more wistful than happy. As she spins away from the audience for a beat, she schools her face into something more serious.

She doesn’t think much before throwing the triple pirouette. She grabs at her skirts in the fourth rotation, straightening her leg outward at a ninety degree angle before dropping to the floor and catching herself on her hands. She breathes deep as she arches backward before rolling to stand.  

Tikki named the solo ‘Fly’. Marinette has never really been all that invested in naming her own dances. She has a hard time pinning down the dance into a name, or even just a sliver of the dance.

Ballet doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s not perfect. It’s like any other type of dance with it’s long hours and sweaty rehearsals. That perfection that Marinette once thought existed is impossible to reach but all she can do is jump higher and higher— and she can take flight.

She breathes deep before launching into the turning sequence spinning out of it into a calypso leap. She breathes slowly and smiles a little as she lands solidly and throws her skirt up down to float down around her.

She enjoys little moments like these in routines where she can take half a second to collect herself and breathe. She’s got the stamina for longer routines — she has to, especially having been an acro dancer — but a moment of peace is always nice.

Last leg, she thinks to herself as she kicks high. With barely any time in the dance left at all, she throws herself in completely— she’s allowed to collapse offstage. She scoops her arms and stretches as far as she can, pushing herself to her very limit. She’s overly aware of how hard the stage is below her feet when she lands her last jump.

Marinette pulls the front of her skirt up into her arms and buries her face into it as she walks backwards, dragging her feet in front of her against the floor. Her arms are shaking and it’s a good thing that her face is hidden from the audience as she gasps for air.

Someone in the audience cheers. People start clapping.

She retreats into the wings, clutching her skirts and trembling.

Dancers whisper ‘good job’ to her as they push into the wings for the next dance. She leans against the nearest stable thing — she thinks it’s a table but it’s dark and she’s drained and not entire sure — and catches her breath. She watches them dance through the wings, costumes sparkling under the lights.

Marinette gasps as she’s caught in someone’s arms and hugged tight.

“That was stunning, Mari,” Adrien murmurs into her hair. “You were stunning.” His voice is wavering.

“A-are—?” She pulls away and squints at him in the dark. “Are you crying?”

“Yes,” he says honestly. “Well, no, I’m just tearing up. Because makeup. If I weren’t going on in three numbers I would be full out crying.”

Marinette blinks away the tears welling up in her eyes and pulls Adrien into another tight hug. “Shut up,” she whispers.

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” he says with a laugh. “The only time I’ve seen you dance better was with me.”

She scoffs and shoves him away, trying not to laugh. “Unbelievable.”

Adrien smiles brightly and she wonders if he knows how close to the truth he is. She never dances the same as she does when she dances with him.

“Where’s the best place to watch?” she asks quietly. She’s not missing out on his solo for the world.

He hold out his hand and she takes it without hesitation. “Come on,” he whispers, “I’ll show you.”

—«·»—

Marinette is squeezed between a few of the younger dancers in a small alcove that gives them an incredible view of the stage. It’s only accessible from a hallway backstage and is visible to very little of the audience, so Marinette can’t help but think whoever designed the theater must’ve known some of the cast and crew would be desperate to get a good look at what was happening while they were offstage.

Marinette’s breath catches in her throat when Adrien steps onto the stage.

It’s just not fair how handsome he is.

She’d seen him backstage with his hair slicked back in his all black costume and perfectly done makeup that showed off the fact that he had really incredible eyelashes. She’d seen him on Thursday in dress rehearsal, when his hair was a mess and his makeup was rushed but the costume fit just as well.

She hadn’t been able to see how he transformed when in front of an audience.

This is the Adrien Agreste she knows from videos and photoshoots. An untouchable dance legend from a family of ballet giants, all covered in a mask of gold and diamonds and perfection. She barely registers the music starting because she’s so mesmerized by Adrien.

He moves like water, his motions graceful and fluid. She sees his soul shine through him and this is what everyone means by leaving your soul behind you on the stage. Adrien has it figured out and he’s shattering himself to let the world see.

Is the rest of the world aware of what a gift they’ve been given?

She doesn’t hold her breath this time when he throws his butterfly. He lands it solidly and flows into the next move with no hesitation and she can see the video in her mind of his father doing it. She covers her mouth with her hand to hide her smile.

Watching Adrien has always been worth it. It’s always been breathtaking and jaw dropping. Watching him work so hard to get to what he performs is even better.  

Marinette doesn’t clap when the dance ends and Adrien hits his final pose, she runs.

She wiggles out from between the other dancers and bursts out of the alcove, darting out of the way of a few dancers on their way to watch. The boxes of her shoes hit the floor loudly as she runs, but she doesn’t care so long as she stays upright and moving.

She slows as she reaches backstage, crashing right into Adrien as he moves toward his dressing room.

He grabs her around the waist to keep her from falling and she catches herself with her hands on his chest.

“Hi,” he whispers with a crooked smile.

Her heart is beating a million times a minute and she can’t stop herself from laughing breathlessly. “Hi.”

“Good?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Perfect,” she insists. She cups his face in her hands and presses their foreheads together. “Perfect.”

Adrien closes his eyes and smiles. “So, good?”

She shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous. Yes. Very good.”

He glances back on the stage. “You should get ready for your next dance,” he murmurs, stepping away. “You’ll need to be lined up in a few numbers.”

Marinette sighs. She would’ve been fine with standing here forever. “See you here for the duet?” They’ve both got dances before it, but they won’t be able to talk between any of them aside from a quick hushed ‘break a leg’ or ‘good job’.

Adrien nods. “See you then.”

She ducks past him and into the dressing room, thinking about how much she’d rather be in his arms than pulling on tights and changing her makeup.

Aurore finishes tying her shoes as Marinette opens the door and jumps to her feet, brushing past Marinette and whispering a hushed thank you as she rushes to join the rest of her small group on the other side of the stage. Marinette closes the door softly behind her and leans against the dressing room table and starts unlacing her shoes.

Chloé glances at her from where she stands in the corner getting ready for her own solo, draped in gold and gemstones. They hold eye contact for a moment before Chloé breaks it to fit another bobby pin in her hair. Marinette sighs and ignores her as she pulls off her costume to get ready for her next dance. She sits down on the floor to pull on her tights — it was weird not wearing tights with pointe shoes for her solo, but she thinks she liked it — and carefully checks them for runs before she pulls on the flowing dress. She steps out of the way as she reaches for her makeup box to let Chloé out of the room. She closes her eyes as her fingers wrap tightly around her lipstick. “Chloé,” she says, her voice sudden and incredibly loud.

Chloé tenses and moves her hand away from the doorknob. She looks over her shoulder at Marinette. “Yes?”

Marinette takes her in for a moment. Chloé sparkles and shines and looks like a painting. Empty. Flat. Marinette would give anything to have the technical background that Chloé has, if she’s being honest. Chloé does have a one up on her in that aspect. But Marinette would never want to be alone as Chloé seems to be. She gives Chloé the best and most honest smile she can manage. “Break a leg, you’re going to do great.”

Chloé returns the smile and Marinette thinks there might be a chance that it’s less perfectly crafted than usual. “Thanks,” Chloé says as she opens the dressing room door. Music flows in and the silence between them no longer feels so empty and strange. She looks like she might have something more to say, but Sabrina appears and drags her off to get ready. She looks back at Marinette and gives her another half smile.

It’s enough for now.

—«·»—

Marinette rolls out her ankles while she waits for Adrien. The anxiety is starting to bubble up in her chest, but it’s nothing like before her solo. Now she has the majority of her dances under her belt. She knows what the stage feels like beneath her feet for a real performance. She knows the heat of the lights and the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. And she knows Adrien.

“Sorry that took so long,” he whispers to her as he lifts his foot into passé before grabbing the arch of his foot and pulling his leg up to touch his ear.

“You did great,” she murmurs. She holds out a fist to him and he fist bumps it with his free hand. “We have two numbers.”

“Sounds good.”

Marinette does a backbend by the wall and is careful not to slip in her pointe shoes. Adrien offers her his hand and pulls her up to stand. They practice their trickiest lift once more when they have the space and then wait impatiently in the wings. At least, Marinette is impatient. She keeps her eyes off of the dancers onstage and focuses on the music in her head.

She looks up in surprise when Adrien takes her hand and squeezes it softly. He gives her a smile and mouths ‘break a leg’. They move further into the wings as the dancers onstage take their final pose.

She takes a shaky breath and nods. ‘You too’. She lets go of his hand and lets him step out before her when they’re cued. When he turns to face her, she steps out of the wings. The stare at each other until the music starts and Marinette melts into Adrien’s touch.

Marinette thinks that dancing with Adrien is the same as the feeling that the poets are always trying describe. The one songwriters sing about, what artists try to capture in their creations. It’s this indescribable feeling of right. She’s never danced with any person or any group that makes her feel this way. She doesn’t think she’s ever met someone that makes her feel this way.

Even as they move away from each other for separate parts of the dance, she knows his presence and his aura and knows his choreography so well she can see it in her mind. She knows the exact moment that they touch again, her skin tingling.

The lift is tricky, it’s scary. It had taken weeks for them to get it without spotting and even longer for them to do it consistently every single time. Her breath hitches when they start it, but she meets Adrien’s eyes and hears him say in her mind, ‘I won’t let you fall’. This time, the lift is as easy as breathing.

Her skirt wraps around her legs as she turns in the familiar way she knows from practice, fluttering around her before settling as there’s a pause in the choreography for her to breathe. She turns her head and keeps her neck long, seeing Adrien center stage as he leaps into the air and flies.

She takes a deep breath before plunging back into the dance, feeling the music deep in her bones as she lets it flow through her. Adrien’s hand is firm on her waist as he guides her into a simpler lift. Adrien smiles softly at her as they hold eye contact throughout it, and Marinette can’t help but smile back. She remembers one rehearsal where Plagg had shouted at them mid routine to feel the connection between them. She had instantly turned into a stuttering mess as Adrien blushed bright red.

The connection feels electric and she embraces it in full.

Whenever Marinette watched Tikki and Plagg perform this choreography, she always thought there was something genius about the way they’d set it up. The first half of the dance is very individual and could almost be done as a solo. Marinette had done it as a solo, several times, in fact. She would turn on the music when alone and practice the first half on her own, needing no support from Adrien at all after the first two counts of eight.

But in the second half, it’s almost impossible to separate the two dancers. Like they’d become so tangled together that they were one person.

Marinette had always chalked it up to genius choreography.

As she arabesques away from Adrien and he reaches for her, one of the few moments of separation in the second half, she feels a pang in her chest and there’s a spark of realization as he pulls her back into his arms.

This dance would almost certainly fall to pieces without chemistry.

She holds her epiphany close to her heart for the last few counts of eight, wrapping herself in the familiar warmth of this dance, this choreography, this music She hadn’t realized how much she cherished it until this very moment, and it’s about to be gone.

Every dance is unique, it’ll never feel exactly like this again.

She barely notices the music coming to a close, focused completely on the steps and the performance. She knows the feeling of Adrien’s arm holding her steady and the strain of her muscles as she arches backward as far as she can, stretching herself to her limit.

The music ends and the world of this specific duet starts to fade away. She doesn’t know whether or not she should mourn.

Marinette meets Adrien’s eyes, breathless. He smiles down at her, dazzling and bright. His arm is tight around her waist and she can’t catch her breath. And it’s only partially because of the dancing.

The mascara makes his eyelashes incredibly long and his eyes seem so much greener under these hot stage lights. Each blemish and freckle is hidden by a layer of concealer, foundation, and powder. His eyebrows seem almost too dark, his features too perfect.

Her heart shudders when she realizes that she knows every line of his face. Even when they’ve all been erased and redrawn, she knows exactly what he should look like under that mask.

Applause. People are applauding. Adrien pulls her upright and she lowers down from pointe. He holds her hand as she curtsies, her heart in her throat, she can barely keep from laughing as it all bubbles up inside of her. She holds her right arm out as he bows. Then he takes her hand again and they bow once more before running off the stage. It takes all her control to run like a proper ballerina and not burst into a sprint.

What she wouldn’t give to be able to run through the streets of Paris laughing and holding Adrien’s hand right now.

Marinette can’t stop smiling as people congratulate them and Adrien weaves them through the crowd backstage. She thinks she thanks people, but she’s too caught up in the excitement and adrenaline to be truly present and grounded.

Adrien shuts the dressing room door behind them. She’s glad the room is empty because her emotions are threatening to overflow and she doesn’t know if she wants anyone but Adrien to see her turn into an mess. He turns to look at Marinette and she starts laughing. She laughs because she has no other way to let out all of this emotion. She throws her arms around his neck. “We did it!”

Adrien laughs as he hugs back her tightly, leaning backwards and lifting her feet off the ground. “We did it!” He spins them around once in the cramped dressing room before putting her down. Adrien smiles at her with sparkling eyes. The green of grass and leaves and life and everything that Marinette has ever wanted. Adrien is everything she’s ever wanted, all she’ll ever want.

The box of her shoes hit the floor and pull her back to reality.

A reality without Adrien Agreste is not what she wants. A reality where Adrien Agreste isn’t a major part of her day isn’t want she wants. Her ideal reality has Adrien Agreste as a constant, unwavering presence in her life. Someone she can love and who will love her in return. Who she can buy far too much Starbucks with and complain about rehearsal with and stay up until sunrise with. Somehow, in a single summer, Adrien has become someone that she always wants in her life. Someone she never wants to let go of. Ideally, she won’t have to.

Ideally—

Marinette doesn’t have to imagine some ideal situation. It’s right there, right in front of her, just a few inches away with a soft smile and bright green eyes.

This isn’t some cosmic story that’s written in the stars. It’s real, it’s tangible, and she has control over it. She has her feet on the ground and her arms around Adrien’s neck. He’s looking at her like she’s the sun and how she’s looking at him can’t be much different than that.

He’s the sun. He’s the moon and the stars and everything inbetween.

To hell with ideal, she wants reality.

Marinette realizes how small of a distance a few inches really is as she pulls Adrien down towards her and presses her lips firmly against his.

In the grand scheme of things, a few inches is nothing.

It doesn’t even take half a moment for Adrien to be kissing her back and Marinette can barely process the kiss because her mind is mostly a whirlwind of adrenaline and ‘oh my god I kissed him’.

Adrien deepens the kiss and their noses bump and she doesn’t care. All that Marinette knows is that his lips are soft and his hands are tight around her waist and she feels like she’s flying. She breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against Adrien’s, ready to touch the ground.

“Your makeup…” Adrien whispers.

Marinette opens her eyes. His eyes are closer than ever, green and welcoming and loving. “I had to fix it anyway,” she murmurs. Her next dance demands lighter lipstick. Her gaze drops to Adrien’s lips, she’s already aching to kiss him again. She laughs softly when she sees the lipstick smear on his lips. She moves her arms from around his neck and brushes her thumb against the lipstick mark. “You have some lipstick—”

Adrien leans into the touch as her hand cups his cheek. He turns his head and kisses the palm of her hand and the butterflies in Marinette’s stomach flutter in a way they never have before. “I needed to fix mine too.”

“Okay,” she says softly, not trusting her voice.

“I’ll see you for the production,” Adrien says and there’s no way she can wait that long. He seems to be thinking the same thing, because he leans forward and kisses her again, soft and slow.

Marinette keeps her eyes closed when he pulls away, only opening them when she hears the dressing room door open and close behind her.

Her legs feel like jello and her heart feels like it’s about to burst. She leans against the table and brushes her fingers against her lips. She would say that it was just the adrenaline or just that she kissed him first and he kissed her back as a reflex or out of courtesy or some other ridiculous excuse that her mind would dip into for an explanation.

But Adrien had kissed her.

He’d kissed her and he’d smiled at her and he’d kissed her.

Marinette buries her face in her hands as her cheeks burn. One of her dressing roommates will be back soon and it’d probably be best if she wasn’t an emotional disaster when they came in, but she can’t stop smiling and she’s fairly certain she’s redder than her production costume.

She lifts her head from her hands and takes a deep breath. That happened. That happened. She sees herself in the mirror already blushing again.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she starts getting ready for her next dance. She wipes off the smeared lipstick with a makeup wipe and carefully reapplies foundation where she wiped it away before taking out the lighter lipliner and lipstick. It was just a kiss, she shouldn’t be getting so worked up about a kiss. Two kisses. From Adrien.

She caps the lipstick and puts it away before staring herself down in the mirror. She’s going to get through the rest of this showcase without overthinking this. She can overthink later.

When Rose opens the door to the dressing room, Marinette helps her with her quick change with a smile, but the butterflies are still fluttering in her stomach.

—«·»—

“Don’t screw this up,” Chloé mutters as they wait squished in the wings to go on for the production. With every dancer in the intensive making an appearance of some sort, it’s a bit cramped. Chloé raises a perfect eyebrow at Marinette. “Got it?”

Marinette shoots Chloé a half hearted glare. She knows Chloé means it, Marinette is as good as dead if she screws this up, but they’ve reached some sort of incredibly uneasy truce and she’s not going to fight it if they only have this one dance left. “I won’t if you don’t,” she says, testing the waters.

Chloé smirks, something dark in her eyes. More like competition than anger. It’s a look Marinette doesn’t think she’s seen before. “Good.”

The music starts with the youngest dancers onstage and Chloé steps out right on cue. She’s no longer the worst part of Marinette’s summer or even an incredibly talented dancer with a mean streak that could kill. She’s just another dancer, contributing the same as any other dancer on the stage.

Marinette locks eyes with Adrien, who’s in the wing directly across the stage from her. He nods at her before he preps for a chaîné and leaps onstage.

One last dance.

Marinette closes her eyes and preps for her turn. The music swells and she spins up en pointe, leg bent back in attitude. She smiles to the audience as she arches away from them and falls into her role as perfectly as she can. She only has a few minutes left to show what she can do.

—«·»—

Marinette gets so caught up in the whirlwind of bows and backstage that she almost forgets to breathe. She doesn’t even get to go back to her dressing room, the crowd of dancers just moves her to the audience in full costume and pointe shoes.

She breaks away from the tide by the entrance to backstage, hearing shouts of congratulations from loved ones as dancers found them. She smiles to herself and hangs back for a moment, waiting for the crowd to thin out a little.

“Hey, kid.” Marinette turns around to see Plagg leaning against the wall. Tikki is standing next to him, absolutely beaming, and Wayzz is there, much to her surprise. Plagg pushes himself off the wall and sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s dressed nice for once, she’s pretty sure Tikki had something to do with that, and smirks before saying, “You did good.”

Marinette’s smile grows and she ducks her head. “Thanks.”

Tikki hurries forward and wraps Marinette up in a tight hug, albeit slightly awkward because of Marinette’s tutu. “Magical, Marinette,” Tikki says as she pulls away. “There isn’t a single person who wasn’t enchanted.”

Marinette doesn’t even know how to respond other than to laugh breathlessly and hug back when Tikki squeezes her in another hug.

Wayzz fiddles with his tie and gives Marinette a lopsided smile. “Maybe you just needed the right pair of shoes.”

Tikki gives him an offended look as Plagg laughs. Tikki rolls her eyes as she turns back to Marinette. “Those two,” she mutters. Marinette bites back a laugh. “Go,” Tikki says, motioning to the doors. “Go see your family, I’m sure they’ll want to congratulate you.”

Marinette takes a step towards the doors and a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says. It’s not enough, for any of them, but it’s all she has at the moment.

Tikki smiles, eyes sparkling with tears, “Thank you. Now go!”

Marinette opens the doors and is immediately swept up into a million conversations. People tell her how good she was and how much they enjoyed her performance as she weaves through the crowd and she smiles and nods and thanks them but can hardly processing all of the attention. Marinette doesn’t notice Alya until Alya throws her arms around her, hugging her tight and crying.

Marinette blinks in surprise. “Uh…” She pats Alya’s back and looks up to Nino, who waves. “Hey, Nino.”

“Hey! You killed it, dude. Super awesome.” He fits bumps her before putting a hand on Alya’s shoulder. “Al, you’re crying on her costume.”

Alya pulls away from Marinette and wipes away her tears. “You…” She points a finger at Marinette. Marinette tries to remember if she’s done something wrong before Alya smiles. “You swore you’d tell me if you got a solo!”

Oh. “Well… I wanted it to be a surprise,” Marinette admits.

“Was it!” Alya whacks Nino’s arm. “He wouldn’t let us see any programs! I should’ve known something was up.” She hugs Marinette again, even tighter. “You’re the worst. I hate you. You did so good and I love you so much.”

Marinette hugs back and mouths ‘thank you’ to Nino. He winks and gives her a thumbs up. His eyes light up as he sees something over Marinette’s shoulder. “Dude!”

Adrien stumbles backward as Nino launches himself at him. “Whoa!”

“Someone new to cry on,” Alya says before letting Marinette out of her death grip and latching onto Adrien and Nino instead.

Adrien gives Marinette an awkward smile before Nino grabs Marinette and pulls her into the middle of the hug. She finds herself squished between Nino and Adrien, her face pressed against Adrien’s shoulder. She tenses and looks up at him, smiling awkwardly.

He returns the smile, his cheeks turning pink.

“You two did so good,” Alya says. “It’s not fair. Gorgeous and talented? Leave something for the rest of us.

“True that,” Nino agrees. He’s as stuck in this hug as Adrien and Marinette are. Marinette isn’t exactly sure how Alya is holding them all in. Nino wriggles an arm free and ruffles Adrien’s hair. “One of your best, bro. You’ve never looked better.”

Marinette bites back a laugh. The gel in Adrien’s hair means that it’s staying a ruffled mess. Nino smirks and ruffles it again, messing it up even more.

“Is our Marinette in there someone?”

Marinette gasps and ducks out from Alya’s arms and runs right into her father’s. “Maman! Papa!” Being wrapped up in their arms feels safe and warm and like home— her father still smells like freshly baked bread, so that’s definitely helping.

“You were beautiful, ma chérie,” Sabine says as she pulls away. “I’ve never seen you dance like that before.”

Marinette hugs Sabine again. “Thank you, Maman, I loved it.” Speaking of loved… “You’ve already met, Nino, right?”

“He hid the programs from us,” Tom says, raising an eyebrow.

Nino rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just doing a friend a favor.”

Marinette shakes her head. “Anyway, this is Adrien.”

Alya tugs Adrien forward. He lifts a hand in an awkward greeting. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“We’ve heard so much about you!” Sabine says with a bright smile.

Marinette groans and buries her face in her hands. She forgot about that. “Maman please.”

“You have?” Adrien asks in surprise.

Nino snorts.

“You did great,” Tom says, putting a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Your father should be proud.”

Adrien barely nods, staring at Tom almost in awe. Marinette wants to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that this is what family is supposed to be like.

Alya clears her throat. “Speaking of fathers…”

Adrien tenses, eyes wide.

She elbows him lightly. “Nathalie said she’d meet you in your dressing room before the closing speech thing. I’m not sure how she knows where that is—”

“She’s scary, that’s how,” Nino interrupts. “That women knows all.”

Alya rolls her eyes. “Anyway, she asked me to let you know.”

A look crosses over Adrien’s face. “I’ll see you for the close,” he murmurs to Marinette, squeezing her hand as he passes by. She looks over her shoulder to watch him disappear into the crowd of families and dancers.

“He seems like a good kid,” Tom says.

Marinette finds the floor fascinating.

“A good kid…” Alya murmurs. “Be right back.” She darts into the crowd and and is quickly swallowed by it.

“Should we be concerned?” Nino asks Marinette.

She nods. “Very.”

—«·»—

Sabrina is leaving the dressing room as Marinette heads back to get changed. She loves her costume, but the bodice is starting to dig into her sides and she’d love to go to close of the intensive in comfortable sweatpants.

“You did great, by the way,” Sabrina says breathlessly, catching Marinette by surprise. “Like, really really good.”

“Oh, thank you. You did too, your small group was incredible.”

Sabrina turns pink. “It was nothing. Oh! Chloé is in there so,” she shrugs before heading toward the stage door.

Marinette nods slowly before opening the dressing room door.

She’s surprised by how quickly it’s been cleared out. She’d seen Aurore as she had been wandering around looking for her parents and friends and Aurore had somehow managed to pack everything up and change before getting swept up by the excitement. Rose looks up from her makeup case and smiles brightly, hanging her costume bags over her arm before she leaves the room.

And then there were two.

Marinette shakes her hair out of the bun but kept in in a ponytail. It’s awkward enough, curled stiff with hairspray, and taking it down would just be worse. She’d rather wait until she could wash all the gunk out of her hair before trying to take out anything else. She pulled off her fake eyelashes and trashed them before scrubbing the rest of the makeup off her face with far too many makeup wipes. She sat on the floor as she carefully untied her pointe shoes. Despite only having used them in this one showcase, they were broken in to a point close to ruin. She remembers Tikki joking about how ballerinas go through pointe shoes like they were made of paper. Tikki wasn’t wrong.

Marinette sighs in relief when she finally gets out of her costume and into sweats. She no longer feels like she has to be a perfect statue of elegance. She can slouch. Thank god.

“We have to go,” Chloé says suddenly.

Marinette looks up from where she’s organizing her makeup. “Oh.”

Chloé tosses her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. She has no idea how Chloé got it so perfect so fast. “Clean up later, they won’t wait for you.” Chloé throws open the door. “Sorry,” she says tightly, “by the way.” And then she’s vanished into the darkness of backstage, her heels clicking against the floor.

Marinette swallows before following her. Okay. In part, she’s relieved that she didn’t have to accept Chloé’s apology, because she doesn’t know if she’d be able to. On the other hand… She’ll deal with it if they have to work together again.

For now, she can let go.

—«·»—

The theater’s seats aren’t the most comfortable in the world, but Marinette’s feet hurt and her entire body aches, so it feels nice to just curl up and rest her head on Adrien’s shoulder as the teachers talk. He plays with her hair mindlessly as they talk about the summer and the showcase and everything everyone accomplished over ten weeks. She can feel a lump of emotion in her throat and she tries to swallow it back. If she starts crying, she’ll probably never stop.

Trixx motions to Wayzz and he steps foward, glasses and smile crooked. “You’re probably wondering why I’m up here,” he says, gesturing to the others and yes, Marinette was wondering that. “Really, I just have friends with connections.” Plagg snorts and Tikki shoots him a look. Wayzz shakes his head. “My name is Wayzz. I don’t teach, I’m not very good at that, but I do work in the shoe room for a ballet company. And I know ballet, I know it well.” He adjusts his glasses. “I’ve been lucky enough to see how some of you have progressed since you were first offered a place in the program, and the leaps and bounds you’ve all made— truly, truly inspiring.”

Marinette sits up, eyes wide.

“You okay?” Adrien whispers.

She nods wordlessly, staring at Wayzz. He’s still talking, but the words are no longer processing. He smiles and it’s like he’s smiling right at her. If she imagines him with his hair combed back and neat, wearing contacts instead of glasses, dressed in an out of place suit— 

“If you keep working as hard as you have, I have no doubt that you could all end up in a company like mine,” Wayzz says, “regardless of what opportunities you may or may not have had growing up. With the opportunity you were all given over the past ten weeks, you’ve all been able to truly shine.”

Marinette sinks back in her seat as Wayzz steps back and everyone applauds.

Adrien leans over. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Marinette promises, pulling her gaze away from Wayzz to focus on Plagg. “I thought I knew him from somewhere.” She remembers shaking his hand and thanking him calmly before calling Alya and screaming.

“Alright, kids.” Plagg steps forward to center stage. “I know you and your parents want to get out of here soon, so it’s a good thing I don’t do speeches.”

Adrien scoffs.

“But hey, you all crushed it tonight, so pat on the back for that. I told you the fondues would pay off.” There are scattered groans through the audience. Adrien is one of them. Plagg smirks. “I’m going to pass of my nostalgic mush to Tikki, seeing how that’s her thing, but keep fonduing, it’ll get you places eventually.”

Tikki clasps her hands together. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that it has been a true honor to teach you all. One of the greatest parts of teaching is being able to see your students grow and we have seen you grow into dancers that we may very well be sharing a stage with in the near future.

“Ten weeks isn’t long but at the same time, it’s impossibly long. It’s the blink of an eye and an entire summer. Tiny steps lead to big leaps, you just have to keep working. What you go back to tomorrow might not be this extreme; you may have shorter hours and fewer classes, but that doesn’t mean you should stop working as hard as you have been.

“Whether or not you choose to continue dancing, whether or not this is going to be part of your future, you learned a lot this summer, more than you may realize. You’ve made friends and you’ve made connections. You’re only on the brink of what you can truly do and achieve. And we are so thankful to have been able to help you find your way just a little bit more. A little guidance can go a long way and you should be proud of yourselves for how much you’ve learned, because we wouldn't have been able to help you if you didn’t want to learn.

“Take what you’ve learned this summer and apply it to the life you choose to lead, whatever that may mean for you. Some will take more than others. Maybe all you learned from this summer was that you’re a terrible roommate--” A few people laughed and others agreed. “--and while I doubt any of you learned so little, it’s still better than nothing. It got you out of the house didn’t it?”

Adrien hides his face in the crook of his arm to muffle his laugh.

“Dance is hard, ballet is hard. It takes so much work to make it look elegant and graceful and effortless. And despite how hard it is, you all did it wonderfully tonight. The performance you put on was magical and the talent that crossed this stage was unbelievable. You’ve all overcome so many boundaries — physical, mental, and otherwise — this summer and we are all so proud of you and what you’ve accomplished.

“If you’re leaving tonight, make sure you have everything you brought and stay safe on your way home. To those leaving tomorrow, we have to be out of the rooms by ten so they can clean. If you have any studio keys you have to return, both Plagg and I will be there until around eleven. We hope that you’ll consider joining us again next summer, so you can improve even more. And to those of you who are graduating this year, wherever you go, whatever path you may choose, we wish you the absolute best.”

 —«·»—

Marinette is packing up the last of her costumes when there’s a soft knock on the dressing room door. She zips up the costume bag as she says, “Come in!”

Tikki opens the door and smiles. “We’re on our way out.”

“Oh!” Marinette reaches for her makeup box. “Sorry for taking so long I can—”

“It’s fine,” Plagg interrupts. “Sheesh, breathe a little.”

Tikki holds out a key. Marinette hesitates before taking it. “All the lights are off but the stage ones and Adrien knows how those work, him and Plagg were fooling around with them after dress rehearsal.” She shoots Plagg a look, but he just shrugs. She rolls her eyes. “Just lock up and you can give us the key tomorrow with your studio key. Don’t worry about anything else, we have to be back here anyway to clean up some things and return the keys.”

“I can help before my train leaves,” Marinette says. “If you need it. With cleaning up and all that.”

Plagg closes her hand around the key. “We’ve got it. We get paid for stuff like this. You don’t.”

“Just make sure he gets home at a reasonable hour,” Tikki says, motioning behind her. “He’s on the stage. He always likes to have some time to himself after performances.”

Marinette squeezes the key, the edges of it biting into her skin. “Yeah, of course.”

Plagg smirks. “No funny business,” he says, draping an arm around Tikki’s shoulder.

Marinette flushes. “W-we— I—”

Tikki gives him a flat look. “Leave her alone, Plagg. You’re fine,” she promises Marinette. “Don’t stay too long. Sleep well.”

Marinette nods and watches them leave. It takes her a moment to collect herself and then another moment to collect all her things. She studies the now empty dressing room and wonders how not even an hour ago it was filled with costumes and people and life.

She shakes off the feeling and shuts the door behind her.

Marinette puts her stuff down and watches Adrien for a few minutes from the wings. He’s not dancing so much as just going through motions and wandering around the stage with a distant expression on his face. It takes her an almost embarrassingly long time to recognize that he’s mostly just moving through the variation from the Bluebird pas de deux. He drags his toe on the stage in a slow compass turn, freezing when he sees her in the wings.

She holds up the key. “Tikki told me to lock up when you finished.”

“Right,” Adrien says softly. “I’ll be done in a minute, just…” He finishes the turn and stands in third position for a long moment before doing a pas de cheval tombé. He preps for a pirouette and does an easy double.  

“We don’t have to leave now.” She puts the key down on top of her costume bags. “I can wait.” She toes off her shoes and joins him onstage. It’s strange feeling Marley under her bare feet again.

Adrien faces the audience head on. Marinette gazes out into the darkened rows and rows of empty seats. “It’s weird,” he says, “to think that this place was full of people an hour ago. And now it’s so empty and alone.”

“We’re here,” Marinette points out.

Adrien smiles at her. “We are, aren’t we?” His eyes widen. “Hold on.” He runs across the stage, disappearing into the wings.

An empty stage and theater is significantly lonelier and creepier if you’re by yourself, Marinette notes.

“Hey, Mari.” Adrien enters from the other side of the stage, holding something behind his back. “These are for you.” Marinette’s eyes go wide as he holds out a bouquet of red roses to her.

“Y-you didn’t have to,” she stutters as she takes them. Alya had told her flower language once, but she doesn’t remember any of it, she’s too focused on the fact that Adrien got her flowers. “You really didn’t.”

“I wanted to,” he promises. He blushes a little. “I wanted to thank you for…being you.”

She wants to protest that isn’t doing anything, certainly nothing to deserve flowers. Her parents always get her flowers after performances, they’ll sit on the counter in a vase until they start to wilt and then she’ll press them in a book to keep forever. She doesn’t think these are the same kind of post show flowers. “You should’ve told me, I would’ve gotten you flowers too. I didn’t get you anything.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You got me roses,” Marinette whispers.

“And you gave me friendship,” Adrien says honestly.

She resists the urge to hide her face in the roses. “That is so cheesy,” she mumbles.

“I’m a cheesy person,” he admits. “But you knew that. And…maybe, you wouldn’t mind going out on a cheesy date with a cheesy guy?”

Marinette lowers her flowers and stares at him. Her mind has gone almost completely blank, like some sort of factory reset. She has to run through the words a few times to make sure she actually heard him correctly. “Adrien Agreste that was the lamest way you could’ve asked me out,” she says, her voice surprisingly steady because she honestly thinks her legs are going to give out on her.  

He smiles goofily and shrugs. “Did you ever think I was cool?”

“About ten weeks ago I did.”

He laughs. “Is that a yes?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

Marinette smiles down at the flowers before rising up a on her toes and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Of course it’s a yes.” Adrien lights up like the sun and her heart flips. “To quote Alya, we were practically dating anyway.”

Adrien snorts. “Her too? Nino’s been bugging me about it for weeks.”

Careful of her roses, Marinette wraps her arms around Adrien’s neck. “I think they may have bonded over trying to get us together.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You think?”

She hums. Their noses brush as she tilts her head. “Maybe a little.”

“We should probably tell them at some point,” Adrien murmurs, just a breath away from her lips. “They probably have a party to throw. Bets to exchange.”

“They can wait.”

Marinette wakes up far too late.

For most people, it’s not late at all. Eight thirty on a Sunday morning? Back to bed. At home, Marinette is up as soon as her parents start baking. For the past few weeks, Marinette has gotten up whenever Adrien does and she doesn’t know if that boy knows what sleeping in even means.

It’s strange to find the bed next to her empty.

She sits up with a groan, aching all over and knowing that she needs to stretch before she gets on a train and sits for several hours but not really wanting to. The perfect day would actually be not moving period, but that’s not going to happen.

She gives herself a few minutes to wake up before she gets out of bed and pads to the bathroom, relieved to see that her hair is only a minor disaster and that there’s no makeup smudged all over her face. She did her best last night, but she still sometimes wakes up after competitions looking like a racoon. There’s only so much you can do to take makeup off once you’ve applied several pounds of it.

Adrien’s things have already been moved out of the room. Marinette packs at a fairly leisurely pace, listening to music on her phone and scrolling through notifications she’d missed last night. She has hours until she has to make her train, she’ll be fine.

She sits back on her heels and closes her eyes, remembering how Adrien’s lips felt against hers and kissing him until she was breathless. It’s kind of hard to believe that it’s not all a dream, but it also feels like the most natural thing in the world.

It’s a little bit of a struggle to get all of her things together, but she manages. She checks the room once more before shutting the door behind her and hearing the finalizing click.

Marinette returns her room key and drops her stuff off at the studio before making a quick Starbucks run. She needs something to eat that isn’t healthy and she’s pretty sure Adrien stole the rest of the granola bars anyway.

Tikki is sitting on the desk while Plagg spins lazy circles in the chair when Marinette returns with drinks. Tikki looks up from her phone with a smile. “Figured you’d be back soon.”

Plagg scoffs. “Like she was going to leave all her stuff here.”

Marinette puts down her hot chocolate and pulls out the keys to the studio and theater. “Thank you for…everything.”

Tikki grins brightly as she tosses the theater key to Plagg. “You’re welcome, and thank you too. You’re welcome to leave your stuff out here.”

Plagg nods toward the studios. “He’s in his usual room.”

“And we’ll be here as long as you’d like.” Tikki winks.

Marinette tucks her hair behind her ear and glances toward the door. “Right. I’m just going to…”

“Go be sappy teenagers!” Plagg says, shooing her away. “You’re making me sick.”

Tikki laughs as Marinette walks over to the studio door. “Like we weren’t sappy teenagers once,” Tikki teases.

Marinette knocks on the door softly before she opens it. She’s not really looking for a response, she knows she’s welcome, she’s more of giving a warning. Snapping him out of his thoughts.

Adrien is doing lazy pencil turns to gentle lyrical music when she opens the door. His face is red and his shirt is disheveled and there’s a pile of luggage in the corner by the stereo. He winks at her the next time he makes a rotation. He poses dramatically as she closes the door before meeting her halfway.

“You were up early,” Marinette says, holding out his drink. “And you were quiet.”

He smiles gratefully before taking it. “I didn’t want to wake you, you looked exhausted last night.”

She shrugs and leans against the barre as he drinks, wrapping both her hands around her hot chocolate. “Performances wipe me out. It’s probably because I psych myself out so much beforehand.”

Adrien nods. “I used to do that too.”

“Got used to it?”

“Had to,” he points out. “If you have a performance every night for a week, you don’t have a chance to be tired. Mostly I just napped a lot until I was able to run on what’s essentially pure willpower.”

Marinette groans. “I like sleep too much for that.”

“Well, you can’t have dance, sleep, and a social life. You have to choose.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “You have a social life?”

Adrien sticks his tongue out at her as she lifts her cup to her mouth with raised eyebrows. “Um, excuse me, I have a girlfriend.”

Marinette feels a blush creeping up her cheeks. She tries to keep the butterflies in her stomach still, but it’s far far too new for her not to freak out just a little bit. “Is she pretty?” she asks playfully.

“Gorgeous,” Adrien says with twinkling eyes.

“Bet she’s a better dancer than you.”

“You’d be right.”

She gives him a flat look. “Okay, no. So not true.”

Adrien shakes he head. “No, I still can’t do a body roll right, so… I think you win this round.”

“I think you’re biased,” Marinette counters.

“Mm… Yeah, probably. But not in this case.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you love me anyway,” Adrien teases, putting down his drink next to the stereo. He reaches out to take Marinette’s.

“Yes. Yes I do,” she says as she passes her drink off, their hands brushing.

Adrien pauses, eyes wide. He smiles slowly. “Well that’s good. Because I love you too.”

Marinette covers her mouth with her hand to hide her own smile.

“Too soon?” he asks. He takes her other hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“We haven’t even gone on a real date yet,” she points out.

Adrien hums thoughtfully. “Can we consider this our first date?” he asks, motioning to the room.

Marinette nods slowly. “Starbucks and dancing. The only two things we seem to do.”

“We also watch bad movies,” Adrien adds. “And Disney classics.”

“Three things then.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, two out of three seems pretty good. Sounds like a decent first date to me.” He offers Marinette his hand with a small bow. “What’d you think?”

She curtsies before taking it. “It sounds perfect.”

“Do you waltz, my Lady?” Adrien asks, pulling her into closed position. He starts waltzing before she can even answer.

“Not really, but you seem to waltz just fine, despite this song not being a waltz,” Marinette teases.

“You’re so picky.” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes.

“Mm, well, someone needs to teach you to count music. Can you not hear the downbeat?” she teases.

Adrien stares at her with glittering green eyes. “Will you help me find it?” he asks softly.

Marinette smiles before taking lead. “One,” she says with the next step. She moves out of closed position as she pulls Adrien in a slow circle, counting the downbeat aloud whenever they reach it. He sings along to the music softly, and she thinks that she could stay here forever in this empty studio with nothing but Adrien and gentle music. It doesn’t take long before they’re giggling and improvising poorly while holding hands, completely entangled in one another.

[isabellelambert1975]

Which hedge is right for my garden?

A friend recently asked me which hedge she should choose for her garden.

It’s a bit like being asked for the answer to world peace. It’s rather a big question.

Garden maker Posy Gentles uses a clipped low privet hedge in her front garden as a foil to the airy plants that float over the top.

The first step is to ask another question: What do you want your hedge for? To mark a boundary? Encourage wildlife? Are you looking for a hedge for privacy? And is there a ‘fashion in hedges’?

I cut elderberries, rosehips, hazel and wild currants from a mixed hedgerow near me.  You can see a ‘meadow’ strip of grass and wildflowers at the base of the hedge just behind the basket.

Which hedge is in fashion now?

The biggest new trend in hedging is probably the increased popularity of mixed native hedging.

Morris Hankinson of Hope Grove Nurseries says that their mixed packs of native hedgerow mixes with themes are ‘our best-sellers’. They sell edible hedging or ‘hedges for foragers’, coastal hedging, ‘hedging for privacy’, ‘hedging for wildlife’ packs and more.

You can plant these ‘edible hedge plants’ as a mix or a single hedge.

I’m delighted by the idea of edible hedging or a ‘hedge for foragers’, made of hazel, blackthorn (sloe), dog rose (rose hips), wild pear, elder and crab apple.

The eradication of mixed hedges or hedgerows in the last 100 years has been a major issue in the loss of habitat for wildlife. Now environmentally-aware farmers are replacing mixed hedgerows where they can, but we can also push for them to be grown in parks, public spaces and private gardens.

Frances Beaumont’s narrow town garden (around 20′ x 50′) has won several wildlife-friendly awards. She has mixed hedging along both sides of the garden. Plants include passionflower, honeysuckle, quince, apples, blackberries and ivy.

A mixed wildlife or foragers’ hedge, if it is allowed to flower and fruit, will spread more than a tightly clipped hedge. Although, as you can see from Frances’ hedge above, you can train it not to take up too much space.

But, alternatively, why not consider having a sprawling, colourful hedge, with a strip of wildlife ‘meadow’ below rather than a traditional border?

How to decide which hedge is right for your garden

People ‘overthink their hedge choice’, says Morris. ‘There are only two things you really need to bear in mind.

If you’re planting a hedge in a shady spot, you need hedging that copes with shade. And if it’s a damp area, you need hedging that can cope with that. Apart from that, it’s all quite simple.’

In which case I suggest that you decide what you want to achieve with your hedge first. Here are some hedge ideas to inspire you.

Divide the space up with a hedge

This rather grand treatment at Doddington Place Gardens would also work in smaller gardens. Doddington Place Gardens, near Faversham, Kent, is open to the public in the summer.

If you want to break your garden up into ‘rooms’ or areas, hedging is a good option. This hedge with steps would work well in a long narrow town garden, especially one with a slight slope. You could terrace it. Box, yew and privet are the traditional hedges for this sort of treatment. Photinia can also be trimmed in shape.

Which hedge as a backdrop for garden colour?

If you want your hedge as a backdrop for garden colour, then you might want to choose a single species in a fairly plain green. These include box, privet, yew and griselinia, all of which make a good backdrop for flower colour.

Dark green yew makes a wonderful contrast for these flowers at Doddington Place Gardens

A waist-high griselinia hedge makes a backdrop for red and orange dahlias and ricinus at The Salutation Gardens in Sandwich. If the hedge wasn’t there, the border would feel less lush.

The other side of the griselinia hedge at The Salutation. It gives a neat edging to a path.

Other smart backdrops include beech, hornbeam and even cypress Leylandii, provided you keep it firmly trimmed.

Hedging as a punctuation point

Just as plain full stops and commas break up a sentence, gardens need their punctuation points too. Wonderfully lavish borders need a little geometry to give them structure.

Square boxes of box hedge anchor the airy, colourful planting in the Sunk Garden at Doddington Place.

Create shelter with a hedge

Hedges protect your garden from the wind better than fences do, because the wind is broken up by the hedging. With a fence or wall, the wind whistles over the top and can land on the other side with some force.

A hedge planted at right angles turns a wall into a sheltered corner at Doddington Place.

The veg garden at Rosemary Alexander’s Sandhill is sheltered from the beautiful landscape beyond with a hedge. This garden is open for the NGS (see website for dates)

You could easily use a mixed hedge here – an edible hedge might be perfect for a veg patch.

Do something different with hedging

If you’ve got plenty of space and about a hundred years to spare, you could do something like this with hedging. You could probably adapt this idea with a faster-growing hedging than yew – it would probably work with privet, for example.

A seat by the pet cemetery at Doddington Place has a hedge ‘hat’.

Hedging as sculpture

You can frame a sculpture or a work of art with hedging.

A glass mirror garden sculpture at Doddington Place Gardens, framed by box hedging.

Hedging as contrast

Smart tailored hedging makes a good contrast to wilder plantings, such as meadow strips.

The linear formality of the hedges and mirror sculpture is contrasted with an informal meadow planting and simple mown path.

Pettifers is an outstanding garden of one and a half acres in Oxfordshire. It’s open to view by appointment. Here formal hedging creates contrast within a meadow area of the garden.

Equally, you could use a wonderfully rambling and colourful mixed hedge as a contrast to a smart lawn.

Hedges for wildlife

Wildlife need hedges both for shelter and food.  An edible hedge will suit them very well, and mixed hedges offer the best range. Plants for a wildlife hedge include ivy, dog rose, blackthorn, elder, wild plum and hazel. If you want to know more about hedges for wildlife, see here.

Another stretch of Frances Beaumont’s ‘wildlife hedge.’ This is variegated elder – planted alongside ivy and honeysuckle (not shown).

Hedges for privacy

If you are thinking about hedges for privacy, be aware that a hedge is defined as ‘three trees in a row.’ Depending on whether there are any special rules and covenants where you live, you can often grow a hedge higher than a fence. Evergreen hedges offer more privacy, but less light. Deciduous hedges aren’t covered by legislation – or not in Britain, anyway.

Posy’s hedge is theoretically low for a privacy hedge, but the flowers dancing above it shield the windows from the eyes of passersby without affecting the light.

There’s more about planting evergreen hedges for privacy here. It specifically applies to Britain, but if you live elsewhere, it’ll give you an idea of what you need to check out before planting a hedge for privacy.

Pippa and James Rubinstein have screened a window and created a private seating area with a small, free-standing hedge of espaliered pear, clipped to remain only 5 feet high.

It may also be worth considering making your garden more private by placing just a single tree in the right place. There are 8 perfect-for-privacy trees here.

Hedges against pollution

A major international study lead by the University of Surrey recently concluded that hedging – even low hedges – is an excellent way of trapping particles of pollution and helping to keep the air near them clear.

This hedge helps protect the houses from car exhaust pollution. The trees and the hedges absorb carbon dioxide and release oxygen. The RHS is trying to encourage us all to plant some hedging in our front gardens and drives as part of their Greening Grey Britain campaign.

So far, no specific hedge plants have been suggested as better than any other for anti-pollution, so choose the hedge you like the best for other reasons.

Warning! Plant your hedge right – or else!

How you plant your hedge makes a huge difference to whether it grows well. The two pictures below show two yew hedges planted near a friend’s house. The yews came from the same nursery and were planted on the same day by the same people.

My friend’s yew hedge. This one was planted properly.

But one was planted into a ready-prepared trench with lots of compost and then well watered. The other – possibly because time was running out – was simply dug into the ground.

The same hedging plants in the same garden, planted on the same day – but without properly prepared soil and compost! Both hedges are now several years old, so poor planting has long-term effects.

You can download a guide to choosing, planting and looking after your hedge here:Hedging Guide from Hopes Grove Nurseries

And for ‘How to Plant A Hedge’ on YouTube, see here:

 And look after your hedge in the first year

Hedges are reasonably low maintenance. Fences often need painting, repairing or replacing, but a hedge will go on forever with just an annual clip.

However, the first year is important, Morris says. This reflects what every other plant expert and nurseryman has ever told me. Trees and shrubs need looking after in their first year.

So you need to water and weed around your new hedging plants regularly in that crucial first summer.

So which hedge really is right for my garden?

Now that you have considered all the factors that matter, it’s time to talk to a hedge supplier. I don’t advise that you get your hedging from all-purpose garden centres, because every garden is different. It will really help to talk to someone knowledgeable, even on the phone.

Kylie O’Brien’s one acre country garden (open by appointment via the NGS) overlooks fields, so her hedges act as windbreaks. So she chose hardy native plants, such as hazel, dog rose and field maple.

Once you’ve thought about what you want your hedge to do for your garden, you’ll probably have a shortlist of hedging possibilities. You’ll find a better range from a hedging supplier, and there’ll be experts who can confirm your choice will grow well in your garden.

The question of ‘which hedge’ is also about whether to buy cheaper, younger hedging or spend significantly more for an immediate impact.

This hedge of field maple, dog rose, elder, wild currant and hazel is now five years old, having been planted as ‘young whips’. It’s been looking like a ‘proper hedge’ for around two years.

Specialist plant/hedging nurseries will probably also be cheaper than garden centres. Bare root hedging, which can only be planted between November and March, often costs less than £1 a plant. But it takes 2-3 years – or more – before it will be the hedge of your dreams.

‘Instant hedging’ will cost at least ten times as much (literally!), but will look great immediately.

Writing this post has opened my eyes to the beauty of a good hedge. Instead of seeing a hedge as a mass of green, I now take pleasure in spotting dog rose, hazel, elderberries, sloes and more. Hedges are good for wildlife, and also good for the environment, and they are a good foil for the planting in your garden.

I’ve also started looking at gardens for their hedges, rather than their flowers. It’s an interesting new perspective, especially in terms of photography. Do give it a try!

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from The Middle-Sized Garden http://www.themiddlesizedgarden.co.uk/which-hedge-is-right-for-my-garden/

[readbookywooks]

. . . looked up. 'Still here, Tryrnon?' 'You summoned me, master,' said Trymon levelly. At least, that's what his voice said. Deep in his grey eyes was the faintest glitter that said he had a list of every slight, every patronising twinkle, every gentle reproof, every knowing glance, and for every single one Galder's living brain was going to spend a year in acid. 'Oh, yes, so I did. Humour the deficiencies of an old man,' said Galder pleasantly. He held up the book he had been reading. 'I don't hold with all this running about,' he said. 'It's all very dramatic, mucking about with magic carpets and the like, but it isn't true magic to my mind. Take seven league boots, now. If men were meant to walk twenty-one miles at a step I am sure God would have given us longer legs . . . Where was I?' 'I am not sure,' said Trymon coldly. 'Ah, yes. Strange that we could find nothing about the Pyramid of Tsort in the Library, you would have thought there'd be something, wouldn't you?' The librarian will be disciplined, of course.' Galder looked sideways at him. 'Nothing drastic,' he said. 'Withold his bananas, perhaps.' They looked at each other for a moment. Galder broke off first – looking hard at Trymon always bothered him. It had the same disconcerting effect as gazing into a mirror and seeing no-one there. 'Anyway,' he said, 'strangely enough, I found assistance elsewhere. In my own modest bookshelves, in fact. The journal of Skrelt Changebasket, the founder of our order. You, my keen young man who would rush off so soon, do you know what happens when a wizard dies?' 'Any spells he has memorised say themselves,' said Trymon. 'It is one of the first things we learn.' 'In fact it is not true of the original Eight Great Spells. By dint of close study Skrelt learned that a Great Spell will simply take refuge in the nearest mind open and ready to receive it. Just push the big mirror over here, will you?' Galder got to his feet and shuffled across to the forge, which was now cold. The strand of magic still writhed, though, at once present and not present, like a slit cut into another universe full of hot blue light. He picked it p easily, took a longbow from a rack, said a word of power, and watched with satisfaction as the magic grasped the ends of the bow and then tightened until the wood creaked. Then lie selected an arrow. Trymon had tugged a heavy, full-length mirror into the middle of the floor. When I am head of the Order, he told himself, I certainly won't shuffle around in carpet slippers. Trymon, as mentioned earlier, felt that a lot could be done by fresh blood if only the dead wood could be removed – but, just for the moment, he was genuinely interested in seeing what the old fool would do next. He may have derived some satisfaction if he had known that Galder and Skrelt Changebasket were both absolutely wrong. Galder made a few passes in front of the glass, which clouded over and then cleared to show an aerial view of the Forest of Skund. He looked at it intently while holding the bow with the arrow pointing vaguely at the ceiling. He muttered a few words like 'allow for wind speed of, say, three knots' and 'adjust for temperature' and then, with a rather disappointing movement, released the arrow. If the laws of action and reaction had anything to do with it, it should have flopped to the ground a few feet away. But no-one was listening to them. With a sound that defies description, but which for the sake of completeness can be thought of basically as 'spang!' plus three days hard work in any decently equipped radiophonic workshop, the arrow vanished. Galder threw the bow aside and grinned. 'Of course, it'll take about an hour to get there,' he said. Then the spell will simply follow the ionised path back here. To me.' 'Remarkable,' said Trymon, but any passing telepath would have read in letters ten yards high: if you, then why not me? He looked down at the cluttered workbench, when a long and very sharp knife looked tailormade for what he suddenly had in mind. Violence was not something he liked to be involved in except at one remove. But the Pyramid of Tsort had been quite clear about the rewards for whoever brought all right spells together at the right time, and Trymon was not about to let years of painstaking work go for nothing because some old fool had a bright idea. 'Would you like some cocoa while we're waiting?' said Galder, hobbling across the room to the servants' bell. 'Certainly,' said Trymon. He picked up the knife, weighing it for balance and accuracy. 'I must congratulate you, master. I can see that we must all get up very early in the morning to get the better of you.' Galder laughed. And the knife left Trymon's hand at such speed that (because of the somewhat sluggish nature of Disc light) it actually grew a bit shorter and a little more massive as it plunged, with unerring aim, towards Galder's neck. It didn't reach it. Instead, it swerved to one side and began a fast orbit – so fast that Galder appeared suddenly to be wearing a metal collar. He turned around, and to Trymon it seemed that he had suddenly grown several feet taller and much more powerful. The knife broke away and shuddered into the door a mere shadow's depth from Trymon's ear. 'Early in the morning?' said Galder pleasantly. 'My dear lad, you will need to stay up all night.' 'Have a bit more table,' said Rincewind. 'No thanks, I don't like marzipan,' said Twoflower. 'Anyway, I'm sure it's not right to eat other people's furniture.' 'Don't worry,' said Swires. The old witch hasn't been seen for years. They say she was done up good and proper by a couple of young tearaways.' 'Kids of today,' commented Rincewind. 'I blame the parents,' said Twoflower. Once you had made the necessary mental adjustments, the gingerbread cottage was quite a pleasant place. Residual magic kept it standing and it was shunned by such local wild animals who hadn't already died of terminal tooth decay. A bright fire of liquorice logs burned rather messily in the fireplace; Rincewind had tried gathering wood outside, but had given up. It's hard to burn wood that talks to you. He belched. 'This isn't very healthy,' he said. 'I mean, why sweets? Why not crispbread and cheese? Or salami, now – I could just do with a nice salami sofa.' 'Search me,' said Swires. 'Old Granny Whitlow just did sweets. You should have seen her meringues —' 'I have,' said Rincewind, 'I looked at the mattresses . . .' 'Gingerbread is more traditional,' said Twoflower. 'What, for mattresses?' 'Don't be silly,' said Twoflower reasonably. Whoever heard of a gingerbread mattress?' Rincewind grunted. He was thinking of food – more accurately, of food in Ankh-Morpork. Funny how the old place seemed more attractive the further he got from it. He only had to close his eyes to picture, in dribbling detail, the food stalls of a hundred different cultures in the market places. You could eat squishi or shark's fin soup so fresh that swimmers wouldn't go near it, and — 'Do you think I could buy this place?' said Twoflower. Rincewind hesitated. He'd found it always paid to think very carefully before answering Twoflower's more surprising questions. 'What for?' he said, cautiously. 'Well, it just reeks of ambience.' 'Oh.' 'What's ambience?' said Swires, sniffing cautiously and wearing the kind of expression that said that he hadn't done it, whatever it was. 'I think it's a kind of frog,' said Rincewind. 'Anyway, you can't buy this place because there isn't anyone to buy t from—' 'I think I could probably arrange that, on behalf of the forest council of course,' interrupted Swires, trying to avoid Rincewind's glare. '— and anyway you couldn't take it with you, I mean, you could hardly pack it in the Luggage, could you?' Rincewind indicated the Luggage, which was lying by the fire and managing in some quite impossible way to look like a contented but alert tiger, and then looked back at Twoflower. His face fell. 'Could you?' he repeated. He had never quite come to terms with the fact that the inside of the Luggage didn't seem to inhabit quite the same world as the outside. Of course, this was simply a byproduct of its essential weirdness, but it was disconcerting to see Twoflower fill it full of dirty shirts and old socks and then open the lid again on a pile of nice crisp laundry, smelling faintly of lavender. Twoflower also bought a lot of quaint native artifacts or, as Rincewind would put it, junk, and even a seven-foot ceremonial pig tickling pole seemed to fit inside quite easily without sticking out anywhere. 'I don't know,' said Twoflower. 'You're a wizard, you know about these things.' 'Yes, well, of course, but baggage magic is a highly specialised art,' said Rincewind. 'Anyway, I'm sure the gnomes wouldn't really want to sell it, it's, it's—,' he groped through what he knew of Twoflower's mad vocabulary – 'it's a tourist attraction.' 'What's that?' said Swires, interestedly. 'It means that lots of people like him will come and look at it,' said Rincewind. 'Why?' 'Because—' Rincewind groped for words – 'it's quaint. Urn, oldey worldey. Folkloresque. Er, a delightful example of a vanished folk art, steeped in the traditions of an age long gone.' 'It is?' said Swires, looking at the cottage in bewilderment. 'Yes.' 'All that?' 'Fraid so.' 'I'll help you pack.' And the night wears on, under a blanket of lowering clouds which covers most of the Disc – which is fortuitous, because when it clears and the astrologers get a good view of the sky they are going to get angry and upset. And in various parts of the forest parties of wizards are getting lost, and going around in circles, and hiding from each other, and getting upset because whenever they bump into a tree it apologises to them. But, unsteadily though it may be, many of them are getting quite close to the cottage . . . Which is a good time to get back to the rambling buildings of Unseen University and in particular the apartments of Greyhald Spold, currently the oldest wizard on the Disc and determined to keep it that way. He has just been extremely surprised and upset. For the last few hours he has been very busy. He may be deaf and a little hard of thinking, but elderly wizards have very well-trained survival instincts, and they know that when a tall figure in a black robe and the latest in agricultural handtools starts looking thoughtfully at you it is time to act fast. The servants have been dismissed. The doorways have been sealed with a paste made from powdered mayflies, and protective octograms have been drawn on the windows. Rare and rather smelly oils have been poured in complex patterns on the floor, in designs which hurt the eyes and suggest the designer was drunk or from some other dimension or, possibly, both; in the very centre of the room is the eightfold octogram of Witholding, surrounded by red and green candles. And in the centre of that is a box made from wood of the curly-fern pine, which grows to a great age, and it is lined with red silk and yet more protective amulets. Because Greyhald Spold knows that Death is looking for him, and has spent many years designing an impregnable hiding place. He has just set the complicated clockwork of the lock and shut the lid, lying back in the knowledge that here at last is the perfect defence against the most ultimate of all his enemies, although as yet he has not considered the important part that airholes must play in an enterprise of this kind. And right beside him, very close to his ear, a voice has just said: DARK IN HERE, ISN'T IT? It began to snow. The barleysugar windows of the cottage showed bright and cheerful against the blackness.