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ineffable-writer · 4 years

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New Year’s Eve: Aziraphale gets a wild idea about a question he’s wanted to ask for a while and Crowley does not understand why they’re going on holiday to Iceland.

I’m in Iceland for the new year (I’m posting this from 2020!) and of course I spent the last day of 2019 writing ridiculous fluff. Everywhere the Husbands go is real, and places I’ve been (though I did not get a luxury suite at the Blue Lagoon, I’m sad to say).

Previous installments are sweet but not necessary to read to understand (and can be found under the tag #PlaceWithoutPlot, although that’s not 100% true after this excerpt?). Excerpt here, full on AO3 or below the break.

The best crepes in Scotland were, undoubtedly, in a small café near the Meadows, which quickly became a regular spot for lunch on the days they wandered about separately. It was covered in tartan and old records, owned and operated by one man. The drinks were good and the crepes were divine.

“I was thinking, you know,” said Aziraphale, sipping a hot chocolate and relaxing into the tartan, “we don’t need to go back right away.”

“No?” asked Crowley. “Plants will miss me.”

“Oh, the Devices have nowhere to be,” said the angel. “Anathema will keep them alive and I’m sure they don’t mind a little reprieve.”

“You’re scheming,” Crowley lightheartedly accused, fighting to keep the smile off his lips. Aziraphale didn’t laugh or shoot Crowley a disapproving look, which meant he was legitimately nervous about something. The effort of hiding something distracted the angel, which meant Crowley could always tell when it happened. Crowley sat forward a bit: I’m paying attention. I know this is important. I’m listening.

“It’s just, well. We know Edinburgh. The whole island, really. We’ve lived here a very long time.”

“Understatement.”

“Yes. Well. So. I thought perhaps—if you wanted—we could go somewhere new.”

“New?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Everywhere’s new, angel. World keeps changing. That’s what we like about it. Remember?”

“I know! But it’s so easy to get around these days. No more horses, no more ships…”

“What’s wrong with ships? I like ships.”

“You never went on a trireme, if I recall,” said Aziraphale.

“No more triremes, I’ll give you.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale was avoiding talking about whatever he wanted to talk about, now. “Where did you want to go?”

“Iceland.”

“Iceland?”

“Iceland.”

Crowley bit back the why, the what in the world is in Iceland that makes you want to go there, the what has gotten into you lately, you’re always such a homebody, I literally moved right down the block from you because we both hate putting in more effort to go places than absolutely necessary. Aziraphale had something in mind, and Crowley had the sense that the wrong reaction would absolutely shatter the man. Besides, Crowley trusted him.

“All right,” said Crowley. “Iceland. What about New Year’s, then?”

Aziraphale insisted on being mysterious about his plans once they got to Iceland, so Crowley demanded the right to do the same.

“If you get a mystery,” he said, “I get a mystery too. And mine’s near the airport, so unless you’ve got a fantastic reason, I get to go first.”

They arrived in Keflavik—not Reykjavik, not on an international flight—and Crowley’s reasoning became apparent quickly. The flight didn’t exactly get in early, but this time of year the sun didn’t rise until noon, so it was the middle of the night when they landed at nine AM. They still didn’t have the Bentley (Newt was not to touch the car back in Sussex, and he was terrified enough of Crowley that Aziraphale suspected he’d form a permanent bond with the houseplants) but Crowley had managed a half-decent rental car. He convinced Aziraphale to get in before breakfast—“Trust me, angel, there’s food where we’re going!”—and they set out into the night. The weather was somewhat warm for the season. It was cold, but not freezing.

Iceland was famous for its stunning scenery and dramatic landscapes, but in darkness like this all they could see were black shapes against gray sky. As the sun rose, it cast long shadows over a broken landscape. The earth had cracked and crackled after centuries of volcanic activity, leaving fields that looked like the ruined cities of ancient giants. Trees here were short and grew in sparse copses—it had once been a forest island, but not after the Nordic settlers arrived—and the tumbling rocks were covered in silver-gray lichens and mosses. Here on the southwest corner, the mountains were mostly distant, framing the horizon.

Crowley peeled off the main road and drove towards an alpine cluster, and the sky grew lighter. He was sure Aziraphale would guess immediately—apparently the angel had been reading about Iceland—but it wasn’t until they drove past the first pools that Crowley saw his eyes light up. He’d picked this place for stupid, indulgent reasons, one of which was that the color of Aziraphale’s eyes matched the water exactly. (He also liked the idea of getting out of the chill for once, warming his serpentine bones, and that played into it.)

Hot springs. Deep-earth saltwater, heated by the volcano and pumped into what was essentially a fancy swimming pool by these brilliant, stupid human beings that they both loved so much. It was indulgent and warm and frankly good for their corporations and souls alike, and after doing things the Human Way for a bit he could use a little pampering.

There was a resort. Crowley had picked the top package, the one that came with free breakfast and facial treatments and daily yoga and guided hikes in addition to everything you could ask for at the hot springs. He’d booked a room for two nights, one with a view of the lagoons. It only came with a single king-sized bed, but honestly, so had every other place they’d stayed. Crowley was the only one who used it. Aziraphale just stayed up reading. Aside from a comment on the décor—“Clearly you chose this place, it looks just like the flat in London with a bit more natural light.”—Aziraphale didn’t mention it at all.

Aziraphale immediately ran off on one of the guided hikes, spouting something about history and geography. Crowley did yoga, taking a moment to try and guess what the angel was getting at with this trip in the first place. He was done first, and was relaxing in their suite with a silica mask when Aziraphale got back (grumpy from the physical activity, but excited about the geological history). Then there was dinner at the restaurant—a great wall of glass built next to the natural volcanic stone, with a table for two right next to illuminated volcanic pools and a plate of Icelandic cod for the angel—and a quick change into suits before they went into the main pool.

Public baths were familiar to them both—they had been around since the moment humans had discovered the delights of warm water—but there was something mystical about hot springs. The vivid water, as opaque and blue as a settled fog. The mist that rose and danced in the air as wind whipped around them, eddying in the rocks and around bridges. The open air, cold and wet with rain against the heat of the water.

The pool was an expanse. The far borders were lost in the mist, and patrons drifted through the water in various masks: mostly white silica, ghostly, with their laughter and conversations muted by the open space. The resort provided towels and bathrobes, so the bridges around the pools were inhabited by patrons in white as well, exploring the intricate landscape of the baths.

Crowley and Aziraphale hung their robes on hooks outside and darted to the water, laughing. They had both slicked back their hair with conditioner—the salt and silica stuck and dried it out—and Aziraphale looked ridiculous, his characteristic curls stuck flat to his head. Someone took someone’s hand and they ended up drifting like the dead in the water, looking up at the darkness and locked together, holding tightly, refusing to ever let go.

Crowley washed his hair in the private shower of their suite. The conditioner had done little to protect it, despite the spa’s claims that it had been specially designed for the water here. He could just miracle back the keratin, but some deep-down part of him liked the feeling of Aziraphale seeing him as imperfect. He slathered it in a keratin treatment instead, slicking it back against his head, before drying off and wrapping up in a robe. He’d get some rest and in the morning—

The demon’s wandering train of thought was jolted off its track as he came into the bedroom. Aziraphale was sitting on the bed. The angel was wearing pyjamas, silk beige ones with a gold trim, which was a sight Crowley had not ever thought he’d see. His hair was frizzy with silica and salt. He looked nervous. He jumped when Crowley closed the bathroom door.

“Ah. Hello.”

“Hello,” said Crowley, waving his hand in Aziraphale’s general direction. You’re in my bed, the gesture said. This is a new turn of events, please tell me what is happening.

“Yes. Well. I thought perhaps—so much has happened, lately. So much has changed. I’m… I’m tired, I think.” Aziraphale swallowed. “I’m quite tired. And I’ve never been much good at…” At trusting anyone, the pause said. At relaxing enough to let my guard down. Relaxing invites attack. Relaxing means I cannot avoid conflict once I see it coming. “…At sleeping. I thought perhaps I’d try it.”

“Am I on the couch, then?” asked Crowley, perhaps a bit more snidely than he meant it. It wasn’t so much that he was opposed to seeing the angel in pyjamas. He just assumed, at this point, that it was part of the Agreement that he was entitled to any bed in a room they shared, and he’d been looking forward to this one.

He’d give up any bed in the world for Aziraphale, but that was beside the point.

“No,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh,” said Crowley, surprised.

It was utterly impossible to sleep. The bed was warm and soft, and the rain pattered outside in a gentle white noise. Crowley rolled over, restless, assuming he’d see Aziraphale as a knot of blankets with a little angelic cloud of hair sticking out. Not the case: Aziraphale had turned to look at him, too.

Their eyes met. Gold to blue. Crowley breathed.

“You’re not very good at this,” said Aziraphale. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Sometimes it’s difficult.”

“Clearly.”

“You’ve messed with my usual routine,” said Crowley. “I don’t usually have distracting angels in my bed.”

“Distracting?” Aziraphale’s voice was prim. “So sinful.”

Crowley hit him with a pillow.

The second night was clearer, and the private lagoon that came with their suite produced less steam. Crowley, who was beginning to doubt that he would ever sleep again, floated in the water and watched the stars for a while. There was some small light pollution from the spa and a nearby geothermal plant, but for the most part the sky was clear, and he could see the galaxy.

Aziraphale joined him. Crowley hadn’t bothered with a suit—no one could see them here and he still felt a little weird dressing up to get in a bath. Neither had the angel. He laid back in the water and joined Crowley without a word.

Crowley pointed. “Helped build that one,” he said.

“I know,” said Aziraphale. He pointed at a nearby cluster. “And those. And most of the structures around Ursa Major, didn’t you?”

“You kept track?”

“It’s not hard,” said Aziraphale. “You tell me every time we go stargazing. We’ve done quite a lot of stargazing.”

Crowley laughed. “Humans say, when they get old, their friends know all their stories.”

“And their partners,” said Aziraphale, and then he seemed like he was going to say something else, but he hesitated.

Crowley elbowed him. “Why are you so nervous?”

“It’s my turn tomorrow,” said Aziraphale. “You’ll find out then.”

It was New Year’s Eve. They didn’t leave early, not until the sun was up. They needed to arrive after dark, Aziraphale insisted, and the drive wasn’t too long.

Bullshit, in Crowley’s opinion. Not too long was about seven hours from the resort, at the speed limit and with no stops. They drove north, touched the edge of Reykjavik, then swung east on Route 1 and took the Ring Road into eternity. And Aziraphale kept stopping for nibbles and photo opportunities. They took a detour north because he simply had to see Þingvallir National Park, and then he kept taking pictures out of the car window rather than just waiting for the lookout points, and then there was this lovely little farm-to-table place in Reykholt where they had to stop for a late lunch. It had a stunning mountain view, although it also had views into the actual barn and Crowley felt a bit odd eating a hamburger next to its still-living friends.

“Is this the thing?” Crowley asked, every time they stopped. Þingvallir was spectacular, great sweeping hills absolutely spattered with snowcapped mountains and boiling, broken earth. The barn food was good. The landscape was beautiful. But each time, Aziraphale shook his head. He was stalling, the bastard. Wherever he wanted to be, Crowley suspected he wanted to be there at midnight.

It was eleven-thirty when Aziraphale told him to pull over into a nondescript parking lot. They were a third of the way around the Ring Road. They weren’t even close to a town. (Hof didn’t count, it had a total of six intersections and five roads.) It was as godforsaken as Crowley was, and that was saying something.

“Just pull in,” said Aziraphale. Crowley was grumpy and tired. “I promise you, it’s worth it.”

Crowley obeyed. Wherever they were, Aziraphale had dragged them to the ends of the earth for it. Demons trusted no one, but Crowley trusted his angel. Always.

They parked and Crowley stepped out onto black sand. It was gritty and volcanic and nothing special, exactly: it covered the entire island like a blanket. It even pooled up at the bottom of the hot springs. They hadn’t traveled all this way to see sand.

Crowley turned around.

It was a minor miracle, he was sure, that the sky was still so clear and the beach was so empty. They were the only sentient creatures present for miles, and the stars spilled above them in a shining display that was almost as clear as the day Crowley had made them. They looked like diamonds, spilled across a sky of black velvet. And in front of him, in this perfect place, the beach—

“Behind us—they call it Glacier Bay. It’s full of icebergs that break off from the glaciers, and they all exit the bay through that small opening there. They break up and smooth down in the ocean, then get caught in the tide and pulled back here.”

“Angel…”

“They call it Diamond Beach because the ice is so clear and smooth, and the broken ice looks like diamonds on the black sand. One of the employees at the bookshop in Edinburgh went here, they showed me pictures. They do look like diamonds, of course, but I saw the pictures and I thought it looked more like—”

“Stars,” Crowley breathed.

Some of the shards were the size of Crowley’s hand; some were the size of Crowley. They were scattered along the sand like glass on ink, like stars on the sky, like diamonds on velvet, and it was freezing but it was beautiful, and this time Crowley knew exactly whose hand reached for whose. He’d taken Aziraphale’s and grasped it tight.

“I thought we could go for a walk here,” said Aziraphale.

“You brought us to Iceland for a walk?” He’d already started, tugging the angel along behind him. Down the slope to the beach, careful not to slip. Aziraphale cleared his throat and caught up.

“One could put it that way.” The angel extracted his hand from the demon’s in favor of tucking into Crowley’s arm instead. He was clearly trying to be romantic, to cuddle a little, but he was too nervous and his back had gone stiff. Crowley kissed the top of the angel’s head.

“I saw it and it reminded me of you,” said Aziraphale, clearly trying to segue into something. “You helped make the stars. It’s silly, thinking you’re older than me. I wasn’t around yet, not for that part.”

“Didn’t think I was older than you.”

“Not by much.”

“Not by much,” Crowley mimicked in a posh accent. He was teasing. Time as a concept didn’t really apply to angels.

“Hush, you. It made me think, well. You talk about them so much, and I think it was a happy time for you. I hope it was a happy time for you.” Complicated topic. But Aziraphale was building up to something, and Crowley wasn’t going to stop him. “And because, well, because it seems like a memory of a safe place, something important to you—a beginning, really. Not our beginning, not The Beginning—oh dear, maybe I should have done this in a garden—”

“Angel.” Crowley laughed. The sand sunk under their footsteps and the ocean—pure Atlantic, powerful and deep—beat steadily in the background. “Keep going.”

“It just seemed like a good place to ask you a question, that’s all. I didn’t have a diamond. This isn’t very well thought-through.”

Crowley paused. There was a feeling like warmth spreading through his chest.

Aziraphale took the opportunity to let go of Crowley’s arm and turn to face him. They stood there, eyes locked, twin points of light and darkness in a line parallel to the ocean. The angel breathed deeply, and the demon forgot to breathe at all.

“I need you to know what it is that I am asking,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t… There’s so much of this, of our relationship, that I never want to change. I enjoy our independence. I will never stop you from running off to see Bond Films at the cinema or saying unforgiveable things to your plants. I know that over the years we have both developed—ah—close relationships with humans on occasion, and I do not expect that to stop for either of us. I think those relationships, whatever they might be, are important to us.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I think our freedom, however we use it, is important to our dynamic. I don’t want anything to change between us, except perhaps for each of us to… to know. Crowley—Anthony—earlier this year I said something truly horrible to you, and I need you to know it wasn’t true. It has never been true, not really. I’ve been lying to myself. I think I’ve been lying to myself for quite a long time.”

The angel took the demon’s hand.

“I am on our side. Anthony Crowley—”

“Anthony J. Crowley—” It was a reflex.

“Anthony J. Crowley, I have chosen you for six thousand years. I have done so bucking and—and fighting, on occasion. But I have done so. And I know that you’ve done the same to me. In fact—in fact, I think I’ve lied to myself more than you’ve ever lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” said Crowley, holding that hand like it was the end of the world.

“What I’m asking you,” said Aziraphale, “is simply to… make it official, as it were. Say to each other, directly, that we are on our side and no one else’s. That we will choose each other over all future sides. All future… er, choices. All future loves.”

He removed his signet ring.

“When I say marriage—”

Crowley finally broke down. He wasn’t sure if he was laughing at Aziraphale’s monologue—was this a proposal or a contract?—or crying at the sudden rush of emotion, but he closed one hand around the ring and the other around Aziraphale’s waist and kissed him. Kissed him under the stars and among the diamonds, hours away from civilization, at the stroke of midnight.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, you idiot, always yes.” Crowley’s hands cupped his angel’s face, drinking in the love that poured from Aziraphale like a fountain. “You’re right. I’ve always picked you above everything. Everyone. Always. Easy to be ourselves and still do that. It’s natural.”

Natural didn’t always mean easy—especially to Aziraphale, who could be loyal to a fault to all the wrong people. But they were free to be themselves. Free to live however they wanted. Free to choose each other. Crowley put the signet ring on his finger, already mentally sketching out a serpentine ring to match it.

This time it was Aziraphale who kissed him.

#Ineffable Husbands #ineffable husbands fanfic #ineffable partners #spoilers in the tags #marriage proposal #new years eve #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley #crowley and aziraphale #Place Without Plot

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chocoluckchipz-bag · 5 years

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Unexpected Surprise - 14

Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

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Marinette could get used to the view - barely covered by a blanket Adrien sprawled on his bed in the perfect cuddling position. She scooted closer. His chiselled-by-workouts body, his gorgeous face, peaceful and calm in his slumber, messy hair splattered all over his pillow, the perfect, slightly open lips… Gently, she ran her fingers across his evenly rising and falling chest just as the first rays of sun peeked through the curtains. Adrien wriggled his nose and scrunched his face. The muscles on his chest twitched and murmuring under his breath, he twisted in his sleep, curling away from her and the sunlight. Marinette giggled. Yup, she could definitely get used to the view - gorgeous, but still adorable and dorky. She shifted closer again and rested her head on Adrien’s back, thanking the universe for the time zones - still living on the Parisian time was the sole reason Marinette was awake before six in the morning in NYC.

A beeping sound suddenly shattered the silence. Adrien groaned, his hand acting on its own as he shut the alarm off. Without opening his eyes, he turned back to Marinette and wrapped her in a hug.

“Morning,” he whispered, his voice deep and rusty from the slumber.

“It’s still fifteen minutes to six,” Marinette replied. “Didn’t you say you don’t have to wake up before six?”

“Yup.” Adrien yawned. “Get up at six. Fifteen minutes before- cuddle ceremony.” He pulled her closer, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Mhhhh, you smell nice.”

Adrien’s hair tickling her skin, Marinette giggled as she wrapped her hands around him, placing a kiss on a top of his head. “Sounds perfect.”

They lingered in each other’s arms for a few minutes before Marinette asked. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Office. You. Escape the paparazzi.”

Another sound shrieked through the room, and Adrien groaned again, moving closer to Marinette. “Too early. I’m busy. Make it stop.”

“I would,” Marinette laughed. “But I’m currently being immobilized by a cuddle monster. Can’t move. You should’ve put your phone on Do Not Disturb.”

“It is on Do Not Disturb,” Adrien replied, opening his eyes. “Except Emma and you have an override privilege.” Pulling away, he reached for the device. “Yup. That’s her. Give me a few.” With a soft smile, Adrien picked up the call. “Morning, sweetheart. How are you? Me? Yes, of course, I'm already up- Momma? Yup. Right here- Okay.”

Adrien pressed the speaker mode and Emma’s chipper voice immediately filled the room as she dived straight away in telling them everything she’d done since her last call, starting with a new book Grandma Sabine had read her yesterday, finishing with exciting additions to the bakery’s breakfast menu she’d helped Grandpapi Tom to choose just now. Then it was Marinette and Adrien’s turn to explain what the two of them were planning to do today and when they heard Sabine call Emma’s name in the background, Adrien’s cell phone alarm went off again.

“I adore Emma to pieces,” Adrien admitted, wrapping Marinette into a hug as soon as Emma hung up. “But I’d love to have you all to myself from time to time.”

“Possessive, aren’t we?” Marinette teased. Laughing at his pout, she added. “Not judging you, though – I might be feeling the same way. Emma’s had my undivided attention for five years. I think it’s about time she learned to share.”

“Let’s hope she’s a good learner.”

“She is. That’s one of the things I love about her.”

“And I love you,” Adrien whispered, leaning closer for a lingering kiss, his hands cupping Marinette’s face. “Did you know you’re the best thing that had ever happened to me?”

“And you to me,” Marinette replied, pressing her lips to his collarbone. “Love you too.”

They shared a few more kisses and tender moments before Adrien glanced at the clock. “As heartbroken as I am but it’s time to get up, Princess,” he sighed. “However, since we’ve missed the ceremony, what would you say about an evening equivalent?”

“Sounds perfect,” Marinette replied with a chuckle, running her fingers through Adrien’s hair. “Now, let’s pretty you up, so you can finish this thing in style.”

Adrien smiled, pulling Marinette in. “You, on the other hand, look perfect already.”

“Flatterer.”

“Just an honest person.”

Swamped by everyday routine, their morning flew by fast. They’d helped each other with the wardrobe choices and cooked their breakfast together, all while deliberating the ways to keep the paparazzi off their track. Adrien departed for the office right after the meal, leaving Marinette to wait for Thomas, the company's driver. About an hour after he'd gone, the paparazzi at the front door largely vanished and Thomas, donning civilian clothes, came by to pick up Marinette in a less suspicious car than the company’s limousine. Per Adrien’s suggestion, he’d also brought her a disguise - a wig of rich brown waves with red highlights and the biggest pair of sunglasses Marinette had ever seen. Feeling playful, she styled the wig into her signature low ponytails, dressed in the brand-new pair of boyfriend jeans she had bought specifically for this trip and rummaged Adrien’s closet for a t-shirt that would fit her.

The effect it had on Adrien was worth the trouble. As he caught her sight of entering the office, his eyes instantly widened. Mouth slack and frozen in his place, Adrien swallowed before saying something to the person he’d been conversing with and leaving them without looking back.

“If you’re trying to kill me, you’ve succeeded,” he quietly said into her ear, giving her a welcome cheek kiss.

“Baseless accusations,” Marinette whispered back. “Just dressing according to my “Adrien’s girlfriend” mood.”

“I thought we were trying to hide you.”

“From paparazzi.” She shrugged. “As far as I know every employee at Gabriel's offices are under a non-disclosure agreement or am I wrong? Plus, don’t forget that I’m wearing a wig so even if someone will give me away, all I have to do is to wear a different wig tomorrow.”

Adrien chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s why you were Ladybug. Always thinking a step ahead.” Turning to face the people curiously staring at them from all over the room, he added, “Everyone, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng - one of the head designers at the main office, bursting with ideas, fearless, kind, gorgeous and simply an amazing person. If I get my way, my future wife, so, please, make her feel welcome and keep her identity under the wraps. I want her to enjoy NYC paparazzi-free.”

“Adrien,” Marinette yelped, feeling much hotter than just a second ago.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Just acting according to my ‘I’ve moved a few steps closer to my goal’ mood.”

“Dork,” she puffed.

“Yours,” he grinned. “Now, come on. Let me introduce you to the people Father mentioned in your ‘instructions’.”

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly. While they spent most of it together, there were a few moments where Marinette explored the office by herself, devoting most time to the designer department, observing, giving advice, taking notes and sketching the new ideas in her sketchbook. To avoid the media, Adrien asked Thomas, their driver, to get their food delivered to the office. When the evening came, he offered her a choice.

“I’ve got three days left of work at the office - today, Thursday, and half a day on Friday; but since you are here, I can cram in a few extra hours today and on Thursday. That’ll leave all of Friday free for us. What do you think?”

“What about Wednesday?”

“Photoshoot. Would take most of the day, though. It’s a final one - they’ll squeeze whatever they can out from me.”

“And Saturday?”

“Nothing really. It was left as a backup day in case I need extra time, but it doesn’t look this way as of now.”

“So technically we can have two days to ourselves before our Sunday’s flight back, right?”

“Yup.” Adrien nodded.

“I think the choice is obvious. Why are you even asking me?”

“Because,” Adrien wrapped Marinette in a hug, settling beside her on a very comfortable loveseat she’d occupied for the last hour in his office. “Cramming in a few more hours would mean staying here those few more hours, and you've just dozed off for what I suspect was not the first time.”

“Sorry,” Marinette smiled apologetically. “It’s late in Paris and I’m still on their time.”

“Then why don’t you go home and rest. I’ll come when I’m done.”

“But-”

“No buts, Marinette,” Adrien gently scolded. “We were supposed to go home separately anyway, and Thomas’ workday will be over soon, so go and rest.”

“I wanted to spend all of the time I can with you.”

Adrien nuzzled her nose. “Sleeping in an awkward position on a couch while I'm working can hardly be considered spending time together. You should rest, Marinette. We’ll have some time alone tomorrow after the shoot. I might even take you out to one of my favourite places here.”

Marinette stayed silent for a second but then failed to suppress a yawn. “You honestly wouldn’t mind me leaving you?”

“I insist,” Adrien said before a smirk split his lips. “Unless you allow me to ravish you right here, right now-”

“Adrien,” Marinette squeaked. “There are people still in the office. You said it yourself - Thomas is waiting to drive me home.”

“Risk makes it all more interesting,” Adrien leaned down and slowly kissed her neck. “So, what do you say, Princess? May I?”

“I say the most you’ll get right now are cuddles,” Marinette responded, shoving him away a bit. “But if you manage to finish the work and still catch me awake at home, then I might consider your offer.”

“Perfect,” Adrien purred, weaving his arms around her back. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Adrien pulled away, saying that Thomas’ workday would end in half an hour, so it probably was a good time to call for him. Riding home, Marinette caught herself dozing off a few more times, and once she exited the shower, she crawled under the blankets and blacked out. She didn’t hear Adrien coming in a few hours later, but she still snuggled onto him when he pulled her into a hug, giving her a goodnight kiss.

On Wednesday, Marinette saved Richard another few hours of shooting. Inspired by her presence, Adrien did a fantastic job in record time and earned just enough free time to take Marinette out to Central Park. Since both of them were wearing disguises, the pair managed to avoid unnecessary attention and spent an evening quietly strolling along the lesser known paths of the park. They talked about the past, remembering the good times, and discussed their plans for the future. Marinette admitted to wanting to put her own spin on Gabriel’s style for a while now. After hearing her ideas, Adrien thought she should’ve done that a long time ago.

“Father loves this kind of stuff,” he beamed. “You’re brilliant, Marinette. I guarantee, he’ll give you your own line if he sees these ideas.”

“You think so?”

“I know so!”

“Alright. I might as well try it. What about you?”

“Hm, well, for me there’ll be no more catwalks that’s for sure. The December show will be my last one. Maybe some random photoshoots for fun in the future, but I’ll be moving towards managing the business side of Gabriel.”

“Getting too old for the pictures?” she teased. “Don’t worry, Chaton, you’ll always be handsome for me.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” Adrien chuckled and winked at her. “I’m glad to know the most gorgeous woman on this planet thinks I’m handsome.”

Marinette laughed. “You do know you are an incorrigible dork, right?”

“I don’t think you mind, though.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I don’t care,” Adrien smiled and lifted her hand for inner wrist kiss. “Love you, Mari.”

“Love you too, Chaton.”

He didn’t let her hand go once until they got into his car to go home, and even then, Adrien reached for it as often as he could, finishing the day holding Marinette in his arms. She loved every moment of it.

Thursday was spent almost identically to her previous day at Gabriel’s office, the only difference being Marinette staying awake until the very end. Adrien managed to finish his work a little earlier and was pleasantly surprised by a goodbye party his coworkers organized. They got home late, not even bothering to take two separate cars because even if the paparazzi were to camp at Adrien’s place or his office doorsteps, the darkness and the disguise hid Marinette’s identity quite well. Still, the fact that her name hadn’t made it into the papers yet was astonishing. Though, they did go to extremes to protect her. There were even rumours floating around about how harshly Richard himself dealt with the person who’d leaked her pictures after personally tracking them down.

“He’s vicious,” Marinette noted when Adrien had confirmed that someone did turn up at his office to beg for forgiveness.

“Only when someone wrongs the people he loves,” Adrien shrugged. “Otherwise, he’s an old softie in disguise.”

On Friday they slept in, and then spend the afternoon strolling along the streets scattered with multitudes of little shops and vendors, buying presents for friends and family. It was a bit trickier to stay undetected in a highly populated area in daylight, so Marinette changed her wig to long blonde hair while Adrien “forgot” to shave and wore a black hair wig of his own. He added a hat, and both wore sunglasses.

“I’ve never had so much fun,” Adrien kept whispering from time to time. “I feel like a kid again.”

“And a very handsome one at that,” Marinette said, brushing his jawline with her fingers. “I think I like that stubble look on you. Do that often once we’re home.”

“Absolutely,” he purred. “What about a beard? I once grew it out and let me tell you - rocked it too.”

Marinette laughed. “I don’t think I’m there yet, but we’ll see. Let’s start with a random stubble for now.”

“As my Lady wishes,” Adrien bowed his head and pulled her towards a hot dog stand on the side of the walkway. He swore she'd love those.

Friday’s visit to the François family in the evening of that day, however, was the event that Marinette considered the most interesting of the whole trip. She’d never expected it to be more than a farewell party from Adrien’s closest friends in NYC. It turned out to be an insight into the character of Adrien Agreste of six years after.

They arrived a few minutes before the appointed time.

“Everything will be alright.” Adrien squeezed Marinette’s hand reassuringly. “They might be a bit unconventional, but they’re really cool. You’ll like them. I promise.”

“I’m sure I will-” Marinette didn’t finish the sentence when the door was swung open and the pair was pulled inside by the host.

“Bonsoir, bonsoir, my dears!” Richard greeted them with a broad smile as the other members of the family eagerly encircled Marinette. He briefly introduced everyone: his wife Lucia, their children Sofia and Edward with their spouses Peter and Megan, as well as their four grandchildren: twin five-years-old boys, a toddler girl and a four-month-old baby Antoine.

A bit overwhelmed by all of the commotions around her, Marinette could do little but smile and greet everyone while focusing on Adrien’s arm around her waist... at least, until even that anchor was taken away by Lucia dragging Adrien into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“You are so much better with Bolognese, Adrien,” Lucia practically pleaded. “I am really sorry but, please, do me a favour and finish the damn sauce. Last time, I promise.”

“Alright, alright.” Adrien chuckled and turned to Marinette, to see if she wanted to go with him since most already dispersed back into the apartment.

“She’ll stay with me, won’t you?” Sofia rushed to interfere, looping her arm around Marinette’s. “I didn’t gather a whole bunch of stories about you for nothing, Agreste. I simply must share. She has to know just what kind of person she’s gotten herself involved with.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows me,” Adrien retorted.

“Oh, but does she know what you’ve been up to all these years in NYC?” Sofia wiggled her eyebrows. “Shoo, Agreste. Let the women gossip about their men.”

Adrien seemed to hesitate and, intrigued by Sofia’s proposal, Marinette assured that she would be fine waiting for him with Sofia.

“Okay,” Adrien smiled. “I’ll be quick and—” he glared at the other girl, “—do not embarrass me, Sofia.”

The girl puffed. “Please, with what? No offence, Agreste, but you’re one of the most boring people I’ve ever met. Can you believe—” she turned to Marinette, “—he lived in the city that never sleeps and still managed to spend all of his time at work or home? Boring! Bland and tedious.”

“Don’t believe her, Marinette,” Adrien pouted. “I did tons of fun stuff.”

“Sure, you did,” Sofia deadpanned. “Like learning to cook with Mama who spent more time teaching you than her own daughter. So much fun.”

“My daughter hates cooking,” Lucia shouted from the kitchen. “And this nice, young man was starving and willing to learn. Don’t blame me for your own choices!”

“I didn’t!” Sofia retorted. “Just pointing out that Adrien had lots of fun here. Also, oh my gosh, Marinette, you won’t believe but he used to read all the time. All those huge, boring books-”

“Those were for my school. I did get a Master’s degree, you know.”

Sofia shrugged. “That doesn’t excuse them being lacklustre. However,” she added with a smug smirk. “Even you’ve had your moments, Agreste, so I can’t promise you anything. There might be one or two stories Marinette would love to hear.”

Adrien narrowed his eyes at her. Marinette couldn’t hold back a smile. So that’s how it felt to have a sibling? Even if not an official one, but the thought of Adrien having had someone to care for him those years in the States was heartwarming, and these people, the whole family, seemed to love him as one of their own.

“Oh! I know!” Sofia suddenly stirred up, turning to Marinette with a wiggle of eyebrows and a sly smile on her lips. “I’ll tell you about the time Dad was trying to set us up and how much Agreste was dying to get out of it. You should’ve seen him, Marinette. He was like a deer caught in headlights. ‘I respect you, sir, and Sofia is beautiful and smart and amazing, but she like a sister to me. I could never date her.’ That was hilarious.”

“Please,” Adrien puffed. “You wanted out even more than I did.”

“Duh! You’re like a brother. Like, ewww? No way. Plus, Peter and I were a thing already—” she glanced across the room at a man holding a baby, “—I just hadn’t told the folks about him yet.”

“They got married a year later,” Adrien added. “Almost eloped, but we managed to talk her out of it.”

“Edward did,” Sofia laughed. “You were a picture of misery the whole time.”

“I was not!”

“Yup, you were,” Edward chuckled, walking closer.

“Hey, I was happy for you, guys!” Adrien pouted.

“Of course, you were happy for our little troublemaker,” Edward laughed, hugging Adrien’s shoulder. “No one denies that. But you were also not so successfully trying to hold back tears at her wedding.”

“From happiness!”

“And every time Edward’s wife had a baby?”

“That’s-”

“Oh, please, Adrien,” Sofia rolled her eyes. “Deny it all you want, but you wear your heart on your sleeve, you know. Yes, you were happy for us, but you were also sad and miserable and refused to tell us why.”

“The most I got out of him,” Edward added, “was that there was someone who he was in love with for years, but whose life he’d ruined, and now that person didn’t want anything to do with him and he still loved them and couldn’t move on. Though, I had to get him really, really drunk for that confession to come out.”

“I hate you guys,” Adrien huffed and glared at the two. “The one and only time I let you take me out to a bar-”

“Sofia! Ed! Leave the poor boy alone!” their mother shouted from the kitchen. “You’re going to scare Marinette away with your nonsense. Come here, Adrien. Bring Marinette with you and leave those heathens behind.” A wave of chuckles and giggles filled the room. Adrien straightened up.

“Thank you, Aunt Lucia,” he shouted before offering his hand to Marinette. “Would you join me in the kitchen, my Lady? Those insensitive individuals did not deserve your company.”

“Aw, come on!” Sofia whined. “We were just having fun. Leave her with us.”

“Too late,” Adrien pulled Marinette to himself and stuck his tongue out. “She is all mine and I don’t share with bullies.”

“We love you, Adrien,” Sofia retorted, stepping away herself to check up on her husband who seemed to be having troubles with getting their baby to sleep. Edward got distracted by one of his kids as well, so the pair effortlessly sneaked away.

“Adrien is a nice boy, don’t listen to them,” Lucia mumbled under her breath as soon as they entered the kitchen. “He's kind and smart, hard-working and an amazing cook. Those tactless kids of mine just like to tease him, and he is too nice to play their games. That’s their father’s doing. I told Richard to stop doing that because the kids would learn it, but does he ever listen to me? Here—” she passed a bowl full of ingredients to Adrien. “If you don’t mind, dear. Your Bolognese is the best and we’ll retaliate by not sharing.”

Adrien chuckled and headed to the stove.

“They weren’t so bad,” Marinette said. “I can tell they love Adrien- in their own special way. Plus, I got to learn something new about him.”

“Want to learn more?” Sofia peaked through the door. “I have tons of stories left.”

“Shoo, you evil child!” Lucia cried out. “Go set the table if you have nothing better to do. I’m almost done with dinner.”

“I can help,” Marinette offered, seeing as she wasn’t going to be very useful at the kitchen with Adrien and the older woman seemingly having everything under control.

“See? She wants the stories, Mama! Come with me, girl. I’ll tell you all of his secrets,” Sofia quickly pulled Marinette out of the room to Lucia’s discontent huffing and Adrien’s laugh. Marinette giggled herself. It was chaotic. Overwhelming even, but undeniably those people cared a lot about each other and about Adrien. It could be felt in the air. She could see it in their eyes. It must have been such a contrast for Adrien to get into this family after his lonely childhood life.

The table setting didn’t take long, seeing as Megan, Edward’s wife, had finally managed to escape from her kids and lend them a hand. Together, they told Marinette about Adrien’s life in the States, starting from the time their father dragged the depressed, lonely model into their house, and ending with him surprising them with the news of Emma and Marinette. There wasn’t much in between - just a few silly NYC adventures when they practically forced Adrien out.

“He liked to stay at home when he didn't work or study,” Sofia said. “We tried to get him out but the stubborn ass would usually refuse, and even if he did go out with us, he'd just sit there with that look on his face.”

“I always hated it,” Megan added. “He looked like a kicked puppy. There was always that sadness in his eyes, you know?”

“Especially when Dad tried to set him up those few times. Poor guy looked even more depressed after a date than before it and never went on a second one. We gave up on that pretty soon. I think he suffered through three?”

Megan shook her head. “Nope. Two. You were supposed to be the third one, remember?”

“Oh right,” Sofia sighed. “Well, we’re sure glad it's in the past and he has you now, Marinette,” Sofia smiled and out of the blue wrapped her arms around Marinette. “Thank you so much. I know it might sound strange coming from a complete stranger, but Adrien means a lot to us, and we are very thankful you appeared in his life. He looks happy. Really happy. Genuinely so. Please, be kind to him.”

“I will,” Marinette whispered, holding back tears. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. Adrien got free from the kitchen pretty soon but was snatched up by a horde of kids who insisted that Uncle Adrien was to play with them. As soon as he complied, the level of laughs and squeals in the house rose significantly. Marinette could hardly keep her eyes off Adrien as he wrestled and carried the kids around on his shoulders. The children loved him and he was terrific with them. No wonder he was so good with Emma; he had a lot of practice here. It explained perfectly why he was so happy and eager to be a father as well.

Then followed the loudest dinner Marinette had ever attended, yet in a fun and wholehearted way. Adrien seemed to be right at home, even if the stories about him never ended and more than one of those were told with the sole purpose to tease him. He quickly retaliated, though, telling Marinette his own tales about the people around the table, causing the whole room to erupt with laughs. By the end of the evening, Marinette, in a way, felt a little guilty taking him away from them, but they approved. Adrien was loved here and his happiness stood above their own wishes.

They left late evening and Marinette felt as much a part of their family as was Adrien. Sofia proclaimed her to be her new sister. Richard and Lucia invited them over whenever they would be on this side of the Atlantic. Edward shook Adrien’s hand and wished him well as an older brother would. Everyone hugged, and from the corner of her eye, Marinette noticed lingering tears in more than one pair of eyes.

“I see you weren’t as lonely as you’ve told me,” Marinette teased him as soon as they left. “They’re great people, Adrien. I really enjoyed this evening.”

“They are awesome,” Adrien replied with a bittersweet smile on his face. “But... over the years… looking at them- it was just- you know when you see your friends- family almost,” he corrected. “When you see them fall in love, date, get engaged, get married, when you hold their newborns in your hands and help them choose the right name, when you help cook and share those amazing evening together… all while knowing that you most likely will never get to experience that with the woman you love… that you perhaps will never have a family of your own… That—” he lightly squeezed Marinette's hand, not making eye contact, “—that was the lonely and miserable part.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette whispered and stopping, wrapped her arms around him.

“I'm sorry too,” Adrien whispered back, returning the embrace. “I can imagine it wasn't any easier for you.”

“I had Emma. And my parents. I had Alya, and Nino. I was still back home with lots of friends and even your father. He helped us too. You were all alone over here in a foreign country. And while Richard and his family are amazing — and I’m so, so glad they took you in — but if I understand correctly, they were your only friends here?”

Adrien nodded silently.

“I’m so sorry, Adrien,” Marinette whispered burying her face into his chest. “All because of me. Me and my stupid mistake.”

“I thought we agreed that it was my mistake too.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’ Marinette. I’m not lonely anymore. I have you and Emma. We have each other. That’s all that matters.”

“No, it’s not,” Marinette protested, pulling away and catching his gaze. “It’s been years, Adrien. Because of me-”

“Because of you,” Adrien stopped her speech, gently placing a finger to her lips. “I’m not lonely anymore. I have a family now and feel like the luckiest man alive. Because of what had happened we’ve become people we’re now. We’ve learned; we’ve matured. We’ve both messed up, Marinette. Not just you or me. We both did, and there is nothing we can do about it now.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he continued to gaze upon her. “We’re together and happy now. We know what we should work on, so let’s leave the past in the past and focus on the future. Okay?”

Marinette’s eyes filled with tears. Was there a limit to how much Adrien loved her? She didn’t know, but when he leaned closer and put his forehead to hers her heart fluttered.

“I love you,” Adrien whispered. “And I don’t want you blaming yourself for the rest of your life for something we both did.”

“I love you too, Adrien,” she barely breathed out, loud enough only for his ears. “With all my heart.”

“That's all that matters,” Adrien smiled at her and let his lips brushed against hers in a gentle touch. “Let's go home,” he added. “I need to show you just how much I love you.”

“Same,” Marinette replied quietly.

Saturday morning Marinette met with a smile on her lips. There wasn’t much planned for today: some last-minute packing, maybe a lunch out somewhere nearby and perhaps another walk at Central Park. The evening was reserved for a movie, cuddles and early bedtime since their plane was leaving first thing Sunday morning. So, not rushing to open her eyes, Marinette cuddled closer to Adrien, still flying somewhere between reality and dreamland as she relished in the warmth of being close. In response, Adrien wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her closer.

This. This felt nice. Marinette hummed satisfactory under her breath. This felt like something she’d really enjoy for the rest of her life. The whole last week was something she’d love to have for the rest of her life. Waking up cuddling to Adrien, spending their days in close proximity, working together, sharing their meals, relaxing in the evening watching a movie or just talking, falling asleep in his arms… It only needed Emma added in, and it would be perfect. Perfect enough for her to eagerly anticipate his promised proposal to come.

Adrien’s arms suddenly tightened around her as he whispered her name. He must have awoken already, but Marinette didn't rush to turn around to wish him good morning - the way he held her right now was way too comfortable for that.

“I love you- love you so much.” He tugged her closer.

“Love you too, Adrien,” Marinette replied quietly, softly stroking one of his hands on her stomach.

“You are my everything, Marinette,” Adrien murmured against her skin. “You and Emma- everything-”

This time she wanted to respond, but Adrien continued to whisper.

“Love you so much… Can’t live without you… Marinette… I’ll make you happy… I promise… Marry me…”

The breath in her chest hitched for just a moment, a smile splitting her lips. They really were meant to be. Otherwise, how could Adrien read her mind and know one of her greatest desires a few minutes after she’d wished for it?

“Marinette,” Adrien murmured against her bare skin, his voice raspy and deep. “My Lady… My Princess… I love you...”

“I love you too,” Marinette finally replied, swirling around, “Of course, I’ll marry you, Chaton, you silly kitty. There is nothing I want more right now than this.”

With that, she pulled Adrien to herself and kissed him. Kissed him slowly and tenderly, lingering in the sweetness of his lips, lavishing in the warmth of his embrace.

She pulled away a few moments later to meet Adrien’s bewildered eyes, as he blinked before letting a sleepy smile stretch on his lips. Ignoring his dumbfounded expression, Marinette leaned in again for another kiss. This time he responded.

“Didn’t know the cuddling ceremony was replaced by a kissing one,” Adrien purred once they parted. “Not complaining, though. I might even prefer this one. You have the best ideas, Princess.”

“Well, isn’t it what you do after you get proposed to?” Marinette said, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy. “You kiss your fiancée.”

Adrien pulled back. “I proposed to you?”

“Yup.” Marinette’s grin stretched wider. “You did.”

He blinked. “When?”

“Just now?”

A silent whimper escaped Adrien’s lips as he stared back at her in disbelief. After a short while, he said barely audible. “Marinette, I woke up being kissed. I don’t remember anything before that.”

They stared at each other in silence before Marinette gave in, snorted and erupted with laughter. “Really?”

“Yes,” Adrien whined, closing his eyes.

“You’ve missed your own proposal?” Marinette continued to giggle.

“That’s not funny, Princess.” He flopped back on the bed, a sad puppy look on his face. “Weeks of practice down the drain.”

“Awww. I almost feel sorry for you, Chaton, but I’ll let you know that you were very cuddly and sweet. A swoon-worthy proposal for sure. I couldn't refuse you even if I wanted to.”

Adrien chuckled. Raising himself over her on one elbow, he tucked away some stray hairs behind her ear with his other hand. “Then maybe, you’ll allow me to ask you again? It would’ve been nice to remember you saying Yes to me.”

“Sure.” Marinette nodded. “But I’ll agree again only if you can beat the Sleep Adrien’s proposal.”

“I see. So, I’ve got my work cut out for me?”

“Undeniably.”

“Well then—” still raised on one elbow he leaned down and nuzzled her jaw, whispering in her ear. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I love you. Will you marry me?”

“That's it?” she chuckled when Adrien refrained from adding anything else. “No big words and promises to beat your rival?”

“I’m sure Sleep Adrien already said all the words and promised you everything,” Adrien said, his voice husky as he traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, following the trail with his eyes. “But in the weeks that I’ve spent practicing my proposal speech, I’ve noticed that the simpler words are, the more effective and sincerer they are as well.”

“I suppose,” Marinette replied with a smile, placing her hand atop of his. “But you’ll need something extra to top Sleep Adrien because let me tell you - he was fantastic.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Adrien replied bringing her hand to his lips. “I’m sure he was great telling you things, but did he do something like this?” He let his lips brush against the inside of her wrist.

Marinette shook her hand.

“How about this?” Leaning down, Adrien peppered the curve of her jaw with tender butterfly kisses before moving on to her neck, gently sucking at her exposed skin.

Closing her eyes, Marinette let a sigh out. “No.”

“And this?” Adrien nibbled at her earlobe. “I’m sure Sleep Adrien was big on words, but I offer you my actions. So, what will you say, Marinette? Will you marry me?”

“Tempting,” Marinette whispered, locking her gaze on him. “You drive a hard deal, Chaton.”

The corner of his lips curved as Adrien’s eyes fell to her lips. Watching them for a short while, he caught her eyes again and added. “I have a lot more to offer to Mme Adrien Agreste, though. Would you like to become her, Marinette?”

“Yes,” Marinette whispered, tugging him closer. “And very much so.”

“Excellent,” Adrien smiled and capture her lips with his.

It had been well over a year since his son came back from the States. Sixteen months since Adrien had discovered he was a father and cleared all of the misunderstandings not only between Marinette and himself but between them as well. About fourteen months, Gabriel would guess, since the duo came back engaged from NYC - of no surprise to anyone and just as he'd predicted. Exactly a year since their wedding. Unnecessary delay where Gabriel’s opinion was considered, but Adrien and Marinette had insisted on enjoying the engagement stage for at least a few months, which, to be fair, that did give him the time to create a custom wedding dress for Marinette and allowed their friends to arrange some time off work to attend their tropical wedding gateway. Sunset beach ceremony wasn't what he personally would've chosen, but Emma was happy and so was Gabriel. In the end, his preferences aside, the fact that Marinette had decided to take Adrien’s last name and change Emma’s in the process as well, was most pleasing of all.

Emma Agreste sounded perfect.

Emma Agreste had too much of a hold on his heart, and he acknowledged it without shame. Even now, as Gabriel carefully inspected her drawings, he couldn't hold back a smile. Emma clearly inherited his fantastic fashion sense.

“Father?” Adrien’s voice split the silence of the room. Gabriel lifted his head, confused as for why he hadn’t heard the door opening.

“Oh, you are back. I assume the date went well?”

“Yes, it was amazing,” Adrien smiled, pulling Marinette into the office. “Where’s Emma?”

“She went to her room ten minutes ago.”

“You mean my old room?” Adrien teased. “I still can’t believe you removed my zip line because it suddenly isn't safe anymore.”

“We already discussed it, Adrien,” Gabriel replied nonchalantly. “Whoever visits more gets the room. Emma wins by a long run and if you want that zip line so badly, install it in your own house and stop bothering me.”

“I’ve been robbed,” Adrien mock pouted. “Stripped of the place I’ve spent most of life in.”

Gabriel sighed. Marinette giggled.

“We appreciate it, M Agreste,” she said, putting a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “And Emma loves it. She’s still ecstatic about the princess treehouse and the royal carriage bed you put in for her. Even started bugging Adrien to buy her a similar one for her room at home.”

“I see,” Gabriel smirked in satisfaction, looking at Adrien. “So, remodelling the room to suit her particular tastes wasn't that unnecessary after all.”

“My climbing wall is still her favourite feature, though,” Adrien countered. “You can’t deny that.”

Gabriel sighed. “I suppose I can’t. She is your daughter after all.”

“She is,” Adrien grinned proudly. “And as unbelievable as it sounds, she takes a lot after me.”

“Maybe, but she undoubtedly inherited her mother’s fashion talent,” Gabriel added. “You can't deny that.”

“I suppose I can’t,” Adrien chuckled and looked at Marinette. “And I don’t mind in the slightest.”

“Speaking of which,” Gabriel leaned back into his chair and looked at Marinette. “Would you to bring her to the office next week? I want to start with that line I promised her. She has some interesting ideas already.”

“Wait.” Adrien frowned. “I thought co-creating a line with Emma was a joke.”

“I don't joke about such matters,” Gabriel replied. “Emma has a talent, and she is at the age when her imagination has no bounds. I want to explore that. She has a bright future if we nurture her from early on.”

Adrien glanced at Marinette. “We’ll discuss it over the dinner on Friday. We need to consider everything before we agree or decline anything.”

“Fair enough.” Gabriel nodded. “Now, should I call for Emma? It’s getting close to her bedtime, and you still need to get home.”

Adrien suddenly grinned and grabbed Marinette’s hand. “Not yet. First, we wanted to tell you some exciting news-”

“Oh. Did Marinette finally tell you she is pregnant?” Gabriel cut in, his face calm as he watched Marinette’s eyes widen and Adrien’s jaw drop to the floor.

“Wha- But- How? How do you know?”

The man let out an amused chuckle. “Can you guess what is one of the perks of being your boss, Marinette?”

The woman shook her head.

“I get to hear all the rumours about you early on,” he continued. “You are an Agreste now, Marinette, and people pay special attention to everything you do. When they notice stuff, they gossip, and every gossip about any member of my family makes its way to my office sooner or later. I suspected a pregnancy a few weeks ago when you were spotted feeling sick in the bathroom three days in a row, constantly seemed tired for a while and started consuming an impressive number of salty snacks.”

Adrien chuckled to himself and looked at Marinette.

“Then, of course, your father called me a week ago because he couldn’t congratulate Adrien yet, but he was eager to share the news with at least someone.”

“You father knew?” Adrien turned to Marinette.

“And Maman,” Marinette said apologetically. “She noticed the symptoms when I was over a few weeks ago and asked me. I couldn’t lie, but they promised not to tell anyone until I surprised you.”

“Unbelievable,” Adrien pouted. “Why am I always the last one to find out things in this family?”

“You should’ve been the first one to notice something was up,” Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Seeing how she is your wife and you live in the same house, and you—” he addressed Marinette with a stern look, “—you should’ve made it short days if you weren’t feeling well. We don’t want my grandchild to be born prematurely.”

“That’s why you kept sending me home early?” Marinette smiled. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful and very much appreciated.”

“Left behind,” Adrien whined and dramatically plopped on a chair. “Again. By my own father and my beloved wife. How could this happen to me?”

“Awww.” Marinette smiled, lightly ruffling Adrien’s hair. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you in a special way and our anniversary seemed like the perfect day to do so, but here—” she leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Feeling better?

“A little,” Adrien pouted. “One more?”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Adrien,” Gabriel huffed, standing up. “I’ll go get Emma.”

“You won’t call Nathalie to bring her as usual?” Adrien asked.

“It seems you two need a few minutes alone,” Gabriel said with a straight face, heading for the door. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, settle everything by then.”

He closed the door to the pair’s stifled laughs and Adrien’s unmistakable “Come here, Princess” and walked up the stairs. Soon Gabriel stood in front of Adrien’s former bedroom. A soft knock on the door gave him no response. He tried again and entered the room, calling out his granddaughter’s name. The room looked empty, the lights dimmed and no one answered him no matter how many times he called. Just for a moment, his mind stirred with worry, but then his eyes fell on a sleeping girl in the extravagant treehouse he made for her. Snoozing peacefully amongst the countless pillows and plushies, she was hugging a Chat Noir doll Marinette had made for her, swaddled in a ladybug-themed blanket Adrien had insisted was a must in this room.

Gabriel smiled. Emma was a surprise. For her mother. For her father. For him. Unexpected and bewildering. She looked mind-blowingly similar to his late wife, but that wasn't the most surprising thing about her. How much she’d accomplished in her seven years was astonishing. She inspired him every day and brought smiles to everyone around her. She’d gotten her parents together, something they were too childish to do themselves. She’d managed to melt his heart and prompted a reconciliation between him and his long-estranged son, something that just a little over a year ago Gabriel had never thought it possible. That was more than most people accomplish in a lifetime. Unexpected? Surprising? Not really. She was an Agreste, after all. Emma Agreste to be precise.

That's it, guys. I hope you've enjoyed this ride as much as I did. I hope Unexpected Surprise was as special to you as it was to me. I'm very thankful to my betas KryallaOrchid and EdenDaphne for helping me to polish this gem. Thank you so much, guys!!! Without you, this story would never be as amazing as it is now. Also, I'll be posting a separate Unexpected Surprise bonus story in a week where you'll get your questions about kwamis answered and be able to glimpse the future of the Adrien and Marinette's family. Hope you'll love it just as much as the main story. <3

Please note: English is a strange and wonderful language where many words have multiple meanings and slang can change depending on your country of origin. It is my third language so while I will do my very best, there may be mistakes made along the way.

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rey-skywalkin-away · 6 years

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Kanera Fix-It Fic I was Talking About

Y’all thought I was joking when I said I had 3000 words of a fic all lined up to fix this, right? GUESS AGAIN. 4117 WORDS. I had to delete 90% of my original 3000 words and re-write it just now to conform to what happened in the midseason premiere, and it took me four hours, but I did it! Anyway, I put myself into the queue to make an archiveofourown account, but that’ll take a month to activate, so until then, I’ll just post this chapter-by-chapter on here. I got part 1 done tonight, and it might be a few days before chapter 2: I have college life and work that’s going to be occupying my time this week. But I’m not abandoning this. I am FUELED BY PAIN.

@secrettunnelyeah you’ve been losing your shit with me, so I hope this helps. @fluffyapplecat thanks for all your support! @commoner64 because you said “please””. @blueboxdrifter you expressed support for this a few weeks ago, so here you go! @brickhawk you gotta help read this shit before the next chapter. I can’t post again without a second opinion.

Um, I hope you all enjoy.

Fair warning to everyone else: this is my first time posting any kind of story online, and it’s as rough as any story can be. I normally spend time editing my chapters, as any writer should, but I was just hammering it out as fast as I could to a) get it done before I fell asleep and b) to give you all a little hope after this agonizing premiere. So I’m sorry if it’s full of errors that I’m too tired to edit right now, and that the format under the cut is kind of wonky. I’m not entirely happy with the content, either–it’s kind of melodramatic and rushed for my taste, but I’m running off pure emotion right now. Hopefully I’ll find time to edit it before I before I post it on Archive. The chapter and some explanations for various things are down below. Happy readings, and everyone be okay out there!

*Writer’s Notes*

First off, I had literally 20 ideas for how Kanan would survive this premiere, and I had “explosion” down for two of them. Here, he survives by basically copying Ahsoka during her fight with the Inquisitors and Force-clapping backwards into Hera’s arms. He gets burned up and spends 3 weeks recovering in a bacta tank. No one’s going into much detail about it in the story, because they don’t want to re-imagine it all over again, but that’s what I was envisioning happening.

Second, Kanan is still blind: him getting to see Hera before he died was painful and sweet, but I honestly felt he had a lot of growth because of his injury, and it needed to stay. (And disability representation is important).

Third, I can’t start calling him “Caleb Dume”, guys, I’m sorry! I’ve spent four years calling him Kanan, and I can’t get into the habit of calling him Caleb.

Fourth, his beard and ponytail are coming back.

Fifth, I have a very large, multi-fandom, decades-long (in-universe) fanfiction world that I’m always playing with and developing to further my own writing prowess, character development, and storytelling skills. I’m going to make references to that multi-fandom work in this story (not a lot, but if there are moments where you’re thinking “where did that come from? I don’t remember that in the show or comics”, well, it might be from the multi-fandom). I’m including this story in my collection of works, and I don’t feel like editing it all over again just to include references to it. So you should all be able to follow what’s going on, but there might be a few odd moments.

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Chapter 1

Hera checked her calendar again, counting down days and weeks and making notes as she went. Nine weeks ago…captured. Eight-and-a-half weeks ago…rescued. Five weeks ago, we…and four weeks ago…well, I’m now very late. I should’ve started another cycle by now. And on a regular diet for over eight weeks, with additional nutritional supplements to get back to full strength after confinement. And we’re hardier than humans; we don’t get so out of sync after missing a few meals and getting a few electric shocks. So that shouldn’t explain why I’m late. She then checked her star charts for any habitable systems nearby, and winced when there weren’t any. Should I divert our flight path to go to the nearest star system just to buy a test? No, we’re fine on other supplies, and everyone will ask questions as to why I think we need to make a stop. She would’ve killed for a certified medical droid onboard her ship in that moment, but she was out of luck. They’d left the medical system on that nameless little asteroid five weeks ago now, and they were back to their own devices out in space. Great. Just great. Gonna have to go on instinct this time. And she wasn’t liking what she was coming up with.

Hera opened her mouth to say the word out loud, but couldn’t do it. Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’re four weeks late, and your idiot self didn’t want to think about protection after you were saved by Kanan and the others. And after what nearly happened to Kanan…

After her rescue, after telling Kanan that she loved him, after he nearly died and had to spend three weeks in a bacta tank, the minute he’d showered off and went to his own bunk to be alone, she’d slipped into his room and reiterated her love for him. Free of drugs and pain, she’d finally broken down for once in her karking life and loved him, not as a general, or a pilot, or a freedom fighter. Just him and her, together, as it should always be. To remind herself that he’d been blasted back into her arms instead of dying in the fuel explosion, that he’d survived three flatlines before they could find him a bacta tank. That he’d eventually woken up and immediately began to listen for the sound of her voice. And afterwards, curled up in each other’s arms, she’d whispered that, now that his beard had grown back and his hair was beginning to return, he’d better keep it that way. Kanan had laughed, but they’d clutched each other in the semidarkess and just listened to each other breathe. No, of course you weren’t thinking clearly. He needed you, and you needed him. But look what came of it.

Hera rubbed the corners of her eyes and tried to think past the rising panic in her gut. What am I going to do about this? Pills? A clinic visit? Which is cheapest? What’s safest and gets me back into the pilot’s seat without anyone noticing something was wrong? She thought back to the pamphlets and medical texts she’d memorized when she’d left Ryloth to strike out on her own in the galaxy. Twi’leks were always targeted anywhere one went in the galaxy, and she’d prepared herself for what to do if she was attacked and how to handle any possible outcome. But thinking about the next few steps right now made Hera’s heart hurt. A few years ago, this would’ve been an easy decision for her. Three months ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Today…

Hera knew why she was conflicted. Will there ever be a tomorrow? We got lucky this time—will I be next? Or will the Force finally decide to call Kanan back to wherever it is Jedi go when they die? Will there ever be a second chance for us to conceive? She hadn’t given much thought to the end of the war, to her future, but sitting next to Kanan’s bacta tank and listening to his pulse monitor for several hours a day had broken something inside her, and she’d begun to think. A mild, deserted little planet. Not dry and harsh like Ryloth. Someplace cool and wet and green. A little home, with rooms for the rest of the family. Sabine can paint the family room with murals of our adventures. Maybe little tookas frolicking on the baby’s nursery walls. Zeb can carve us furniture with all the designs of Lasat that he’s lost. Whatever he can remember. Ezra…he can have a real bed, not a bunk. And a home-cooked meal that didn’t come out of a ration pack. When was the last time he had one of those? Chopper can have a nice oil bath and shut down without worrying that we’ll wake him up for an emergency. And our baby will run in the grass and will never know war, and…

Hera swallowed back tears and controlled her emotions. You’re dreaming again, Hera Syndulla. It’s one thing to admit your feelings for Kanan and finally be open in your relationship, and it’s another thing to abandon the rest of the galaxy to pursue your selfish dream. How many people want the same dream as you? How many people have the skills and resources to make that dream come true for everyone else that can’t help themselves? Your little fantasy will have to wait. Get rid of this and get back to work.

Her heart broke as she made up her mind, and a sudden fatigue overcame her. Raw emotion? Something related to the pregnancy? She knew nothing about pregnancy, come to think of it. Or how to be a mother. What makes you think you have time to learn? Especially now? You aren’t ready for this. You know what you have to do.

Hera wearily glanced at her chrono. A few hours until your shift. When I’m back in the pilot’s seat, I can tell the others I’ve got nerve damage from torture, and that I need to see a specialist somewhere. Maybe I could say we all deserve a treat after what we’ve all been through. She shuffled to her dresser and opened the secret panel on the side to check how many credits she had left in her emergency fund. Enough for the procedure and a little left over for the others. This could work. Damn it. This’ll have to do. There will be other opportunities, Hera. Just have hope.

But it could wait. The fatigue was seeping throughout her body, fogging up her mind and turning her limbs to jelly. A few hours to nap, and then it’ll be time to call everyone. In twenty-four hours, this will all be over. A few tears blurred her eyes, and she roughly wiped them away. Either get out all the sorrow now, or sleep and cry afterwards. Hera chose the latter, and she barely made it to her bunk before she collapsed on top of the covers and sank into a deep, misery-filled slumber.

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It only felt like a few minutes had passed before Hera was startled out of her uneasy sleep. “Who is it?” She rasped. She groggily sat up and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

“Hera? It’s me.” Hera shivered at the sound of his voice. Every word that he spoke seemed like a precious gift after what nearly happened. But now, after what she’d finally admitted to herself, he was the last person she wanted to see right now. Or, maybe she needed him most. Can he feel it? In the Force? Does he already know? Does he know what I’m planning to do?

“Kanan.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she couldn’t keep going.

“Can I come in? Please?”

Hera hesitated. Either you don’t tell him now, and you don’t involve him at all, or he knows what you’re planning to do. Could she do it alone? Without him? She didn’t know if it would be more painful to involve him, or to never let him know what could have been.

But Hera had made a commitment to Kanan when she’d told him she loved him, and there was no backing out of that commitment now, no matter how she’d chosen to handle her pregnancy. “Come in,” she whispered.

Kanan was framed in the light of the hall for only a second before he shut the door and crossed the distance to her bunk. He sat down next to her, his hands automatically wrapping around her shoulders; he froze when his hands met the rough fabric of her blanket. “Hera? What’s going on? Are you ill?”

Not in the way that you’re thinking, but yes. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, I…” He hesitated. “I know it’s getting pretty old for me to say it, but I feel a…disturbance in the Force. Around you.”

Hera tensed up. Oh karabast. He knows. “Tell me what you feel.” In their first years together on the Ghost, if they had time to rest, they’d park the ship in the first meadow they could find. Stretched out on the hull, in the light of the stars above, Kanan would describe the world to her as he felt it in the Force. A web connecting all living things, from the deadly dance of predator and prey in the grasses below them, the cries of the plants as they cried out for rain, jostled to and fro by the silent paws of some canid beast, to the needy, incessant hunger of newborn chicks in the trees at the edge of the meadow…

This time, she couldn’t control her tears, and Kanan’s fingers were immediately brushing them away from the corners of her eyes as soon as she sucked in a strangled breath of air. “I feel…you’re so unhappy. You’re full of…pain, and despair. Hera, I don’t understand. Why do you feel like you’re losing something?”

He doesn’t know. Oh stars, if there was only another way…But there wasn’t. She gently took one of his hands away from her face and held it in her own. “You can’t understand because you’re looking in the wrong place.”

Kanan cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“You’re looking into my mind…” She held his hand up, paused, and pressed his fingers against the still-flat skin of her lower torso. “Try feeling here, and you’ll know why I’m so conflicted.”

Hera wasn’t sure if he felt something in the Force or if he immediately understood her implication. “Hera–!”

“Only five weeks,” she whispered. “I wasn’t assaulted in prison, so I definitely know it’s yours. And I know the date of conception. But only five weeks. Not that far along, really…” She trailed off as she noticed Kanan’s face shutting down, closing off all emotion. Oh no. She waited a few moments to allow him to process the news, to say something, anything, but he didn’t. “Kanan? Luv? Tell me—what’s going through your head right now?”

He coughed. “Do you have any water?”

“I—uh—yes. There’s a pitcher and some cups on the dresser. To the left of my ‘fresher.” He nearly banged his head on the top of the bunk as he stood up and held out his hand to feel his way along. “No, your left.”

He bumped against the edge of the dresser and winced. “Do you want any?”

This was definitely not the reaction she was expecting. “…sure. I guess.”

Kanan poured two cups of water, spilling what seemed like half the jug before he was done. Hera took the cup from him so he could have a free hand to feel his way back to her side without hurting himself further. She sipped her water while he chugged his straight down and tossed the cup aside. “Kanan. Please. Talk to me.”

He sighed. “I don’t…I don’t know where to begin.”

“I don’t either. But we have to start somewhere.”

“Well then…I suppose…did you ever want to be a mother?”

Hera sat down her cup and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I hadn’t given much thought about my future after the war. But I started thinking about it when you nearly died.”

Kanan’s breath came in a soft, weak gasp, and he pulled Hera into his arms. She melted into his embrace and felt his trembling. At least he doesn’t hate me. And he knows me well enough to know what my feelings are on this. Somehow, she allowed herself to speak about her dream life after the war: their quiet home together, the rooms for the rest of the family, their child playing in the yard outside. She felt his tears begin to run down his cheeks and drip on top of her lekku, and she knew that he could feel her sorrow in the Force.

“You know,” he said slowly. “I hadn’t thought much about kids, either. But I started thinking about them more when we found the others. Especially Ezra. We’re like their parents already, aren’t we?”

Hera chuckled, in spite of her pain. “We definitely are.”

“And I started to think…it wouldn’t be so bad, to do it all over again. But with a baby of our own…”

Hera closed her eyes and pressed herself against his chest. “But…?”

Kanan swallowed; she could feel the effort it took him. “But I know you. And whatever you choose to do, no matter my feelings…I’ll support your decision. You’re the pregnant one, after all. You’re the one at risk. Its—it’s up to you.”

“What are your feelings, Kanan?”

“They don’t matter.”

Hera sat back and cupped his face in her hands. “Yes, they do. I love you Kanan, and I wouldn’t have told you about this if I didn’t want to involve you, no matter what. So please, tell me your honest, true feelings.”

“Honestly…I’d love nothing more than to have a baby with you. I don’t know when we’d get another chance, with the war…”

Hera sobbed, half with relief and love, half with pain. “This damn war. It poisons everything it touches, including us. Our futures…”

Kanan started to cry again. “I know you. And I know what you want to do. I know it already.”

“I want this baby, too, but I don’t know how we’d make time. We can’t have a baby here, on the Ghost. It would be cruel just to bring it into the world and have it blow up with us in battle. Or die from some sickness.” Everyone knew babies didn’t thrive in prolonged periods in space. “And we can’t send it to my father; you know how dangerous it is on Ryloth.” She’d told him about her brother before, and he nodded. She started to cry again, and they held each other for long, painful minutes. Stang, I don’t want to do this. But I have to. What other choice do I have? I can’t leave the war. Not while others suffer. But at least I won’t have to do this alone.

But, for some reason, she felt tension in Kanan’s arms. Hera pulled back again. “What is it?” Why do you look so…guilty?

“We could leave the Rebellion and raise the baby together. Or get an abortion.” Hera made a sound of assent in the back of her throat. “Or…there’s another option.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I were to leave the Rebellion, maybe with Ezra, and the two of us raise the baby while you and the others keep fighting?”

Hera gasped. “Leave? Are you serious?” Was he so upset about what happened at the fuel depot that he wants to run away?

“I don’t know how to put this into words. When I was in the bacta tank, in the coma, I remembered something. Something from…right after Master Billaba died. I’d forgotten it until I was at the edge of death. I don’t remember what happened, but… I woke up with the sense that I was supposed to die at the fuel depot.” He choked on the last few words, and Hera couldn’t have spoken if she tried. “And I feel that, whatever happened in that blank in my memory as I was running away from her body, it saved me. Not…oh karabast, I don’t know how to explain it. But whatever it was, it gave me a feeling: that I needed to leave the conflict, or else I wouldn’t get a second chance to live. For some reason, Ezra’s been getting a weird feeling, too. Not quite the same as me, I don’t think, but he’s been hinting that we need to leave and do more Jedi work away from the rest of the group. Maybe something similar happened to him when he was younger. I don’t know. I haven’t been able to ask. But…”

Hera stood up. “After everything that happened, you were just going to leave us?” Leave me? She couldn’t fault him for listening to his visions, but it stung, especially after she’d finally opened up and bared her soul to him for the first time in years. I give you my love and you leave. “Whatever happened to being careful about listening your visions? Or was that all just a bunch of Jedi nonsense you were feeding to Ezra? Hmm?”

“Absolutely not. This feels completely different from a Force vision. Like…someone physically told me these things and blocked my memory. Not the Force. Not some cosmic energy. A person.”

“So you’re going to run away because of some half-remembered whispers?”

He felt for her hand and pulled her back onto the bunk. “Hera Syndulla, I love you. I love you more than I ever knew I was capable of loving someone. And I wouldn’t leave you and the others unless I was absolutely certain that this vision was something I needed to listen to. It’s going to kill me inside to do it, but I believe it’s what must be done if we want to survive. What if there are other Inquisitors out there? And what if Vader decides to end us once and for all, especially with what happened at the fuel depot? I’m stronger now, Ezra and I both are, but we couldn’t defeat him. And I couldn’t let the rest of you be put in jeopardy because you’ve got two Force-users leaving a trail for a Sith Lord to follow.”

Hera squeezed his hand. Just a bit. “So…you’d leave? And raise the baby? Are you sure you could do it? With your blindness?”

“Ezra could be my eyes and help out. And think about it: we could keep the house while you’re all away, and you could visit whenever you wanted, and keep fighting. And you’d know that there’d always be a home for you to return to, and the minute you wanted out of the fight, we’d be there, waiting for you.”

Hera turned away. “Could you really do that? Wait at home while we risked our lives out on the battlefield?”

Kanan sighed. “I’d be happiest if you were home with us. And I want to keep fighting, same as you. But if we could make some of your dream come true this way…I’d bow out.” His voice caught, and Hera suddenly realized how hard this all was for him. “Just…promise me one thing. Could you do that?”

Hera took his hands again. “Ask me first.”

“If this war keeps dragging on…will you consider finding a window of opportunity to leave? And be with us?”

Could you do that? Leave the fight, even if it wasn’t over? But Kanan was sacrificing part of his happiness, too. He’d be worrying every day, watching their child, waiting for her to come home. And if she never did, all he’d have was their baby to remind himself of how happy they could’ve been. Hera reached over and cupped his cheek in her hand, her heart bursting with love for him. “Yes. I will consider it, Kanan, knowing that you’re waiting for me. You’re the only one who could make me leave this fight. You…and the baby.”

Kanan sobbed with joy and pulled her into a crushing hug. They cried together again, but Hera’s joy was bittersweet. Why can’t I get to fully enjoy my dream? I want to be at home with Kanan and the baby. But I can’t. Not just yet.

But this way, there was a chance to have that future, when there otherwise wouldn’t be. And Hera Syndulla’s life was never fair from the moment she was born; she knew it, and wasn’t one to dwell on it for long. Besides, there were much more wonderful things to think about. A baby. We’re having a baby. “If I don’t miscarry, that is,” she muttered to herself.

Kanan frowned. “What was that?”

Hera wiped her eyes and looked around to find some tissues for them both. “Sorry, thinking out loud.”

“About miscarrying?”

Hera found some tissues and grabbed them. She passed a few to Kanan and blew her nose. “Just…it would be awful for us to go to all this trouble just for me to miscarry after the stress of a fight.”

“Hmm. You’re right. Maybe we could hang back for a while and do some logistics work. At least until you’re further along.”

“I’m going to have to find a way to hide this pregnancy, Kanan. If Inquisitors are still out there, hunting down Force-sensitive children, they’ll come for our baby, I’m sure of it.” She paused. “Is there a chance the baby could be Force-sensitive?”

Kanan blew his nose and she took it from him to throw in the trash. “I don’t know. There was a pretty big taboo about getting pregnant at the Temple, if you could imagine that. But I guess there’s a strong possibility of it.”

“Then we’ll have to hide my pregnancy. No one can know about it. Well…maybe Mon Mothma. But she’s it, outside of the crew.”

“I…oh damn, I think that means that I’ll have to fake my death. Ezra, too, if he comes along to help out.”

Hera banged her head on the top of her bunk. “Ow! What?!”

“Careful, careful—the baby—“

“A bruised lek won’t kill the baby, Kanan. But faking your death—“

“Well, that’s what we’ll have to do if we want to make sure we’re not tracked down. If everyone believes without a shadow of a doubt that we’re gone, no one will come looking for us. And your “grief” will give you an excuse to pull back for a few months, while you need to hide the bump.” Kanan suddenly moved off the bed and ran to the tiny ‘fresher.

“Kanan!” But he waved her away, and she hung back, waiting until he was done vomiting. Then, she found a rag and wet it from the remaining water in the jug. She went over to Kanan, who was still slumped over the toilet. She pulled him away from the bowl and gently began wiping his face. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting morning sickness, remember?”

He snorted, but let her keep tending him. “It’s just…we’re going to have to make sure everyone thinks, beyond a doubt, that we’re dead. And that means leaving no body— ” He turned around to retch again, but nothing came up. “And that means—fire, and explosions—“

“Oh, Kanan…” She held him until the panic attack—or flashback, whatever it was—subsided, and he’d calmed down again. “We’ll find a way to make it work. A safe way. If there’s anyone who could do it, it would be Sabine.”

“And how could I do that to Ezra? Put him at risk like that?”

“Well, we have to tell him about the baby, first. We’ll have to tell everyone. But, for right now, let’s just go lie down.” She helped him to his feet and into her bed. They crawled under the covers together, and Hera settled comfortably into his arms. I don’t know how I lived without this for so long. This feels so right, to be here with him.

Kanan’s eyes were drooping. “Don’t you have a shift soon?”

Hera’s fatigue was setting in again. “I’ll just tell one of the others that I have a call to take from someone in Rebel command. They’ll understand. Or Chopper can take the shift.” She yawned and couldn’t keep her eyes open. “I’ll deal with it later.”

They fell asleep, wary about the future, but both full to the brim with love for each other and the life beginning in Hera’s body.

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Okay, so I promise that this story is going to get happier, okay? There’s just a lot of depressing stuff that needs to be ironed out in this first chapter. It’s not going to be all sunshine and roses, but it will have a happy ending.

I also was originally going to have Kanan and Ezra faking their deaths by pretending to blow up when the rebels attacked a weapons supply store. They were going to dig tunnels underneath and be well-away before the explosion happened, but were going to pretend to be killed by the fire/explosion/falling debris. It hits so close to home in light of the midseason premiere that I don’t know if I can do it.

Or maybe I will. Because I’m kind of sadistic.

Also, the reference to Kanan being “warned” to escape is the reference to my multi-fandom story. There’s some Prisoner of Azkaban-level time travel shenanigans that go on, but it’s not “adult Kanan visits ‘lil Caleb”. It’s a lot more complicated and I don’t feel comfortable explaining it.

#kanera #star wars rebels spoilers #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #swr spoilers #i'll tag more characters as they appear #but here ya go #my rough stories #star wars rebels

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hazellvesque · 6 years

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Some Kind Of Miracle

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: G

Pairing: Adrien/Marinette

Summary: If Marinette had her way, she would have had nothing to do with Alya's latest celebrity crush. So how did she get roped into stalking him around Los Angeles? When fashion icon Adrien Agreste quite literally crashes into Marinette's life, they have no choice but to put up with one another or risk ruining both of their potential careers forever.

An AU based on the iconic Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 - Unstoppable

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On the morning of July 7th, a train wreck had hit Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s bedroom, leaving behind mountains of tank tops and shorts in its path.

Marinette herself was too busy frantically trying to tear the rest of the house apart to notice the path of fabric destruction she was leaving behind her. The storm had just barely avoided devastating the living room, and luckily, had mostly contained itself to the four pink walls upstairs. Still, the occasional spool of thread or pin had found its way down the stairs during the girl’s frantic search.

“Maman!” she yelled in no particular direction. “Have you seen my green halter top?”

“You already packed it,” Sabine’s voice floated up the stairs.

Sure enough, after rifling through the contents of her third suitcase, Marinette found the shirt she’d been meticulously working on for the past week buried under dozens of other various articles. “Thank you!” she called out. “Now where’s my sunhat…”

It felt like she had been packing for an eternity, and yet, she still didn’t have enough clothes. She didn’t even want to think about how she was going to manage to properly accessorize with what little items she was allowed to bring.

“I’m sure you’ve packed enough,” Alya said, lounging upside down on Marinette’s bed, clearly more interested in whatever was on her phone than her friend’s current fashion crisis. “It’s only two weeks, you don’t need to bring your whole closet.”

“But the weather is so different there. I’ll have to wear shorts practically every day.” She gasped and dramatically slapped her hands to her face. “What if it rains? I didn’t pack my umbrella!”

Where even was her umbrella? Come to think of it, did she even own one?

Alya flipped herself right side up and crossed the room, placing two calming hands on her friend’s shoulders. “We’ll buy one at the airport if we need it,” she laughed. “Honestly, Marinette, everything’s going to be fine!”

Marinette took four deep breaths, trying her best to come to her senses. Her eyes widened once again as another piece fell into place in her mind. “My sketchbook! I can’t believe I almost forgot it!”

“Well, okay, we probably can’t buy that at the airport,” Alya admitted.

Luckily, she didn’t need a search team to find the book. It sat just where she had left it last, on the edge of her desk next to the computer mouse.

The book looked much less important than it actually was – a simple blue-covered notebook with mostly blank pages. Marinette had taken her time writing ‘Los Angeles, California’ in large, curly script at the top of the first page. This would be the start of a new era of Dupain-Cheng designs.

“I don’t even know where I’d get one there,” said Marinette. “The idea of learning to use American money is scary enough, but the stores there look absolutely massive, I wouldn’t know where to start!”

Alya resumed her position on Marinette’s bed, scrolling on her phone as Marinette tucked her sketchbook and a few last minute smaller items into her carry-on bag. “I still can’t believe you’re going to Los Angeles and you’re going to be drawing the whole time,” Alya said.

Drawing? No, Marinette had every intent on designing a masterpiece while on this trip, and no peer pressure from Alya was going to stop her.

“Well you’re just going to be stalking celebrities the whole time. There is more to life than pretty boys, Alya,” Marinette teased. She ducked to dodge the pillow that Alya flung at her head. “What are you so concentrated on anyway?”

“I’m looking for some very important information,” Alya said vaguely.

“Right…” said Marinette. “Besides, Hollywood fashion is so different from what we see here. I can’t risk seeing something that inspires me and not being able to sketch it out. I have a feeling this-“ she tapped on the pocket where her book was for extra emphasis, “-is going to be one of my greatest fashion breakthroughs yet!”

“Mm-hmm” Alya muttered. “So long as you don’t drop it in the ocean.”

The ocean. Hundreds and hundreds of miles of water between here and their final destination. Marinette gulped, trying not to think about it too hard. The flight would be over before she knew it. She could even get a head start on her designs in the airport. After all, people from all over the place would be making their way through the Charles de Gaulle. There would be plenty of inspiration to draw from as soon as they stepped out of the car. Marinette smiled at the thought, her mind already running wild with new ideas.

“Girls!” Marlena Césaire, Alya’s mom, called up the stairs. “Are you ready to go?”

Alya and Marinette exchanged equally stupidly big grins. “Coming!” they shouted in unison, playfully shoving each other down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Sabine Cheng and Marlena Césaire had used their combined culinary skills to spend the entire morning making the girls snacks for their trip. The counters were covered in various meats, cheeses, and fruits all packed in boxes and bags for the ride. Not to mention the baked goods that were practically overflowing in their containers.

“This all looks wonderful,” Alya politely hugged her mom before voraciously digging into the closest bag of snacks with her free hand, her other still gripping her phone for dear life. “Those Hollywood socialite-types are going to love this stuff!”

Sabine nodded. “This is such a wonderful opportunity, Marlena! I still can’t believe someone so far away requested your food for their party.”

“And offered a huge amount of money and a free trip for it,” Alya mumbled through her cookie, raising an eyebrow at Marinette who stifled her giggles behind her hand.

“This is all wonderful, Mme. Césaire!” Marinette said politely. “And thank you again for bringing me along, I honestly don’t know how to repay you.”

“Just be sure to let your mom know all about the culinary scene in America. You’re her valued reporter for this trip, Marinette!” Marlena said. Sabine winked at Marinette behind Mrs. Césaire’s back.

Marinette smiled. “Alya’s your star reporter but I’ll try my best!”

Marinette knew that paying attention to the ins and outs of the food business didn’t really need to be a priority. Her parents had sat her down a few days ago and told her to just enjoy her time on the trip. Sabine and Tom liked their small hometown bakery the way it was, and they weren’t really looking to branch out the way Alya’s mother was. Regardless, it was still a good excuse to use as to why the Dupain-Chengs were allowing their teenage daughter to leave the country for two weeks, and way Marlena was so enthusiastic to have Marinette come along.

Alya gasped sharply at her phone. “Look!” she cried.

Marinette, Sabine, and Marlena all snapped their eyes to Alya, startled.

“Isn’t he gorgeous,” she sighed, pushing her phone too close to Marinette’s face for comfort. Marinette had to cross her eyes to make out the image of the boy on the screen, who had a look on his face and a gleam in his eye like he was admiring something marvelous. Though, Marinette thought, judging by the way the photo was obviously taken in a studio, he was most likely just blinding himself with the harsh lights.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to his outfit, which consisted of a blue flannel top – what was it with Americans and flannel? – and all too tight jeans that made a blush rise to Marinette’s cheeks with just a glance.

She pushed the phone away and blinked a few times, readjusting her vision. “Is he that actor you’re so obsessed with?”

The girls’ mothers laughed, tuning their attention back to their own conversation and packing the last of their food.

“Why yes,” Alya announced dramatically. “This is the actor, model, singer, beautiful human being extraordinaire Adrien Agreste, and this new photo shoot just got released! We are among the first in the world to be blessed with these images. Isn’t he amazing?”

“Wonderful,” Marinette deadpanned.

Alya lowered her voice. “We have to see him. We’ll be in his hometown, it’s practically fate! And don’t tell me you’re going to be busy, we’ll have so much time in-between mom’s events that we have to go out and explore! I know all of his favorite spots, we’re bound to run into him at one of them!”

Marinette smiled to herself, allowing her friend to get lost in her silly daydreams. Of course Marinette herself was known to be a bit obsessive over some things (i.e. the great packing debacle of ten minutes ago), but Alya had her days too. Especially when it came to her little celebrity crush. There was no denying the boy was attractive, but what made him different from any other celebrity on television nowadays?

“He’s known to hang out in a club that’s not too far away from some of my mom’s catering jobs she’s doing this week,” Alya continued to ramble. “We could totally run into on the dance floor! And then we’ll lock eyes across the room and he’ll ask me to join him for a slow song. Then he’ll ask my name and recognize me from my blog and fall head over heels for my amazing journalism skills and-“

“Alya!” Marinette had to resist laughing. “You don’t even know this boy, why do you think he’s going to be so wonderful?”

“I do know Adrien. He’s the same age as us, he’s a Scorpio, he loves chocolate chip cookies, and he reads my blog every day. He has to,” she said defensively. “It has thousands of hits, one of them has to be him.”

Marinette arched an eyebrow at her friend. “Wow, a sixteen year old Scorpio who likes food and might be able to read. Amazing.”

A mischievous look crossed Alya’s face. “You might be interested to know something else. His dad’s a fashion designer,” she sing-songed.

Marinette froze. The cogs in her head started turning ever so slowly. Suddenly this whole trip was looking to become a lot more interesting. “Let’s get there first, then we’ll figure out how to stalk this Adrien boy, alright?”

Alya gave Marinette a two-fingered salute. “Ay, captain!” Success!

“Are you girls all set?” Sabine asked, to which both Marinette and Alya nodded.

It was time.

Marinette nearly bounded over the kitchen counter give her mother a long hug goodbye before trudging up to her room and returning with her three bags, making sure to grab extra snacks before descending the next flight of stairs. She gave her father a long hug and kiss on the cheek as well after he finished loading the Césaire’s car with all of the girls’ belongings.

She slung her carry-on bag over her shoulder, Alya plugged in her phone’s car charger, and just like that, they were off to the airport.

Alya stayed attached to her phone staring at pictures of the model practically the entire way there, silently swooning. There had nearly been a fight at the security gate when she was required to put the phone away before stepping through the metal detectors.

Even after boarding the plane, Alya’s eyes stayed glued to the screen until the pilot announced that all electronics had to be turned off. She made a show of dramatically pouting before powering her cellphone down and turning over to take a nap. “Makes the time go faster,” she said.

Honestly, Marinette just could not understand the obsession. Maybe he was some swoon-worthy heartthrob to others, but Marinette had barely even heard of him aside from Alya’s pining. He was huge in America, but in Paris, his name was practically unknown.

His did have a decent body type, though. And pretty aesthetically pleasing features – the green eyes, blonde hair combo was rare, and Marinette couldn’t help but wonder how much fun it would be to dress someone like that in pops of color that would draw attention from a crowd. Plus, starting some designs now would be a welcome distraction from her flight nerves.

Huh. Look at that. They hadn’t even left France yet, and already, Marinette had found a new source of inspiration.

As they taxied down the runway, Marinette removed her sketchbook from her bag and flipped open to the first page. Just underneath the title she’d written earlier, she hastily scribbled two words: Adrien Agreste.

In just a little over twelve hours, she and Alya would be in Los Angeles, California for the trip of a lifetime.

This was going to be fun.

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrinette #ml fic #my writing #some kind of miracle #i have 3 papers a speech and nanowrimo to be worrying about right now so naturally here i am with a fic #updates will be weird because life is happening but i will try my best!#the whole thing is outlined already so i'm ready to go!

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thebookkeeperslibrary · 7 years

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The Time Page’s Wish - Ch. 1: Happy Birthday

Fandom: Time Warp Trio

Author: The_Bookkeeper_96

Rating: G

Summary: It’s been four months and Uncle Joe is still missing. On his twelfth birthday, Joe decides it’s time to track him down. One wish lands them in the middle of a revolution. And it seems the only way to get them home is with the help of some untrustworthy thieves. As long as they don’t take The Book for themselves.

A/N: So this is my first dive into fanfiction. Putting this out there as a feeler to see what you guys think! Please feel free to leave a review and some constructive criticism!

Read on AO3

"Happy birthday!" Fred and Sam cheer.

Joe beams at his two best friends and blows out the lone candle on his slice of cake. He can't remember a time in his life when they weren't by his side. Most kids his age would want to have an over-the-top party with hundreds of guests. But Joe's perfectly content to sit around his house with his long-time friends. Currently, they are sitting around his bedroom, torn wrapping paper is scattered around the room. Each boy is holding a plate with a piece of vanilla cake on top of it. The daily news drones on in the background.

"For those just tuning in, we are reporting live from the American Museum of Natural History. This morning, the museum discovered some of their oldest items on exhibit had vanished. Officials are still investigating the scene for signs of a break-in, but no evidence has yet been found. This robbery follows a string of recent events at several museums throughout the country. Museums have not been the only victims. Private collectors have also-"

The TV screen flicks to black.

Fred tosses the remote back onto Joe's bed. "How can you listen to that stuff?" Fred groans. "It's so boring."

Joe shrugs. "My dad's been really concerned lately. He doesn't want any of his relics from his trips getting stolen. He has a lot of valuable things downstairs. Masks, shields, a sarcophagus, all one-of-a-kind stuff.

"Fred, you should be concerned. A lot of historically priceless items are going missing." Sam sighs and shakes his head. "They're culturally and scientifically important."

"It's not like they're gone forever. Someone just stole them. The police will find them and bring them back. Things don't just vanish out of thin air." Fred swallows a large bite of birthday cake, and continues to speak with a full mouth. "You worry too much."

Sam rolls his eyes, knowing he isn't going to get through to Fred. He turns his attention to his other friend. "Aren't you concerned, Joe?"

"About my dad's artifacts? Sure, but he installed a new security system, and very few people know what he has."

"No." Sam looks out the door to make sure no one is listening in. He wants to argue that whatever security system his dad had bought was probably not better than what the museums use, but he has another point to make. "About The Book. It's basically a historical artifact. That thing is likely to be thousands of years old, if not millions."

Joe glances at the locked box on top of his dresser. Two years ago, he had received a mysterious blue book as a birthday gift from his uncle. He, Sam, and Fred had quickly discovered that it was more than just a book. It was a time machine, but even that doesn't sum up everything it's capable of. Not that Joe was aware of the amount of power it holds.

He hasn't messed with The Book in a while. Four months ago, he warped to Scotland with his younger sister and great-granddaughter, Jodie. His uncle had shown up as well, but on the return warp home, he had oddly vanished, leaving only a note and a pocket watch behind. Joe had been promoted to a Time Page, whatever that meant. He has so many questions for his uncle, but no way to ask them. Joe's beginning to worry. He had hoped his uncle would show up today to wish him a happy birthday, but there's been no sight of him so far.

Joe glances at his doorway, hoping to see a familiar face appear. Maybe he just got caught in traffic. He has to show up today. He wouldn't forget his favourite nephew's birthday.

Sam notices his staring, a small frown forming. "Still no word from your Uncle Joe, huh?"

"What?" Joe snaps out of his thoughts and turns to Sam. Reluctantly, he answers, "No. It's been months and as I far as I know, he hasn't come back. I'm sure he's fine. He can handle himself."

Both Fred and Sam hear the doubt in his voice. A quick smile lights up Fred's face. "I have an idea. This will definitely get your mind off of things." He gets to his feet and walks over to the lock box. He flips the lid open with ease and pulls out a small blue book with silver designs on the cover. "How about we take a little trip? Wherever the birthday boy wants to go. What do you say?"

"I say no!" Sam jumps up and away from The Book. He looks at Fred like he's holding a gun to his head. "When has using that ever gone well for us?"

"Oh, come on, Sam. Joe's a Time Page now. He's like a super warper! Besides, we've been doing this for two years." Fred waves The Book back and forth, teasing his friends. Not realizing how dangerous his actions are. "It'll be more fun than laying around here all day."

Joe eyes The Book. Truthfully, he's more worried Fred's going to send them back to the dinosaurs. He hops off his bed and grabs it out of Fred's hands before anything bad happens. "I don't know, Fred. I haven't used it in a while. I'm sort of out of practice."

"So, get back in practice!" Fred throws his arm over Joe's shoulder. "Hey, we can even try to find your Uncle Joe."

Joe pauses at that. He does want to find his uncle to make sure he's okay, and he does miss warping. "Well…"

"No, no, no." Sam crosses his arms. "We're having plenty of fun here. We don't need to warp anywhere. With our luck, we'll end up in the middle of the Revolutionary War!"

"But I'm a Time Page now." Joe lifts his chin high. "I can take us anywhere, no problem." Joe starts to like the idea of warping to find his uncle more and more. Sam isn't wrong. They had had some crazy mishaps before, but that was in the past. Besides, everything always turned out all right in the end for them.

"Joe," Sam warns. He continues to inch away from the book in Joe's hands. He's really the only one of the three who fully understands the power The Book contains. He's rightfully afraid of it.

Joe grins, his mind made. "Guys, we're going on a trip."

"You are out of your mind," Sam groans. He holds up his hands, as if that would stop him from being sucked away into the green mist.

"Calm down, Sam." Joe flips open The Book and scans for a page that would help him find his Uncle Joe. He has no idea where to start. He should have read it a long time ago. Summer break is about to end, but there are still a few weeks left. Maybe he can read a few chapters before he goes back to school.

"So where do you want to go?" Fred's grin is so wide it practically falls off his face. "Borneo? Maui? Oh! How about Jamaica?"

"Maybe…" In truth, Joe doesn't want to go to any of those places. Sure, they're nice, but they aren't going to help him find his uncle. He could try going back to Scotland. He doesn't really want to relive getting shot from a trebuchet though. And Uncle Joe left on the warp home. He probably isn't there.

"Nowhere. He wants to go nowhere," Sam pleads. He stares at Joe with wide eyes. "I really don't want to die today."

"We won't die, Sam." Joe chuckles. "We'll have a few near-death experiences, but we won't die. If anything happens, I'll use my amazing Time Page skills to take us home."

"How is that any better?" Sam's voice rises in pitch.

Joe continues to flip through the pages of his magical book. He finds a picture of his family tree. It traces all the way back to the first owner of The Book, some girl named Shanti. He traces his finger down the trunk until he finds his Uncle Joe. He tries tapping on the photo, but nothing happens. No mist, nothing. Maybe there's another way to find his lost uncle. What are some of the ways they had triggered a warp in the past? Palindromes, magic squares, wishes…

"You want to travel? That's fine. Let's do it like normal people. We'll book a flight somewhere." Sam stands behind Joe's bed. He glares at Fred, as if this was all his fault. "I'll even pay for it."

"You can afford to take all of us on a tropical vacation?" Fred crosses his arms, his eyebrow raises. "Why have you been holding back on us, man?"

Joe closes his eyes, blocking out his friends’ bickering. I wish I could find my Uncle Joe, he thinks. It seems childish, but it worked in the past. The first time they had ever warped, it was because Fred had wished they could find buried treasure and sail the seventeen seas. Next thing they knew, they were stuck in a tree staring down at Blackbeard.

Joe waits, but nothing happens with The Book. Maybe he isn't wishing for the right thing, or maybe he has to say it out loud? Joe speaks with a sigh, "I just wish I knew what I was supposed to do."

On cue, green mist pours out of The Book, swirling around the boys. It slides up their legs, eager to take them somewhere and sometime new.

"What did you do?" Sam jumps onto the bed, trying and failing to avoid the magical fog. It wraps around his waist, like a person reuniting with an old friend.

Fred laughs. "I hope it takes us somewhere fun. No Antarctica, no African desert. Please, take us somewhere tropical."

Joe grins at the time travel machine with sparkling eyes. He honestly didn't expect that to work. Unlike Fred, he doesn't care if The Book takes them someplace fun or exciting. As long as it gets him on the right track to find his Uncle Joe, he'll be more than happy.

In the blink of an eye, the mist pulls them away.

#time warp trio #twt #kellie fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #joe #sam #fred

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igotopinions · 5 years

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Books I read in 2018

* = Re-read Check out past years: 2012, 2013 (skipped), 2014, 2015, 2016, and 2017. Follow me on Goodreads to get these reviews as they happen. 1) You Are Not a Gadget by Jaron Lanier 2) Binti by Nnedi Okorafor 3) Veins of the Earth by Patrick Stewart 4) McGlue by Ottessa Moshfegh The ending is clear almost from the first page, but you keep reading anyway*. Great stuff. *It's almost as if there is MORE to enjoying a story than being surprised by the ending???? 5) They Shoot Horses, Don't They? by Horace McCoy Ah yes, the violent and bloody underbelly of....the marathon dance craze??? Marathons that last upward of a MONTH??? Incredulity, if nothing else, keeps you reading right to the end. 6) What Editors Do: The Art, Craft, and Business of Book Editing by Peter Ginna I've no interest in becoming an editor, but as an author I figured there'd be some useful stuff in here. From that perspective I'll say this - writers, even ones who only want to self-publish, would do well to breeze through this to get a better understanding of a process they've been through or want to go through, but also a better understanding of the editors themselves. 7) Taran Wanderer by Lloyd Alexander 8) The High King by Lloyd Alexander 9) The Foundling and Other Tales of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander 10) The Largesse of the Sea Maiden: Stories by Denis Johnson 11) Landmarks by Robert MacFarlane Beautiful stuff, and a great reminder of all sorts of precious sensations to be found out in the world or in your childhood memories. 12) Vacationland: True Stories from Painful Beaches by John Hodgeman I like John Hodgeman in general, but honestly haven't dug any of his books of false facts or the stand-up routines centered around such things. That stuff just feels like someone scatting nonsense (Blood tornado! Deranged millionaire! DOG STORM! Yeah!) to the tune of a particular vibe (the doodles in the margins of your high school notebooks). But it's clear the guy can be a consummate storyteller and so I happily picked up this book of his ostensibly true tales. It's charming, funny, and sincere. Huzzah! I look forward to whatever comes next from Hodge Man. 13) The World of Late Antiquity 150-750 by Peter R.L. Brown 14) The Book of Joan by Lidia Yuknavitch 15) The Luzhin Defense by Vladimir Nabokov, Michael Scammell (Translator) 16) The Only Harmless Great Thing by Brooke Bolander 17) Blindsight by Peter Watts 18) Killing Gravity by Corey J. White 19) How to Thrive in the Next Economy: Designing Tomorrow's World Today by John Thackara 20) Echopraxia by Peter Watts 21) The Colonel by Peter Watts 22) The Devil's Guide to Hollywood: The Screenwriter as God! by Joe Eszterhas It’s a big book of quotable notables intermixed with a guy who really wants you to know he slept with Sharon Stone. There’s some chuckles to be had, especially if you’re irritated by Robert McKee, but let’s just say I’m glad I got this half-off from a used book store. 23) The River of Consciousness by Oliver Sacks Writers of fiction would do well to read this. 24) Asking for It: The Alarming Rise of Rape Culture and What We Can Do about It by Kate Harding *25) The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut 26) Red Clocks by Leni Zumas A reminder that dystopian tales don’t have to be cranked to eleven, and are often much more effective that way. 27) Dungeon Crawl Classics RPG by Goodman Games I don’t normally include RPG books in this list, but at about 450 pages I reckon this one earns a spot. I had a lot of thoughts about it, which you can read here. 28) Thongor and the Wizard of Lemuria by Lin Carter Look man, either you want to read a Conan rip-off where a convenient flying ship pulls our hero out of trouble at Just. The. Right. Time. or you don't. Nothing I say here will change that. I dipped into this soon after discovering the infamous Appendix N reading list. 29) Dear Life by Alice Munro 30) A Cabinet of Byzantine Curiosities: Strange Tales and Surprising Facts from History's Most Orthodox Empire by Anthony Kaldellis 31) Climate Leviathan: A Political Theory of Our Planetary Future by Joel Wainwright and Geoff Mann 32) Writing the Pilot: Creating the Series by William Rabkin 33) Ways of Seeing by John Berger If you've already done some university level art studies you may find most of this old hat.But if you haven't? It's a great primer, and I strongly recommend it. Heck, I wish I'd had it put in front of me in high school. 34) Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado 35) A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah 36) Polyamorous Love Song by Jacob Wren This book came out a few years ago. Just a few days ago I found it on the dollar shelf at a great used book and record shop in Montreal (Cheap Thrills). I never bother with stuff from the dollar shelf because it's usually about as good as the price suggests. But. The title & cover grabbed my eye. Then I stood and read the entire first chapter, not because I needed that much to erode any skepticism but because it gripped me. Your mileage may - nay, will - vary, of course. For me, the contents of this book were exactly what I needed. It might be what you need too, especially if you are someone who creates any kind of art and is struggling with it in the face of an increasingly rabid world. 37) Feel Free: Essays by Zadie Smith 38) Revenge Fantasies of the Politically Dispossessed by Jacob Wren 39) Rich and Poor by Jacob Wren 40) Homesick for Another World by Ottessa Moshfegh 41) Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh 42) Room to Dream by David Lynch, Kristine McKenna A great book whose format of a conversation between biography and autobiography really works! Both halves strangle the "lone genius" bullshit almost right out of the gate and, especially in Lynch's chapters, there's some kind of amusing punchline at the end of every other paragraph. An excellent read that is enjoyable even if you haven't seen every minute of his creative output. 43) Warrior of World's End by Lin Carter This book contains a sentient metal bird called a "Bazonga" and a chapter called "Flight of the Bazonga", to give you an idea. It's fun and dumb and yes. 44) Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler 45) Twelve Tomorrows by Wade Roush (Editor) *46) A Burglar's Guide to the City by Geoff Manaugh 47) The Dying Earth by Jack Vance I was going to write my own review but then I saw BIll's here and it's just so much better than what I was going to say, as well as echoing much of my own thinking. 48) Dune by Frank Herbert It is Dune. 49) Make Room! Make Room! by Harry Harrison This book does not in fact contain the famous twist from the film. That changes a lot, an awful lot. Frankly it evokes, read now, climate change at least as much if not more than overpopulation. I'm not sure if I'd recommend reading it, frankly, though not for any lack of talent on Harry Harrison's part. 50) Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell 51) Silver Screen Fiend: Learning About Life from an Addiction to Film by Patton Oswalt 52) The Chapo Guide to Revolution: A Manifesto Against Logic, Facts, and Reason by Chapo Trap House *53) Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut Though it gifts us a few of his best quotes, such as “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”, I feel like Mother Night is only necessary reading for completionists. It often feels like a short story filled out to novel length, and lacks any of the fantastic or meta-textual elements of his other works. 54) Dungeons and Dragons Art and Arcana: A Visual History by Kyle Newman, Jon Peterson, Michael Witwer, Sam Witwer STATS Non-Fiction: 20 Fiction: 34 Poetry Collections:0 Comic Trades: 0 Wrote Myself: 0

#Birty #Records #2018 #Lists #Writeblr #Reading #Writing #Books

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fitnesshealthyoga-blog · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/8-minimalist-vacation-packing-tips-i-absolutely-swear-by/

8 Minimalist Vacation Packing Tips I Absolutely Swear By

I’m an under-packer by nature. I try to travel with one carry-on only (usually a backpack)—even when I’m leaving the country for a while and even when I’m traveling with my 3-year-old son. Sounds crazy, I know. And while it’s true this method has occasionally led me to seriously questionable hiking footwear (and definitely led me to 10 days in Scandinavia with only one pair of pants), for the most part, it is a truly liberating way to travel. Doing a one-backpack trip forces me to sit down and think about what I—and my son—truly need and what we can live with out. It almost turns last-minute packing an hour before the airport drive into a moving meditation on materialism and our existence as a human society… almost.

But even with the most minimalist of packing, I usually end up on a vacation with a decidedly un-minimalist schedule—and an overburdened frame of mind. There are hotels to book and tours to take and sights to see and reservations to make, not to mention inevitable souvenir shopping that completely undoes the whole one-backpack logic in the first place.

And after a week or so of that plus who knows how many flights/hours on the road? Well, I end up back home needing a vacation from my vacation. Sound familiar?

That’s why I decided it was time for me, the minimalist packer, to become and actual minimalist traveler—to plan a vacation that involved bringing, using, planning and doing as little as possible. Enter the plastic tiny house, a 170-square-foot energy-efficient home chilling (or rather, heating up) in the desert outside Phoenix, Arizona. (It was designed by Tiny House Nation host Zack Giffin, NBD). Just by the nature of choosing this as my temporary home, I was already hopping on the minimalist bandwagon. This particular 170-square-foot and super-energy-efficient tiny house made of plastic is a testimony to how little we can use if we just think creatively (and a sink that feeds gray water directly into the toilet system doesn’t hurt).

Image: Courtesy of Tony Marinella.

That’s right. I headed to the Arizona desert in August to spend my vacation in 170 square feet with the bare necessities, no other humans and certainly no restaurant reservations. And just to make my minimalist vacation extra-official, I brought: one pair of shoes, six items of clothing (including underwear) and a toothbrush/toothpaste. And that’s it. And it was the best vacation I’ve taken in a long time.

Image: apedelman/Instagram.

So if you’re the type who thinks travel has to involve endless planning, scheduling, packing multiple suitcases, booking hotels, tours and dining options, think again. This is how deciding to take that minimalist vacation to a tiny house in the desert, packing essentially nothing, changed the game for this traveling mom.

Image: Courtesy of Jennifer Verrier.

Why you should take a minimalist vacation

It’s cheaper

That part’s a given. If you’re doing less, you’re spending less. Aim to spend on the bare-bones.

Lodging: No hotels! Aim for an affordable Airbnb, or better yet, arrange a free home exchange through a site like Kid & Coe.

Transportation: Bonus if you drive or take public transport to your destination rather than flying.

Food: Groceries, not restaurant bills.

Leave the entertainment part of the budget at $0—and see where it takes you.

It requires less planning beforehand

With an entertainment budget and schedule set at zero, you can save your at-home hours before the trip and those frantic last-minute Google searches for places to stay/eat/see. Instead, let your vacation “plans” involve walking out your door in the morning and seeing where your stroll takes you.

The getting-there part is way easier

Embarking on a six-hour (or 16-hour) flight is exhausting enough already. Do you really need to add multiple pieces of luggage and a trip to baggage claim to your already (literally) burdened shoulders? No. Pack only the essentials—and then remove five things from your bag before you go. You’ll be surprised what you can do without.

It forces you to be resourceful

I stand by the statement, “You’ll be surprised what you can do without.” That said, for my tiny house trip, I wildly under-packed—on purpose, of course—and in my minimization discovered two things I hadn’t packed it turned out I sorely missed, especially in the dry Arizona summer: a hair tie and lip balm. But you’d better believe I scavenged through that house to find an old elastic tag that I used to tie my hair up for the whole trip. Oh, and I absolutely put kitchen olive oil on my lips every night. #NoRegrets

It forces you to focus on yourself (for better or worse)

Guess what. When you’re alone in a tiny house in the desert (or a cabin in the woods or a yurt on the mountain or whatever your preferred solo-minimalist vacation locale may be), you cannot just keep busy and la-la-la your way through life and ignore whatever it is you really need/need to work on/need to give up. Your shit will rise up to the surface, and you will have to confront it. But hey, the only way out is through, baby.

I do want to note here that I don’t equate a minimalist vacation to “roughing it.” Any sort of camping/backpacking/what-have-you trip that involves trekking through the woods, setting up a tent, conjuring up a fire and all your meals and hauling ass to some dark bug-infested corner of the forest in order to “go to the bathroom” is all very admirable—but it’s not quite what I mean by minimalist. Because that shit involves work. Camping/backpacking, strangely like taking a fancy multi-hotel tour of Europe, does involve a lot of planning and preparing (isn’t that literally the Boy Scout motto?) and pretty much constant effort to keep that whole staying-alive-in-the-wilderness thing afloat.

For me, in this moment, I wanted a trip that still landed solidly in the vacation category of travel: somewhere warm and habitable with pre-appointed (indoor) lodgings and an actual toilet. You know, the basics that roughing it doesn’t quite provide. And I lucked out in that my tiny house was pre-stocked with some basic food as well: milk, coffee, eggs, butter. All of this is to say that this precise midpoint between roughing it and your typical vacation got me exactly where I wanted to get: the middle of the desert with absolutely nothing to do.

Image: Courtesy of Jennifer Verrier.

So, how do you take a minimalist vacation?

Book early

This is key both for planning-stress levels as well as pricing.

Pack light (duh)

See above re: items of clothing, toothbrush, sunscreen. I promise you can do it.

Don’t pack shoes—I mean it

This is my No. 1 packing tip for all forms of travel, but especially if you’re aiming for minimalism. You’re not going to a wedding here, nor are you climbing Everest. Whatever isolated locale you choose, plan to wear—not pack—one pair of sturdy, oh-so-comfortable footwear that will actually last you the whole week or however long you’re gone. If you’re heading to the hills, hiking boots. If you’re beaching it, Birkenstocks. As long as they’re comfy, who cares what they look like? Nobody will be looking at your feet anyway.

Get outside your comfort zone with food

Yes, sure, you have favorite meals and favorite recipes and favorite restaurants. But what’s something super-simple you can cook just for yourself literally every day for a week? Make yourself one big epic pot of soup and see how long it lasts or dive into the wondrous world of kitchari. It won’t be fancy, but you will be full. And just see how much brain space you end up with when you’re not thinking about meal planning every single day.

Move your body in new ways

This whole thing goes out the window if you sit in your tiny house like a rock for a week. You will not feel good if your minimalist vacation involves being horizontal the entire time. But no, you will not have access to SoulCycle or a hotel gym. So get creative. Take a walk, a hike, a run, a jump-around-the-lake-five-times. Try your hand at a solo at-home yoga practice even if you’ve only ever taken two classes before. Get in your body and see what feels good. Bonus points if you really see what feels good. You are on a solo vacation, after all.

Expect to go without

So, you’ve never gone a week without makeup? Or shampoo? What about deodorant? I see you cringing. But remember, this is your minimalist vacation. You are likely all alone—or as is so often my case, “alone” with a child in tow—and nobody cares about how your hair looks. Of course, this is not to say you should go a week without key prescription medication or brushing your teeth. But that hairdryer/concealer/five-step facial-moisturizing system? Leave it behind. And while you’re at it, see if you can leave your social media accounts behind too. I dare you.

Do pack one (tech-free) thing to “do”

Whether it’s that poetry book you’re reading (or writing!), a journal, a sketchbook or even your knitting, there will be times your mind needs a break from all that quiet time with itself. Give it one that will also fuel it.

For me, in my borrowed tiny house, the sheer lack of stuff to do—no tent-setting, fire-building, bear-repelling, or shit hole-scouting, but also no sightseeing, navigating, appointment-setting or museum-hopping—left me no choice but to face what I had come to face: myself. I wrote. I meditated. I walked. I cooked some eggs. I took the longest shower possible because, as opposed to my showers at home that are hastily sandwiched between dishes, laundry, lunch-packing, school drop-off and the workday (it’s a wonder working single moms shower at all, honestly), I had no schedule to rush off to, nothing to be inevitably late to and no reason to feel guilty or ashamed for happily standing under hot water for half an hour. Other than, you know, water waste and the environment. Damn it.

On my minimalist vacation, I had zero plans. I had to—I got to—face many small, strange situations and feelings that are entirely alien in my regular life: silence, solitude, boredom, ease, freedom, peace.

And guess what (this is the sixth and possibly most important reason to take a minimalist vacation)…

The effects extend way beyond the trip itself

All that solo soul-searching? You will definitely carry the aftereffects home with you. There’s nothing quite like a trip that’s based on packing/planning/paying/doing/using less to inspire you to take stock in your life and think about what you actually need going forward—you know, out of the tiny house and back into real life.

One thing’s for certain: You’ll never again forget to appreciate the value of a hair tie.

Originally posted on SheKnows.

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