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After an emotionally draining Lila-akumatization, Ladybug and Chat Noir run into one another late at night and stop to lick each other’s wounds. They figuratively set aside the masks for one night and talk and laugh and tease and support one another. When Chat Noir accidentally shares too much, his cover is blown, and he ends up making a confession that he didn’t intend. Will Marinette break down the wall between them once and for all or reinforce it to keep them both safe?
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 12,667
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 166
- Kudos:
- 2,055
- Bookmarks:
- 405
- Hits:
- 18,161
Bookmarked by tippitytoppity (mountainrusing)
29 Jun 2026
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Alya’s scheme to find out how Adrien feels about Marinette goes awry, leaving Marinette heartbroken and vulnerable to akumatization. Chat Noir just happens to be in the right place at the right time to save her, leading to a series of afterhours meetings, pastries, and shared secrets and wounds. In helping one another get over their respective unrequited loves, Marinette and Chat Noir slowly begin to see each other like never before.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 203,476
- Chapters:
- 28/?
- Comments:
- 1,524
- Kudos:
- 1,884
- Bookmarks:
- 436
- Hits:
- 60,907
Bookmarked by tippitytoppity (mountainrusing)
27 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
his tail loosely makes itself at home around her hips.
—
“Adrien, Chat Noir’s father would be devastated if something happened to him.”
He rolls his eyes. “Nathalie, I’m sure that Chat Noir’s father is too busy trying to take over the world to notice.”
“Adrien, you know that’s not true.”
“Do I? I’m pretty sure it would take Chat Noir’s father a few days to realize that his son was gone if he snuck out a window and ran away. Chat Noir could probably hire a body double to pretend to be him, and his father wouldn’t notice for a month. It’s not like Chat Noir’s father eats meals with him or goes out of his way to spend time with him.”
If she wants to get on his case about his wellbeing all of a sudden, fine. Two can play at that game.
Only the look she gives him is so sad. “Oh, Adrien… If you can’t believe that Chat Noir’s father would be upset if something happened to him, can you at least believe that Chat Noir’s father’s secretary would? She might not always show it, but she worries when she sees the footage on the news of him batted about by supervillains. She frets when she finds his room empty. She’s afraid that one day he’s going to walk out the front door and never come back because something is going to happen to him and Ladybug won’t be able to fix it.”
Adrien finds himself speechless. “R-Really?” he stammers.
She lets out a sigh. “I haven’t spent the past decade helping to raise you only to lose you!”
Adrien closes the distance between them in seconds, enveloping her in a hug. “I’m really sorry, Nathalie.”
After she gets over the initial shock, Nathalie rests her head against his. “I am too.”
—
Marinette kisses Adrien on the cheek. “Sorry I’ve been such a jerk.”
His brain momentarily goes offline, and idiocy escapes his lips. “You can be a jerk to me anytime...”
Marinette raises an eyebrow amusedly.
Suddenly Adrien realizes what he’s said. “Not that you’re a jerk!” he squeaks. “You’re the person nicest—uh—nicest person I know. You’re so fine—kind!—and thoughtful and pretty—uh!—pretty awesome and…” He needs to stop babbling. She probably thinks there’s something wrong with him. “What-I’m-trying-to-say-is-that-you-weren’t-being-a-jerk-and-I-think-you’re-wonderful!” He gets out in one breath and then smacks himself in the face.
“I find that putting a hand over my mouth or biting my tongue usually helps,” Marinette offers, trying to keep from laughing too hard. “Just be careful you don’t hurt yourself biting your tongue. …Is that what I sound like flustered?”
Adrien groans, peeking at her between his fingers. “No, you sound a lot cuter.”
Marinette can no longer control her giggles. “Adrien Agreste, are you flirting with me?”
“Yeah,” Adrien sighs before he can catch himself. “NO! I meant no. Because that would be stupid and insensitive—not that I wouldn’t like to flirt with you, but we’re just friends, and that wouldn’t be appropriate. Not that I don’t think you’re—”
Marinette takes pity on him, placing her fingers over his lips. “As your friend, I’ll let you in on a secret: don’t talk when flustered. You won’t say what you mean, and you’ll only make it worse the more you talk. Now, I’ll do you a favor and leave, but thank you again for…everything.”
She moves her fingers from his lips and rests them on her own as she tips her head to the side.
Adrien’s mind tries to compute “her fingers, my lips, her fingers, her lips”, but keeps crashing.
“See you Monday,” Marinette chuckles.
Adrien stands stunned as he watches her disappear around the corner, and a great deal of the fog that’s been impairing him lifts.
He jumps for joy and pumps his fist in the air. “She kissed me!” he trills, turning to throw his arms around Nino who both ushers Adrien back and checks him for fever.
“She doesn’t hate me! This is the best day ever!”
“Uh huh,” Nino shakes his head. It’s as if thirty minutes ago they weren’t having a rather desperate conversation about how messed up Adrien’s life is.
—
Adrien takes Marinette by the hand. “Could you please get Marinette somewhere safe and make sure she stays there?”
“Uh… Sure, Mec.”
Marinette takes a second to be annoyed. “Seriously?”
Adrien struggles not to laugh. “I’m not asking Nino to protect you. You could break him over your knee. I’m asking him to be your warden. Nino, if she tries anything heroic or even vaguely altruistic, sit on her.”
Marinette pouts as Nino snorts in laughter. With a wink for Marinette and a two-finger salute, Adrien takes off.
“Nino, I think I’m going to do something vaguely altruistic. Want to try to sit on me?”
“Pass. Just make sure that Marinette is back ASAP. Adrien will flip if he finds I don’t have a spotless Marinette readily available for inspection.”
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Summary
“Who is he?” Adrien inquired, stepping closer to Marinette to peer curiously at the cute bundle in her arms.
Alix tactfully dropped the first bombshell: “His name is Louis. He’s Future Chat Noir’s son.”
Adrien nearly fell over in shock as his legs threatened to give out on him.
“If he’s Chat Noir’s son,” Marinette reasoned crankily, bitter about having her moment interrupted yet again. “why don’t you bring him to this timeline’s Chat Noir for him to take care of?”
With a sadistic smirk, Alix dropped bombshell number two: “Because you’re Louis’s mother.”
Marinette made a strangled noise as she looked frantically between the baby in her arms and the superhero seemingly wrecking Marinette’s five-year plan.
Marinette’s love confession is interrupted when Alix brings Marinette and Chat Noir’s son from the future for Adrien and Marinette to babysit for a week.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 44,047
- Chapters:
- 14/?
- Comments:
- 773
- Kudos:
- 1,287
- Bookmarks:
- 238
- Hits:
- 35,893
Bookmarked by tippitytoppity (mountainrusing)
27 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“Special delivery,” Alix sang, handing the child over to a stunned Marinette. “The Stork Miraculous holder was busy, so…”
—
“I’m worried because… I don’t want you to be his rebound, Marinette. You deserve so much better.”
Her expression softened as she took Adrien’s hands. “Thank you for worrying about me, but you don’t need to. Chat Noir is a good, earnest man. If we have a baby together, he’s serious about me. He’s the kind of person who loves with everything he is and gives himself wholeheartedly.”
—
“Chat Noir would never forgive me if I didn’t take good care of his princess and their kitten.”
Marinette groaned. “Don’t you start. That nickname should have died the day it was born.”
“You like it when he calls you that.”
She quirked a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You like the reminder that you’re special to him.”
—
“I abhor his father.” She blew out a sigh. “At least I know I can make things better for him.” She cast her son an adoring look. “I get to ensure he gets the family he’s always deserved.”
Adrien’s stomach swooped. He looked away as his face became unbearably hot. “Okay. Now you’re doing it to me.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Hm? Doing what?”
He made a vague gesture. “This. I’m a complete sucker for domestic fluff.”
—
“After he moved out, he could spend time with his friends as a civilian without sneaking around.”
“…He visits me as frequently as before.”
“You’re his favourite. He’s always visited you the most.”
Realization dawned upon her. “I have pastries at my house.”
He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “You have you at your house, Silly.”
—
“Now that maman is gone, I’ve got you all to myself.”
Louis giggled and squealed in delight.
“Daddy loves you,” Adrien whispered. “Daddy loves you so, so much.”
—
“…Do you still want three children, or was that a thirteen-year-old Marinette thing?”
“I’m not sure. I adore children, so I want at least two, but we’ll see how many I can handle when I’m responsible for them. …How about you? How many children do you want?”
Bashfully, he smiled, “As many as possible? It’d be good to have some and adopt a few more…just not more than I can care for. I can provide for a pack financially, but I don’t want to be like my father, just paying for things and considering my job done. The most important part of being a parent is spending time with your kids so they know they matter.”
—
Marinette slid an arm around his waist. He relaxed into her, tension fading as he rested his head against hers.
She gave the customer a bright smile and turned to Adrien to cheerfully ask, “Buttercup, why don’t you take a break?”
“At once, Beloved,” he dropped a kiss atop her head.
—
“…I like you getting possessive of me.”
“That wasn’t okay of me either. I don’t own you, Adrien. No one does.”
He thought for a moment. “You respect me and want the best for me. I’m more than a status symbol or a piece of eye candy or a bank account to you. So, I like it when you act possessive. It makes me feel safe and warm and cared about.”
—
“I heard once that enlightenment can be summed up as ‘when you’re hungry, eat. When you’re tired, sleep’. Maybe babies have it figured out.”
“Yeah, we could benefit from feeling our feelings more.”
Adrien gave his kwami a sideways look. “Oh? You too, Plagg?”
“Of course,” Plagg sniffed. “I shouldn’t hold back so much. I should complain when I want cheese more often and celebrate loudly when I have it.”
—
“What makes someone asexual is a lack of sexual attraction. Some asexuals enjoy sex. Some are indifferent, and some are repulsed by even the thought of it.”
Marinette considered him. “And you?”
“...The last one. It’s partly why I thought no one would want me as a partner.”
“That’s bull! Adrien, no one is entitled to sex. If anyone ever pressures you or makes you feel guilty for being ace, I’ll rip them a new one.”
Adrien couldn’t stop a deliriously happy grin nearly tearing his face in half. “Thank you, Marinette. I…really appreciate that. Still, I feel like—”
“No,” she insisted hotly. “Those are your people-pleasing, doormat tendencies talking. You should only ever have sex with someone if you want to. If anyone demands sex as a prerequisite to a relationship, they obviously don’t love you, and you shouldn’t be with them.”
“Thank you,” he responded in a small, humble voice.
“You’re welcome. I love you, and I want you to be happy. Be with people who respect you and prioritize your needs.”
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Summary
Anthony Crowley and Asa Fell visit a psychic on a whim. Things get a little weird. (Set after season 3.)
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
21 Jun 2026
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bill denbrough is a moron. like, he’s not stupid stupid — well, he is, he’s a little stupid — but god, is he an idiot. bill’s the kind of guy to hear the waiter say careful, it’s hot, and take a big, scalding bite anyway; the kind of guy who searches his entire house from top to bottom looking for a pair of jorts only to find he’s been wearing them the whole time (and, obviously, the kind of guy to own jorts in the first place). bill’s the kind of guy who throws his entire body weight into pushing on a pull door, bounces off with a confused “oh!”, and then pushes it again, like it might work the second time.
(it’s okay, he always gets it by the third.)
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
17 Jun 2026
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Where my treasure is a grave by ethelcainfest, everythingsbetterunderthestars
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
20 Oct 2025
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Summary
They were both widowed from the war.
When they met, draped in black and eyes dull, their hearts were hollow, their faces thinned from grief and survival, and they had little left to lose. Lily had never cared for the money; Narcissa had never cared for herself.
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Or, everything Lily has ever loved, she's loved it straight to death.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,333
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 12
- Kudos:
- 21
- Bookmarks:
- 6
- Hits:
- 188
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
10 Jun 2026
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Carrots and daisies by everythingsbetterunderthestars
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
10 Oct 2025
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Summary
After Luna's mother passes, she cuts all contact with Ginny, who's left to miss her best friend until they reunite at Hogwarts. When they eventually rekindle their friendship, Ginny thinks she'll have a better chance at keeping Luna this time if she goes along with the silent agreement not to mention the years they spent apart.
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Or, Ginny and Luna have matching earrings from their childhood and surprise each other by both wearing them again on the same day.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,115
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 10
- Kudos:
- 18
- Bookmarks:
- 5
- Hits:
- 151
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
10 Jun 2026
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Summary
Strange thing, to stumble upon your most reviled foe, in this youthful form, at his worst moment.
Standalone.
Series
- Part 7 of love lost
Bookmarked by warningDoNotClimb (mountainrusing)
06 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
A young man kneeling distantly in the dirt: auburn-haired and sweet, he clutches at a motionless girl in his arms. A jagged gash tears across her chest. He trembles around her, wand clutched haphazardly in his palm, sleeves stained with spots of bright blood.
He looks up sharply as you approach. His eyes, blue like the free sky, flicker.
You think he’s beautiful like this, bloodied and in pain. You want to break him further; you want him at your feet. You want to elevate him; you want to lead him further astray.
He doesn’t move, as though frozen, transfixed at the sight of you, for you are a stranger to him.
Odd, to be so starkly unrecognised by the very man who was your initial contact, your very first introduction to the wizarding world.
You couldn’t ever forget him. And he shouldn’t forget you. But this version of him is so young; it will be decades before he sets eyes on little orphan boy Tom.
Kneeling, you reach for him thoughtlessly, just wanting to touch your fingers upon this curious being, as though doing so would confirm that he is in fact real and not some strange illusion. But then, at last, he finds the will to unfreeze. His mouth falls open:
“Help her…” he breathes, “Please.”
His hand shudders, uncontrolled. Fingers spasming along the length of his wand. If he held it any tighter, he might snap it outright.
Well, when he asks so sweetly, you think.
You extract your bone-white wand, elegant heartless thing, from the holster hidden within the folds of your robes. Though your hand is made to spill blood rather than mend a bleeding wound, it is a versatile tool, capable of reversing the very damage it wrought. Just as you seize life, you must be able to return it too, or you cannot claim any domain over Death.
Though, in this case, the harm is not your doing. For once.
She doesn’t move; she doesn’t breathe. But through your delvings into Soul Magic, you’ve gained a sort of seventh sense. You can see souls—not only your own fractured one, but that of others. And you can see hers, still lingering there, floating, lost. As though dazed, as though in disbelief at its own passing.
You reach out with your magic, wand pointed to the heavens, and gather her soul. Like spun yarn, and your wand the spindle. She doesn’t struggle. Not conscious enough to resist. Fresh enough to be pliable.
You press the point of your wand against that sturdy heart-bone. The red recedes. You don’t bother mending her clothes.
She still isn’t breathing. Naturally. All you’ve done is sew a corpse shut.
You unravel the yarn of her soul from your wand. With each inch, you lay a binding spell upon her, tying her soul back into her body. It’s not the same as the natural bindings that keep a person alive, that anchor the soul to life. But like surgery stitches, they need only hold long enough for the soul to heal itself and seal back together. And it will.
Resilient thing, the soul. Murder may split it apart, but with time, with reflection, it will mend again. It is the natural way.
You would know. To you, it is an obstacle; to her, it is salvation.
Dumbledore gasps. Warmth is returning to her body. Her heart stutters, waking with a jolt, then finds its footing.
Wonder in Dumbledore’s eyes. “Ari...” His wand has dropped to the ground, forgotten in the grass. His palm is pressed to her chest.
You hum, impassive. You aren’t sure why you bothered to help him.
But then he speaks again.
“Thank you,” he cries. “Thank you.”
You’ve never seen him so uncomposed.
Will he not question what you’ve done? She was clearly dead. He must have realised that, for all that he begged your aid. He must have known the futility of pleading a random stranger to conjure a miracle.
And yet, you did.
Do not look a gift horse in the mouth, you suppose. Not unless you want to see gleaming teeth, a gaping maw.
It’s an ugly thing you’ve done, bound a freed soul back to confinement. Yet that is the condition all humans live under. An affront. An abhorrence. But you’ve never cared for rights nor wrongs, not as dictated by the world. Only your own rules matter, only your values. This is your unique code of honour.
A foreign twinge of affection stirs. Something softens in your chest. You reach out your hand, and place it upon his, still resting upon the girl’s chest, newly unbroken.
“Take her home,” you say. Your voice is flat, baring nothing. “She needs her rest. So do you.”
You will follow, of course. You would see more of this, more of him, now that your original goal is out of reach.
Perhaps this isn’t such a bad trade after all.
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Summary
Voldemort has traveled a long way to kill Dumbledore.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 86,292
- Chapters:
- 10/10
- Collections:
- 28
- Comments:
- 1,416
- Kudos:
- 5,287
- Bookmarks:
- 1,730
- Hits:
- 102,899
Bookmarked by warningDoNotClimb (mountainrusing)
04 Jun 2026
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James Potter Willingly Goes To The Library by strwbrryj4m
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
15 Mar 2021
Tags
Summary
James Potter does not frequent the library. Certainly not during his free time. Certainly not on a Saturday afternoon.
But this Saturday afternoon James Potter can’t stop thinking about Remus Lupin and his lycanthropy (which James both recently discovered and recently discovered the severity of) and James decides that he must find a solution. He must.
So, James sets off to the library.
----
This is for Remus Lupin Fest 2021! A sweet lil fic about the beginnings of James and Remus's friendship :)
It's prompt 55, which is included in the notes!!
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,469
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 10
- Kudos:
- 171
- Bookmarks:
- 28
- Hits:
- 1,387
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
29 May 2026
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Summary
Remus dies in the Battle of Hogwarts and is greeted by an old friend, who incidentally also has some experience in being a dead father. One-shot.
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
29 May 2026
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Summary
After fighting with Lupin in Grimmauld Place, Harry wondered if his father would have approved what he had said to Lupin. Fortunately, James comes to give Remus his piece of mind. Set during Deathly Hallows.
Series
- Part 4 of Missing Moments
- Part 1 of Dreamverse
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
29 May 2026
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Summary
She presents him with his own little stack of flash cards. They're colour coded by study unit, but the card on top just says his name in glittery pink gel pen.
E d d i e
Christ, she's dotted the i with a little smiley face.
If he looks at her for too long, he feels a pull like gravity – like standing at the top of the quarry and looking in. There’s a pull from somewhere deep in his chest that wants him to lean forward and fall.
He almost does.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,286
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 3
- Comments:
- 87
- Kudos:
- 1,598
- Bookmarks:
- 265
- Hits:
- 7,978
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
28 May 2026
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Summary
Parvati's mark is a promise of a future where someone loves her. But that doesn't mean getting there is going to be easy.
Series
- Part 2 of Marking Us Both
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
26 May 2026
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Summary
Everyone in Hogwarts has heard the rumours about them, but only the two of them know the truth.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,040
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 18
- Kudos:
- 723
- Bookmarks:
- 46
- Hits:
- 7,068
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
26 May 2026
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Summary
Hermione is not used to being told she's beautiful. Fleur is planning to change that.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,342
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 50
- Kudos:
- 1,506
- Bookmarks:
- 115
- Hits:
- 30,703
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
26 May 2026
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Summary
Some people make a lot of fuss about their marks. Ginny doesn't see the point. Things will work themselves out, right?
Series
- Part 1 of Marking Us Both
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,053
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 83
- Kudos:
- 1,804
- Bookmarks:
- 186
- Hits:
- 15,596
Bookmarked by mountainrusing
26 May 2026
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Summary
I force away the memories from before, of sun dresses and naked legs, of lipstick and alcohol, of freedom that never did me any good.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,100
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 10
- Kudos:
- 73
- Bookmarks:
- 12
- Hits:
- 1,554
Bookmarked by montañarusa (mountainrusing)
25 May 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
This is what I like to think:
Our young nation, rising from the ashes of a corrupt and decayed one, is carried forward by a wave of hope and courage; and at the very front line, most eager of all because they have found their place at last, the Soldiers of Life.
These girls, my girls, they are soldiers, risking their bodies to give life, letting their flesh be shredded for the sake of others. I am their healer, their teacher, their general; I lead them and they follow, as willingly as Ruth followed Naomi.
*
In truth, they are as faithless as Judas, or most of them are, and you can't always tell who. Faithless as Judas, yes, but also blind as newborn kittens and stubborn as unbroken foals. It hurts me, to have to use the cattle prod, to hear their cries and watch their thrashing bodies. It hurts me to the point where I want to moan with them.
Yet I do not lose hope. We belong together, we are women. Some day, when they have fulfilled their duty, some of them will perhaps return to stand like I do, looking at a sea of red. They will pick out the faces from the red lump, will learn how to connect with each and every one of them, and will inspire in them love and fear.
I always use my gentlest voice when I teach.
*
It is vain to long for recognition. I am content to do my duty in the place He has found for me. I do not long for children of my own, I stopped having such dreams years ago. I long for my girls' swollen bellies, their complacency, their faith.
Stop dreaming, Helena says one afternoon. They don't love you.
Her hand around the teacup is fat, fingers like small sausages. She was not a Believer, before; she only was saved after the Liberation.
We're guards, she says. It's our job. We can't afford to be nice. They don't know what's best for them.
On the last, at least, we can agree. I smile and raise the teacup. None of the girls likes Helena, of that much I'm sure.
*
Don't think it's easy for me either, I say during a lesson, my voice thick and raw.
They blink uneasily; they don't understand. How could they? I cover my mouth with my hand again, remove it. I must not lose control. Showing my feelings is good, it helps me connect. But I can't let them question my authority.
It's difficult for all of us, I say, Satan's images are still strong in our minds. Let's learn how to overcome them.
*
Aunt Lydia, Janine says, and I like the sound of my name on her tongue. I used to have another one, before, a much less pretty one, with lumps of consonants that obstructed one's breath.
Aunt Lydia, may I sit down?
Yes, dear.
I smile at her. I like it when she calls me aunt.
I make Janine a cup of tea, a little well-deserved indulgence. Meek and mild-mannered, she has taken the lessons to heart. Yet she's so starved for affection, for approval and caresses, as if the Saviour's love couldn't fill her all by itself.
Janine will make me proud, and yet I will miss her when she's gone. Her education ends in just a week. I pray to have these selfish considerations lifted from my heart.
*
For every year that passes, the memories grow weaker. The time before becomes more vague and grey. Every night I thank the Lord for this.
My body isn't as strong anymore, but I don't need it to be. I am not a vessel of Life, only of Hope, and Hope does not require young, supple limbs.
It was never my destiny to be coveted, to be whistled after like a dog and picked apart like a piece of meat. Satan tempted me, made me cry at night because boys didn't look twice at me and because some of them called me rat and ugly to my face. Little did I know, then, of my Lord's mercy, that he spared me the humiliation and sorrow that comes from being used, like so many were in the old times, used and tossed away like a piece of rubbish.
My girls are all beautiful in their own way, if only because of who they are and what their bodies can do. They do not deserve that humiliation any more than I did. They deserve the honour that comes from our newfound Empire, built on rocks, not on sand.
*
The Particicution is justice, revenge, the destruction of the destroyer by his own victims. It warms my heart.
I tell the girls to line up, and the prisoner is brought forth.
According to the charges, the crime was heinous. I do not question the information given to me. At any rate, it doesn't matter. The man, the thing, will suffer.
I tell them what he has done. I see murder in their faces, the Life-givers longing to kill, on my signal. A surge, a storm, a roaring fire, women learning of their own power.
I blow the whistle.
And I stand back, waiting for the tide of red.
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The Daughter's Tale by Meltha for Serenity_Ribbon
Fandoms: The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
23 Dec 2018
Tags
Summary
What happened to the girl in the white dress?
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 955
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 4
- Kudos:
- 64
- Bookmarks:
- 8
- Hits:
- 661
Bookmarked by montañarusa (mountainrusing)
25 May 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
I remembered a mother and father, dimly, on the edge of memory. There was a cat, and a house, and a doll. There was a forest, and mother running with me, though I felt sleepy and confused, and then there was nothing. I woke up in a cool, white bed, remembering the story she had told me about the brother and sister who met the witch in the gingerbread house. Appearances were sometimes very wrong, and the pretty little room felt as wrong as ever. The doctors told me everything I had ever seen had been a dream, I had been sick, and wasn’t I so happy to see my mother and father again now that I was all well? They brought in two people I’d never seen before. Wouldn’t I be a good girl and try to remember them?
I bit the doctor. He must have nearly lost that finger, but the taste of blood in my mouth was real. I remember the woman’s look of horror. They’d given her a crazy daughter, and she had only this one chance. Her husband had laughed, though, thought it was hilarious. He was already underestimating me. But then they all do that to every girl.
The choice was simple, even for a five-year-old. Learn to pretend to be good, learn to pretend to forget, learn to pretend to submit. The other option was death. Of one kind or another. Now I realize they probably wouldn’t have killed me. A female with working ovaries and a potential lifetime of children? The other option was the Red Centre.
I learned to hold my tongue. But I didn’t hold my mind. I always knew. I refused to forget.
They called me Sarah. I was told by the woman who said I was her daughter, but to whom I bear no resemblance at all, I should feel gratitude for having a name. Many women do not. They are Ofs. So long as I behaved, I wouldn’t lose my name. That’s what they told me.
Of course, they had already taken it once, so I didn’t trust them.
I was no fool. I had working eyes and ears and brains. I still remembered my letters, though I couldn’t read properly. Most importantly, I remembered that they lie. All of them, even when they don’t know it. So I learned to lie beautifully, keep my face passive as stone, but I refused to lie to myself.
I was eleven when I stumbled on the resistance. One of the Marthas in my father’s house was part of them. She spoke too loud and never checked who might be listening, but then she did think I was a bit stupid. I had cultivated feigning that particular trait. It was something men seemed to find admirable and women unthreatening.
When I was thirteen and showed signs of fruitfulness (a pretty name for bleeding), my rather relieved mother explained to me I would soon be married to a fine man, and if all went well, I would have a child quickly. I don’t think she ever quite forgot her first image of me, covered in that doctor’s blood. I doubted I would be missed much. Regardless, I had no desire to become the bride of one of the commanders or their sons, so I tried something rash, utterly foolish.
I ran away. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew who I was trying to find. I had picked up enough bits of information to suspect who might be part of the resistance, and I was nearly certain the chauffeur who had once worked for Commander Waterford was in it. Waterford was dead now, arrested in a purge, and if half I heard about him was true, I only regretted he couldn’t be killed more than once. Nick, the chauffeur, had been reassigned to another influential man. There were murmurs, less than words on wind, that he knew something. I found myself knocking quietly on his door just past midnight.
“Who...?” he said, then stopped mid-sentence when he saw me.
“Mayday,” I said, and in spite of myself, my voice cracked. “Please, Mayday.”
“Are you out of your mind?” he said.
“Not yet, but I will be soon,” I said. “I have to get out of here.”
“Who are you?”
I laughed.
“I have no idea.”
He got me out. I was adopted by a sympathetic couple who helped smuggle women from Gilead, and I got an education. I survived. And I helped over five hundred handmaids, Marthas, and unwomen cross the border.
My mother. It was from her that I learned the name I had forgotten.
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Tags
Summary
Moira is a trans woman, and she wants to watch it all burn.
Bookmarked by montañarusa (mountainrusing)
25 May 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
A lot of women can’t be sorted properly. A whole lot more than they’ll admit. There are some who were just too educated, some dykes, the incorrigibles who aren’t docile enough for proper women’s work no matter how much they’re beaten. There’s all the women who aren’t white and have to be taken out of the breeding pool, either sterilized into Marthas or exiled. Or executed. Most infertiles are just made into Marthas, but there are some who can’t be put away in the kitchen. A lot of disabled women end up dead, not fit for breeding or for work, even in the Colonies. And then there are the people like her, who they try hard to pretend don’t exist.
Moira would have been exiled or executed immediately if they’d known at first. There were some people high up who were sympathetic, and she had plenty of friends in the community – the community that no longer exists – who did their best to help her. So she avoided the physical examinations that would have shown she was a gender traitor (not an official term, because they officially don’t exist, but she’d heard it used).
She escaped when a new round of examinations came. She didn’t tell anyone that was her reason, of course. After her first escape, they couldn’t do the examination because it would’ve shown that she was being more maltreated than technically legal. The second time, she wasn’t as lucky.
By then, they had an (unofficial) policy for gender traitors. They obviously couldn’t breed, and were too feminine to be true male citizens but not female enough to be wives or Marthas.
Those who didn’t pass well enough were executed. Those who were pretty, who looked enough like they were cis women, were given another job. There are always men who want something special.
So here she is. They did something to her, before they brought her here; she’s not sure what, but she knows she doesn’t think as well as she used to and the others don’t either. The incorrigibles need to be kept down. Part of it’s the drugs they keep pumping through the air system, aphrodisiacs and downers. But a lot of it’s permanent. Her head clears partially in the dorms at night, but there’s always a film in front of her eyes.
All of the girls, all the incorrigibles, they work together. They’re willing to do whatever it takes, all ready to go – go away, go down with the ship if that’s where it ends.
One was a chemist; she’s assigned the formulation. One has a client who gives her drugs from outside. A couple of the larger dykes volunteer to act as muscle.
A sweet girl volunteers to set it off. Once, she would have been exactly Moira’s type. Her voice is lilting. She’s a dark, bluish black. Some of the clients like a bit of color. They must have felt she was too pretty to waste. She remakes their outfits, sometimes. She was an oil painter before.
They wait until 22:30. The peak time for important Commanders. The Aunts are doped just enough to be slow. The chemist has passed the explosive to the artist. The artist passes the Aunt, who barely looks at her. All the incorrigibles have been detaching themselves from their clients, and now move towards the door.
The clients are more down from the drugs pumped into the air than the girls, not having had years to build up tolerance. It takes them a while to notice they’re being left alone. By the time they do, the muscles have arranged themselves strategically, slipping out of their heels and swinging their fists. All the girls run for the doors, left open by an Aunt who had been in the business before everything changed.
The drugged men, too many of them, take them down. The doped Aunts awaken enough to start coming after the girls with shock batons. The girls are screaming and running and fighting.
The wall blows out. The ceiling starts to fall and now everyone’s running, clients and incorrigibles alike.
Moira can feel the heat push at her back like the rush of air from an oven but so much harder, the light and fire more blinding than concrete in a Texas summer, heat haze warping her vision and making the ground waver. Her ears hear the high pitches of screams and the bass waves of fire but nothing in between. She can’t tell which way is up, the sky the same dizzy red as the ground.
She falls and turns. The sky resolves itself. She can see, see clearly, like the film that’s been over her eyes for years has finally pulled away. She can see the building, mostly caved in, one wall standing. She can see the fire, two stories high. She can see a Commander on the ground. She had him once. He was an ass.
She watches the fire burn.