This Whole Concept Is Just *chef Kiss*

I told my self I was going to be productive during my vacations however I'm back to this bottomless pit called Tumblr and now I can't seem to find a way out of the Miraculous fandom again

St. Patrick of Armagh, deliver me from writing.

Even medieval monks complained about their jobs!

Just saw this post on facebook lol

I was having a crappy day until now. Thank you so much for your dedication for this weird prompt djsjdbjsks

Hey. May I suggest "I'd kill for a cookie... literally" or "it's six o'clock in the morning. You're not having cheese". The world needs more kwami fics

Good suggestion @bananaplag!

This (as to be expected haha) turned out way longer than I intended, but I fullfilled two prompts with it so it’s fine right? RIGHT?

It’s more of an Adrienette fic if I’m honest, but there is some Kwami action in it and honestly just a bunch of crack. I had a lot of fun with it and I hope you like it too. It’s not perfect, but honestly I just wanted to get it out there, the time felt right. (I really need to look into google docks so I can pick people up opn their beta offers haha)

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Prompt taken from the [Writing Pro3mpt List]

Find my [Prompt Request Series] on a03

Prompt 4/?

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Random Prompts: "I'd kill for a cookie... literally" "it's six o'clock in the morning. You're not having cheese"

5.000 words [ao3 link to follow]

o0O0o

Marinette opens her eyes to a tiny face floating mere centimetres from hers.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Tikki whispers, unflinching as Marinette jerks back, barely suppressing a surprised yelp.

“What’s wrong? Is there an attack?”, Marinette can feel her pulse pick up as she fully comes to her senses, half expecting to hear screams and crashes from outside. Now of all times? Really? She pushes herself to sit up, but everything is quiet, safe for Alya’s soft snores fluttering up through the dark. Marinette risks a glance past Tikki. On the sleeping pad next to hers Alya’s shoulders rise and fall in a steady rhythm, just visible in the dark of Nino’s small bedroom.

“I’m hungry.”

Her eyes snap back to Tikki’s, which are still a little too close to her own.

“What?”

“I’m hungry”, her Kwami repeats matter of factly.

“Tikki, what are you doing? You could have woken the others.” Technically, the boys are sleeping across the hall and wouldn’t have woken up if Tikki had lucky-charmed a siren, but that’s not the point. Marinette runs her hand over her face. “You know there’s some Macarons in my purse.”

Instead of an answer, Tikki just slowly shakes her head, her blue eyes widening as she zooms even closer. Marinette leans back instinctively, registering the pink and white crumbs on the Kwami’s chin.

“I would kill for a cookie right now,” Tikki whispers, a strange twinkle in her eyes. “Literally.”

Marinette swallows.

[[READ MORE]]

“Alright, you stay here. I think I saw a cookie jaw in the kitchen when we made dinner.”

She gets up carefully, wary to not disturb Alya who is still lying peacefully next to her. Her face looks strangely younger without the glasses, half buried in the mop of red curls spilling over her pillow. With every exhale her nose crunches up slightly, lips fluttering with soft snores. As Marinette’s sleeping bag slides back onto her mattress, she can see a frown scurry over her friend’s face. It’s enough to make her still mid motion, almost holding her breath as she waits for Alya’s eyelids to relax again.

Tikki, who is staring up at her from her self sewn pillowcase clears her throat.

Shooting a warning look at the Kwami, Marinette lets out a shaky exhale and slowly, ever so slowly raises one foot to step over Alyas legs. The two mattresses almost take up the entire floor space of the room and Marinette has to be very careful not to trip in the dark as she climbs over to the desk crammed next to the door. She more feels than looks around for her phone on the cluttered surface, biting back a string of curses at the mess Nino calls a working space. It’s as if the chaos that isn’t allowed on his floor simply took refuge on all other horizontal surfaces. Finally, half buried under the essay that was due last Thursday, she catches a glimpse of the familiar polka dotted case. Anxious not to cause a landslide of semi finished school work, CD cases and something that looks eerily like an half eaten banana she inches her phone out from underneath the papers and unplugs the charger as quietly as possible. Her other hand finds the door handle in the dark and she pulls, straining to push aside Alya’s backpack which blocks the doors movement. Behind her, Alya turns in her sleep, her arms tightening around her ladybug plushie. On the air mattress next to her, Tikki’s eyes almost seem to glow in the dark as she stares urgently towards the door.

“Hide”, Marinette mouthes.

“Hurry,” Tikki mouthes back before she slips into the pillow case, maintaining eye contact until the last possible moment. With a quiet huff, Marinette gives the door a final pull and squeezes through the crack, stepping into quiet dark of the hallway. The floorboards creak slightly under her her naked soles as she steps from one foot to the other, rubbing her bare arms. The noise seems eerily loud, as if her hearing is enhanced by the darkness and Marinette for the first time realises just how quiet the flat is. The Lahiffes are out of town over the weekend, Chris safely stored away at his grand mother’s, while Nino insistently called teenage privilege of having the flat to himself and his friends. His parents were quick to agree, even helping them set up the pull out couch for Nino and Adrien to share. Still, she can’t help feeling like an intruder.

“This is fine,” she tries to assure herself, fumbling to turn on the flashlight on her phone “Mme Lahiffe told us to consider ourselves at home. It’s not like I am stealing their cookies.”

Her fingers slide over the screen and a pale cone of light spills from her phone along the hall. Marinette raises her hand so that the kitchen door at the other end comes into view, its light wood stained ominously by the shadow of the mirrored wardrobe that marks the middle of the hall. It’s the only piece of furniture here, the floor of the hall like of all rooms carefully kept clear of obstacles. The room seems strangely wide and empty and suddenly she almost feels lost within it. In the living room to her right, Nino mumbles in his sleep. Somewhere, probably in the studio, an old clock ticks loudly. There’s a series of those weird noises flats only seem to make when it’s the middle of the night and everyone is asleep safe for you, ideally without a light switch nearby. Marinette huffs. She’s the masked heroine of Paris, a friend’s dark hallway isn’t going to intimidate her. But the feeling of being where she shouldn’t, of doing something almost illegal stays with her as she hesitantly begins to tip toe down the hall.

Tikki is going to have some explaining to do, making her sneak around like that at who knows what hour. With every step she takes, the shadow of the wardrobe grows in size, swaying in sync with the phone in her hand. The many picture frames on the walls glitter softly and the whole situation has something strangely surreal to it.Time seems to stretch, the ticks of clock further apart at this late, or early hour. Marinette is hyper aware of the soft pat of her bare feet on the hardwood floor, straining her ears for any stirring in the rooms behind her. The last thing she wants is waking her friends. After what feels like an eternity she finally reaches middle of the hallway with the wardrobe, passing by its mirrored doors. It’s just as her reflection appears on the dark surface when suddenly a muffled voice makes her jump.

“For the last time. It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having cheese.”

Marinette has just enough time to exchange a panicked look with her reflection before a door to her left flies open just ahead of her, a sudden burst of brightness making her freeze like a deer in headlights. There, surrounded by the blinding golden flare of the door frame, stands a slightly tousled, very wide-eyed Adrien Agreste.

“Marinette?”

The surprise in his voice breaks her out of her stupor and Marinette lets out a yelp, dropping her phone with a thud. It’s light flickers and goes out, just as Adrien by reflex makes a step forward to catch it, the bathroom door swinging shut behind him and submerging them both in pitch blackness.

There’s a moment of silence in which neither dares as much to move a muscle or say a word, completely blinded by the darkness covering their eyes like a pieces of cloth. Finally Marinette snaps back into action, crouching down to feel for her phone on the floor, only that Adrien must have done the same because her head collides with something hard and he lets out a muffled groan close to her left ear and oh shoot she just head-butted her crush in a dark hallway.

“Sorry,” she squeaks, straining to keep her voice down as her hands swipe the parquet  more and more franticly.

“Wait, let me-” something bumps against her left knee, “Ugh, sorry I- ouch,” his voice is coming from the right now and Marinette jerks back the hand she just scratched him with, only for her elbow to poke into something soft and squishy

“Ow, Stop.” There’s fingers grasping for her wrist while something - a knee? - squeezes down on her outstretched foot for a second. It’s hastily retreated and Adrien mutters something that sounds dangerously like a curse. “Sorry. Hold on.”

He lets go of her wrist, leaving her skin tingling where he touched her as she hears him scramble in the dark. Finally, the hall light flickers on above her and Marinette squints at the sudden brightness, blinking up at Adrien who stands awkwardly hunched over the light switch. His hair is positively messy by now, blond strands sticking out from his head in every direction. They subtly shimmer in the dim light, framing his face like a halo. Marinette can feel her knees wobble and is suddenly very grateful for the fact that she is still crouching on the floor. She’s unsure if she can trust her legs to carry her right now, not with him looking like that. Her eyes seem tangled to his hair. She’s never seen it anything than perfectly combed and styled and still – Still the sight is strangely familiar. Marinette squints, struggling to solidify her brain enough to form a coherent thought. She can feel something itch at the very back of her mind, a thought straining to reach her through the pile of goo her consciousness is rapidly turning into. Her gaze slowly wanders from his hair to the glistening green of his eyes. What a pretty shade. But there’s more to them. They’re … um … like … are… something. Uh. Words. How does one words again? Wait, what was she thinking about? Could this boy not be distracting for like five minutes?

The silent plead that he would look somewhere – anywhere -  else than directly into her eyes crashes into her burning hope that he will never do so for the rest of her life. She drinks up the sight of him as if she has been parching, every perfect detail of his face over flooding her mind. Like a firefly in a hurricane her attention flickers from one feature to the other, brushes the gentle slope of his lashes before being pulled down to the  little dent in his lower lip, the cute dimples that are slightly more prominent on his left cheek. They probably photoshop that for the magazines. What a sad thought, she’s never seen anything more beautiful in her life. Her fingers and lips and back, her entire body tingles, how desperately she would like to –

Adrien clears his throat, snapping her out of her thoughts so violently that she almost gets whiplash.

“I – err – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you back there”, he says awkwardly and Marinette feels her cheeks burst into flames.

“I hope it’s not broken?”, he adds, gesturing to the small square next to her foot. It takes a second before her mind is able to identify it as her phone, her brain still too occupied by the task of remembering her own name.

“You’re fine,” she blurts out, eyes snapping back to his face. Her cheeks must have the colour of Tikki’s by now. “I mean, it’s fine. Not that you’re not -  I mean, all good, nothing broken. I’m used to droppings – things! I’m used to dropping things.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive”, Marinette squeaks, snatching her phone and bolting up, fumbling as the device almost slips through her suddenly very sweaty fingers.

“See, I got a just in case – a case! A case for my phone. In case I drop it. Because I have a bad case of clumsiness.”

Her laugh is a tad to shrill to be natural and her eyes flicker around looking for an escape or, perhaps preferably, a hole to crawl into and die. What a disaster.

Adrien chuckles and Marinette almost cranks her neck by how fast she snaps back to face him. Both their eyes widen, hers in awe, his in something that looks a bit like concern.

Can’t she just be normal in front of him for once? Just this once?

Adrien is not really making it easy for her either, looking all dreamy and stuff. He has straightened along with her and is now leaning against the door frame, ever the model. His grey dressing robe effortlessly falls closed over his pyjamas and the twinkle the laughter has brought to his eyes renders any other light source superficial.

Why is it that she can run into him at the crack of dawn and he still looks like he just stepped out of a magazine? In what universe is this fair?

Marinette suddenly becomes very aware of her own appearance, from the dishevelled pigtails, that pretty much resemble a rats nets by now, to the fact that she is wearing the oldest, baggiest shirt she owns. She’s been meaning to throw that thing out for months. It isn’t even a cool shirt, there are kittens printed all over it. Kittens in ribbons. Playing with yarn. How lame can you get?

A groan escapes her. Why is this happening? She didn’t plan for this. The opposite! She’s actually washed her new Jagged stone shirt specifically for this occasion. Well, not exactly this occasion but- She meant to wear it, why on earth isn’t she wearing it? Oh right, she drenched that one in orange juice when she crammed her stuff into her bag pack last minute.

Stupid akuma. Now Adrien won’t see that they both share their favourite singer, so there's no way he’ll ever realise they’re soulmates and go on a date with her to that little coffee shop in Mont Matre that she has picked out for them specifically because it serves the best -

“Smart move,” Adrien interrupts both the awkward silence and her train of thought which rattles on without her, probably to crash and burn somewhere, just like her dignity.

“Huh?” she asks intelligently, crossing her arms in a feeble attempt to hide that abomination of a shirt so gloriously clashing with her pyjama pants. It bulks up at her shoulders, leaving her looking like a very flustered, very shapeless pillow.

“To get a phone case. Glad to know you’ve got that covered.”

Marinette blinks. Is he -  Was that – A pun? Is Adrien Agreste really standing in front of her, at the crack of dawn, in another persons hallway punning? How on earth is she supposed to respond to that? Should she laugh? He didn’t. Wait, did he even mean to pun? Is that Chat Noir’s influence on her? It was kind of funny. Oh no, that darn Cat has ruined her sense of humour. He is so going to get it at next patrol, as soon as she – No, stop thinking about Chat Noir, you doofus! Even if Adrien is still looking at her with that smirk and his sparkling green eyes. What is she talking about? Especially when Adrien is looking at her. Hold up. Adrien is still looking at her. Why is he still looking? Does he expect her to say something? His expression seems to imply that. What should she say? Make a joke too? But what if he didn’t mean to joke? Can she even think of a joke right now? Perhaps she should just play it safe and - Ah, he’s scratching the back of his head now, he’s super uncomfortable. You’re making him uncomfortable! This is the second awkward silence within a minute and it’s only getting longer. Just say something for crying out loud. Doesn’t matter what. Just be cool and say something. Anything.

Marinette lets her arms drop to her sides.“So what are you doing here?”

Not that!

Adrien blushes slightly, hand still at the back of his head.

“Er. Bathroom.”

“Right.”

“Uh huh.”

Great. Where is that hole when you need one.

“And you?”

“What?”

“What are you doing here?”

He looks about as uncomfortable as she feels. Tikki better be starving back there.

“Kitchen.”

“Kitchen?” Adrien’s eyebrows twitch up and Marinette kicks herself on the inside. Why, oh why, didn’t she just say bathroom?

“Yes. I – I woke up and I suddenly felt like having a cookie. Alone. In the kitchen. At six o’clock in the morning. For myself. I mean, who else right?” She fiddles with her left pigtail, turning it into even more of a mess. By now rats have not only lived but also died in it. “Just good ol’ me having a cookie. What else should I even want in the kitchen?”

Oh, I don’t know, Marinette, maybe a glass of water like a sane person?

“Force of habit I take it?” There’s that smirk again, even lovelier with that soft blush still shimmering on his cheeks. Huh maybe she does need a glass of water, she is feeling kind of light-headed all of the sudden. “Must have its perks to live above a bakery. If I lived at you place, I’d probably sneak downstairs every night. Eat all the cookies I could get.”

“You could have one now,” Marinette hears herself say, forcing down the images rapidly spawning in her mind at his words. Do not talk about living with him, do not talk about living with him, do not talk ab- “We can also see if we are able to find some cheese, if you like.”

Yeah, like that’s any better.

His eyes widen and his smirk freezes on his face. Did she really just say that to him? Did she really, actually ask this boy if he wanted to go raid his best friend’s fridge for fermented dairy with her? Ba cause she overheard him say that in the bathroom? Oh no he didn’t even know she heard that, he must be thinking she was evesdropping on him in there like some sort of crazy-

“You heard that?” he pulls up his shoulders and Marinette can’t do anything but nod awkwardly. Forget the hole. She’s fine just dying here on the spot.

“Funny thing you know,” Adrien says, “It’s – uh – a model thing. We talk to stop ourselves when we get weird food cravings. Because it is definitely weird to eat cheese at six in the morning.” His voice seems a little too loud in that last sentence.

“But – you have a craving for cheese right now?”

He looks at her, his eyes speaking of a suffering she can not fully comprehend.

“Yes,” he finally says, dragging the word out awkwardly, “I am having a cheese craving. I am hungry for cheese. Because it’s just. so. Tasty.”

A strange rumble emerges from the depths of his dressing robe and he slams his hand onto stomach with a strained laugh.

“Stomach growls. Food cravings, am I right?”

Marinette nods again, eyes fixed on his hand. His knuckles are white against the dark fabric of his robe and that ring he is always wearing glitters in the dim light. His fingers tremble slightly. Poor Adrien, it must be awful getting cravings like that. He’s probably on a very strict diet. Not to mention the work-out schedule he must have to maintain that utterly– No, focus, Adrien needs you.

“Yeah. Food cravings. I can relate,” Marinette lies feeling terrible instantly. He thinks he’s finally found someone to confide in and here she is, lying to his face. Dang Tikki and her stupid cookies. It’s not like she can tell him what she’s really up to. Hey, I’m actually just out here to feed that little creature which grants me magic powers to save Paris. Relatable, right? Please don’t call the asylum!

“Anyway.” Adrien lets go of his stomach, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I should probably go back to bed now.”

“Sure. Absolutely. Goof night, Adrien. Good night, I mean. Adrien.”

“Good night, Marinette.”

Neither of them moves. Adrien still blocks her way to the kitchen, looking positively miserable by now.

“Umm,” Marinette manages, “I’ll still get that cookie I think.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” He steps aside, allowing her to pass. His jaw clenches as his eyes follow her to the kitchen door, a look of desperation on his face. He really, really must be wanting that cheese.

Marinette pauses, her hand stilling on the door handle.

“Listen, Adrien. If you really cheese - I mean, you can get some. uh. Have some. Cheese. Now. If you really want it.”

“You think I should?” his brilliant green eyes  widen like those of a kitten.

“You can keep me. I mean, company. You could. Keep me company. So I don’t feel craving weird – only – Like the only one. With weird cravings.” How is she getting worse at this somehow?

Something in his face softens and Marinette holds onto the door for support as the warmth of his smile threatens to melt her on the spot.

“I’d love to. You’re so considerate, Marinette.”

Marinette sputters something incoherent and almost trips as she leans onto the handle even heavier, causing the door to swing open.

She anything but falls into the kitchen, just catching herself before tripping over her own feet. Arms slightly spread and heart hammering in her ears she stands. Her gaze slides over the height adjustable cupboards that are flanking the walls left and right to the dark window opposite the door. The room is rather large for a Parisian kitchen, but still just a little narrow for a wheelchair, more like a second hallway than an actual room. In the dark glass of the window, she can see Adrien stepping in and closing the door behind them, the air in the room stirring and surprising her with a sudden burst of his scent. Marinette suppresses a sigh. He smells heavenly, although she does recognise a slight note of cheese in the mix now. Seems like he likes it more than she thought. Making a mental note to adjust the gift for his 28th birthday accordingly she quickly scans the counter tops for the cookie jar. She spots it on her right, just a few steps ahead and quickly zones in on it, reaching to grab a plate from one of the cupboards on the way.

“I think I’ll take some with me. In case I want some more. Or maybe to soothe Alya’s wrath if I wake her when I come back”, she explains, eyes purposefully fixed on the cookies as she places them on the plate. It seems easier to talk to him when he can’t distract her with his sparkling eyes of his dashing smile. Adrien’s soft laughter prickles down her neck like a string of pearls.

“That’s probably a good idea, yeah.”

Marinette carefully picks up her plate and turns to find him still hovering awkwardly by the door.

“I – I figure the cheese would be in the fridge”, she manages, silently congratulating herself on the completeness of that sentence despite the direct line of sight.

“Of course,” he says and steps past her, opening the fridge that is just left to the window. The brightly lit door covers the sight of the sleeping streets behind the dark glass and Adrien leans forward, rummaging through the contents of the fridge. “Man, there’s so many kinds I don’t even know which-” He stops himself and peeks over his left shoulder, stealing a glance back at her and Marinette can just stop the plate from suffering the same fate as her phone did.

“Just set them out,” she squeals, cheeks heating yet again.

“That – that is probably the logical thing to do,” he murmurs and emerges with the glass platter. Pushing the door closed with his elbow he turns to set down the platter on the counter opposite of the fridge before taking a step back. Without the light of the fridge, Adrien’s face is once more in the dark, only sparsely illuminated by the streetlights seeping in through the window to behind him. His eyes stay fixed on the cheese and his brows furrow. He looks at the platter like it’s a math problem. An offensive math problem. Marinette watches him expectantly. Adrien watches the cheese. Neither moves. If they wait much longer, Tikki will probably eat her pillow.

“Aren’t you going to take a bite?”

Adrien’s head jerks round and he stares at her with wide eyes looking almost – caught? Guilty?

“What?”

“The cheese,” Marinette continues, already regretting she said anything at all, “don’t you want some?”

He swallows, a strange expression on his face.

“Of course I do,” he croaks, still unmoving.

So so awkward.

Marinette feels the strong urge to wrap her arms around herself, only in the last moment remembering the delicate porcelain between her fingers. This is so weird. Why is this so weird? Wait, is she making this weird? Should she leave? But then he only came here because she asked him too, she can’t abandon him now. Not when he still not has eaten anything. At this pace he’ll still be standing here when Alya and Nino wake up.

“Well, go ahead then,” she tries her best to sound encouraging, “I won’t judge.”With an awkward shrug she raises the pile of cookies.

Adrien winces.

“Right.”

He reaches for the platter, hand hovering over the different kinds of cheese for a second before he grabs one, seemingly at random. His nose wrinkles for the fraction just before he shoves the piece into his mouth, chewing quickly but slowing down more and more until his jaw stills entirely. His eyes cling to hers, watering slightly. He swallows audibly. For a moment his cheeks seem to swell and his eyes bulge, about twenty expressions flashing over his face to quickly for her to decipher.

“Mmmh, so. Good,” he presses through the bared teeth of a strained smile.

Marinette stares, unsure what to say or feel. The awkward silence threatens to once again take hold of them when suddenly Adrien’s shoulders straighten, a determined look entering his face. With a deep breath he makes a step towards her, as if he has just come to a decision. A squeal escapes Marinette, her instincts fighting a vicious battle over whether to run or combust. Neither side wins so she stays glued to the spot while leans onto the counter, propping himself up on his left elbow. It’s far to low to be comfortable, he looks like he is about to snap in half. Under his arm, his dressing robe falls open, obscuring the platter of cheese from her view. Adrien clears his throat and Marinette’s eyes snap to his, immediately captured by his gaze. “Soo-”

Inside her chest, her heart picks up speed. A soft shiver runs down her spine. She hazily remembers that she should probably remind him to put the cheese back, but her tongue has stopped obeying her. Her eyes flicker from his mesmerising gaze down to his body, pulled in by the vibrant colour of his shirt and pants revealed by the dressing robe. Wait are those - ?

“Nice pyjamas”, she squeaks before she can stop herself, her face quickly turning the same red as his clothes.

Adrien blinks, looking down his body as if he’s just surprised by his choice of clothing as she is. A soft shade of pink dusts his cheeks. “Thanks. They're my favourite. I love Ladybug.”

Marinette almost chokes, the black polka dots blurring a little before her eyes. “You – do?”

An enthusiastic nod.

“Totally. I mean who wouldn’t right? She’s absolutely amazing.” His face lights up in a way that is almost blinding and the sound of his voice rings in her ears. Marinette feels light-headed, pretty sure her feet have left the floor by now. Adrien Agreste likes Ladybug. She’s Ladybug. Whom he likes. Not only likes. He finds her absolutely amazing.

“I knew what I meant when I said you were our everyday Ladybug.”

Okay that’s it. He can’t say stuff like that and with that soft smile and that cute blush. Is he trying to kill her?

You’ve got this. Breath, Marinette. He’s just being nice. He is nice. And dreamy. Absolutely dreamy and – Sop it. She can’t melt into a puddle right now, not when she’s got important things to do. Like – uh. Marinette shakes her head in an effort to get her thoughts back in order. Adrien is still looking at her with that expression of utter adoration and she can feel her heart skip several beats. Yeah, not helping. She better do something before she explodes or begins blabbering or kisses him right here on the spot. Her hands clutch the plate of cookies and Marinette bites her lip. That would be a disaster. With immense effort she manages to tear her eyes away from his, immediately feeling a little more oxygen reaching her brain. Stay cool, Marinette. Everything's cool. Focused on steadying her breathing, she lets her gaze wander through the room, carefully avoiding the zone of absolute termination marked by his face and body. Come on, Marinette. Simple sentences. You can do it.

“Adrien, I – “ the rest of the sentence, whatever it was supposed to be, gets stuck in her throat, the remaining words crashing into each other and tumbling over her lips in a wretched gasp. Her eyes have stilled on the window, just above his shoulder. They bulge in their sockets while her suddenly completely blanked brain tries to understand what it’s seeing. Because there, right in front of her, the reflection shows not only Adrien’s back but also the platter behind it. And on that platter, lounging comfortably between the chunks of cheese there is a- sits a-

“I– Is that a Kwami?”

Ok. I'll reblog the Holy Bagel

I feel like I've learned a lot but I don't know what

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Climb aboard, then!” But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown. “Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.” 

“I can’t help it,” said the scorpion. “It’s my nature.”

___

…But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the frog felt a subtle motion on its back, and in a panic dived deep beneath the rushing waters, leaving the scorpion to drown.

“It was going to sting me anyway,” muttered the frog, emerging on the other side of the river. “It was inevitable. You all knew it. Everyone knows what those scorpions are like. It was self-defense.”

___

…But no sooner had they cast off from the bank, the frog felt the tip of a stinger pressed lightly against the back of its neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” said the frog.

“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

They swam in silence to the other end of the river, where the scorpion climbed off, leaving the frog fuming.

“After the kindness I showed you!” said the frog. “And you threatened to kill me in return?”

“Kindness?” said the scorpion. “To only invite me on your back after you knew I was defenseless, unable to use my tail without killing myself? My dear frog, I only treated you as I was treated. Your kindness was as poisoned as a scorpion’s sting.”

___

…“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

“You have a point,” the frog acknowledged. “But once we get to dry land, couldn’t you sting me then without repercussion?”

“All I want is to cross the river safely,” said the scorpion. “Once I’m on the other side I would gladly let you be.”

“But I would have to trust you on that,” said the frog. “While you’re pressing a stinger to my neck. By ferrying you to land I’d be be giving up the one deterrent I hold over you.”

“But by the same logic, I can’t possibly withdraw my stinger while we’re still over water,” the scorpion protested.

The frog paused in the middle of the river, treading water. “So, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

The river rushed around them. The scorpion’s stinger twitched against the frog’s unbroken skin. “I suppose so,” the scorpion said.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Absolutely not!” said the frog, and dived beneath the waters, and so none of them learned anything.

___

A scorpion, being unable to swim, asked a turtle (as in the original Persian version of the fable) to carry it across the river. The turtle readily agreed, and allowed the scorpion aboard its shell. Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell. The turtle, swimming placidly, failed to notice.

They reached the other side of the river, and parted ways as friends.

___

…Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell.

The turtle, hearing the tap of the scorpion’s sting, was offended at the scorpion’s ungratefulness. Thankfully, having been granted the powers to both defend itself and to punish evil, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the scorpion out of principle.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” sneered the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back.”

The scorpion pleaded earnestly. “Do you think so little of me? Please, I must cross the river. What would I gain from stinging you? I would only end up drowning myself!”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Even a scorpion knows to look out for its own skin. Climb aboard, then!”

But as they forged through the rushing waters, the scorpion grew worried. This frog thinks me a ruthless killer, it thought. Would it not be justified in throwing me off now and ridding the world of me? Why else would it agree to this? Every jostle made the scorpion more and more anxious, until the frog surged forward with a particularly large splash, and in panic the scorpion lashed out with its stinger.

“I knew it,” snarled the frog, as they both thrashed and drowned. “A scorpion cannot change its nature.”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. The frog agreed, but no sooner than they were halfway across the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown.

“I’ve only myself to blame,” sighed the frog, as they both sank beneath the waters. “You, you’re a scorpion, I couldn’t have expected anything better. But I knew better, and yet I went against my judgement! And now I’ve doomed us both!”

“You couldn’t help it,” said the scorpion mildly. “It’s your nature.” 

___

…“Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”

“Alas, I was of two natures,” said the scorpion. “One said to gratefully ride your back across the river, and the other said to sting you where you stood. And so both fought, and neither won.” It smiled wistfully. “Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn’t it? Unadulterated in nature. Without the capacity for conflict or regret.”

___

“By the way,” said the frog, as they swam, “I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s on the other side of the river?”

“It’s the journey,” said the scorpion. “Not the destination.”

___

…“What’s on the other side of anything?” said the scorpion. “A new beginning.”

___

…”Another scorpion to mate with,” said the scorpion. “And more prey to kill, and more living bodies to poison, and a forthcoming lineage of cruelties that you will be culpable in.”

___

…”Nothing we will live to see, I fear,” said the scorpion. “Already the currents are growing stronger, and the river seems like it shall swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline recedes. But does that mean our striving was in vain?”

___

“I love you,” said the scorpion.

The frog glanced upward. “Do you?”

“Absolutely. Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Of course not. You’re a frog. Might as well be scared of breathing air. And yet here I am, clinging to your back, as the waters rage around us. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that trust? Isn’t that necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself. Are we not inseparable in this?”

The frog swam on, the both of them silent.

___

“I’m so tired,” murmured the frog eventually. “How much further to the other side? I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming. I’ve been treading water. And it’s getting so very dark.”

“Shh,” the scorpion said. “Don’t be afraid.”

The frog’s legs kicked out weakly. “How long has it been? We’re lost. We’re lost! We’re doomed to be cast about the waters forever. There is no land. There’s nothing on the other side, don’t you see!”

“Shh, shh,” said the scorpion. “My venom is a hallucinogenic. Beneath its surface, the river is endlessly deep, its currents carrying many things.” 

“You - You’ve killed us both,” said the frog, and began to laugh deliriously. “Is this - is this what it’s like to drown?” 

“We’ve killed each other,” said the scorpion soothingly. “My venom in my glands now pulsing through your veins, the waters of your birthing pool suffusing my lungs. We are engulfing each other now, drowning in each other. I am breathless. Do you feel it? Do you feel my sting pierced through your heart?”

“What a foolish thing to do,” murmured the frog. “No logic. No logic to it at all.”

“We couldn’t help it,” whispered the scorpion. “It’s our natures. Why else does anything in the world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet - It’s all our fault! We are both blameless. We’re together now, darling. It couldn’t have happened any other way.”

___

“It’s funny,” said the frog. “I can’t say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and that nasty little stinger of yours to begin with. But I’m doing this for you regardless. It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you, want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back! Now, whyever would I go and do a foolish thing like that?”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”  

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Come aboard, then!” But no sooner had the scorpion mounted the frog’s back than it began to sting, repeatedly, while still safely on the river’s bank.

The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as the venom coursed through its veins, beginning to liquefy its flesh. “Ah,” it muttered. “For some reason I never considered this possibility.”

“Because you were never scared of me,” the scorpion whispered in its ear. “You were never scared of dying. In a past life you wore a shell and sat in judgement. And then you were reborn: soft-skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and vulnerable as a child, moving anew through a world of children. How could anyone ever be cruel, you thought, seeing the precariousness of it all?” The scorpion bowed its head and drank. “How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?”

NOOOO I MISSED IT FOR A DAY

on this day one year ago someone sewed a fried egg to a tshirt

Dude, I'm totally adding science headcanon in my vocabulary

Kim: I have a science headcanon.

Max: Can’t you just say you have a hypothesis, like a normal person?

Kim:

Kim: So my science headcanon is…