#AND LOOK AT LADYBUG'S ACCESSORIES

[lucydoodlessometimes]

what once was in darkness, is totally different in the light...

"Courage in me" screenshot redraw ft. my personal ladybug redesign!

[tears-of-xion]

Marinette is ready for a day out in the sunshine!

-

Please do not use or re-post my artwork without my permission. Thank you!   (reblogs, however, are welcome and appreciated)

I do not own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir, nor it’s characters. All rights to their owners.

[friendlyneighborhoodkinkshamer]

I think chat noir should get a gun

[lustkillers]

Would love to see some content for Simon from Dinner in America or Colin Gray, you’re more than welcome to pick the subject matter, preferably female reader

｡ﾟ･ ୨୧ . i owe you a black eye and two kisses.

⊹₊ ⋆ summary. - oh, how he's missed his girl during his time away.

⊹₊ ⋆ pairing - simon / john q x fem!reader

✶ c.w. - nsfw freaky deaky time!! hard?dom simon, sub!reader, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP.), p in v, car sex (in a volkswagen beetle...), public sex, STOMACH BULGE!!! facial, throat fucking-ish, degradation—but also praise, cowgirl position, overstimulation, hair pulling, very cutesy fic... (let me know if i missed anything!)

⊹₊ ⋆ note - back from the dead (laziness) and kicking it!! i hope i did this request justice as i haven’t written in so long… WHOOPS. its been literally ages since i wrote smut so i apologize if i’m rusty as hell doing this… PLEASE FORGIVE ME. anywho… LUSTKILLERS IS SO BACK BABY 🙂‍↕️

requests are open! <3

THE night was cold and you couldn't be more bored out of your mind. the windows of your red volkswagen beetle were down, the distinguished smell of the car gas filling the air around you. your leg bounced, the keys that consisted of plenty of keychain accessories clinking against each other, and your eyes traced over the rusty, tall fence that you probably counted all the diamond-shaped holes between each steel bar. how long have you been here? an hour? hour too early?

at the rate of biting at your own cheek unconsciously, there was probably a dent that was left inside your cheek from how much you've bit down on it. turning your palms over was a nightmare; your hands glistening with sweat from anticipation. you wanted to look the best. you wanted everything to be perfect.

you couldn't even remember how he ended up here; maybe you blocked it out. slightly tragic on your end, watching as your boyfriend was cuffed and put into the back of a cop car, the last thing you experienced together was your fingers loosely holding a cigarette for him. that feeling left you empty... and a bit sexually frustrated, due to the fact that he had promised to fuck you real good after his performance.

a masculine silhouette stood at the goddamned fence that you loathed, your eyes shooting up at the whirring sound of the mechanical fence sliding to the right, leaving the figure to leave. you let go of the cigarettes that laid in the cupholder, your slippery hands moving to unlock your car.

with a frustrated yell, you quickly wiped your hands on the seats on your car, restoring the dryness that easily helped you unlock your god forsaken car. you opened the door, ducking under the slight top ledge that you've hit your head on plenty of times. you were giddy like a child receiving their gifts on their birthday– squealing as you shut the door behind you and stood in front of the driver's side door, bouncing on the tips of your toes, and a smile spread across your face.

simon had that stupid smirk on his face, scruff all over his face, and his hair slightly grown out from the last time you saw him. he also had the same clothes on from the last time, the green jacket and black pants with the boots. it felt like the first time all over again, and god, that outfit made your pussy throb, and your knees were moments away from bucking and landing onto the dirt ground.

"didn't i tell you to get rid of that goddamn car? looks stupid, the ladybug print and all." simon said gruffly, a slight smirk creeping onto the corners of with lips, his siren-like eyes peering down at you.

you looked up at him with a slight pout and doe eyes, "i think it looks cute." you mumbled in defense. his eyes gleamed with a predatory look on you. cute, he thought. but what left his lips was just a mere scoff, his smirk turning into a smile... which was still somehow intimidating if you think about it.

"looks like a kiddie car, that's what it looks like." he taunted, making you playfully roll your eyes.

you huff, "i'm gonna punch you in the face... leave a black eye while i'm at it." your voice taunting, yet not really sincere. he only chuckled in response, "c'mere." he moved towards you, his lips swinging down to kiss yours, kissing away the pout that now disappeared.

his rough, big hands wandered towards your ass, gripping it with no intent of letting go. simon's kisses were one of a man deprived of lust and yearning, and he wasn't planning to let your breathe for air. his hands roamed around your backside, his feet pushing you back towards the silly-looking car, his right hand pulling at the door handle, swinging the door open.

simon's eyes opened from the kiss, his frustration growing from the lack of the backdoors your car had. he let out a groan, his lips unlatching from yours, his jaw clenching as he softly moved you aside, bringing the drivers seat forward so you two could hop in the back. his pants strained against his bulge, and the whine that left your lips made it even worse.

"give me a moment doll, your car is pissing me off." he grumbled, watching his head as he hopped into the small car, with you behind him, closing the door. he was sitting with his legs spread, you in front of him with little to no space at all, on your knees, which were already feeling rough from the material of the bottom the car.

you and simon made no time to push down your pants, his hands unbuckling the shiny belt that clinked once it unfastened from his waist, and your hands helped slide them down, his thick, long cock springing free, and you could've sworn your eye twitched at the sight. with the way he looked down at you and the non-existent space you left between your face and his cock, the feeling between your thighs released itself like a flood; your thighs pressing together in instinct.

"god, if you don't hurry it up, i might take matters into my own hands." he groaned out, swallowing dryly as his hands gripped at your hair; making you squeak out a quick 'sorry,' and your tongue quickly laid flat against the side of his cock; a hiss escaping simon's pretty lips. "fuck," he groaned.

you worked your way around his cock, your head bobbing up and down, trying your best to keep eye-contact with him as you bobbed. spit drooled down the sides of your mouth; the liquid pooling at the base of his cock, slowly sliding down his strained balls; the sounds of his grunts and low groans filling the small car.

he felt your right hand shift towards your sopping pussy; mewls leaving your lips as you rubbed your clit, heightening your senses, but also making you focus less on working his cock. simon noticed it, his grip on your hair turning into a makeshift lever, the control reeling to him as he started to guide your head up and down, his cock spearing at the back of your throat, hitting past the uvula. the feeling made you gag, spluttering more spit around his cock, the sight being messy as ever. he pulled your head from his cock, your right hand leaving your clit in response, and as your lips left his cock, it making you gasp out in air; your eyes watering from the intense throat-fuck that was definitely going to leave you sore, along with your poor legs that were soon to fall victim to his fucking.

"si, give me a moment–" you squealed, making simon laugh as he pulled you up onto his lap, laughter leaving from both your lips. "tryna get me put in jail again, doll? fuckin' in front of the prison i just got out of?" he smirked, his forehead touching yours.

"not my fault, si– oh!" you hum in response, which quickly turned into a gasp– which finally turned into a moan, his cock knowingly filling your tight walls. his hips piston upwards, his cock hitting the deepest part of your cunt. his hands held at your hips, guiding you up and down on his cock, creating a white, creamy ring around the base.

the car windows immediately fogged up, heat and sweat glistening on both your bodies, the occasional cocky laugh simon let out settled into your ears, making you shiver. your hips worked at a sensual speed, grinding and bouncing, alternating between the two, moans spilling from your lips.

his lips shut your moans up for a bit, before pulling away and murmuring, "so pretty bouncing on my cock, like the slut you are." he smiled against your shoulder, placing a kiss against it as he looked at you, babbling and panting. "feel that?" he whispered, pressing down on the bulge his cock made in your stomach, immediately making you start to crumble.

you looked at him, your hips started to falter and grow slower, your legs tired and your thighs shaking as the pressure built up, waiting to burst out. but you tried to keep your pace going, your hands on his chest as you whimpered.

your lips tried to form a sentence, only letting out broken words. "c–cum... i needa– hmph!" you cry out, feeling the vibrations of simon's chuckle. "can i–?" you whimpered, moments away from crying in frustration.

his lips captured yours once again, making you come undone. you came around his cock, clenching as your thighs tried to close at the feeling; high-pitched moans leaving your lips as you were sent into a fruitful bliss. "haah–! t-thank you, si!" you sigh, your hips stuttering, still lazily grinding, praying to god that simon finds his release, or you'd probably lose it.

simon groaned, nearing his release as he fucks up into you, your overstimulated pussy weeping and soaking. "m'gonna cum," he exhaled, and at his words– he came, but he planned to cum on your face, his hands making quick–but safe work, one shot of cum shooting inside your cunt, and when you blink, you're already on your knees, hot spurts of his warm cum hitting your face, your eyes closing. he let out a hoarse breath, "that was fuckin' tits," he laughed, hunched over. his cock started to soften, his hands making quick work and grabbed the cigarette pack and paper towel that sat inside the cup holder. he ripped a piece of paper towel, wiping your face... decently clean, but it was the effort that counted.

your eyes fluttered open to look at him, a smirk on his face as a lit cigarette hung from his lips, his rough hands cupping your face and stroking his thumb across your fucked-out cheeks. "you're one of a kind, y'know that?" he let out a sigh, fixing your clothes back on you, and pulling you up to straddle him again sharing a kiss, which tasted like cigarettes, but you didn't mind. you never had a problem with him and he never had a problem with you. the world revolved around you both and nobody else. his eyes twinkled at the sight of your eyes, and his face softened.

"ditto." you whispered, smiling.

[snowsinterlude]

doll parts.

(coriolanus snow x bella baxter!reader)

summary: having been brought back to live recently, you seemed to have lost your memories and still had a lot to re-learn. with that being said, you were personally intrigued by whatever 'fucking' is. luckily, coriolanus knew exactly how to teach you.

based on this ask.

c.w: horror (based in frankenstein and poor things), smut, coriolanus snow, nymphomaniac behavior (on the part of reader), spitting, p in v, porn with plot, rough sex, slapping (m. recieving), overstimulation, angry sex, squirting, edging, creampie, unproctected sex, innocent reader, naïve behavior, dumbification. casca highbottom is mentioned but he's not the main focus, 'virginity' loss, there's gonna be a lot of 'of course's" here

with the shocks of the electricity running through your new brain, you had opened your eyes to the sight of casca highbottom, a scientist who wanted to prove the point that he could bring people back to life.

of course, playing god wasn't exactly allowed, but what does corruption doesn't do?

with a white curly lock in your lustrous hair being something new to your forgotten appearance, you stared at the man in front of you, whom claimed to be your father. and of course he wasn't. he wanted to prove a point; this point being that he could create the perfect woman and shape her into the submissive obedient element you were supposed to become.

you didn't like that idea, and on the first minute he looked somewhere other than you when he brought you to see the outside world, you ran away, wanting to learn whatever you had to learn without the chains that casca highbottom had you in.

it didn't took long for you to come across coriolanus snow, a renowed academy student who was always against highbottom's experiments in dead people and animals. and he was so gentle to you, probably because of your doe heterochromatic eyes (another result of highbottom's tests on your previously dead body), or probably because of your innocent smile and the way your experience with the dead of living beings was killing mosquitoes and butterflies, saying that "there is no meaning for me to let this thing live if it annoys me."

of course, he took that out of your head with the argument that "then, if i, someday end up annoying you, would you kill me?" and you seemed to thought for a long while (that was his concern and the moment he gulped down), shaking your head, but saying "if you gave me anything other than kisses and books and shelter, i would." and he laughed at the way you said that, your eyes almost jumping out of your skull, always so sickeningly wide. you were so naïve, he truly wanted to open your kull, unspool your brain and sifting through it, trying to catch and pin down whatever it was that passed through your head.

he would never do it, though. not when you looked so pretty when swallowing his spit on that same night, licking your lips after a kiss.

then, in the day before, sitting on the couch on his studies, you looked at the page of the book you were leavmfing through, you saw an image of a woman and a man's silhouette. taking advantage of the few things highbottom teached you, you read outloud:

"mis...sio...neh...ry" of course, you still had a lot of difficulty reading, but nothing that could cause harm, coriolanus still tried his best to teach you how to read. he was always so... kind. you wanted to eat him up. but pretty things sometimes are accessories that can't go into your stomach, and that's what coriolanus told you when you tried eating a ladybug, claiming she was too cute for you not to eat it. "coryo,"

"yes, doll?" he asked, reading the papers he had on his hands.

"what is missionary sex?" that caught him off guard.

so now, after explaining how it worked and why it existed, the platinum blonde man finished by saying it could bring pleasure to your body, but it was mainly used for reproduction purposes.

you didn't really care about that last part, the second you heard him talking about 'pleasure', you immediatly got up, almost abruptly walking to him, your bare feet stepping on whatever it had on the ground, the skirt of your dress, that he got used to seeing you without, the shows you were supposed to wear to an early party that you never put on, his jacket, some papers, and finally, you were in front of him.

"i wanna do it," you voiced, taking the papers out of his hand "i wanna do it with you." and "i wanna have missionary with you." you said, eyes wide open to stare at him, you almost never blinkedat all.

"it's sex, doll. missionary is just a position." he said, laughing. though the thought of you riding him made his dick throb.

"position?" you asked, cocking your head to the side. "then there's more?" he nodded to you.

"there are much more positions on the kamasutra than pages on the bible." he said, and you smiled happily, your teeth showing up as well as your voice echoed:

"show me." you said "sex me- fuck, is fucking, right? fuck me. in the positions of the kamasutra." you said.

and god, he was so happy to take you by the waist, kiss you and lead your leg to wrap around his waist.

it didn't took many minutes for you to be without your bloomers, your panties put aside for him to grind his cock on your cunt, teasing you, and you didn't knew, but you felt like you were soaked up in something sticky- your wetness. "t-that's not missionary," you moaned, bucking your hips back at his teasing moves.

"you're right," he answered, groaning as he kissed your frowning face. "that's the clasp position, doll." with his hands on your waist, and yours on his shoulders, he finally penetrated you, earning a long moan out of your mouth.

you weren't a virgin, though you didn't know that, you used to have a husband on your previous life before you died, but you were never satisfied and you have never been- not until he slowly thrusted inside your pussy, making you feel every inch of his dick inside you.

"fuck!" you cried, a cry without tears as you undid the buttons of his shirt.

"what is it?" he asked, a moan leaving his throat as you ripped the shirt and bite his neck, too impatient to unbutton all of the buttons that were prohibiting you from seeing his body.

"i wanna see you," you moaned, slowly bucking your hips back, mouth agape as you let a rude moan leave your head "i wanna see your body."

he chuckled at your words, his hands still holding your body to keep you still as he fucked you. however, it wasn't bad, but you wanted to see how it would feel if it was fast.

"f-faster, please. just wanna see- s-see how it feels." you pleaded, your eyesight blurry as you looked down, seeing how your bare pussy took him in so well, almost devouring him into you.

he promptly obeyed you, going faster and deeper, a moan leaving your throat as his skin slapped against yours. and to see you squirming under him felt like heaven- a sight that no one but him could capture.

even when your walls squeezed his cock and you came around him, your pussy gushing around him, your stamina was still higher than his, which led to you edging him, not letting him cum until you felt so tired that you'd be passed out by his side.

which didn't happen for a long time. for at least six rounds, you were still edging him, slapping him every time he was ready to cum. you didn't allow it.

and by now, you were riding him non-stop, your eyes shut closed as you yourself abused your cunt on his cock, who throbbed painfully and made him throw his head back when he finally cummed inside you, stuffing you rope after rope.

"hey!" you called out slapping his chest, as he still gripped his nails on your skin, marking small crescent moon phases on your skin. he looked at you with an angry frown. "i don't wanna stop just now! i want more!" you said, not caring about his growling state, you thought it looked cute on him.

"god, you're terrible." he grunted, changing positions. "just this one more time and it's over." you nodded, agreeing with him as he finally slapped your clit, making you mewl and squirm under him. "see? you're too sensible, if we keep going," he thrusted "you're gonna have a difficult time walking straight."

"i can always dance." you said, legs spread to let him pound into you. he chuckled, slapping your thigh.

"let's see." he kissed you with a slight open mouth, his tongue battling with yours as he thrusted into you, letting you be a pillow princess for once in the day as you scarred his back with your nails, his pace was quicker than before, probably quicker than yours, and it made you melt entirely, your breathing became heavy and rapid.

when he pinched your clit, you felt strangely dumber, moaning into the kiss that was soon broke apart.

he spit into your mouth, his eyes boring into yours. "swallow it." and you did, crying from the pleasure as he rubbed your clit. "good girl, doll." he smiled.

"d-don't stop, coryo, please. just a bit more and i'll cum- i-i promise i'll let you rest after!" you mewled, squirming as he pound into you.

"hm, i don't know, doll. when i said i wanted to cum you didn't really allowed me to. why should i allow you?" he asked, pecking your temple.

"please. please! i can't hold it in!" you said, your boobs bouncing into the corset you were still wearing. he got rid of it in the blink of an eye, and you didn't even noticed where it had gone, too focused on the pleasure in between your legs as you cried.

he smiled to the view of your body. of course there was a bunch of scars there and there that were already healed, specially the one that connected your neck, but it didn't really mattered to his dick, neither to him. he loved just how doe eyed you were, how dumbly you asked about things and how you didn't questioned him more than once about something, like now.

"i-i'm sorry, i-i just wanted more. i didn't thought about your pleasure- s-sorry, please, let me cum! pleease!!"

"hm. no" he said, grabbing your ass and kissing your temple oh so kindly as he fucked you raw. "let's see how long you will last since you were so hungry for it."

and you didn't last much, just likenhe thought. the more you concentreated on the feeling of his dick on your cunt and the way his balls slapped against your ass, the closer you were to cumming again, and you did just after he came inside you again, smiling dumbly at him as you squirt on his cock, too sensitive from your previous orgasms.

"i'm sorry, coryo" you said, still teary eyed as you hugged him, hand pawing at his chest.

"for?" he frowned, he had already pulled his trousers up, guarding his dick into the fabric.

"f...for edging you, 'm sorry." you said, sleepy and pouty. he chuckled.

"it's okay," he said, caressing your head "at least you said sorry."

and you slept the most comfortable sleep of your post-mortem life, even drooling a bit on his chest, but he loved you just too much to do something about your innocent, naïve nature other than love and cherish it.

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part eight

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: none

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 4.2k

words in italics: whatever language you like

“Make sure you stick close to your uncle the entire time and remember: if you don’t feel well or if, at any point, you want to leave, just tell Uncle Robert and he’ll get you out of there, okay?”

Elisa nodded as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Alright. Put on your headphones and follow your uncle.”

“Follow.” Elisa pronounced the word slowly, before she continued in English, “you said it wrong, Mom. You say it like this.” 

Then she repeated the word again.

You smiled, nodded before you repeated the word for her. “Got it. Thanks, ladybug. Now go, I’ll catch you guys later.”

Tucking a loose hair behind her ear, you hugged Elisa one last time and placed a kiss on the top of her head before you let her go. She bounded to where Robert was standing, gave you one last enthusiastic wave, then you watched as they began to walk off to the direction of their seats. 

Now that you were alone, faced with the corridor that lead down to the pitch, you took a deep breath, exhaled, and then with leaden legs you began to walk.

To say that you were nervous was an understatement; you were absolutely terrified. Not only because this was you first coverage after… after the last one, but also due to the fact that this would be the first time you were going to see Alexia in person since the night you left.

Alexia wouldn’t recognise you–no, she wouldn’t even know you were here–you saw to it. You asked Derek to register you under Jersey’s name because the client was none other than Alexia’s agent, a request that earned you a dirty look from Derek but he indulged you anyway. And as a precaution, you made sure to wear a face mask–an accessory that was met by a knowing, raised brow from Robert and a worried, ‘Are you sick, Mom?’ from Elisa–not to mention that your hair now was different compared to then. 

No. Alexia wouldn’t recognise you; you were, after all, only a face among the many that adored her.

You kept walking, shielding your eyes from the brilliant stadium lights as you stepped foot on the grass.

Fifteen months. What good did that time do you? Just the mere thought of Alexia’s eyes suffused you with such burning ardour that neither a kiss nor touch from another could come close to her–there simply was no competition. You couldn’t even let another touch you the way she did because the act of kissing another’s lips was enough to incite guilt in you. 

But why? How could Alexia still have this much hold over you after all this time? Was it because this was the first time you felt something deeper for someone, something that transcended the physical aspect of a relationship? Or was it the fact that the moment you let yourself be vulnerable, almost offered yourself completely, everything came crashing down? And now, you found yourself hung up on someone who had clearly moved on.

But, a small part of you reasoned, if Alexia had truly moved on, why still try to commission you? Why would she want you around? Maybe she… No. You shook your head firmly. That wasn’t possible.

Pain throbbed in your foot as it collided with the sponsor board that lined the spot you picked, earning you a few concerned glances from the nearby photographers who were already there. You cursed internally, dropping your bag to the ground, as you offered the others a sheepish smile and an apology. The pain brought you back to reality though, a reminder that you needed to get your mind out of the gutter and that you had a job to do. 

You had weeks to prepare yourself for this. Everything would be okay. How hard could this be, really?

An hour passed and the stadium was filled to the brim with Spanish red and Brazilian yellow to witness the first match of each team for this tournament. Each nation’s supporters clapped and roared when the players began to run out to the pitch. And all the mental preparation you’d done for this left you completely. 

The moment she stepped out of that tunnel and the stadium lights shone down on her, it felt like you only learnt how to breathe again. There Alexia stood: the slope of her shoulder familiar, the strength carved in the curves of her back looked stronger, and the lines of her arms just as inviting as they were the first time you met. 

And those eyes, even if there were meters between you the weight in them–that low, burning fire–was all too apparent from where you stood.

Despite yourself, you found yourself smiling beneath your mask. She looked healthy; happy.

As the starting whistle breached through the chants of the crowd and resounded through the arena, you found yourself content–content at being an spectator of Alexia’s life, to watch her shine from afar, that was enough. 

Parc des Princes. Sweden vs. Spain: The Clash of the Titans.

Not even two hours before kickoff and a significant crowd had already gathered by the entrance points of the stadium donning their respective supporter colours. It was no surprise to see such numbers very early on this fine Saturday evening because ever since the results from the dramatic Semi-Finals that saw Sweden and Spain through to the Finals, it was the talk of the town:  the World’s Number One against the World Champions; both formidable in their own rights made them titans indeed. 

And the question of who would emerge victorious would be answered tonight.

You saw firsthand how Spain brazenly blazed through this competition, knocking out their tougher competitions in the form of Germany and Japan in the Quarters and the Semis respectively in a similar fashion. They were a force to be reckoned with driven by their purpose and it made you more than proud to see how far they’d come.

Though it had been difficult you managed to remain undetected throughout the length of this tournament, something that you were truly grateful for. And after tonight, you could as easily slip out of Alexia’s world just as you had seamlessly gone in for the last time. The last thing you wanted to do was to jeopardise Spain’s chance at winning no matter how little an impact your presence would cause if you were discovered by Alexia. 

But the thing was, you couldn’t lie and say you felt nothing as you watched Alexia from afar because you did: all the regret and desire… the longing; they were all there with you. More than once you found yourself wanting to run into her arms, to tell her you missed her, to let her know she saved you, to tell her… But you knew in your heart that that couldn’t be, so you allowed yourself this brief luxury, this silent, intimate appraisal of what and who she’d grown into even if she herself didn’t know it–you captured it all and to you that was more than enough.

As for Elisa she was nothing but ecstatic, a bundle of energy through and through. If you were being honest, you had doubted your decision to bring her with you because you didn’t know how being surrounded with tens of thousands of people would affect her even though she’d told you multiple times she could manage it. But to your relief, Elisa had immersed herself in the sport, blanketed herself in its atmosphere and in fact, she seemed to thrive in it. On the way home after each of Spain’s match you went to, Elisa would recount in vivid clarity all the instances she deemed to be highlights of the match–of course most of them were about Alexia which wasn’t a surprise considering how much she meant to her. 

Elisa was enjoying herself and that, truly, brought you immense joy and comfort. She never asked you for it but you knew how Elisa badly wished to meet her inspiration, her and Robert had tried at the end of each match to stick around to meet her but so far, they had no luck.

No, Elisa never asked for you to do anything about it but that didn’t mean you couldn't try. You couldn’t quite think of how to go about it just yet but seeing as how the match before your eyes was the last, you knew your time to decide was beginning to run out. 

The thing about football was that it was unpredictable, one minute it could be going your way, the next it could be the opponent’s; nothing was set in stone and anything could happen.

It was nearing the forty-minute mark, the scoreline was still down at all nil, when Aitana sent the ball lobbing from the middle, just at the edge of the penalty box, into one of Sweden’s goalposts for Alexia who’d already made her surge forwards. In response, Zećira Mušović dove for the nearest post, just about managing to grab the ball as it landed a few paces in front of Alexia’s feet but the ball went out of play as it slipped from her grip. Alexia was going too fast though and your heart jumped in your chest with worry as Alexia leaped over Mušović’s prone form, barely avoiding a collision with the Swedish goalkeeper, before she ended up slamming against the sponsor board and–

Suddenly, the air was knocked from your lungs as your back slammed to the ground and the back of your head throbbed with a dull ache that made you groan. And then you felt the warm weight pressed against you, dangerously familiar and way too close for comfort but it was gone before you could open your eyes. When you did you found honey-coloured eyes that you knew all too well as Alexia regarded you with concern.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Alexia asked, her ragged breathing made her accent all the more pronounced, and she took both of your hands in hers to help you to your feet. You tried hard not to think about the warmth of her palms on your skin–in fact, you hardly had any thoughts at all–and your throat was so parched you could only nod at her question. 

Only once you got back on your feet did you notice Alexia had gone stock still. The sudden change in her demeanour worried you at first, especially when she hadn’t let go of your hands yet, and then confusion settled in. That was when you realised her attention was zeroed in on the string around your right wrist… at the bracelet she made you, the one you couldn’t bear yourself to part with.

Your eyes widened and you snatched your hands back, shielding your wrist from view with your other hand but you knew it was already too late. Alexia now looked at you, the concern in her gaze now shone together with… something else, eyes red as unshed tears clung to her lashes. 

“You…” Alexia’s voice low–restrained–as her throat bobbed and her chin quivered. 

The sound of the whistle barely registered in your mind and Alexia looked like she hadn’t heard it too, her eyes remained glued to you as if she’d seen a ghost. Then Aitana was by her side, hand around her arm as Aitana attempted to tug her back into the game but she just wouldn’t budge. Aitana regarded you briefly, the clear confusion in her eyes difficult to miss, before she tried to coax her captain away again.

“Alexia. Go.” You said as you gently pushed Alexia away with a hand on her stomach. She flinched from your touch–and her reaction really shouldn’t hurt this much but it did anyway–so you quickly retracted your hand away. Only after that did Alexia finally let herself be pulled away by Aitana but not without staring at you as she went.

This was bad. Out of all the times that this could happen, why now?

You picked up your camera, the fact that it was intact offered you little comfort, and the urge to run away pervaded you. You so desperately wanted to pack everything and leave, allow Elisa to enjoy the match and maybe just sit this one out in the crowd with her. Alexia didn’t need to know. 

The thought was tempting.

But with clenched fists, you stayed. 

A moment later, the Swedish supporters roared when Spain conceded a goal during extra time which left them now down to one goal. Spain still had enough time to try and equalise, and their chance was given in the form of a penalty.

Alexia stepped up but Mušović denied her a goal and your heart ached from the way Alexia shook her head, dejected as she looked up at the sky. 

The halftime whistle blew and you watched as the players walked towards the tunnel entrance but, your eyes widened when you saw her, Alexia was making her way towards you, stride long and with purpose. Her face was neutral but the way her lips was pressed in a thin line revealed that she was anything but calm.

Oh, fuck. 

You didn’t even have time to compose yourself–or do anything, really–because before you knew it, Alexia had leaped over the sponsor board, gripped the monopod with your camera and ripped it away from your hand. A protest left your lips but it was quickly cut off when you felt her other arm around your waist, pulling you to her with a strength that left you breathless. And when you felt her front pressed firmly against your own and her warmth immediately seeped into your bones, everything melted away–the flutter of camera shutters, the roar of the crowd–your world became Alexia entirely. 

Everything just fell rightly into place. It felt like coming home.

Alexia didn’t say anything, just craned her neck so she could rest her head against your shoulder. At first you were frozen, your arms still and left hanging by your side, but as you felt the way Alexia’s ribs expand and the way her heartbeat jumped through her jersey, you came back to yourself and finally, you slid your arms around her, your hands immediately finding purchase in the small of her back. 

You gripped her jersey as you sank into her embrace, pressing your cheek against her collarbone, and god, what did you do right in this lifetime–or the last–to have her back in your arms like this? You breathed her in and you nearly sobbed at the intimate familiarity of her scent.

“Alexia, I–” You began but you shook your head. So instead, you choked out, “Alexia, you shouldn’t be here.”

Silence was the only answer and Alexia seemed to cling all the more tightly to you after the words left your mouth. And you could feel it, the despondency in the slope of her back as if they already had lost the match. Guilt ate away at you. You did this, didn’t you?

“Listen to me, Ale. Your team is waiting for you. They need their Captain, Alexia. They need you.”

At those words, Alexia only buried herself further into you as if she wanted herself to disappear completely. Then she spoke in a voice so small you could barely recognise it was her talking.

“I messed up. I… I can’t be what they need me to be right now. I feel weak.”

You recognised this, the familiar shadow of doubt that tinged Alexia’s thoughts and marred her confidence. Although rare to rear its head, its venom was lethal when it did, attacking her weakest parts, right where it hurt the most. 

Cradling the nape of her neck with a gentle hand, you let her fall all the more closer to you and you whispered softly, but firm in the way you enunciate the words, to get your message through to her. 

“‘The match is not won until the last second is lost.’ Alexia, isn’t that what you told me? You can't just give up now. You can't lose faith in your teammates right now." Alexia’s breath hitched at your words, her arm around your waist tightened. You continued, “your strength is their strength, and theirs are yours. I used to tell you, remember? You're so strong but it's not all yours to carry, Alexia. You're only human but that doesn't make you weak. Have faith in them... have faith in you."

You turned your head just so so you could rest your temple against the line of her jaw before you said, “now go, Alexia. Your team needs you.”

Alexia leaned in to your touch and sighed. She nodded and finally she loosened her grip but before she fully extricated herself from you, she said in a raw voice but not with malice, “I’m still mad at you.”

You couldn’t help it, the small laugh that bubbled out of your throat as you rested your forehead against her shoulder. 

“Fair enough. You can be mad at me all you want later but right now, you have a match to win.”

She pulled away and you finally saw her eyes. Albeit red and raw around the edges, the hazel in them shone with a familiar brilliance, a hungry fire undiminished by the tears in her eyes. You longed to dry her tears but Alexia did it herself, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes. She handed you back your camera, hand lingering on your right wrist as she brushed the pad of her thumb over the string there, gave you one last look and a nod, before she jumped over the sponsor board and sprinted to the tunnel entrance, the crowd roaring as she went past them. 

At her departure, the rest of the world came back to focus: the stadium, the screaming fans, the blare of the halftime music… the cameras pointed at you, from the broadcasting channels to the phones of the fans on the stands; you were the subject of all their eyes, all their lenses. Even when you glanced at your fellow photographers, most of them had their cameras pointed at you, some looked at you with passing curiosity while some stared at you as if you’d grown an extra pair of head.

Your ears and cheeks warmed at the attention, gut coiling uncomfortably as you adjusted your face mask, something that you were all the more grateful for especially after that little public display from Alexia. You kept your head down as you walked the length of the sideline towards Sweden’s goal for the next half, and you tried your hardest to ignore the weight of the stares by pretending to tend to your equipment. 

Then you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. You fished it out and found a message from Robert.

‘That was… pretty public. Are you feeling alright?’

You looked up, tried to pick out Elisa and Robert from the crowd but when you couldn’t, you typed out your reply.

‘I’m fine, thank you. How are the both of you?’

‘Well, Elisa’s just about as ecstatic as any child who found out that their mom knows their favourite football player. She’s been asking questions non-stop, I don’t even know how to answer them all. Please help.’

Despite your situation, you chuckled at the image of Elisa pestering her uncle. 

‘Tell her she can save her questions for me later. Don’t say anything else.’

‘Okay, thank you. And hang in there.’

The loud cheers from the crowd drew your attention away from your phone and upon looking up, found that the players had begun entering the pitch. Automatically, your viewfinder was to your eye, framing the players as they went and taking a shot. 

Alexia was last to step foot on the field and you didn’t miss the way she looked over the last spot she saw you and when she couldn’t find you there, her head swivelled around as she jogged to her position in the opposite half. She found you eventually and even with fifty meters between you, the intensity of her stare reached you. It made you shiver–hopeful in spite of yourself–but when the whistle cut through the air once more, you readied your camera, breath held for what was yet to come.

The game went on and you were so focused on trying to do your job that you couldn’t keep up with the details but the fact was this: no matter how hard Spain pressed forward, Sweden’s defensive effort increased twofold, and whenever Spain played deep to keep Sweden in check, Sweden prodded forward, constantly chipping away at Spain’s defensive line with each effort. 

After Sweden’s attempt at Spain’s goal came an opportunity. One minute Cata had the ball in hand, the next the ball was by Alexia’s feet who took one touch before she passed it between two defenders to Salma who was waiting past the halfway line, who then dribbled the ball into Sweden’s penalty area, then she cut it back and crossed it to Aitana who angled her run just enough to tap the ball in.

One-one.

The crowd roared to life and Spain’s fire was reinvigorated. They had eleven minutes left of normal play to score another goal and win. Both teams clashed, gave their all throughout the remaining time, then through to additional and extra time.

Now the moment of truth: a penalty shootout at Sweden’s goal.

Your palms began to sweat, nervous for Alexia. When was she taking her penalty?

Spain went first. They got it in. Sweden as well. One-one.

Then it was two–two.

Spain got their third. Sweden took their shot but Cata deflected it.

Mušović stepped up this time and blocked Spain’s fourth. Cata, again, anticipated right and denied Sweden their own.

You drew in a staggered breath as Alexia began to walk. Once she got to the ball, she flicked it up with her foot and caught it easily with her hands. Click. Through the lens, you watched as Alexia turned the ball over then placed it right by the penalty spot. Click. Then she began fixing her socks, adjusting her shoes, brushed her left ankle with her thumb–click– and she leant back up, resting her hands by her waist as she waited for the whistle. You zoomed in on her face: she was stoic, calm as she eyed the goal, beads of sweat lined her forehead and the bridge of her nose–click.

The whistle blew.

Alexia took five steps back, one step to her right. She took two short strides forward and on the third, her left foot connected with the ball. The net moved with an audible swish from the power behind her kick, depositing the ball in the bottom right corner of the goal and the crowd roared–or was it you who was screaming?–as the rest of Spain’s team ran to their captain to hug her.

Spain won.

Photo after photo, you captured Spain as they celebrated, their cheers and victorious cries. And when each member of Spain’s team walked the stage to receive their golden medals, the feeling that surged through you was something else entirely. 

The celebration went on but as the crowd thinned and the live broadcast ended, anxiety filled you once again. You tried to keep track of where Alexia was but she’d been surrounded by so many people that you lost her in the celebration. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you packed up your things but kept your camera out as you hung about at the edge of the pitch near the stands.

And then you heard it.

“Mom!”

You turned to the sound and found Elisa who was leaning against the safety rail of the stands just off to the side of the tunnel entrance, an enthusiastic arm waving in the air as she grinned at you. Beside her was Robert who, too, was leaning on the railing with his elbows who gave you a small wave as you jogged over to them, pushing your face mask down on the way.

“Elisa, ladybug, careful you might fall!” You reprimanded but a smile made its way on your lips all the same and either way, your words fell on deaf ears as Elisa excitedly bounded up and down.

“Mom! Did you see that?! That was so intense! And did you see how Alexia just went,” Elisa imitated Alexia’s strike and an affectionate laugh bubbled out your throat at her display, “and it was the best!”

Then Elisa stilled, eyes widening as she looked past you. “Oh my god, Mom, it’s–”

“‘Mom?’”

It was Alexia but her voice was almost unrecognisable because of how flat it sounded. You whipped your head back and surely, the expression Alexia wore accentuated the barely hidden animosity but it wasn’t directed at you nor Elisa. Rather, you found her glaring up at Robert and at his hand resting on the railing where the gold band on his finger was visible–glinting.

You looked at Alexia, whose demeanour was souring by the second, then at Robert who looked paler than you’d ever seen him before, then to Alexia again.

Oh, no. 

[breadnauppercrust]

some designs i came up with for the girls in miraculous. the idea was 'what if they could have multiple outfits like sailor moon, as told by ginger, or totally spies?' and 'what if their clothes reflected their story arc?' however, i kind of gave up on them because i no longer have time to work on it as much as i would like to, so below this are copy+paste from my wip instagram account. lowkey its fanfiction-y lol

Alya:

Alya redesigns! tbh don’t know if they’re cohesive but 🤷‍♀️

S1: dresses for comfort & is geeky - think DrWho/Marvel/Tumblr. Obsessed w superheroes & has dedicated blog for each one, & that includes LB. Beginning of her & Maris friendship, starts to dates nino halfway s1.

S2: Mari influences her way of dress, still geeky but experimenting w clothes. Ladyblog becomes popular, interested in finding out her secret ID. Is also investigating akumas, HM, The Who/what/where/whys. Lowkey figures out who ladybug is but doesn’t say anything. Has been given fox miraculous at least a couple times.

S3: notices changes in Maris behavior & confronts her. Becomes fox miraculous holder full time, helps LB figure out who HM is & shares all the info she’s found. CN lowkey pushed to the side, causing friction, bc wrapped up w finding out who HM is ig. Constantly wears a Fanny pack now for trixx. Goes w comfortable but stylish clothes (ig lol idk) also at this point is BFF w Mari

Chloe:

S1: wears preppy designer brands to impress mom, despite living in diff countries. Basic mean girl, her only friends being Sabrina and Adrien - whose a childhood friend & lowkey helped him attend school. Both know how it feels to “lose” a parent & Adrien has seen a softer side of her. Probably has a crush on him ig. Maris bully, jealous of her talents at sewing & making friends easily, & prob her knit tight family.

S2: still preppy but w 60/70s inspo. Given bee miraculous a couple times, has resisted akumas - info she uses to help others later. Helping ppl & being somewhat nice makes her feel good & likes the appreciation from others+LB. Maybe Mom moves back to Paris w half sister, Zoe - might be significantly younger than Chloe idk. Didn’t like her at first but warms up to her as season goes on. Sees lil sister copying her & their mom, has an epiphany ig. Connects dots on akumas & feelings & tries to be better.

Should Zoe exist tho??? idk

S3: preppy but more casual. She’s nicer but still sarcastic, has made a few new friends, treating Sabrina better. Still trying to get moms approval tho & follows her around, even to fashion things w the Agreste. Notices Gabriel is acting strange, more distant towards Adrien, doesn’t notice what he’s doing or where he’s going. pt queen bee ig, probably given towards the very end of the season tbh by Adrien/CN after being ignored by LB bc of RR involvement w finding out HM id. AND noticing Chloe change significantly in the past several months (?) does Adrien reveal to her IDK he is still loyal to LB but eH

Mari:

1st Mari is shy, her outfits are safe & she kind of disappears in a crowd. She just became 🐞 & isn’t 💯 with her role yet. She’s designed and made her own clothes but doesn’t wear them outside of the house bc Chloe, oof

2nd she’s now comfortable being 🐞 & that boosts her confidence as Mari, she’s wearing more bold colors & outfits that she may or may not have designed herself 👀

3rd 🐞 is now the guardian of the miraculous box, has bigger responsibilities & problems to deal with. Being 🐞 has creeped into her daily life. Doesn’t have time to design/make clothes so wears w/e, but tries to appear happy.

Kagami:

i like the idea of kagami being prim and proper looking all preppy at the beginning, but after making friends she starts to rebel by modifying her school clothes w accessories but eventually wears w/e she wants w a punkish vibe. lowkey worried about falling into a trope so idk

[sillygoofylittleartist]

The main things I didn’t like with the original design was the weird placement of the yo-yo, the many different spot sizes, and the color palette.

Scarabella redesign.

The bright red was not good against alyas skin tone so I made the red a more cool more muted red.

I gave the suit more segmented parts to be more insect like and I removed the weird little shorts.

Her hair gave me the most problems since I could not figure out what I wanted to do with it. I didn’t want the scarf because the spots so close to the spots of the mask was too busy and they were also different sizes from the spots on the mask and the spots on the suit. I tried making it black but didn’t like it so I just got rid of it and gave her two low buns.

Something I felt was missing from scarabella design was blue. Ladybug had blue eyes and blue hair that is in a shape resembling wings. I wanted to give scarabella some wing details so I have her some wings on her feet and some hair accessories that look like a ladybug in flight.

[flightfoot]

I have scattered thoughts about Nino, Alya, and the intersection of racism/misogyny.For example, Alya may receive more criticism not only for racism but also for misogyny. We support women's mistakes! Except not and especially not if it's a black woman.

(And I can't help but notice how many of those criticisms are aimed at Alya not fitting the Good Black Friend™ trope )

But now, with what you said about how Nino's criticism in that episode isn't that harsh, I'm VERY curious about the amount of Adrino vs alyanette fics taking into account the main focus.By that I mean that both couples, if they appear in the same fic, are treated equally and not that it is one of the cases of "we went back to lesbian women because I want to see two men kissing." (This is a VERY common problem in several fandoms where the misogyny that many m/m fics usually imply and the erasure and reduction of F/f couples have been pointed out)

Oh yeah, most of the heavy criticism and outright demonization of Alya comes down to her supposedly being a "bad friend" to Marinette... because she dares to "ask why Marinette doesn't like someone" and "asks for evidence that the person is really as bad as her friend thinks" instead of immediately believing that her friend is 100% correct in her assessment on nothing but her word and committing herself to doing whatever her friend wants in order to take down the other person.

There's this expectation that "being a good friend" when it comes to Alya means that she has to give up all notion of personal judgement or perspective. Heck, looking at the uproar over Rocketear when Alya told Nino that she's still helping Ladybug, or even earlier with Optigami when she decided to get the Turtle Miraculous for Nino because she thought it might be useful, she gets hefty criticism anytime she does anything without Marinette's express approval, no matter what her personal issues or perspective.

Actually the babysitting issue is probably the most clear-cut illustration of this. Alya volunteers to babysit Manon multiple times so that her friend can spend time with her crush, with Marinette even tricking Alya into babysitting Manon for her once so she could do an interview? Barely a peep of criticism against Marinette. Marinette babysits Chris ONE TIME so Alya and Nino can go on a date? Alya pressuring Marinette to babysit for her without pay and behind her parents' back becomes a common recurring trope.

(Note: I'm aware that Marinette's slated to babysit two more times for Alya during the series, in Timetagger and Simple Man. But in the first instance she cancels because she's busy, and in the second one she dumps the kids on her grandpa so she can help with Adrien's photoshoot, so I'm not counting them).

If Marinette needs someone to cover for her babysitting duty, then Alya's merely doing the duty of a good friend by taking on the responsibility for her. While if Marinette ever covers for Alya, she's being taken advantage of by a toxic friend.

Considering that the main criticisms of the "Black Best Friend" trope boil down to how it makes the black character an accessory to the white (well, in this case Marinette's only half-white) character, whose main purpose is to serve and support the other character, without having any internal world of their own? Yeah, I'd say that Alya's major demonization almost always comes down to her violating that role, even slightly.

Oh yeah, Adrino vs. Alyanette fics. Weirdly enough, there appear to be more fics tagged with Alyanette than Adrino (note: I'm gonna keep on all my usual filters for this search, I ain't seeing saltfics if I can help it). I've got 360 Adrino fics, but 560 Alyanette fics.

Now, in my personal experience, very few fics have equal focus for both pairings when they're together. They normally favor one or the other, with one being the main focus, and the other being more of a "pair the spares" situation. I'm also gonna skip the ones where it's one happy poly pile.

So here's the tag I ended up with, when I factored in all my usual exclusions and also included Adrino and Alyanette and excluded Alya/Nino/Marinette/Adrien and Lovesquare.

Of these 33 fics, 11 appear to be Adrino-centric, 6 appear to be Alyanette centric, and the rest I dunno. So I'd say Adrino gets a little more attention, especially since its fics tend to be a lot longer than the Alyanette ones.

Honestly though, I will TAKE Alyanette being "pair the spares" for Adrino a lot of the time, it's a heck of a lot better to make Alyanette and Adrino Ship Mates than to inflict Die For Our Ship on one of the pairs.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Astruc once tweeted that Adrien is Ken for Marinette's Barbie.

Idk about the Barbie movie so I'm not gonna say anything since I've never watch it but I think that analogy pretty fit for the dolls. because for many of the young girls who play Barbie doll (my young self especially) Ken is just an accessory, he was never a necessary. I have many Barbies back then and zero Ken, I never even think about buying him. My Barbies are just fine the way they are.

Perhaps that was why when he tweeted that I feel a bit sad. Because Adrien wasn't just an eye candy, an accessory for Marinette the way Ken was for my Barbie, he was a character of his own who has a personality and goal... Until the writers said he's not.

"Miraculous : Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir" is a big click bait when the show itself barely do anything with Cat Noir despite the lore is basically all about his family, even more so from season four onward. Marinette? She didn't seems to be bothered by the whole Superhero thing if Transmission showed her that she'd rather left her post as Ladybug and chase her love life than actually stay and collect back the Miraculous like she's supposed to do because she's the Guardian.

At this point the show should either just be called "Miraculous Ladybug" or "Miraculous : Tales of Ladybug and Rena Rouge" because Alya has been promoted from minor support character to deuteragonist since the show's slogan seems to support it what with "The power of love is so strong" and we've seen the power of Alya's love is the final.

I've heard about that tweet. It was not a good look and it came out before the movie, so I don't think it had anything to do with that. If anything, it was a reflection of the marketing for the Barbie movie which had a bunch of character pictures with lines like, "This Barbie is president!" and "This Barbie is a doctor!" While Ken got, "He's just Ken." Which is actually not what the message of the movie was. It was about Ken and Barbie learning to be valid people in their own rights, which is arguably a lesson the love square needs to learn after the disaster of season five.

As a fan of Barbie, Life in the Dream House, I'd be lying if I said that I can't stomach a show that really leans into "Ken's job is to be Barbie's boyfriend," because that is literally the "lesson" of an episode in that show. But even Life in the Dream House understood that Ken needed a personality and talents beyond arm candy if they wanted him to be a main character, which he is. And Barbie clearly respects him, too, which makes the bit work. If she treated him with disdain, then the show would be unwatchable.

Basically, your frustration/anger is valid as I really have no idea what the writing team is trying to do with Adrien. They did not set him up for the kind of role he has in season five. His season five role would make sense if Adrien was just the pretty boy damsel-in-distress that Marinette had been crushing on for five seasons, but he's not. He's a main character with power and agency. It's honestly impressive how much they failed his character because male love interests are rarely treated this poorly in "true" magical girl shows (aka, stuff where the main characters are the girls and the boys have minor supporting roles).

[scentednuttragedy]

A GIFT

Re2!Leon S. Kennedy X Fem!Reader

He was in Pain, all he wanted to see was you. He whimpered and moaned out in pain as he clutched his stomach, questioning if he will even be able to see you. He walked stumbling, walking slowly as the pain was so unbearable but he was determined to find you. He was going to find you and make sure you were safe, he wanted to make sure you were safe. You and him has mutually decided to go separate ways to cover more ground but little did he knew was the monster that awaited in his path. He somehow had managed to get away from the monster but boy had the monster managed to hurt him. Now, all he wanted to do was make sure you were safe. Leaning against a wall Leon let out a shaky sigh, traying to regain his composure.

"Leon!" He heard your voice as it approached closer and closer.

"In here!" He grunted as shouting was putting pressure on his stomach.

You rushed inside the room, breathing heavily from running from so long. You saw him, in pain and immediately rushed to his side.

"Leon.. Are you okay? What happened?" You panicked as you kept looking from his face and down at where he clutched his side of stomach.

"Just a little hurt... are you okay?" It was clear he worried more about others than he did about himself. In the few hours you had known him, you had grown to adore him.

"You're clearly not just a little hurt Leon. Sit down" you smiled softly as you sat him down and crouched near him.

"Is there anything i can do to help?" She put her hand on his shoulder as she looked in his eyes with concern. His heart may have skipped a beat or two but he ignored it.

"I'll be fine, just give me a few minutes" He said trying to sound as stable as he could. She nodded and sat beside him, keeping appropriate distance between them.

"Did you see that thing too?" They both said in unison and upon realizing they chuckled a bit. It was moments like these that kept you both sane in this chaos. Leon sighed as he threw his head back, closing his eyes for a bit to relax himself.

Both of you stayed quite for a while just relaxing in each others presence, it was a comfortable silence. You looked over at Leon as you checked his wounds and frowning as you see how hurt he had gotten. Ever since meeting him all he has done is get himself hurt and you felt bad for letting him get hurt. You hated to see him like this even though you barely knew him you knew he had a heart of gold.

"You're getting yourself hurt quite frequently, Leon" You said softly as you ran your fingers along the bruise he had gotten on his arm. He took a sharp breath when he felt your touch. He didn't want to admit it but he liked being around you, he liked your presence.

"Just my luck" He chuckled, shaking his head. Your eyes softened at his words, you wanted to protect him but you knew you couldn't always be there. You took off the golden ladybug pendant you always wore, which was given to you by your family as a protection charm.

"Here have it" You grabbed his hand and put the pendant in his palm. He furrowed his eyebrows as he saw the pendant in his palm, he had seen the pendant on you and knew it meant a lot to you just from the way you'd hold it when you were thinking or stressed. He could tell it was more than just accessory

"Why are you giving this to me?" He appreciated it but he was curious what it meant.

"To protect you" You smiled at him as you leaned against the wall. You cared about him and he had realized that now. His heart started racing as he thought to himself that maybe its the best to not ignore the feelings that were growing towards you. He smiled genuinely as he looked in your eyes.

"Thank you"

I am trying to write fanfiction! i will get better the more I write^^ thank you everyone who reads!

[baenyth]

Bethany's Bizarre Miraculous Baseball Episode!?

I decided, while I was readying myself for the finale and Chloe's character death, why not write one of the Miraculous ideas buzzing in my head not related to my fic? This one's a baseball episode because I like baseball episodes.

In terms of background plot, the Peacock Miraculous is fixed and Hawkmoth (no, not Shadowmoth, this is my canon,) has whittled down the identities of Ladybug and Chat Noir to being in Mme. Bustier's class. He doesn't immediately think Ladybug and Chat Noir are the only two students unakumatized in class because he knows Miraculouses can be swapped around, and Miraculous wielders can change their appearance. As for the episode prior,

Ms. Bustier's class is playing baseball for whatever reason. Gym class or something.

Hawkmoth, knowing Ladybug and Chat Noir are in the group, decides to strike, but instead of the overdone and constantly-failing akuma method (not to mention no one's having that bad of a day,) he decides to get creative.

Hawkmoth shows up at the baseball field the Miracuclass is at, in full baseball gear as well? The exits are blocked off by a mass of mold created by the peacock Miraculous, and Ladybug and Chat Noir have trouble running and transforming due to said mold having eyes everywhere, including, yes, the toilets.

He's also created a full robotic baseball team with the peacock miraculous, with 7 basic robot players, 1 armored catcher, and 1 pitching machine on wheels. The latter wields a bat by having it duct-taped to its "head," btw.

Hawkmoth merely wants to wager a game of baseball. If the home team wins, Hawkmoth will leave the class alone. No more akumas or amoks targeting them. However, if Hawkmoth wins, and he might, he gets to take all their accessories! Necklaces, Bracelets, Jewelry, Earrings, Rings, etc.

After the initial cries of shock, confusion, and "Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!", the class decides on what to do. Some members see this as a low-cost high-gain game, not to mention they were already playing baseball in the first place.

Marinette and Adrien, being Ladybug and Chat Noir respectively in the first place, realize Hawkmoth's plan and are not for playing, although they have problems explaining why for reasons that don't expose themselves. Same with the classmates that have figured out their identities (Ivan, Nathaniel, Juleka, and Max,) although they fare a bit better in the reasoning department. Also Chloe is on team no for obvious reasons. As is Sabrina.

Lila's with team 'no' at first for the same reasons as Chloe, but changes sides when she figures out Hawkmoth's scheme and comes to the same conclusions as him.

Ultimately, not willing to risk what would happen if they said no, the Miracuclass takes up Hawkmoth's offer. Also they have uniforms now. From the power of baseball or something.

Since a baseball team only needs nine players and Ms. Bustier's class has fifteen people (six too many,) Chloe, Sabrina, Rose, Mylene, Lila, and Marinette form a cheer squad instead with uniforms as well. Very modest uniforms. Like at the lightest no sleeves and yes modesty shorts.

In terms of positions (because I care deeply about this,) Alix is the pitcher (a great one at that!), Ivan is the catcher, Nino looks over first base, Max looks over second base (he can catch and throw well by calculating the trajectories), Adrien looks over third base, Alya, the girlboss that she is, handles Shortstop, while Kim, Juleka, and Nathaniel are all outfielders. While Kim's highly athletic and a runner and Juleka is frequently at the right spot to catch the ball in midair, Nathaniel is an art kid that wants nothing to do with this and would rather doodle comics.

As for batting, it's as you'd expect. The students that are muscular, sporty, or have spent time as superheroes (mainly Alya and Nino for the latter,) bat better. Ivan's a bit on the slow side and Juleka's a deceptively fast runner, however. It helps that her girlfriend's cheering her on.

Finally, the cheer squad. Chloe, being a talented gymnast and Mean Girl, kills it as a cheerleader, with Rose and Sabrina not being too far behind. Mylene's doing her best, Marinette keeps on tripping over her own feet, and Lila's doing the bare minimum and using faked health conditions as excuses. She also tries to take the other cheerleaders' earrings and rings in case they're Ladybug or Chat Noir, and makes more fake excuses when noticed. At one point Chloe and Lila start fighting. Sabrina tries to break it up.

Hawkmoth's really getting into the sport, by the way. Yelling, telling the enemy team what to do when they mess up, getting mad when his robot baseball players try to cheat, etc. Mostly because some of Gabriel's best times with Emile were at baseball games. He even proposed to her after a game!

Adrien, sweating a bit: "Why does Hawkmoth keep on looking at me? Has he figured out my identity?"

Hawkmoth, looking at Adrien: "My son isn't doing as well as I'd hoped. A pity. Is he not interested?"

Also the bleachers are filled up with some audience members, let in by the Mold. Not a full crowd by any means, but there's people! It helps Nadja is broadcasting the game as well. Marinette's parents are there. The Gorilla is whistling in support of Adrien and has a foam finger. Nathalie isn't there, though. She was never into the sport.

Of course, a bunch of middle schoolers don't fare too well against a team of lifeforms designed to be good at baseball. Alya, using her own form of Ladybug vision (or whatever it's called,) on the cheer squad, determines that Marinette should join the team in place of someone else. Nathaniel seems like the best choice due to being the worst player.

Nathaniel: "NO! I am not becoming a cheerleader! Can't I just sit on the bench or something?"

Alya: "We need six cheerleaders. We can't have a full pyramid with only five!"

Murmur of agreement from the others

Nathaniel: "...Well can't you get someone else to be a cheerleader instead? Why can't it be someone like Jule-Gets hit by a thrown baseball mitt and shoe-OW! Hey!"

Adrien: "Everyone, calm down. I'll be the cheerleader. I've never liked competitive team sports like baseball anyways. I'd rather be my own rival."

Adrien walks over to Marinette and hands her his hat and baseball mitt

Adrien: "Win the game for everyone here, okay?"

Marinette: (Internally) Adrien's counting on me. I can't let him down again! I'll win this game not just to keep my Miraculous, but so I can rebuild Adrien's trust in me!

For the record, I decided in my canon this episode takes a while after Marinette and Adrien got together before having a horribly messy break-up three episodes later, and in general this is meant to be platonic, but if you make art of this and change that dialogue a little for the sake of Adrienette, I won't be cranky.

But yeah. The entire cheer squad welcomes Adrien in with open arms because they're nice girls, Lila, Chloe, and Chloe's girlfriend. Also maybe I'd have Adrien in a skirt but I'll need consultation on that.

As for Marinette, her passion and muscle give the team the nudge and morale to outplay Hawkmoth's team and ultimately win. Taking the pitcher position from Alix, she throws fast, unpredictable balls to strike out the basebots, and she manages to outbat the pitching machine and hit a home run at the ninth inning while three of her teammates are on each of the bases.

Hawkmoth is a man of his word, thankfully. A pretty good sport, too. Very impressed. He dispels his baseball team, skedaddles away, and finally dispels the Mold so Ladybug and Chat Noir can't immediately chase him.

At the ending part, in the Agreste Manor, Gabriel goes over to his son and said he heard all about his game, including what he said about competitive team sports.

"Did you mean all that?"

"Yes, father."

"Would you rather be a cheerleader than be in the basketball team?"

"Yes!"

And so Gabriel puts Adrien in the cheer squad instead of playing basketball and the two of them play a game of catch because Gabriel realized he's never done that with his son.

With baseball mitts and a baseball.

[definitely-a-username]

i cant send images here but pretend im sending my little guy over here with a goofy bag of candy and miku costume. It says trick or treat.

Whaaaa a trick or treater?! In my tiny corner of the internet?! Gasp! Take this tiny story I definitely didn't make up on the spot!

Mikey ran around the lair, doing his best to get a costume together. It was the first time he and his brothers were allowed to go trick or treating! It had to be perfect! He scrambled around, searching for the best accessories to add.

So far he's got a headband with pipe cleaners hot glued on top (by Raph of course. He wasn't allowed to touch it yet) with little red cotton balls attached at the end. He found some face paint his dad found once, and one of Raph's old red pillow cases he drew black circles on. He was gonna be a lady bug!

Donnie said he would help Mikey put the pillow case on his shell later after he finished his costume. He said he was gonna be a robot because robots were cool.

Raph wanted to be Frankenstein because he likes the guy from the Hotel Transylvania movies, and Leo wanted to be a unicorn.

They helped each other plan out their costumes, and put them together. Mikey almost ran into Leo as he ran around.

"Ack-" Leo squawked as he fell. He glared up at Mikey, who held his hand out.

"Sorry!" Mikey squeaked. He pulled Leo back up. "I gotta find gloves!"

Leo squinted at him, confused. "Why do you need gloves?"

"For-! Um.. I forgot what they're called." He answered sheepishly.

"Paws?" Leo questioned.

"No Donnie said it started with a T I think."

Leo grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of the twins shared room. "Let's go ask him! He probably has gloves too." Leo grinned.

Mikey trailed behind him, letting himself be pulled along. Leo swung the curtain aside. "Dee!" Donnie, who was adjusting part of his costume, jumped.

"Nardo!" He yelled. "I told you not to do that!"

"Yeah yeah yeah." Leo nodded. "Mikey needs black gloves for his lady bug feet things that you said start with a T."

Donnies brows furrowed. "Oh! You're thinking of the thorax, which is what their legs are attached to. Here," he said, grabbing a pair of gloves from a drawer. "These should work."

"Thanks DeeDee!" Mikey squeaked. He took the gloves from his brother and scrambled out of the room. He had to show Raph. It was perfect now.

"Raphie!" He said as he ran into his oldest brothers room. "Look I'm a ladybug!"

Raph turned around, almost knocking his own headband off. He cooed at Mikey. "Ohmigosh you look adorable."

Mikey beamed up at his big brother. "Dee's gonna help me put the back on when he's done, but it's all finished!"

"It looks awesome Mikey. Let's go find Dad." Raph picked him up and left the room in search of their father. They found him in the living room, watching his shows. Mikey saw the twins coming in from the other hallway. Donnie had the last part of Mikey's costume in his hand.

"We're ready!" Leo said happily, in all his unicorn onesie glory.

Splinter chuckled at them. "Alright boys, let's go." He stood up from his chair, and together they made their way to the surface to meet up with April, who would be dressed as a butterfly to match with Mikey.

This was gonna be so much fun!

[aidanchaser]

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Marinette left early for the Lucky Lady, not because she was eager to see her friends or get to work, but merely because she was anxious to get away from her parents.

“Was that Adrien Agreste who went rushing out of here?” her mother had asked, and had kept asking even when Marinette denied it.

After hearing her mother ask about Adrien, her father had said, “Adrien’s back from London? You know, you’ve never invited him over for dinner.”

And Marinette tried and failed to explain to her parents that she and Adrien had only been friends for one summer over five years ago, and there was nothing between them. She didn’t dare tell them how he’d broken her heart nor how he had become involved with his father. Just because she hated him didn’t mean her parents had to.

But instead of accepting Marinette’s excuses, her mother had asked, “Then why did you lock him in the water closet?”

So Marinette left the bakery early for once. The winter sky was still pink like the camellias when she slid through the back door of the Lucky Lady and plopped down at the girls’ dressing table. She had tried to do her makeup at home first, but she couldn’t stand at the sink without her hands trembling. Even now, she didn’t feel much like looking at her reflection.

When Marinette put on her makeup before donning Ladybug’s mask, she often felt like she was stepping into the armor of a more beautiful, braver woman. But tonight as she powdered her cheeks, smeared pale blue smoke across her eyelids, and thumbed open her tin of mascara, her stomach churned in protest.

Marinette did not think of herself as a cruel person, but her words to Adrien that afternoon had been sharper than she would have liked. They felt like words that belonged to Ladybug, and she was beginning to grow less and less sure that she wanted to be Ladybug.

Because the truth was, if she dared to admit it to herself, that she missed Adrien—her breath stuttered in her lungs as she remembered the way he had stuttered over a breathless I missed you.—and she wanted nothing more than to just hold his hand again, sit together on the banks of the river, press her head into his chest, feel his hands on her shoulders—

Their singular summer had been years ago, but it felt fresh, as near as he had been, pressed up against the sink. His touch on her elbow and his breath on her neck lingered like a phantom clinging to her. She could be hurt and bitter all that she wanted, but as soon as Adrien had learned that Marinette had not chosen to leave him, he had been ready to try again.

But it was Ladybug, the woman forged for war, who couldn’t forgive. It was Ladybug who was losing her partner because of Gabriel Agreste, and how could she have Adrien again when he was tied so tightly to his father?

Was being Ladybug worth losing Adrien?

But was having Adrien worth losing Chat Noir?

Her eyes burned with tears, but she shoved her heartbreak aside and snatched her mask off of its place on the rack. The only masks missing were Alix’s and Alya’s. There was still time before patrons arrived. It would be the perfect opportunity to compare notes from their reconnaissance last night. There was work for Ladybug to do, and Marinette couldn’t afford to falter now. If this arrangement between Mayor Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste really was everything that Adrien had promised, then she’d see if he was still standing after she toppled his father’s throne.

She did not put her mask on, nor did she bother with some of the more cumbersome Ladybug accessories. Instead, she tucked her gloves into the strap of her dress and fastened her mask to her belt in the place she might have fastened her yo-yo for a different sort of mission.

Marinette always found the empty bar and the restaurant floor eerie in the early parts of the afternoon. The evening mess cleaned up, tables set and waiting for guests to fill them, a stage with flat lighting and abandoned instruments, and nothing but silence in a large empty hall all made her feel far more alone than she liked, far more aware of her own internal voids. She hurried past the rounds and up to Max’s office. If Alya and Alix weren’t discussing their reconnaissance mission over the bartop, they must be upstairs.

Their voices, low and a little urgent, filtered down the stairs like smoke curling beneath a doorway. Marinette knocked on the door twice, quick and sharp, and their conversation stopped abruptly.

“It’s just me,” she said, and pushed the door open.

The tension on Alix and Alya’s faces and in their shoulders visibly unwound.

Alya was dressed in the orange and black gown she waited tables in, but her mask rested up on her high ponytail of reddish curls. Alix was still wearing her usual street clothes, a man’s button-up and trousers, as she perched on Max’s desk. Marinette’s notepad from last night rested between them, along with another set of notes scribbled in Alix’s hand, illuminated by a desk lamp shaded with bottle-green glass.

“You’re early.” Alix’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “You’re never early.”

“Did you find anything on your reconnaissance last night?” Marinette hoped her eagerness to further the investigation was excuse enough for her unusually early arrival.

Alya’s pursed lips suggested that her excuse did not work as she had hoped, but at least Alya did not press her.

Alix handed her the notes she had scribbled out. “Notice anything interesting?”

It took Marinette a bit to parse the chicken-scratch that passed for Alix’s hasty handwriting, but nothing in particular stood out to her. “These items are the same ones I saw in Gabriel’s warehouse list, aren’t they?” she asked. “So Gabriel and the mayor have the same inventory on their shipping manifests. That’s not exactly the smoking gun we’re looking for.”

“It’s not exactly the same.” Alya handed Marinette the pad of paper that Marinette had given to Nino.

Side-by-side, the answer was obvious. The items were the same, but the quantity was not. The manifest Gabriel Agreste had written out for his trucks had almost twice the number of items that the mayor’s did.

“So it’s a smuggling operation.” Marinette returned both sets of papers to the desk. “Any idea what he’s smuggling?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Alix said. “You were in his warehouse last night. Did you see anything?”

“They had just unloaded a shipment, but I didn’t get a look at what was inside.” Marinette, once more, cursed her poor timing as she had grabbed the shipping manifest for the delivery.

“We could go back tonight,” Alix suggested, “see what we can see.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose.

Alya immediately groaned. “Were you made?”

“I don’t think they recognized me as Ladybug…” Marinette fidgeted with her red and black mask. She’d been in all black last night, no signature spots save for her yo-yo. Chat Noir had recognized her, but surely Gabriel’s goons weren’t quite so aware.

“Marinette, if you were spotted—Don’t.” Alya groaned as Alix repeated “spotted” under her breath and elbowed Alya with a crooked grin.

Alya swatted Alix’s hand aside. “Why didn’t Nino tell me—Did you even tell Nino you were seen?”

“I was busy trying to record the shipping manifest before I forgot it.”

Alya pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gabriel could have his men show up here tonight looking for you. We need to tell Max.”

“They didn’t know it was me. None of them called me Ladybug or Little Bug or Beetle—none of the old nicknames. I wasn’t wearing my spots, and Chat wasn’t wearing his ears—” Marinette belatedly bit down on her tongue.

“Chat Noir’s back?” Alix asked and tipped her head expectantly, like Marinette might have more to elaborate on.

Marinette did not.

Alya’s fingers pressed into her temple like she was trying to dig her patience out from the inner trenches of her mind. “Chat Noir showed up. You were seen. Gabriel was getting a delivery of some unknown goods. Is there anything else you neglected to tell Nino and by extension myself and Alix and Max?”

Marinette thought of the near miss of both the gunfire and the kiss. She thought of the note from Adrien, tucked into the pocket of her dress. She thought of his promise that he was trying to take down his father, the promise he had made both Ladybug and Marinette.

“No, I think that’s it.”

“If Gabriel comes for the Lucky Lady, we—”

Alix was cut short by a loud thud on the ceiling. All three girls instinctively turned their gaze to the white ceiling tiles overhead. The square tiles were bordered by plaster vines, twisting together and, at the corners, converging on a stallion’s head, where the mane curled into the leaves until the distinction between the two was impossible to find. But the three girls focused only on the tile in the left corner. It was not distinct from the others in any visible way, but each of the crew had used it at one time or another to sneak in and out of the Lucky Lady without being noticed.

Alix reached for the metal baton that Max kept under his desk.

“No one but the crew knows about that entrance,” Marinette said, though she dropped her voice to a whisper.

Alya pulled her mask down from her hair and over her face. Her dark red lips disappeared behind the fox’s snout. “No one in the crew’s used it in two months.”

Marinette hastily fumbled for the cord of her own mask. Her stomach curled with a familiar anxiety, the anxiety of being caught, of being discovered, of preparing to fight—It was the same thrill she had felt in the warehouse, the same thrill she felt leaping across rooftops with Chat Noir.

It occurred to her that perhaps this was what Chat Noir had meant when he had said that Ladybug was uninterested in peace.

She swallowed that thought down and instinctively reached for her waist where her yo-yo ought to be, but her hip was now empty. Her weapon was tucked away in the drawer of the dressing table downstairs. It wasn’t exactly an accessory she needed for waiting on guests. So instead, she unfastened her beaded belt. It wouldn’t have the same reach as her yo-yo, but it could function as a garrot in an emergency.

Alix had neither mask nor hood, but she twisted the baton in her hand with the ease of a gymnast. There was even a bit of excitement in her eyes, too, as she rolled her shoulder, fully prepared to swing at whoever dropped through the ceiling.

The corner tile shifted, and fine plaster dust fell to the floor. A set of bare fingers appeared around the edge of the tile and lifted it out of the way, just far enough for a thin body to slip through. Next followed a pair of shiny black shoes, like the sort made for carpeted office floors, not the slick roofs of Paris, then the rest of a figure dressed in all black, who fell into the room like a man taking a dive and stayed crumpled on the floor.

Alix lifted her baton almost hopefully, but even she couldn’t quite bring herself to strike someone who seemed to be having trouble getting to his feet. Marinette’s heart raced as she tried to determine the shape of his shoulders, currently curled inwards, or the color of his hair beneath his black cap, or if he would just lift his head, she could see his eyes—

But as he managed to push himself up with one hand, his head stayed low and limp, like his neck had forgotten how to do its job. He kept one hand pressed into his side and, as his black cap slid from his head to reveal his tousled blond hair, red crept out from between his fingers.

Alix’s baton hit the rug with a dull thud as all three girls rushed into action. Marinette took his shoulders and Alya grabbed his feet. Alix disappeared downstairs for supplies.

For the first time, the familiarity that swept over Marinette suddenly became unwelcome. She’d enjoyed sneaking through Gabriel’s warehouse, running across rooftops with Chat Noir, and the thrill of secret plans. But readily laying Chat Noir out on Max’s desk, brushing his sweat-plastered bangs back from his forehead, watching the tight stretch of his jaw clenched against pain—the familiarity of seeing people she loved wounded made her skin crawl.

Alix returned, and Alya readily snatched a bottle of vodka out of her hands.

“Ready?” Alya asked, but did not wait for anyone to confirm as she poured the alcohol over the wound.

Chat Noir winced as the alcohol collided with his stomach. His body twisted, but Marinette pressed his shoulders flat against the desk with one arm and pulled his hands away from his wound with her other hand; Alix was quick to throw her weight onto his legs.

Alya peeled back his shirt and examined the wound. They had all seen worse. Not only worse bullet wounds, but gas and shrapnel and fractures. The through-and-through tear in the side of his stomach bled into Max’s desk and stained Marinette’s notepad, tucked beneath Chat Noir, but there did not appear to be any bullet to extract nor even, Marinette hoped, any internal reconstruction to be done.

Alya soaked a napkin in alcohol and pressed it against his wound.

This time, Chat Noir’s sharp intake of breath was more controlled, but he still twitched against the weight of Marinette and Alix. His hands, slippery with his own blood, clung to Marinette’s.

“Is it bad?” Marinette dared to ask.

“Clean tear. I think it’s just a bad graze. We ought to get him to a hospital, though, to be sure—”

“No,” Chat Noir protested through gritted teeth. “I can’t—”

“I’m not stitching you up!” Alya snapped. “We’re not equipped for surgery, and I’m not having you die of shock in Max’s office.”

“I just need it bandaged,” he said, “please. I can’t go to a hospital, I can’t—”

Marinette shushed him softly and let his shoulders go so her hand was free to stroke his hair flat in an attempt to keep him calm. She’d seen enough soldiers hurt themselves further in a panic or worse, slip into a cold shock and never recover.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“Please, Ladybug, he’ll find me if—”

A loud, heavy banging echoed through the floor of the restaurant below.

“Maybe Kim forgot his keys,” Alix said nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Chat Noir said. “I didn’t think I was followed—”

“Is it Gabriel?” Marinette asked.

The banging came again and Chat Noir flinched, but he nodded.

Marinette brushed her thumb along the line where his leather mask met the edge of his cheek bone.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“Wait—” Alya protested, but Marinette shook her head.

“I’m the face of the Lucky Lady so that you can do your work better. Besides, Alix is out of costume.”

“I’m still going to help,” Alix said, and picked up the metal baton.

Alya’s expression was impossible to interpret behind her fox mask, but her shoulders dropped with resignation.

Marinette untwined her fingers from Chat Noir’s as Alya took Chat Noir’s hand and guided him to put pressure on his own wound so she could begin cutting napkins into bandages, an old practice they hadn’t had to put into use for months.

Gabriel—or more likely his men—banged on the front door of the Lucky Lady a third time as Alix and Marinette hurried downstairs.

Alix kept herself pressed against the wall, out of sight of the door but ready to swing should anyone try to enter, while Marinette put her hands on the handle of the door. She looked down and saw Chat Noir’s blood still smeared across her palms.

“Break it down, then!” a cold voice barked, and a chill went down Marinette’s spine.

She shoved her hands into her gloves and yanked the door open, coming face to face with none other than Adrien Agreste’s bodyguard. His broad shoulders blocked her view of most of the street, but she could just see the tall, slim figure of Gabriel Agreste behind him, wearing a long white coat and white scarf. His matching hat sat low on his brow, hiding most of his face, but she could still make out the angular cheekbones behind his square glasses.

Marinette had only seen Gabriel Agreste twice in her life. Once, from across the street, as she and Adrien had ducked into a nearby flower shop and hidden behind a bouquet of day lilies while he passed by. The second time, Adrien had snuck her into his family home. He’d been insistent on showing her the statue of his mother. While it had been everything that Adrien had promised—his mother truly had been a beautiful woman—Marinette had never thought it worth the risk. Gabriel had found them, and had her swiftly removed from the premises. By then, war had already begun, and within a week, Adrien was gone without a word. Paris became the edge of a warzone days later.

Marinette called on all the bravery and anger she had held in her chest when war had arrived to her city. If Gabriel wanted to bring out old weapons and wounds, she’d bring what she had learned during four years of vigilante spywork on the frontlines of a war.

“My apologies,” she said, careful to keep her voice low and calm. None of them could see how hard Marinette’s heart was racing, and she could trust her mask to hide the flush in her face. Ladybug’s persona was made for confrontations like this. “We don’t open for a while yet. You’re welcome to come back in an hour or two.”

“Where is he?” Gabriel snarled, stepping forward and nudging his bodyguard aside.

He loomed over Marinette, just as Adrien had done yesterday. The setting sun behind him cast his shadow over her and kept his face in darkness, but she kept her steady gaze on the frame of his glasses.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Where is my son?”

She was unable to keep her mouth from dropping open in surprise. “P-pardon?”

“My son!” Gabriel snarled. “Adrien disappeared hours ago. I know you people have him.”

Marinette struggled to craft a Ladybug-like answer. Her mind was preoccupied with her own final image of Adrien’s shoulders being swallowed by his car, by his pointed if you still loved me, and she had to fight past that memory and her own fears about what might have happened to Adrien in order to recall the last time that Ladybug had seen Adrien.

“Adrien Agreste was here last night with Chloé Bourgeois.” She tried not to think of it as a lie. It wasn’t, not really, but her heart pounded in her chest regardless. “I’m afraid, Monsieur,” she tried very hard to keep the distaste out of her voice and she was not entirely sure that she succeeded, “that we cannot help you.”

Gabriel reached into his coat and withdrew a gun.

Marinette stepped back instinctively, and Alix lifted the baton in her hands—but Gabriel did not point the barrel at her. He held it up, like he might fire a warning shot, or like he was merely putting it on display. Her breath caught in her throat as the deep orange sunset glinted off of a familiar pearled handle.

“Your cat left Adrien’s gun behind, after using a rather unique set of keys to break into my office. I have a set,” Gabriel patted his pocket, “and Adrien has the other. So if you haven’t seen Adrien, tell me where Chat Noir is.”

Marinette swallowed. Surely her panic must be telegraphing as guilt, but she could not help it. Had Chat Noir really done something to Adrien? The idea that her final words to Adrien might have been so terribly unkind choked the breath from her lungs.

“Chat Noir does not have anything to do with this place,” she managed to say. She kept her eyes on the gun in Gabriel’s hand, trying to communicate that her fear was about the gun itself rather than his question about Chat Noir. “Our patrons will tell you, no one has seen Chat Noir since the war.”

“Some of my men claim to have seen him last night. With a friend. A young lady about your height and build, I believe.”

“Then perhaps you should ask her where he is.”

The sound of a door opening and closing behind her nearly made Marinette turn, but she did not dare take her eyes off of Gabriel and his gun. She could see Alix shifting in her periphery, first tensing and raising the bat, then lowering it and waving to get someone’s attention.

Marinette should have guessed who it was by the lanky yet muscular arm that reached out to grab the edge of the door frame, but it was the gentle, sing-song, “What seems to be the problem here?” that told Marinette that Luka had arrived.

Most of the boys at the Lucky Lady wore plain black or white domino masks, but Luka, much like Alya, had stylized his. It hid both his eyes and his nose with the snout of a snake, and a pair of golden fangs on the end of the snout framed his chin.

He wasn’t much in his build, nothing like Gabriel’s bodyguard, but he appeared no less deadly.

“He’s looking for Adrien Agreste,” Marinette replied, before Gabriel could try to reclaim control of the exchange, “and Chat Noir.”

“We saw Adrien last night.” Luka hummed softly and tipped his head. “Been a while since we’ve seen Chat Noir. The Armistice, was it? I’m afraid we can’t help you anymore than that.”

“I did mention,” Marinette added, “that Adrien was with Chloé last night. She’s about my size, isn’t she?”

“About.”

“Perhaps you might ask her if she’s seen Chat Noir.”

Gabriel’s upper lip curled as he surveyed Marinette and Luka. It would not be hard, she thought, for him to simply shoot the two of them and barge into the restaurant. But Gabriel had relied on a good reputation for years, and the Lucky Lady had a reputation of her own. He would need an ironclad reason to come after them directly if he wanted to maintain his public face.

He returned the gun to his coat, but he took a step closer. Marinette could smell hot smoke on his breath, poorly concealed behind a thin layer of cool mint. “If I find out you’ve had anything to do with Adrien’s disappearance, I will see this place burned to the ground.”

Neither Marinette nor Luka said a word. They remained in the doorway until Gabriel’s bodyguard opened the door of the car, and the two of them drove away. Once the car was out of sight, Marinette pushed the door closed and fell against it. As the adrenaline slipped out of her body, nausea settled in. This, too, brought a familiarity that she did not care for.

Luka pulled off his mask and placed a delicate hand on her shoulder. “You did great Marinette. Next time, wait until one of us is here to back you up.”

“I had it,” Alix said, as Marinette sighed, “They were going to break down the door.”

“Better that they break the door than hurt you.”

Marinette scrubbed her hand over her face, slipping her gloves beneath her mask so she could try to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. She only managed to smear her makeup. “But we do have Chat Noir. He’s upstairs.”

Luka’s hand on her shoulder tightened. “He came back?”

“He’s been shot.”

Luka did not wait for any further explanation. He took the stairs to Max’s office two at a time, long legs carrying him faster than even Alix, who was notorious for out-sprinting them all, could follow.

Marinette trudged along after them. She was eager to get back to Chat Noir, but her legs were not stable enough to run. If anything, she wanted to sit down at the bar and pour herself a glass of brandy. It wasn’t Gabriel himself that had rattled her, though the idea that he had directly threatened the Lucky Lady was unsettling.

Her chief concert at the moment was for Adrien Agreste. She couldn’t let that moment in the water closet be the last thing either of them remembered of each other. That wasn’t fair to her, and it certainly wasn’t fair to him.

It took the steady support of the wall to haul herself upstairs, but when Marinette arrived at Max’s office, she found the door wide open. Chat Noir was sitting up, wearing only a blood-stained white undershirt and black slacks. The bulge of the make-shift bandage around his stomach peeked out from beneath the torn shirt. He had one hand on his wound and the other pressed against Luka’s chest, like he was keeping Luka at arm’s length.

“Not even a note to say you were alive?” Luka tried to push Chat Noir’s arm aside, but Chat Noir refused to let him get any closer. “Where have you even been staying?”

Chat Noir did not answer. He kept his head turned away from Luka, though his eyes flicked to Ladybug in the doorway.

“He’s not offering any explanations,” Alya said. “Best we can get out of him is that it was probably Gabriel who shot him. Won’t go to a hospital, won’t let me call a doctor, won’t take off that ridiculous mask—”

“You’re wearing a mask,” Chat Noir snapped.

Alya lifted her fox mask back up onto her head. “You’re behaving like a child. I’m going to call a doctor.”

“Wait a minute, Alya,” Luka protested. “Gabriel already thinks we’re harboring him. How do you think he’s going to react if we call a doctor here when he knows Chat Noir’s been shot?”

“Fine.” Alya threw her hands up in the air. “If he bleeds out, it’s someone else’s problem.”

Alix rolled her eyes. “He’s not going to bleed out. He is, however, going to tell us what he was doing to end up shot by Gabriel. Maybe he can even tell us what Gabriel’s smuggling.”

“He’s also going to tell us where the hell he’s been staying for two months,” Luka snapped. “A night or two without coming back is one thing, but two months is just rude.”

Chat Noir still said nothing.

Marinette licked her lips, but her whole mouth felt like a desert. Her voice cracked like dry ground as she broke the silence. “Chat—What did you do to Adrien?”

He looked up at her, and the distance between the desk and the door suddenly felt at once like miles stretched out between them and yet like no distance at all. She could take one step forward and be in his arms. She could take one step forward and plummet into nothingness. It all hinged on his answer.

And when he did speak, it wasn’t an answer at all.

“I’ve been staying with family,” he confessed.

Luka hissed a sharp intake of breath between tight teeth. “And you got out with only a bullet wound?”

“I wouldn’t say I got out. I—” He finally pulled his hand away from Luka’s chest and ran it through his hair.

There was something about the way the golden strands slid through his bared and bloodied hands. Marinette realized she had never seen so much of Chat Noir before. He was always fully cloaked in black, from boots to gloves to cap. His hands and arms, fully bare, and his chest cloaked in only a thin layer of white cotton appeared incredibly vulnerable.

“I didn’t hurt Adrien Agreste,” he finally said. “Whatever Gabriel thinks I did, he’s wrong.”

The anxiety in Marinette’s chest, however, stayed wound up tight like the bandage around Chat Noir’s stomach.

“Then where is Adrien?”

“I don’t know—I—” He bit down on his tongue. “I only broke into Gabriel’s office to see if I could find out what he was smuggling.”

“And?” Alix asked impatiently.

His throat, strangely bare of collar or tie shifted as he swallowed. He spoke, but the single syllable got caught in his throat and came out as little more than a choked gasp.

“I beg your pardon?” Alya raised an eyebrow.

Luka reached over him for the bottle of vodka that Alya had abandoned on the desk. Adrien gratefully took a small sip and, with an oiled palate, carefully annunciated, “Guns.”

“For a… buyer in Germany?” Alix asked.

Chat Noir nodded.

Marinette placed one hand on the doorframe to steady herself. It was no wonder Adrien had promised that this was the thing that could bring down Gabriel Agreste. This would ruin him not just financially, but publicly as well.

“That’s out of our depth,” Luka said. “Black market rations is one thing, but a weapons shipment to Germany is the sort of thing we involve the police in.”

“Raincomprix is on Gabriel’s payroll,” Chat Noir said. “If he doesn’t already know what’s happening, he doesn’t want to know what’s happening.”

“The mayor is also being paid rather handsomely for this deal, isn’t he?” Alya mused. “It’ll have to be us, but we’ll need the whole crew.” She glanced at the wall clock and frowned. “Max should be here any minute. We can draw up a plan.”

“It’ll have to be tonight.” Chat Noir got to his feet and winced from the movement. He kept one hand on the desk behind him for support. “Gabriel will do everything he can to cover his tracks now that he knows I’m onto him.”

“He can’t cover his tracks and hunt for Adrien at the same time,” Luka said. “That may give us a window of opportunity.”

“He’ll choose covering his tracks,” Chat Noir replied.

“How do you know?” Marinette asked.

“Because I know how people like him think.” Chat Noir reached for the black button-up shirt he had arrived in, but Alya snatched it out of his reach.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “You stay up here and rest while we make a plan. You’re not going back out in the field.”

“But I—”

“Don’t. Or I will make you work as a cigarette girl again like I did when you twisted your ankle.”

Chat Noir wrinkled his nose. He had never worked as consistent staff at the Lucky Lady during the war. Like Alya, he preferred to be behind the scenes, and liked keeping his face out of patrons’ eyes. If he worked, he bussed tables or did dishes. But the two weeks he’d been forbidden from putting weight on a sprained ankle, she’d stuck him at a booth with a lighter and a box of cigarettes and told him to smile nice at pretty girls. He’d been a success, and plenty of girls and their boyfriends had accidentally spilled information to him, but he’d gone a little stir crazy in that booth by the end of the two weeks.

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll stay here.” But Marinette saw the way his eyes flicked to Max’s office window, like he was already evaluating his escape route.

Luka squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll bring you some water. It’s good to have you back.”

The wry smile Chat Noir gave Luka made Marinette’s heart stutter. It reminded her not only of their conversation last night in the catacombs, but of Adrien Agreste, exhaling a lungful of cigarette smoke into the evening air. It was a measure of disbelief and self-deprecation that made Marinette’s chest ache.

Luka slipped past her, and Alya and Alix hurried by to replace the ruined napkins before guests arrived. Marinette knew she ought to help them, but she lingered on the threshold.

“You shouldn’t have gone in alone,” she finally said, like it made a difference, like he was still her teammate.

“You went in alone last night.”

“I had Nino.”

He tilted his head then laughed. “Carapace?”

Her cheeks burned as she recalled the petty way she had lashed out at his rejection. “I just—I only meant—”

“It’s fine, I—I know what it is to say things that are maybe a bit harsh when you’ve been hurt.” His eyes drifted to something past her shoulder, and she wondered what words he had turned on someone else. “I am sorry, Ladybug. I know we sort of—I’m just—” He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. “Nevermind,” he murmured into his palm. “It doesn’t matter. Just—thank you for helping tonight. And standing up to Gabriel. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“You still won’t tell me what he has on you?”

He hesitated, which was not a refusal.

Cautiously, Marinette closed the door and stepped closer. “Just me,” she said. “We’re partners, right? You can tell me anything.”

“I—I can’t tell you this.”

She placed one hand over the one that guarded his wound and pulled his other hand from his face. “You can trust me.”

“Not with this.”

“Chaton, what do you think I’m going to do?”

His voice was small and he leaned away from her, but there was nowhere else to go except farther into the desk. “You’ll hate me.”

She swallowed. “I could never hate you.”

“I think… I think it’s all right if you do. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Does Luka already know what it is?”

His brow furrowed beneath his mask. “Luka?”

“The way you two spoke tonight—I don’t think I knew you were close—”

“Oh, no. He just… listens well. Always kept a spot on the floor for me. I stayed with him and—and another friend a lot during the war, but—” Chat Noir let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to make you promise not to hate me, but I am going to ask—Ladybug, please, whatever you end up thinking of me, just don’t—don’t tell anyone else. Not yet.”

“I promise,” she said readily, uncertain how else she could demonstrate he was right to trust her. Whatever he was so afraid of, she would make right. She would never hate him, not for anything—

He lifted his hand from his wound and slid his fingers under the black fabric that buried his cheekbones. He pushed the mask up, into his messy hair.

Marinette stared at him, not quite understanding at first. She’d imagined Chat Noir’s face a hundred times before, and the shape of it settled comfortably into her mind. It felt familiar, a familiarity that she enjoyed—briefly.

And then her stomach twisted and she stumbled backwards.

His face was too many other faces. It was Adrien Agreste as she had known him four summers ago. It was Adrien Agreste who had strutted into her family bakery with a gun on his hip, who had cornered Ladybug in an alley to ask for help, who had pressed himself up against her in her water closet and breathed down her neck—

He was all of those things and yet he was none of those things.

He was Adrien, leaning against the desk, in nothing but a thin cotton T-shirt with a bullet wound in his gut and his own blood smeared on his hands. He was, if he was anyone, the boy who had thought that she might still love him. The boy she had rather pointedly rejected.

Why had Chat Noir gone after Gabriel alone tonight?

Because Marinette had told Adrien that he wasn’t doing enough.

After all her agonizing over which boy she could save, she had burned Adrien and damned Chat Noir in one breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said, words tripping over the tears that clogged her throat.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I—I didn’t mean—”

A gentle knock on the door cut off whatever apology Marinette was going to offer. She didn’t know herself what was going to come out of her mouth, but whatever it was going to be died on the vine as Adrien hastily pulled his mask back on over his face and Luka came in with a pitcher of water in one hand, a glass in another, and a pillow tucked under his arm. Marinette had no idea where he’d gotten the pillow.

“Thought you might like something comfortable to rest on,” Luka offered as he set the pitcher and glass down on the desk. He glanced between Marinette and Adrien, as if evaluating the distance between them. Closer than when he had left, but not quite close enough to be called close.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Marinette said, though her voice said otherwise. But not only had she promised to keep Adrien’s secret, she didn’t know how to tell the crew that the very boy who had left her two months ago was the same boy she’d been lamenting for four years. “I’m only—I should get to work.”

She fled down the stairs, past the empty bar, and back to the girls’ dressing room, where she collapsed into the chair at the table that that they all shared. Her eyes brimmed with tears and threatened to further ruin her already smudged makeup. But when she looked at her reflection, she saw none of her heartbreak. Ladybug stared back at her, red lips, mask, and unflappable nerves.

She ripped off her mask, suddenly anxious to get out of Ladybug’s skin. Adrien was terrified of Ladybug, and rightfully so. She was hell-bent on destroying his father. She wasn’t just made for war; she was made to ruin him.

She peeled off her gloves and found Adrien’s dried blood on her hands. It was all she could do not to be sick. No wonder he had rejected her and chosen Marinette, only for her to still turn on him so viciously and completely that he had nothing left but to go directly after his father.

Marinette rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, pressing back the tears and smearing mascara across her face. She could not help but laugh at her reflection, a fractured laugh coupled with tears spilling over her cheeks. She was no hero of Paris, no champion of the downtrodden. She was a wreck.

She didn’t deserve either side of him, Chat Noir nor Adrien.

She felt stupid for not seeing it sooner, but how could she have? Adrien was supposed to be in London during the war, not running around Paris’s alleys and rooftops. All the differences in Adrien when he returned, the height, the square shoulders, the set jaw—she’d watched those changes come into place on Chat Noir. She’d watched the boy she loved grow into a man and she hadn’t even noticed.

And he’d seen her change, too. He’d watched the kind, naive bakery delivery girl turn into a vengeful vigilante, made to navigate conflict and tear down the powerful. He must hate her.

But she remembered the way Chat Noir had graced her balcony, time and again, and the dozen bouquets of camellias, the way Adrien touched her elbow, that afternoon—

He didn’t hate her, or at least he didn’t hate Marinette.

But she hated Ladybug, and she was going to be damned if she ever let Adrien find out that Marinette and Ladybug were the same person.

[tomorrowsgardennc]

today, let's talk about

✨️ aphids ✨️

specifically, when you have a basic greenhouse enclosure (aka not a commercial-built high tunnel with all the accessories).

aphids will be a problem. guaranteed. this is due to lack of airflow (like, legit airflow from wind or a very robust intake/exhaust system). i have a fan or few for my greenhouse tunnel contraption, but it's more for to help prevent stagnant air and keep the temperature uniform. i'm not at aphid-prevention level of airflow yet. and that's ok, because over the past few years i have learned the signs and what to do about them and today i am sharing with you.

✨️ step 1: finding ✨️

there is one tell tale sign that indicate you are in the presence of aphids. just like other pests, the sign you'll see is poop. for aphids, this looks almost like white and clear glitter on leaves. on the soil, it will look more like white glitter. the leaves will also be very sticky. sticky, glitter poop.

✨️ step 2: locating ✨️

ok, we found the pest poop. now to find the pests.

aphids nom on two parts of the plant: the newest growth, and under the leaves. as you see here, the very tip of this pepper plant has some babies. now when we get to the next stage, keep in mind that since the aphids are here, you already lost the game. there's no hope in this new growth unless you do the following and final step.

✨️ step 3: elimination ✨️

no no, put that neem oil down. neem oil kills any and all bugs. it does not detect which is good and which is bad. no no, dish soap and water legit does nothing except wash the poop away; ignore what pinterest and the influencers say about that combo. ok, army of ladybugs bought at the local hardware store is good, but we gotta do one more thing before we unleash them. and that's 𝓼𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰.

legit, the only way to remove an aphid infestation, regardless of what stage of infestation ("beginning", "haha, i'm in danger", or "HELP I'M DROWING IN GLITTER POOP") the most effective way to have any hope of saving the plants is to squish the aphids. this will not happen all in one day, nor two days, or three. day three is when you unleash the ladybug army, though, and i'll explain why in a second.

day one you'll be in shook and overwhelemed, and squish to your hearts content. but you will not get every single one nor any eggs. day two will show progress. day three is now manageable, and all the subsequent days afterwards will be to ensure you got every. single. last. one. including the eggs that hatch.

✨️ final step: release the hoard ✨️

sadly i can't find my video of releasing ladybug hoards in the greenhouse in years past... so i'll just scatter ladybugs 🐞 as i type this 🐞 part out to help with the ambiance.

ladybugs and other happy 🐞 bugs love to eat aphids. why not 🐞 have them do all the work?

well, think of your favorite cake. like legit the most perfect cake you could ever imagine. mine is yellow cake with chocolate mousse frosting and sliced fresh bananas. mmmm...

now imagine 20 of those, 🐞 and they're capable of reproduction. don't ask how, but they do. at a rate of 10 cakes every 🐞 other day.

🐞 how long will it take for you to be able to eat all those cakes before they can stop reproducing??

also, keep in mind when you purchase a pack of live ladybugs, only about 2/3rds actually are alive in the packet 🐞 by the time they make it to freedom and the remaining will either die very shortly from the last bit of energy to be free and fly away or just fly away and enjoy being elsewhere because they're an 🐞 introvert who was just stuck in a bag for a month or so 🐞🐞🐞🐞 and fuck everyone and everything they just want to leave regardless of the buffet at their feet.

that will leave you with approximately 10 ladybugs. and now that 🐞 you have done all that squishing, they will keep the aphids in check and make sure they don't pop up ever again. now your plants will attempt to regrow and leaves or new growth they lost and be happy.

✨️ the end 🐞✨️