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omniswords · 5 years

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Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 1

because we all really wanted smitten!Luka so I’m making it happen, PERIOD. slight AU? canon divergence? where Luka begins to frequent Tom & Sabine’s bakery when his sister needs a pick-me-up through her first year in university, and may or may not have a thing for the new girl at the register once summer vacation hits. and tweets about it.

(yes, i’m still working on La Joconde! only two parts left :( but i hadn’t posted any lukanette content in a Hot Minute and wanted to share a bit of what i’ve been working on. enjoy, loves!)

at T&S for mom and sister and oh god there’s a cute girl i’ve never seen at the register

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i think she’s got flour on her nose, and she probably doesn’t even know it’s there, and she’s adorable

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send help

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That’s the magical thing about social media, isn’t it. The cool, casual, even bored expression you sport in a waiting room or on the subway is a master at hiding away every all-caps rant you swipe out with your thumb. At keeping every moment you want to scream, excited or outraged, under lock and key in your chest while your fingers do all the talking. At cementing the lines in your brow and your lips while you broadcast how much you’re Gay And Dyingggg—and yes, you really need the capitalization and those extra letters for the emphasis—over the image of a kitten falling asleep mid-meal. The viral-video echo of a child’s singing in a big-box store. The pretty girl in the coffee shop with the floral cloth headband, the nude lip, the grey eyes that stop you in your tracks and somehow always seem to meet yours whenever you Just So Happen to look up.

It’s those capital letters, you know. They really do wonders for emphasis. Emphasis.

In a city like Paris, the hundreds of thousands of people you could pass in a single day would never know the intimacies they could stumble upon by happenstance. The ones you choose to share with a few hundred strangers, friends across oceans or friends of friends who happened upon you or lovers of art the way you love art, because the distance and the screens make it safer.

In Paris, almost no one knows who Luka really is, aside from a blue-haired busker downtown who sometimes frequents coffee shop stages. Or some guy who delivers their evening meals when they don’t feel like cooking. No one has to know. And he’s been fine with that for as long as he’s had these accounts.

He wouldn’t call himself a stranger to the internet. He hardly could; he’s a product of it, raised by it, like most anyone else his age. Frankly, he could go so far as to call it his third best friend—third, because his sister and his mother might fight him for not putting them first, and because he values them enough to put them there. But on the metro, he’s near invisible, and online, he’s Sort Of Someone. A set of hands and a guitar and strings of notes to pull in a few hundred admirers, and even fewer friends he’s never met in person. He doesn’t have to, he’s decided, for them to mean something.

And he’s getting the keen sense that they’re all already hanging onto his last three tweets. Or will be, if they’re not already awake yet. (He’ll never understand that—his body almost never lets him sleep in past eight, no matter how late he goes to bed.)

He has to gather himself before he goes in—which is hilarious, because he must have been to Tom and Sabine’s bakery at least a hundred times by now. Or at least, enough times that they know him by name and to save him a napoleon or two whenever he’s in the area. Is it really that difficult this time because of a girl?

And then she… whoever she is, she smiles at a customer, and it looks like utter sunshine, and almost instantly he wishes she were smiling at him. Just for a few seconds.

Yep. It really is that difficult.

With a flip of his stomach and one last post—all right, prayer circle before i place this order—Luka pushes into the tiny bakery just as the customer is coming out. He shuffles among the racks and display cases as though he’s in a museum, and given the care that goes into these decorations, he might as well be. Usually it’s Mrs. Cheng who’s at the register, humming along to some classical piece they’re playing overhead—it fits her, being so traditional—and there’s a stack of finished cake or pastry orders beside her on the counter. The orders are still there this time, but the music sounds younger; it must be one of those study playlists he sometimes finds online or touches upon when he needs some extra inspiration for his own music.

And there is the girl, with her chin in her hand and the flour still on her nose, absently twirling her pencil as she stares down at a sketchbook like she’s about to get into a fight with it. She doesn’t look bored there. Actually, Luka isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone so focused before, because even the bell over the door signaling his entrance apparently hasn’t gotten through to her. If anything, she looks like she’s toeing that impossibly thin line between mellow and frustrated, if the quirk in her lips or the pinch in her brow is anything to go by. Even from a distance, he can tell that her face is soft, that her lashes are beautifully long, and that she probably barely has to do anything with them. If it weren’t so weird, or showy, or even creepy, he’d probably stop in his tracks at the door and watch. Try to make up a song about her, for her, on the spot.

Luka takes a deep breath, readjusts his gig bag on his shoulder, and takes a few quiet steps up to the register, still keeping his distance. It isn’t until he clears his throat that she looks up, and he’d swear that he’s never seen eyes so… so blue, before.

He’s never played a song this color before, and he wants to. Instantly.

Before he can get a closer look at the sketches, one that would have been entirely inadvertent, the girl squeaks and snaps her book shut, immediately apologizing for not noticing him right away. Her fingers twitch a bit, but she smiles cordially in spite of them. There it is. That sunshine, just for him. “Welcome to Tom and Sabine’s. How can I help you?”

Luka wonders if that’s just her Customer Service Voice, or if she always sounds that sweet. Either way, somewhere inside him a cork pops, and warmth floods his insides, just for having heard it. Now that he’s this close, now that he’s really heard her, he’d think she’s only a couple of years younger than him. Nineteen or twenty, maybe. “Hi,” he says, as smooth as he can manage. Maybe it’s her first day; he knows some of the woes of customer service, even if most of his work experience has been in food delivery and not actually processing the orders. Maybe he can ease some of her nerves. “I was wondering if I could get something to go.”

“Oh! Sure thing.” The girl brushes some flyaway dark hair out of her eyes, twirls her pencil again, and taps a few colored squares on the tablet in front of her. “What can I get for you?”

“Let’s see…” He already knows the orders by heart, because in spite of their penchant for chaos and unpredictability, the Couffaines don’t mind anchoring themselves to some things. So much so, in fact, that if it were Mrs. Cheng at the register, she wouldn’t even have to ask. She’d already have the box ready. It’s just that he doesn’t want to overwhelm this girl right off the bat, even if he does have the feeling that she’d look even cuter with a blush. “An opera cake, a pear tart, a fraisier”—that’s for Rose, because he wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still over when he gets back. He goes slowly, gives the girl the chance to look for each item in the menu on her screen before punching it in, just in case she’s ever had customers who were less kind.

Yes, that’s definitely the only reason why, and it definitely isn’t because he wants to spend more time at the register, and has that liberty to do so since there aren’t any other customers in the shop and since he’s done with work for the day.

“Anything else?” the girl asks, her voice slightly more clipped now that she’s in the rhythm of it. She cocks her head, more at the register, and quirks the edge of her eyebrow. Maybe she’s more seasoned at this than he thought. Or maybe she just sinks into this mood when she sets to work.

He kind of likes it. Like, a lot.

But that would be incredibly weird to say, to her face or about her online, so he holds his tongue. “Yeah, um…” He looks around, narrowing his eyes at some of the display cases. “Has Mr. Dupain made any napoleons today?”

The girl’s eyes light up a bit, which makes him smile. “I’ll check,” she says—chirps, more like—and flits toward the room in the back like a hummingbird.

Oh, no.

She’s so cute. Too cute.

She’s back in seconds, before he has the time to agonize about it any further. “Yup, we have them. How many would you like?”

“Just the one.” Luka’s already fishing out his wallet from his back pocket. He holds his breath, card in hand, pushes it into the chip reader. “Say, is Mrs. Cheng… doing all right?”

The girl blinks a couple of times. Is it really that weird to ask? “Yes…? She’s fine. She’s just traveling—she went home for a bit to see her family. She’ll be back in… three weeks?” She trips on her words a bit, not in the way that she can’t recall, but in the way that she doesn’t want to be too forward in her speech.

Huh. Mrs. Cheng didn’t mention anything about a trip the last time he’d been here… “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen you around here before.”

The girl smiles faintly, tearing away his receipt once it’s printed. “Well. I guess that makes two of us.”

Oh, she’s good. He doesn’t even know what to say to that.

She flits around the tiny bakery, different pairs of tongs in hand as she assembles his order, and Luka finds himself tapping out the melody of the current song against his thigh. “Nice music,” he says to make conversation. “You pick it out?”

“Uh huh.” There’s that clipped tone again. “Sorry, I know it’s kinda basic—”

“It’s cool.” He pauses. “Uh. I mean, the music is cool.”

The girl looks up from one of the display cases. It might be the lighting, or the distortion of the glass, but he thinks she might be blushing. “You… said that already?”

“Right—right.” Luka clears his throat, leans back against the wall with his arms folded, and resolves to keep his mouth shut and his eyes down. He knows he’s blushing; his face is too hot for him not to be. She’s working, he tells himself. He can’t bother her while she’s working. Still, he can’t help idly tapping the toe of his shoe, or pressing his fingertips into his arms, to that same rhythm, the same melody. At least that keeps him grounded. He only wishes there were lyrics he could mouth along to to make it easier.

He’s about to dip into his own mind, try to find a song that would do the trick, when he hears his name. “Luka?”

Instantly, his head snaps up. The girl is back at the register, a beige box with a gold sticker in her hands, and she holds it out to him. “Yeah,” he says, doing his best to stroll casually to the front and take it from her. “How’d you know my name?”

The girl looks at him, half-confused, before mutely holding up the receipt. On the bottom, along with the last four digits of his debit card number, is his name in tiny capital letters.

Oh. Duh. He heaves a nervous laugh, and on the inside, he’s looking away with wide, mortified eyes. He takes the box from her; the sooner he gets out of here, the sooner he can kick himself. “Thanks. Could you tell Mr. Dupain I said hi?” And also, could you tell him how dare you for hiring a girl who has no right making my heart stop on her first day working?

She nods, twirling her pencil one last time, and Luka’s off with a wave and a mutual exchange of, Thank you, have a nice day! And the instant the door closes behind him and he turns the corner, he sets the box aside, slides down to a squat, and rests his face in his hands, eyes wide and trained on the ground.

In Paris, no one knows that Luka Couffaine is even capable of being an anxious, smitten fool.

Once he’s churned out as many anxious, shaky feelings as he can—once he’s replayed her smile and the sound of his name in his head enough times—he pulls out his phone.

god, i hope she has a nice day. i hope she finds twenty euros on the ground.

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#fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #COME GET Y'ALL FOOD LUKANETTE FANDOM #i have the urge to make a playlist for this fic but rest assured there is a lot of billie eilish on it

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thegayestasexual · 5 years

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Percy Jackson Miraculous Ladybug AU

Here we go, we’re doing a Percy Jackson AU. Keep in mind all the PJO characters from the books are dead in this AU, they had children and lived their lives. You may get to see some of my ocs for them.

Marinette is the daughter of Poseidon and Sabine Cheng, when Sabine married Tom. Marinette was still inside of Sabine’s womb so she has only seen Tom as her father since she can’t even remember Poseidon.

In Europe there is a camp much similar to the one at Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter. It’s a mix between the camps, there’s a camp section where Demigods get to learn to fight in order to preserve their survival and there’s a city within its walls. It’s filled with many of what a city would have.

The Europe Camp, dubbed Camp Semidiós, is a safe haven for all demigods of any religion. Greek, Roman, Japanese, Norse — you name it. It’s likely they have someone

All the Quantic Kids are Demigods, also childhood friends of Marinette

Claude is the son of Loki, a Norse deity

Allegra is the daughter of Apollo

Allan is the son of Bragi, another Norse deity

And Felix is the son of Thanatos.

Marinette started to experience her father and grandmothers powers at the age of 6

During a time at the aquarium with her family, Marinette was caught talking to the sharks by her mother.

Thankfully, before the talking to the shark thing happened. Sabine already has had a talk with Tom about Marinette’s father and her mother (Marinette’s grandmother), so he is prepared.

When they are both sure Marinette is coming into her powers, that summer Tom and Sabine took Marinette to Barcelona, Spain where the camp was located.

To say Marinette was scared would be an understatement, she hasn’t even mentioned that one eyed man to her parents! Why was she being sent to this camp?

She’s experienced many monsters for all her life, Marinette just didn’t have the courage of telling her parents about them.

No one could imagine when a six year old came up to the camp gates, staring up at the people near with watery eyes.

But the moment Marinette stepped inside, Poseidon recognized his sweet marigold, after all. Sabine could never be forgotten, much like Sally could never be forgotten.

He claimed her right on the spot.

Which caused quite an uproar with the other demigods.

No one’s seen a child of the Big Three since Nico Di Angelo, Perseus Jackson, Hazel Levesque, Bianca Di Angelo, and Jason Grace were alive.

Well, Thalia was still alive

But that’s it.

So yea it was a shock

The first Quantic Kid she met was Claude

Unsurprisingly Claude immediately was smitten.

They hit it off right away, Claude did everything in his power to make sure Marinette was comfortable at camp.

From showing her around the cabins to hissing ay some of the older boys who made fun of her.

He’s become a permanent part of Marinette’s life

But Marinette is grateful

Who wouldn’t be, when Marinette witnessed Claude’s powers the first time just to protect her?

Loki’s powers ranged according to what mischief is.

But Claude definitely inherited his father/mothers (since loki is genderfluid!) magic, and he uses it to create chaos.

He went as far as making a whole bunch of apples fall onto bullies who were making fun of Marinette

If Marinette wasn’t smitten then by now, she without a doubt would be.

As years went by, Claude and Marinette began to integrate more and more new demigods into their friend group.

It started with Allan and ended with Felix.

And woo boy, did it take a LONG time to befriend the son of Thanatos.

They spent most of the year befriending him, Claude was a year rounder while Marinette visited during the summer and on holidays.

Allegra and Felix were also year rounders.

So Claude spent the better part of a year trying to get Felix to be their friend.

It worked in the end

And after three years, Marinette and her friends were practically invincible.

This is obviously before the show, let me know if you guys want me to continue this and continue this going into the show. To see how Marinette deals with being the daughter of Poseidon AND being Ladybug. And if I get to lila? Hoo, boy I have a lot of salt.

#miraculous ladybug #megan writes #claude x marinette #quantic kids #felix #allegra #allan #claude #marinette dupain cheng #some ml salt #demigod marinette dupain cheng #demigod claude #demigod allan #demigod allegra #demigod felix #miraculous ladybug x percy jackson

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dakt37 · 6 years

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The long, long character breakdown of my super self-indulgent Toy Story-style Star Wars AU, “Destiny Dollhouse.” (Some doodles are here) My apologies if the cut doesn’t work.

Other than perhaps a brief moment of Buzz-style confusion for Jyn (“Oh my god I died, the planet blew up, is this purgatory?!” “Oh Honey no that was just a movie and you’re just a doll.”), everyone is aware of their situation. And while dolls of the same character are usually similar in personality, they also each lean on different traits and end up distinctive. For the most part, they address each other with surname initials to avoid confusion.

The Leias:

Leia C (Ceremonial) - The most regal/calm/mature of the Leias, she tends to act as their de facto leader. She has somewhat limited articulation and moves like Toy Story’s Barbie. From the 1999 Portrait Series, Leia C spent something like 15 years in storage as a collector’s item. She’s glad to now be out of her box, but is still very cautious about keeping her hair and clothing neat.

Leia O (Original, or Organa I suppose) - AKA Buff Leia. From the 1996 Hasbro line, she is the oldest in the dollhouse. But in the “cool biker aunt” sort of way. She sometimes doffs her dress and just hangs out in the bodysuit she wears underneath. She’s strong and can be jovial, but also has zero time for anyone’s bullshit.

Leia H (Hoth) - Youngest of the Leias along with her identical twin Leia E. They’re sometimes referred to as “The Destiny Twins.” Leia H is a great mission leader, but also the most hot-tempered doll in the house. She enjoys swapping clothes and weapons with her roommates, but Do Not touch her hair.

Leia E (Endor) - The looser of the Destiny Twins. She had most of her original braids undone so that she could actually use her helmet, a move that scandalized many of the other dolls. Adventurous and personable, she often goes on recon missions with the 3D Fireteam and is one of the few to have become close friends with Rey J. For a while, Leia E was the only doll to wear colors other than white, black, brown, red, and gold. She’s always enthusiastic about meeting dolls with new colors, and (like her twin sister) loves swapping clothes. She also has a little Ewok friend, Wicket.

The Amidalas:

The Queen (Red Senate dress) - Democratically elected leader of the dollhouse, she lives on the top level with her second-in-command, Sabe B. Like Leia C, she was in storage for years and tends to be careful about her appearance. She’s not particularly active, due to limited articulation and many heavy clothes. She’s not lazy, it’s just a hassle you know?

Amidala (Red palace dress) - AKA Gay Padme, she’s entirely disinterested in any talk of Anakin Skywalker (“I’m from TPM anyway, he’s just a little kid??”) and is instead dating Sabe R. Amidala is somewhat sassy compared to her sisters, and very experimental in her fashion. She tries to be mindful of her carefully styled curls, but is often too enthusiastic about trying on new outfits and then needs her girlfriend to fix them up after they get caught in velcro or squished under accessories.

Padme (Pilot outfit) - [I don’t actually own her yet, but she’s next on my “to buy” list.] The most impulsive of all the Amidalas, and the most smitten with Anakin. She often goes on missions with the Destiny Twins and the 3D Fireteam, but just as often needs to be rescued by them when she starts off on some investigation on her own and then gets into trouble.

Sabe B (Black dress) - Marketed as Amidala, but is actually Sabe playing decoy. She and Queen are close (though not as close as Amidala and Sabe R), and spend most of their time discussing the running of the dollhouse and managing each other’s physical upkeep. Sabe B is the most fastidious of all the dolls, and the most protective of everyone’s appearances (most especially of the feathers on her own headdress). She’s the house seamstress, though due to limited mobility she delegates the collecting of tools and supplies.

Sabe R (Red dress) - Also marketed as Amidala, but actually Sabe playing decoy. Sabe R is dating Amidala, is a bit of a gossip, and is by far the most experimental with her own hair. Where Sabe B is the expert on mending clothes, Sabe R is the expert on hair. For most of the dolls her work is limited to fixing squished updos and taming flyaways, but Sabine and Leia E let her brush and braid to her heart’s content.

The Reys:

Rey J (Jakku) - The most adventurous loose canon of all the dolls, she often wanders off on her own to scavenge for things around the apartment at large. She’s socially awkward and slow to trust, but very enthusiastic about showing off her treasure once she’s sure you won’t steal it. Her twin sister Rey R knows her the best, but she’s also managed to befriend Leia E and Ahsoka. Leia H has banned Rey J from official dollhouse missions because she never sticks to the plan. Rey J’s favorite thing in the whole apartment is the spider plant.

Rey R (Resistance) - Still a little rough around the edges socially, but more clued-in than her sister. Rey R tends to act as the “big sister” of the pair, despite them being twins. BB-8 (who hops rather than rolls) is most loyal to Rey R, acting more or less like her pet dog. Rey R and Ahsoka became fast friends (especially after Ahsoka managed to befriend Rey J), and do lightsaber training together.

Ahsoka - The most acrobatic of the dolls, despite not being able to raise her arms at the shoulder due to some bizarre design decision by FoD doll creators (seriously wtf??). Extremely chipper and gregarious, Ahsoka makes friends with everyone she meets, even if sometimes it takes prolonged and dogged determination. She hates being left out of things. She also considers herself a good luck charm, as she arrived on the day that the Star Wars Celebration 2019 hotel blocks opened and was standing watch over the computer when I managed to defy the odds and actually snag a room in the chaos of thousands of people all trying to get on the same website at the exact same moment o_e Oh also she has a pet lothcat for some reason.

Sabine - One of the newest arrivals. I don’t actually know super much about her canon personality yet beyond that she’s artistic and probably pretty badass. So the doll version loves to play with the chalkboard and whiteboards in the kitchen, and is the least intimidated of the cat that shares the apartment with them. She immediately develops a crush on Ahsoka.

Jyn - Another of the newest arrivals. Might have slight Buzz Lightyear Syndrome to start out with. She tends to be the straight man, comedicaly speaking. Tired, angsty, and somewhat insecure, she can be abrasive at first and butts heads with authority figures. She eventually becomes good buddies with Leia O, and likes to join Ahsoka and Rey R for sparring practice and Rey J for climbing excursions.

3D Fireteam - Four 3D-printed action figures of Padme, Sabe, and Eirtae from the battle of Naboo. Two are Padmes technically, but one is nearly twice the height of the other three figures. They behave rather like the green soldiers from Toy Story, complete with the feet-stuck-to-base waddle. I’m not sure what their exact chain of command is, but in general they take orders from Leia H. I’m also not sure how they refer to each other; maybe just by military ranks?

LEGO TFA Trio - Rey, Finn, and Poe. They’re dating. Goofy, fun-loving, and a bit mischievous. They love the winter holidays because they are technically keychains, and therefore get to be Xmas tree ornaments.

Obi-Wan Kenobi - A little crochet doll who can’t speak, as he has no mouth. Somehow he manages to be extremely sarcastic anyway.

#dakity yaks #destiny dollhouse #oh hey a star wars tag #long post

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deijnar · 6 years

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In the Rain again

Adrinette April, Day 18: Umbrella ran by @adrinetteapril

The following is the continuation of this

“I’m sorry son but I don’t think that Marinette would be comfortable with meeting you right now” Tom apologized to Adrien and mumbled “also she’s got a bad hangover” to himself so the innocent, nervous boy in front of the counter couldn’t hear him. Apparently he was more than sure that his daughter didn’t drink much but alcohol seemed to be her natural enemy.

“Oh- uhm- yeah, well I understand, yes” Adrien stammered as all the hard-earned courage he’d built up to actually go to her home to talk to Marinette vanished within seconds.

With a small smile Tom exhaled and inspected the fidgeting jitterbug, clearly clueless about what to do next. That he didn’t want to go without having achieved anything was as obvious as that this boy and his daughter had blooming feelings for each other.

So he, Tom Dupain, declared it his very own mission to get this awkward yet adorable mess sorted out!

Who said you can’t pick your own son-in-law?

“I’ll see what I can do but don’t get your hopes up” he said as indifferent as possible but the sparkling beam he got as an answer threatened his poker face immensely. Now he understood why Marinette’s best friend always referred to him as ‘the pretty sunshine boy’.

“You will? Thank you so much Monsieur!” sunshine boy exclaimed euphorically before clearing his throat and calming down a little.

Control yourself, Agreste.

“Watch the bakery while I’m gone, would you?” Tom turned around and headed to the stairs leading to their personal space. On his way he passed his wife that leaned against the doorframe and shook her head at him with an amused smile. He answered with a wide grin and she began to giggle.

“That’s my husband all over” she chuckled and kissed his cheek. “You may be the only father in all of Paris setting his daughter up instead of chasing every boy away.”

Playfully he scoffed. “If I wouldn’t do it my dear wife would” he responded and the proud grin on Sabine’s face was all proof needed.

Since the very first time he’d climbed them he hated the stairs to Marinette’s room with a fiery passion. They were steep, the stairs were small and the trap door was nothing less than a nightmare.

But he would do anything for the happiness of his little girl.

“Marinette?” he asked carefully after knocking while he entered her room.

“Donscreamame” she mumbled into her pillow and curled up.

With a smirk he remembered his first hangover and how much he wanted to kill his parents for not letting him suffer in peace.

Surely he would grant his beloved Marinette the exact same experience.

“There’s a gentleman in the bakery dying to speak to you” he explained casually (yet louder than necessary) causing her to sit up straight blazingly fast. Her painful grimace showed that she regretted it immediately so she just slumped back on her back.

“Tell him I’m not home” she answered embarrassed and hid her face behind her blanket.

“No, better tell him I passed away! Yes, I’m dead!”

Holding in his laughter Tom started a last attempt.

“Oh Netti, but he really is so nice and…”

“I’m dead!” she yelled into her pillow as loud as she could without causing her head to burst (which wasn’t very loud).

“Guess I’ll send him away then” he responded and slowly turned around, not banning the smirk off of his face.

“Do that” Marinette answered deadpanned and turned to her side, ready to truly die due to a mix of shame and alcohol abuse.

“And never call me Netti again!” she ‘shouted’ after him as he climbed down Mount Everstairs.

***

“Guess she’s not coming. Sorry again, son” shrugging Tom entered the bakery finding a concentrated Adrien narrowing his eyes at every costumer entering. Seemed he took the ‘look over the bakery’-thing quite serious.

As soon as he heard the man’s words he straightened up and smiled at him politely.

“Oh, it’s okay Monsieur. I wouldn’t want to pressure her.” Sheepishly he fumbled at his jacket before getting himself to actually leave.

“Nevertheless, thank you very much for the trouble. Have a good day!” he waved and left the bakery hesitantly.

What a nice guy Marinette had picked to give her heart to.

Thanks to his fatherly senses he could nearly hear his daughter groaning and tearing her hair as she accepted that she couldn’t let him leave like that.

Satisfied with his work he watched the blonde boy walking through the rain as he saw a shaky ball of colorful blankets come running/stumbling from the other side of the building.

Curiously his wife accompanied him.

***

Resigned about the fact that he wouldn’t get the words he’d prepared off his chest Adrien headed outside, sighing as he realized that it’d started to rain while he’d been inside.

Discouraged he took a few steps towards the main street but suddenly a shadow appeared above him.

Surprised he turned around, facing a sheepish Marinette wrapped in a self-made patchwork blanket holding an umbrella – his umbrella, to be exact – over their heads.

For a second they just stood there like this, staring into each other’s eyes.

She was so beautiful.

“Guess it’s time to give it back after all” she said and laughed nervously, remembering very well what she’d said the other day. Luckily her face had been red the whole time so he couldn’t see the uprising blush. Little did she know that he barely even heard what she’d just said.

He was too smitten by her sheer appearance.

With bleary eyes, messy hair and burning cheeks she still (or even more) caused the urge inside of him to pull her into his arms and just hold her close as long as possible. Preferably forever.

He wanted to feel her warmth again, her soft skin. He wanted to smell her unique scent and he wanted her loosen strands of hair tickling his chin.

He wanted to place a butterfly kiss on her forehead, on the tip of her nose, on her cheeks, on her…

Welp, there goes his well prepared speech.

What did he want to tell her again?

“…Adrien?” she asked insecurely and he realized he must have stared at her without saying a word for quite a while. Baffled he blinked himself back to reality and with a small smile Marinette offered her help.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked innocently as if she wasn’t perfectly aware about what he wanted to talk about.

“I- uh…uhm. I wanted…”

Damn, her lovely eyes were so distracting! How was he supposed to concentrate like this?

Screw it.

“I wanted to do this” he whispered tenderly, not averting his eyes from these bright red lips of hers and leaned in ever so slowly so she could back down if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

***

A few feet away Parisian citizens wondered what got into the local bakers causing them to cheer and performing little victory dances.

#adrinetteapril2018 #adrienette #day 18 #umbrella #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #tom dupain #miraculous ladybug #fluff #YES I was away WAY too long I am so sorry #but I just went overboard with trying to write a short eery day and killed my motivation #but I still had to make up for the angst #so take this fluffy fluff #maybe I'll do some of the missing prompts later on #I really like them :)

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ao3bronte · 7 years

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if i had a wish (i’d wish for more of this)

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3 < 4 > 5

For centuries, people have traveled from all over the world to visit the temples of the Oracle for their prophecy, an inside scoop into their future. Any question could be answered, any problem could be fixed unless…well, sometimes prophecies were simply too dangerous to share.

A Miraculous Ladybug Soulmate AU.

"You can avoid reality, but you cannot avoid the consequences of avoiding reality."

Ayn Rand

le 17 juillet 2015

Nathalie wears many hats, one of which is that of a travel agent. For years, Monsieur has only trusted her to make his various travel arrangements, being the paranoid man that he is; he claims that he's had poor experiences with other travel professionals sharing his location with paparazzi and the like in the past but Nathalie is fairly sure he just uses that excuse so he doesn't have to pay another person for something she's perfectly capable of doing herself.

Evidently, this is how Nathalie finds herself painstakingly planning an itinerary for a two week trip to Tibet. She would have spat her coffee all over her tablet at the very concept had she not been in on the scheme from the very beginning; Monsieur deigning to visit a third world nation? Preposterous. Except the revelations that had occured since procuring the peacock brooch four years ago had been...

Well, miraculous.

Since that's what they were called of course. With Mme. Dubreil’s help, they had managed to track the peacock brooch across history as it passed from hand to hand and continent to continent time and time again. From Locusta to Marie Antoinette, it was both rumoured and proven that this seemingly magical brooch had been far more important to the history of the world than any of them could have imagined at the start.

Their research had inevitably led them to a second brooch, this one far more subtle in its design in comparison to the bright blues and greens of the first. Nathalie still remembers the day Monsieur had come home with it in his possession, his normally stoic facial expression wracked with an excitement she can hardly even remember seeing on the man before that day. He'd called her into his office immediately and shut the doors behind them as he recounted his exchange with an elderly Chinese woman with unusual animation. Nathalie had been in charge of the wire transfer from one of his hidden offshore accounts and although she had the bank account number, she never did get the woman’s name.

From there, Mme. Dubreil, Monsieur and herself had been meeting regularly to determine the history of the purple brooch, which proved to be far more difficult than the peacock one due it its sophisticated, if slightly plain appearance. However, once the connection between the brooch and the butterfly motif had been made (and finding that out had been an adventure all its own), tracing its history became far less impossible and equally as fascinating. They'd even managed to associate it with both François Leclerc du Tremblay and Machiavelli, a fact that Monsieur found particularly fascinating; he'd become so smitten with the purple brooch that he’d taken to wearing it with his cravat on a daily basis and had even used its design as a source of inspiration for his 2013 spring line.

Eventually one thing had led to another. Monsieur called her in on her day off in the middle of the night back in the summer of 2014 to reveal what he had discovered, which turned out to change just about everything they thought was possible. Coming upon a PDF scan of an ancient scroll, Monsieur had learned that there weren't just two magical brooches at stake, but several magical pieces of jewellery that ranged from hair combs to earrings. They never did figure out the exact amount, but that particular piece of the puzzle wasn't what interested him.

As it turned out, not only did the scroll confirm what Gabriel had already figured out but it also revealed an even more intriguing aspect of their ever growing puzzle. The scroll, written in Sumerian and richly illustrated with seven ancient Chinese symbols, revealed a plethora of new information on the subject, including what could happen if a person wore multiple Miraculous on their person at the same time. Unfortunately, the butterfly and the peacock weren't compatible as matching pairs as they were both brooches; the style of the jewellery had to be different in order for the bearer to yield the rewards of the match.

Gabriel revealed all of this to Nathalie that night, extolling the details of the scroll with fervour. It turned out one of the matching pairs could grant the bearer the ultimate wish, something that had turned his hobby interest into a full blown obsession. In the scroll, he'd learned that not only did these magical pieces of jewellery continue to exist to this day, but the whereabouts of the majority of them could be found in a temple in Tibet, the location of which was described on the scroll in great detail. In his spare time, Gabriel had carved out the location through satellite images and insisted that Nathalie begin to organise a trip to Tibet to locate the rest of the Miraculous jewels immediately.

Opening another tab on her browser, Nathalie confirms the appointment with their Tibetan guide and copies the appropriate booking number into the spreadsheet she’d been using to keep track of all of their reservations. It would take them roughly four days to reach the temple by foot and another four to return, so Nathalie had to plan hotel stays, car rentals and the like accordingly so as to make their trip as comfortable as possible. Once she’s triple checked everything, she forwards the itinerary to the French embassy so they can monitor his whereabouts at all times and make sure that his safety is of the utmost importance throughout the trip.

At some indeterminate point, Monsieur had brought his wife in on his plans. Madame seemed particularly keen with the idea of being granted the ultimate wish, the result of which would most certainly lead to the long awaited addition to their family. In all honesty, Nathalie hasn’t seen Madame so excited in years, her sallow cheeks and pale skin from spending so much time in her bedroom suddenly blushing pink with the resurgence of hope that throbbed between her and her husband.

Adrien, as usual, was left in the dark.

Not literally of course, but figuratively. His parents would be gone during his 12th birthday, something neither of them had considered when giving Nathalie the dates for their trip. More often than not, it was Nathalie who took the responsibility to remind Monsieur of Adrien’s birthday on his calendar, but even then he tended to miss it as celebrations and holidays were ranked lowest priority on the program’s software. For the past few years, Nathalie had personally taken Adrien to various patisseries around town to pick out his own birthday treats on the sly and he would happily snack on them in the back of the Mercedes before returning home. It was their little secret, one that wasn’t shared with anyone else save Adrien’s seemingly mute bodyguard who still hadn’t spoken a word to her since being hired shortly before Adrien’s birth.

Nathalie calls the first class bureau of Air China to confirm their seats and submit Monsieur’s tailored list of demands during the nearly twenty hour flight, all of which is taken into account after a few well placed comments in regards to the sheer magnitude of influence their travellers possess in the eastern hemisphere. Gabriel’s right hand design aide was stationed at their Shanghai headquarters and he hired many budding fashion students from Donghua and Fudan, two of China’s top fashion schools. In an odd twist of whimsy, Gabriel even had Adrien studying Mandarin in case his modelling duties ever took him outside the country, something that Nathalie foresaw happening should the Agreste’s actually find success in Tibet. After all, with a new baby in the family, Monsieur would have to keep Adrien occupied and out of his hair somehow.

It bothers Nathalie sometimes, the fact that Adrien is often considered an afterthought to his father and mother. She knows her place of course, but it still niggles at the back of her mind that something about this is so so wrong.

...if only she’d told Gabriel the truth about Adrien’s prophecy.

It’s been a weight on her shoulders for nearly twelve years now, her transgression. She’s laid in bed and stared up at her ceiling a million times and wondered how Monsieur would have treated him if she had told him what actually happened, that the Pythia had explained that he had a prophecy but it was simply too dangerous to share. Would Monsieur have treated him like a son? Was Monsieur even capable of acting like a father? She’d only ever seen him consider Adrien with disdain and occasionally mild interest and Adrien learned quickly that there was no pleasing his father, no matter how hard he’d tried. Goodness knows she’d spent countless hours consoling him over that particular life lesson.

She wonders vaguely if and when the inbalance she’s caused with her omission will come back to haunt her. She wonders if it already has and her punishment is to continue to be the pseudo-surrogate mother for a boy with a dubious future until whatever danger lies ahead of him ultimately consumes him.

Something tells her she’ll soon find out.

le 7 septembre 2015

Adrien is in the renowned Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie with a credit card and a list of his favourite sweets when Nathalie receives a phone call from the French Embassy in Tibet. Her hands shake as the man on the other line relays the news, relays that the backpacks of both Monsieur and Madame and their guide have been found abandoned on a riverbank high up in the mountains with their passports still inside. He assures her that they’ve sent a search party out to try and find them and that all available resources are being assigned to the mission. Nathalie demands that he keeps her updated, hangs up the phone, and waits for Adrien’s return.

“This place is awesome,” Adrien extols breathlessly, plopping onto the backseat with three boxes in his lap, “I bought a vanilla and a raspberry Saint-Honoré for me and I bought a chocolate millefeuille for Mme. Doré because I know she likes them and I bought these for you Nathalie! There’s orange blossom and raspberry and pistachio ones...Trip Advisor says they have the best macarons in all of Paris and I would know, I looked them up on the way here to see if they were better than the Ladurée ones because I know you like them the best but I thought maybe you would like these better and…”

Nathalie blinks a few times and takes the proffered pink box, setting it down across her knees. She listens as Adrien prattles on, oblivious to her inner turmoil as she opens the box and takes a vanilla macaron between her numb fingers, lifting it to her lips. It smells heavenly and tastes even more so, the delicate flavour and texture of the meringue melting on her tongue like snowflakes on a ski hill in the Alps and it hits her like a hurricane all at once, the significance of the past few minutes, her situation now.

“...and literally, they had the biggest ispahan I’ve ever seen on their counter and they don’t just raspberry ones either, they had…”

Nathalie hears the engine roar to life as their driver accelerates by the Notre Dame de Paris cathedral, her Gothic silhouette casting a heavy shadow across the road they’re driving down. Vaguely, she feels the gentle breezes of the air conditioning brush against her cheeks and forehead, smells the sugar on her fingers and the t-shirt of a boy who spent a little too much time running about in the sunshine earlier that morning. She takes another bite and tries to pay attention, tries to focus on something, anything but the sudden rush of uncertainty in her gut, writhing and thrashing against the bitter panic that’s threatening to take over. She takes a few steadying breaths and stares down at the box of macarons instead, counting them over and over again like a mantra until the blood stops rushing in her ears.

“...and the lady there was really nice and helped me choose all the flavours because I didn’t really know which ones to get you but she said that these ones are the most popular so I…”

Nathalie nods occasionally as Adrien continues to babble on about pastries and begins to make a mental checklist of all the things she’ll have to do when she gets back to the estate. She’ll have to call the lawyer to make sure Monsieur’s affairs are in order, after which she’ll have to remind him and his firm of the gag order in regards to their media involvement. Then she’ll have to call an emergency staff meeting and explain the situation, cut all forms of communication and boot up the wifi jammer so Adrien can’t access the internet. Nathalie figures she’ll have at least twenty four hours before the story leaks and shows up on social media so she’ll have to block his data as well, if only for a week or two. By that point, he’ll be wondering why his parents haven’t returned and Nathalie will be forced to explain…

...oh.

It dawns on Nathalie at that moment, the realisation hitting her skin like a dousing of freezing cold water. It’s the reason Monsieur had renounced his faith in the Oracle and refused to let his wife travel further than the border for modelling contracts except when he was with her…

Nathalie shoves another macaron in her mouth and opens the messaging app on her iPad, jabbing the ALL STAFF button with a manicured finger. The alert goes out immediately as the Mercedes pulls into the driveway and rolls to a stop by the door.

“Nathalie?”

His voice breaks her out of her reverie and she jerks her head around, staring wide eyed at the son of her potentially deceased boss, his lips and cheeks dusted with icing sugar.

“Yes Adrien?”

“Are you alright?” he asks, tipping his head to the left. He looks down at the half eaten box of macarons in her lap, “You haven’t said a word since you got back in the car...do you not like the pastries I got you?”

Nathalie shudders, if only slightly, “They’re delicious Adrien. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” he grins, his eyes lighting up immediately, “I’m going to go bring these to the kitchen staff to put in the fridge okay? Bye!”

He’s out of the car before she knows it, skipping up the stairs and through the front door of his lavish home with a wave and a smile at the staff member manning the front door and Nathalie can’t help but feel that crushing weight against her chest again, heavy and exhausting. How on earth is she going to be able manage all this? What would happen to her, her job, her life if Gabriel Agreste was gone?

Heaving a heavy sigh, Nathalie lets her head fall back against the headrest with a thunk.

“Mobile phones in the basket please,” Nathalie orders as the staff all file into the ballroom, settling themselves in a vague semi circle around Nathalie. Once all of the devices have been gathered up into the bread basket and set on the table in front of her, Nathalie laces her fingers together and begins.

“I received word from the French embassy in Tibet roughly an hour ago. Monsieur and Madame Agreste are missing.”

There’s a pregnant pause before a raucous hum of voices bubbles up from the twenty odd people standing in front of her, all showing different expressions of shock and concern. Nathalie gives them a few moments to react before raising her hand to regain their attention, “The Tibetan government has called in reinforcements and has sent out a large search party to look for them. The member I spoke to at the embassy assured me that it’s quite likely that Monsieur’s guide simply wandered off their initial path for weather related reasons.”

Nathalie waits for the information to sink in before continuing, “As you know, it is quite likely that this story will hit international media sooner rather than later. To prepare, I will be reinstalling the jammer on the estate’s Wifi and temporarily disengaging the televisions that are connected to the cable. You will need to sign into the hidden Wifi signal again in order to use your devices,” Nathalie squares her shoulders and faces the crowd, “It is imperative that Adrien does not hear anything about their temporary disappearance until their whereabouts are confirmed. Any questions?”

One of the maids raises her hand, “When will we know more?”

“The embassy will be calling me every four hours with updates,” Nathalie replies, “If I receive anything worth noting, I will call another staff meeting.”

“And what about Adrien?” Mme. Doré asks, the live-in tutor jittering nervously, “Surely he’ll get suspicious if we don’t let him go outside the estate for fencing practice.”

“We will need to come up with a list of excuses then,” Nathalie taps her fingernails against the side of her iPad, “I’ll leave it to you to draft a list so our stories all correspond if he decides to go looking for answers.”

“But Mme. Sancoeur...” Mme. Doré averts her eyes and wrings her hands together, “That’s lying.”

Nathalie takes a deep breath, “To protect Adrien. If we’re doing it for the right reasons, the balance will remain in our favour.”

There’s another heavy murmur from the crowd. Nathalie knows that her opinion isn’t exactly the most popular one but she knows her staff; if Adrien is involved, they’ll do whatever it takes to keep him as happy and sheltered as possible.

“We should have known this would happen…”

“...I knew the prophecy would come true!”

“That’s what Monsieur gets for rejecting the Oracle…”

“...don’t say such a thing, there are lives at stake!”

“And what about Madame? What will happen to Adrien if…”

“The Oracle did say that she would die, this is just the balance at work…”

“...and Adrien, he’ll be heartbroken! What will we…”

“ ENOUGH! ”

Nathalie pinches the bridge of her nose, “As a staff, we have a job to do and that hasn’t changed. Your directives are the same until you’re told otherwise. And as for all of you, keep your gossip to yourself in case Adrien can hear it. If he learns anything about what is happening in Tibet from any of you, you can guarantee that your position at the Agreste estate will be up for debate. Shielding him from the media will be challenging, but I expect you all to be up to the task. Do I make myself clear?”

Nathalie scans her audience with a shrewd expression before continuing, “Good. Now, remember your duties and get back to work.”

le 12 septembre 2015

Bzzz-bzzz-bzzz

Nathalie jerks awake and blindly rummages for the iPhone on her nightstand, wrenching the mobile free from its charger.

“Nathalie Sancoeur speaking.”

“We found him.”

#miraculous ladybug #soulmate au #ml fanfic #ml #ladynoir #brontewrites #if i had a wish (i'd wish for more of this)

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thesschesthair · 7 years

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So the lovely @lenfaz was sharing some hilarious romance novel covers with me yesterday and gave me the prompt of Rogers’ nickname being ‘Manaconda’ instead of ‘Eagle scout’. And this is what I came up with. I hope it’s okay, my dear!

Rogers took another sip of his sprite and chuckled at Henry’s story. They’d successfully put Belfrey behind bars and were on their way to exposing all her corrupt deeds within Hyperion Heights, so when the man suggested a night off, Rogers reluctantly agreed.

“So he’s now head to toe in leather, mask and all, sitting in my back seat.”

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“I’m just thankful I wasn’t dropping him at a children’s party.”

Rogers almost choked on his drink at that remark.

He liked Henry. They guy had a dry wit about him and a good heart. He enjoyed his company and appreciated his help from time to time.

He wasn’t so bad.

The arrival of Jacinda and Sabine surprised him when the two ladies appeared and sat with them, drinks in hand. Jacinda managed to mumble a hello to him before placing herself next to Henry, falling into conversation with him immediately. Rogers smirked, clearly aware that both were smitten with the other.

“Hey Rogers.” Sabine greeted kindly as she took a seat nearer to his side of the table trying her best to give the blossoming love birds some space.

“Sabine. How’s the truck coming along?”

“Pretty great! I don’t think i’ve ever had this much excitement in gettin’ my hands dirty.”

He smiled, happy to have helped the woman in reaching her dream. She was such a pleasant and heart-warming person… and a hell of a cook.

The four fell into comfortable conversation and it wasn’t long before Roni was making her way over with another round for all of them, pulling up a chair and joining the small group in kicking back and toasting to a successful week.

It was a lovely atmosphere. Between Henry’s bizarre Swyft passengers, Roni’s crazy bar stories and Jacina and Sabine’s awful customers, the group were constantly laughing, sharing their strangest interactions with people. Rogers was the only one refusing to share, declaring it a confidentiality breach, earning him boo’s from the others.

The bar was relatively quiet until the tell tale sign of rambunctious laughter followed a group of uniformed officers through the door.

Rogers sighed as the ever loud mouthed desk sergeant spotted him.

“Manaconda! Thought you didn’t drink?”

“I don’t.” He bit out, mood souring at the man’s remark.

The four of them looked at Rogers as the desk sergeant disappeared to join his buddies. Each of them gave him a confused look except Roni who seemed to be holding back a chortle.

“Manaconda?” Henry repeated, waiting for an explanation.

Rogers felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment as he realised they’d heard the awful nickname.

“Just a ridiculous attempt at banter on the squad’s behalf.” he offered, trying to brush it off.

“Uh uh.” Roni pushed, not letting it go. “This is one story you can share, detective.”

Rogers sighed, wishing for lightning to strike Roni.

“There was a calendar.” he began to explain, feeling utterly stupid. “A few years back, the PD were asked to… well it was for charity.”

“And just what was in this calendar?” Sabine asked.

The way she put her question forward had him aware she’d understood where this story was going… and that she clearly wasn’t as sweet as he thought she was. The lass had a streak of Roni’s fire within her.

“They had us pose. Tastelessly.” he deadpanned.

“Now tell them the rest.” Roni goaded, completely ignoring his death glare.

She didn’t know why she was getting such enjoyment out of seeing the bashful cop squirm but it felt almost familiar. When Rogers refused to continue, she decided to take over.

“The company that published the calendar broke copyright rules by stealing the photos and using them for other publications.” she explained before putting on a massive grin. “The good detective here ended up on a trashy romance novel called ‘Manaconda’.”

Henry let out a chuckle and Jacinda and Sabine tried to hold back a laugh.

“Laugh it up.” Rogers sighed in good humor. He was embarrassed but it wasn’t as humiliating as it once used to be. Maybe he was finally seeing the funny side to it after all.

“That’s pretty crappy of them.” Jacinda sympathised. “Did you manage to stop them?”

“They recalled the book.” he confirmed. “Changed the front cover before too many got sold. As well as all the other photos they’d stolen. I don’t think the company’s any longer in business.”

“The things we do for charity, huh?” Henry teased.

“You know…” Roni began. “I’ve still got a copy of that calendar.”

“Roni, no.” Rogers warned.

“In fact, I’m almost certain I have.” she insisted, grinning at his protests and laughing at the rest of the groups encouragement.

“I need the bathroom.” He mumbled before making his way across the bar, not noticing the quick examination he was getting from a few sets of curious eyes.

When he returned, Roni was back with a glossy calendar in her hands, flipping through the months to share with the others.

He glared at her disapprovingly as Roni piqued the ladies’ interest.

“Oh my god.” They both seemed to laugh at the same time.

There on the page was Rogers in naught but his underwear, one arm resting on the roof of a patrol car and the other on his hip.

Henry looked awkwardly at the photo, cringing slightly before turning to the cop.

“Suck to be you, bud.”

“Thanks.” he said sarcastically.

“Hey, I think you look great.” Jacinda offered in support.

“Yeah.” Sabine chimed in. “Definitely one of the better Mr July’s i’ve seen.”

Rogers blushed once again, flattered at their appraisal.

“See?” Roni winked. “Told you.”

Her teasing made him laugh finally. She’d mercilessly ribbed him over the calendar when it had first come out, but the thing with Roni he’d learnt… it came from caring. She was a hard ass with a very soft centre.

“If you think that’s good.” he offered. “You’re gonna love Mr December.”

The ladies flipped the pages to the back where a familiar desk sergeant was clad in a pair of red speedos, dangling a set f handcuffs from his pinky finger.

The laughter erupted around the table as the group continued their night of unwinding, forming a solid friendship amongst them all.

#wish hook #officer rogers #detective rogers #hooked queen #hooking utensil

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