#jewel de paris
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Jewel de Paris!! / Ayakaze Sakina Sayonara Show
#takarazuka#yukigumi#ayakaze sakina#asami jun#sakiaasa#jewel de paris#my gifs#god bless whoever decided to air the sfwb adlib i owe u my life#praying one day they air maeraku on sky stage so i can make a gif of that one too#(aasa made a heart at saki and saki made one back)#i posted the jupari gifs before but they fit w the sfwb gif so#idk if i am happy with these colours but i wanted to post it (sfwb gif)#might make some more gifs from the digest but maybe not#who knows#this was the important one (to me)#(though so is aasa handing the flowers over to saki so)#also thank you raku cameraman for all the closeups of aasa/sakiaasa i feel very personally targeted#im not sure if it was an intentional callback or just. them being them. but it was the first thing i thought watching the stream so#very very cute that aasa was the one to initiate it this time#anyway shutting the fuck up before i start crying over sakiaasa in the tags bc no one asked and if i start i will not stop and i will hit t#e tag limit#anyway#shout out to neiro suwa and kasekyou for being very very cute in the back#takarazuka revue#gifs
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Princess Grace and Princess Caroline of Monaco in conversation with jeweller Gérard at the Hôtel de Paris in Saint-Tropez on August 8, 1977.
#grace kelly#princess grace#hotel de paris#st tropez#saint tropez#1977#hanae mori#princess caroline#gerard#jeweller
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AU where Emile didnt die or get sick she just up and left, genuinely packed her shit and ran away from her kid and husband. She leaves, the media follows her for like half a year before it sort of dies down a bit and then it’s brief Emilie Agreste Graham de Vanily sightings once a leap year. It’s still a miraculous universe though have might not be hawkmoth. Adrien keeps a look out for his mother in magazines and tabloids for years before he stops and decides to move one. They live their life Adrien and Gabriel might be closer in their mourning. And then she comes back and Adrien wants absolutely nothing to do with her
#bonus points if the new VILLAN or whatever is EMILIE??#maybe Amelie died or something and she wants her sister back?#so she found some jewels come back to Paris to terrorize it but never her son#post its#mlb txt#mlb#the graham de vanilys
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#Loggia at the Hôtel de la Marine#Paris. Designed by architect Ange-Jacques Gabriel and built between 1757 and 1774#it was originally a depository for the royal furniture collections#crown jewels#tapestries#and precious objets d’art. Reopened as a public museum in 2021. [1051x1400]
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Paris Fashion Week: Christophe Guillarme Jewel toned party dresses for fall 2025
#BALAJO PARIS#brigitteseguracurator#christophe guillarme#De Marquet#fashion#FASHION NEWS#fashion TRENDS#gil neuhaus#jewel tones#MISS FRANCE#paris fashion week#party dress#party dresses#purple dresses#runway#sarah guillarme
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The Jewelry and Enamels of Louis Comfort Tiffany, Necklace, 1903.
Exhibited: Salon of the Société des Artistes Français, Paris, 1906 Peacock and flamingo. Enamel, opal, amethyst, ruby, sapphire, demantoid garnet, emerald, chrysoberyl, pearl, gold
Tiffany & Co., New York City, 1837–present.
Designer: Louis Comfort Tiffany, American, 1848–1933 Jeweler: Julia Munson [Sherman], American, 1875–1971 Marks: TIFFANY & Co.
#tiffany#necklace#1903#louis comfort tiffany#art nouveau#art nouveau necklace#jewelry#art nouveau jewelry#louis c. tiffany#la belle epoque#belle epoque#art#jewellery#peacock#flamingo#enamel#opal#amethyst#ruby#sapphire#garnet#chrysoberyl#pearl#gold#Tiffany & Co#Tiffany & Co.
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Mata Hari was the stage name of Dutch dancer Margaretha Geertruida MacLeod. Married to an army officer at 18, she spent several years living in Java, Indonesia. Her husband was an abusive alcoholic, and so in 1903, she gained a divorce, and moved to Paris.
There she became the mistress of a millionaire industrialist , and set out to make a career dancing on stage. She created an erotic act based on her time in Indonesia, claiming to be a Hindu priestess trained in the art of sacred dance.
She would slowly strip away garments until she was wearing nothing but a jeweled top, a headdress, and some bracelets. She imitated nudity by wearing a flesh-colored body stocking.
Because of her olive-tinted complexion and dark coloring, Europeans gobbled her up as an authentic bit of the east, and she became a sensation. She acted as courtesan to a number of wealthy high society men, who kept her living the high life.
However, the act's novelty slowly wore off, and she struggled to gain attention doing things other than her sexy dance.
By the start of World War I, she was getting older, her career was struggling, and her financial situation was no longer what it used to be. When theaters closed in Berlin, she was forced to go back the The Netherlands. In The Hague, she met a young wounded Russian officer by the name of Vadim de Massloff.
Nonetheless, she continued to sleep with men for money, and she eventually became entangled with rumors of espionage. What actually happened is next to impossible to ascertain, all I can really tell is that the Germans, French, AND Russians were all mad at her. She was arrested in Paris, and eventually executed for these allegations.
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L'Art et la mode, no. 51, vol. 15, 22 décembre 1894, Paris. Toilettes inédites. Dessin de G. de Billy. Bibliothèque nationale de France
Robe de drap gris cendré brodé de petites guirlandes de jais. Garniture de chinchilla. Manches et corsage en velours bleu pailleté d’acier bleu. Toquet de velours bleu avec aigrette.
Dress in ash gray cloth embroidered with small jet garlands. Chinchilla trim. Sleeves and bodice in blue velvet with blue steel glitter. Blue velvet cap with aigrette.
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Robe en drap terra-cotta. Corsage ouvert sur un dessous ondé vert mousse. Manches en velours ondé avec revers de drap. Boutons de nacre teintée. Chapeau de velours garni de plumes et d’une large boucle en pierreries.
Dress in terracotta cloth. Open bodice on a wavy moss green underside. Sleeves in wavy velvet with cloth cuffs. Dyed mother-of-pearl buttons. Velvet hat trimmed with feathers and a large jeweled buckle.
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Robe en drap de soie amethyste garnie a'appliques de velours miroir vert mousse, ouverte devant sur une pointe de velours mousse. Toquet forme par un nœud de velours avec ailes de jais.
Dress in amethyst silk cloth trimmed with moss green mirror velvet appliques, open in front on a point of moss velvet. Cap formed by a velvet bow with jet wings.
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Robe de velours vert émeraude garnie d’un empiècement de vison. Chapeau de feutre orné de dentelle et de nœuds de velours avec fer à cheval de chrysanthèmes.
Emerald green velvet dress trimmed with a mink yoke. Felt hat decorated with lace and velvet bows with chrysanthemum horseshoes.
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Robe en velours anglais. Revers et grand col en drap ivoire. Garniture de renard bleu. Chapeau de velours noir. Manchon de renard bleu.
English velvet dress. Lapels and large collar in ivory cloth. Blue fox trim. Black velvet hat. Blue fox muff.
#L'Art et la mode#19th century#1890s#1894#on this day#December 22#periodical#fashion#fashion plate#description#bibliothèque nationale de france#dress#gigot#collar#Modèles de chez#G. de Billy
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ML Feline Blue AU Chapter Three: Origins pt. 1/2
1 • 2 • 3
read below or on ao3
Each step back to the Pont des Arts was petrifying. All the muscles in her legs contracted in protest, begging her to stop or for the still fresh soreness to bring her to her knees. What had been an ache in her lungs was now a relentless screaming, and the sound of rushing water in the seine was making her head hurt.
But she had to know.
It wasn’t like the streets of Paris would be crowded so early in the morning, but Marinette had expected more than the occasional elderly couple or jogger on a morning run. There were no sirens, no policemen barking orders at each other with megaphones like she had pictured in her mind. No one had noticed the bloodbath left behind. Which only made it feel all the more fictional, like some elaborate, fucked up fantasy she had concocted in her mind.
She had to go back and know if it was real. Know if she had any right to feel as burdened as she did.
There was no reassuring kwami hidden in her pockets, no magical jewels that made her a superhero. No, those had all been tucked away in her closet, where no villain could find them. It was just Marinette, bundled securely under a thick gray hoodie, mind running wild with worst case scenarios. They didn’t stop when she arrived at the Pont des Arts, and only seemed to get louder when she took in the freshly cleaned condition.
She walked the length of the bridge, then did it twice more. It was pristine, easily wiped of the brash color it was stained the night prior. Marinette wasn’t even sure she could remember where exactly on the bridge it had been. The wooden walkway looked almost polished, the entire platform was the spitting image of perfection. It made her fucking skin crawl.
It was too easy, too tempting, to sit on one of the benches sprinkled across the bridge and let herself peel apart. The panic had long set in, leaving her feeling lost and unraveled. This sudden enemy was already plucking away at the careful seams she's used to stitch her confidence together, and he didn’t even know she existed. Sitting on the bench for a few hours, her mind wandered aimlessly on autopilot, yet always circled back to ‘Guardian. Miracle Box. Guardian. Guardian. Miracle Box. Guardian.’ It was still on loop in her head when she picked herself up off the seat and went home.
The idea of doing a mad dash through the bakery and to her room crossed her mind, she had to admit, but it was quickly dismissed. The bakery had already been open for almost an hour now, she didn't want to cause a racket amongst customers. Plus, it’s not like her parents would let it slide either. Then again, Marinette had entered her home in many weirder ways.
She pulled open the doors of the bakery, skirting the customer line and bee lining for the ‘employees only’ labeled door. If she was really lucky, her mom would be too busy to even notice her slipping in.
“Welcome back, why were you out so early?” Sabine commented nonchalantly as her daughter awkwardly tried to creep past, eyes not leaving the cash register as she tapped away at the buttons.
What a fantasy. The idea of Marinette Dupain-Cheng having a single moment of luck. “Sorry Mama, I woke up way too early and couldn’t fall back asleep so I wanted to go out for a quick walk. Then I may have fallen asleep on a bench at the seine…” She trailed off, hands flailing wildly around her as she explained to her mother. It honestly wasn’t too far from the truth, and it also wasn’t too far from something Marinette would do.
Sabine quirked an eyebrow, giving her daughter that questioning look only mothers can, before sighing and smiling to herself. She reached out and stroked her face gently, then pinched her cheek. “Go get changed and enjoy the last week of summer break. No more falling asleep on public benches.”
Marinette nodded in relief, turned to leave, then spun back around and planted a kiss on her moms cheek. “Love you too!” She hummed, bounding through the kitchen with a passing hello to her dad, then up the stairs.
Her mother had helped clear her head momentarily, but it all came crashing back down when she came into her bedroom. It all felt too bright now. The rosy tones and cluttered surfaces were bringing on a migraine, and the nauseating box of magic hidden she knew was in her closet was not helping. Still, she reached for the doorknobs after allowing her eyes a moment to adjust. She had built a nest of fabric around the miracle box, bundling it away in the corner of her closet. The box felt lighter than it had yesterday, maybe because the wood dried during the past day, or because Marinette had a night to sleep on the heavy new burden. Well, a few hours, really. The lid opened easily, and out flew all the kwamis. Tikki and Plagg settled calmly in front of her, both curiously inspecting the room with their eyes. The other kwamis didn’t have such etiquette, and instantly began to wreak havoc on her belongings.
Her lips parted, about to protest, when her voice failed her. Instead she let out a quiet sigh and rolled her eyes, allowing them temporary free reign, then made her way to her desk. The kwamis weaved through the air around her, almost ignoring her presence all together as they discovered the wonder that was her room. They screamed, shrieked, and squealed— Marinette had never been more relieved her parents were in the bakery, too far to hear— about each new unearthing, but she tuned them out into white noise.
There needed to be a record. A journal, a book, she’d even call it a diary. She needed to start writing these things down, making a physical trail of everything that’s happened so far. Documenting about the kwamis, the miraculous, this villain, Master Fu, her total number of panic attacks (three and counting), etc. The important things. It seemed as good a place to start as any.
“Marinette?” The ladybug kwami had followed her across the room and now sat atop her computer, intently watching her write with cautious eyes.
“Mm?” the girl hummed in response, enthralled in her furiously scribbled notes. Her tongue peeked out from her lips just slightly as she wrote.
“What... what are you doing?”
“Screw that, where the hell did you go?” The cat cut in, tail lashing from side to side. His lips were pulled back in a slight hiss, sharp teeth glinting from in his mouth.
“I-I went back to the Pont des Arts.” She mumbled, pen stilling in her hand. It was silent for a second before their voices erupted.
“You did what?!”
“I would have come with you!”
The kwamis were instantly rambling, Plagg listing off all the ways she could have died on his claws while Tikki pressed her for a play-by-play retelling. It was suffocating.
“I’m fine, okay?! I’m alright!” She huffed, slamming the pen down and pushing against the desk to send her chair rolling backwards. Marinette brought her hands to her face to gently rub her eyes before taking a breath. “Nothing happened.” She said flatly, arms falling to her lap. “I just wanted to see why no one was talking about the blood. But it was entirely clean. The whole bridge looked fucking polished.”
The kwamis exchanged a look between them before Tikki quietly repeated, “I would have come with you.” with a small frown and eyebrows knitted together in worry.
Marinettes building frustration melted. She hadn’t even thought the kwamis would worry about her, nevertheless be upset she had gone alone. A small part of her had honestly thought they would prefer she do the dirty work herself. She pinched her eyes closed and tried to shrug off the guilt blanketing her shoulders. “I wanted to go alone. Plus, it’s my job to keep you all safe and hidden now, I couldn’t risk taking you back there.” She explained softly, returning to the desk and plucking the pen from the surface to fidget with.
“It’s your job to stay safe with us!” Plagg hissed, unaffected by her gentle tone. “It’s our job to train you as guardian! You have to work with us, Marinette!” his voice wavered as he went on. “Let us teach you how to be a guardian before you try doing it on your own.
She listened carefully, gaze locked downward on her feet. After a few moments she spoke “I just want to be able to protect you guys.”
Tikki lowered through the air until she rested in Marinettes lap, looking up kindly at her eyes. “We know, Marinette.”
“But, c’mon Pigtails—“ the new nickname caught her by surprise, making her look up at the cat kwami. “We’re not the only ones who need to be protected right now.” he huffed.
“Let us keep you safe as well,” The ladybug kwami pleaded enthusiastically. “You’re not alone.”
Marinette nodded weakly as she reached a hand forward to rub the red kwamis cheek. “I’ll try to remember that. But if I'm going to do this safely, I need to be prepared.” She clicked her pen, pushing out the inky tip. “Tell me everything, from the beginning.”
An annunciatory cough caught her attention, and she turned to see the rest of the kwamis had settled in a small, patient audience around the three as they talked. It was easy to forget just how many of them there were. Seventeen miniature gods living in her room.
“I think I can help with that,” A light green kwami with a shell spoke up. His sclera was a saturated yellow, and a thick antenna sprouted from his head, ending in a round bulb. “The man you met was Wang Fu, the g— uhm.. The previous guardian of the miraculous.” he spoke, wincing slightly as he messed up his wording. “I am Wayzz, the kwami of protection.” a small tail flicked from the bottom of his shell.
Marinette took hasty notes as the kwami spoke. “Wang Fu.” She echoed the name, feeling the heavy way it rolled off her tongue. “I think I remember him saying that.” It felt wrong to say his full name only now, after everything he sacrificed for her.
“Wayzz was Master Fus personal kwami, so he knows the most about the guardian.” Tikki explained, zooming through the air to float by his side. Wayzz gave her a soft smile, but a heavy gloom lingered in his eyes. He tilted his head to lean against hers slightly, making Marinettes heart twist for the creatures.
“You must have been close.” She said gently, giving the kwami a sympathetic smile. “How long had he been guardian?”
That question gave the kwamis pause. Wayzz blinked before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Well, similar to you, Master Fu had to become sole guardian at fourteen because of… a-a tragic event, leaving him the only living member of the Order of the Guardians.” He stuttered. Marinette's throat went dry and she was immediately buzzing with questions, but he went on. “But that happened many, many, many years ago. Master Fu lived to one hundred and eighty six.”
Her mind went blank, all questions gone in a moment's notice. “One hundred and eighty six?” Marinette repeated. She frantically looked from kwami to kwami, eyes wild. “Am-am I going to live that long now?” her voice was tight with panic. Being fourteen felt burdensome enough, how was she supposed to do this for another century— and possibly longer?
Plagg was the first to respond, and he did so with pure amusement. “Fear not, Pigtails. Master Fu only lived that long cause he was a crazy old man who did crazy old man shit.”
Wayzz glared at Plaggs vulgarity, but began to explain further. “It was simple really, he ate a very specific and controlled diet, practiced rigorous healing and meditation practices, and he’d even-”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll live a normal human amount of time.” An orange kwami barked, long fluffy tail flicking back and forth. He resembled a fox, but with purple eyes and long antennas on his ear tips. “Maybe take the anxiety down a level or two. We need you to stick around for a while.”
“Ha-ha.” Marinette said bluntly, rolling her eyes at the fox kwami. She turned her attention back to her journal, pen gaining motion in her hands once again. “What else can you guys tell me about him?”
“A lot, Master, but in due time. First, I think introductions are in order.” the turtle kwami responded, side-eyeing a few kwamis to his left. That’s what made Marinette finally notice some of the creatures literally shaking with excitement. A velvety purple feline and floppy eared dog most notably, both the creature's tails lashing at an intense speed. They looked like they were about to explode.
“You’re right, I don’t even know half of your guys' names.” She realized, and a dull feeling of guilt dawned on her at not having asked about them. She gestured a hand towards them, prompting them all to share.
They went around, one by one, introducing themselves. Tikki and Plagg, the ladybug and black cat, who Marinette was familiar with after last night. Wayzz, the turtle, Master Fus kwami. Trixx, the name of the fox kwami that had spoken earlier. Sass, a snake. Pollen, which is quite a fitting name for a bee kwami. Roaar and Barkk were the tiger and dog kwamis, the two exploding with excitement. Kaalki, Ziggy, Orikko, Mullo and Daizzi, being a horse, goat, rooster, mouse, and pig respectively. A blue ox named Stompp, which reminded Marinette of the story of Babe, the blue ox. A dragon by the name of Longg, and a ditzy bunny named Fluff. Last but not least, the loudest and most chaotic kwamis of them all, Xuppu, a small light brown monkey. According to them all, the butterfly and peacock kwamis, Nooroo and Duusu, were the only missing gods. One was held captive by the butterfly villain, but the other was lost alongside its miraculous.
She wasn’t sure she would ever remember all that.
“Your turn!” The tiger kwami roared in delight.
“Oh.” Since they had known her name and age, Marinette had assumed they had known everything else about her too. That what it had seemed like with Fu, why should tiny animal gods be any different? “I’m just Marinette.” They already knew that. “Uhm- My parents have a bakery, that’s downstairs, we live on top of it. Right now we’re in my room, obviously.”
“We want to know about you, Marinette!” Tikki chirped, returning to perch happily on her computer again.
“What’s your favorite color!”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“-Or a girlfriend!”
“Why are you so small?”
“What’s your deepest darkest secret!”
The kwamis were a shrieking chorus of voices, all piling up questions without waiting for answers. Marinette watched, eyes wide, until they eventually quieted on their own. Her life was going to be a lot louder from here on out.
“Uh-uhm, my favorite color is pink.” Her face was burning as she waved a hand around her rosy room. Why is talking about yourself so embarrassing? “I don’t have… either of those things right now, the last boy I fell in love with was- uhm- w-we went swimming and-” Marinette wasn’t even sure where to begin explaining the horrific prank she’d been victim to last school year. “He just didn’t feel the same way.” She said quietly, clicking the pen in her hands a few times anxiously. What had the other questions been?
“WHY ARE YOU SO SMALL?!” That question was repeated, much louder and much closer to her face. Xuppu had sprung up in front of her, big ears nestled on the side of his face and a long monkey tail curled beneath him.
“Cause I’m fourteen?” Marinette slid back in her chair to get some space from the kwami. “I’m not exactly done growing.” She explained in a high pitched voice, somewhat confused by his demeanor. The monkey kwami would take some getting used to. But, then again, they’d all take some getting used to.
“And your deepest darkest secret is?” Plagg purred, his tail lashing playfully.
“You guys. Obviously.”
The kwamis all went silent for a second— which seemed almost impossible to her— and exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.
“Good answer, Marinette.” Tikki giggled. ---
“What do you mean It’s not my box?!” Marinette looked up from her journal at the kwamis and groaned loudly before burying her face in her hands.
“He means technically.” Tikki corrected awkwardly.
“I mean it’s not yours!” Plagg jeered in response. “Look at the Miracle Box. What does that look like to you?”
“I don't know! A box!” Marinette whined, throwing her arms forward and herself back onto her comically large cat pillow, before sliding down into the nest of blankets she had gathered over the week. He gave her a sharp and unamused glare. She sighed and heaved herself back upright. Studying the box carefully, she traced the design with her eyeline; staring so intensely she felt like lasers would beam from her pupils and burn through the wood. The box sat, just barely a foot away, carelessly in the corner of her bed where she had left it the night before. It looked the exact same as the first time she saw it. Still just as unsettling. She was almost scared to touch it. Thankfully, the latter feeling was fading slowly with each passing day. “It looks the same.” She muttered, before tentatively leaning forward to grab the box.
“Bingo. That's not normal Pigtails.” his tail flicked impatiently as she held the box in her lap. “Each Miracle Box has a distinct guardian, and should change to reflect their personal desires and deepest truth. This piece of junk-” Plagg flexed a single claw towards the box between them, “doesn’t look like your miracle box in the slightest.”
Tikki sighed before chiming in “He’s not entirely correct, but his point makes sense.”
“Does it?” Marinette questioned unenthusiastically, palms pulling at her cheeks.
“How do I explain this…” the bug mumbled to herself while scrunching her face in thought. Funny, people always said Marinette did that. “It’s like the box is only considering you a temporary guardian, and so it isn’t entirely connected to you. If it were, the box would change shape, size, color, even its own rules and structure.”
“MY SITUATION DOESN'T FEEL VERY TEMPORARY?!” Marinette wailed in immediate response, arms thrashing wildly at her sides.
“You’re not Marinette, don't worry! It's most likely the box can somehow sense your unease and won't allow you full guardianship… or…” Tikkis gaze took a hard turn to bore into the cat kwami to her right, who shrugged it off easily.
“That's right, I stopped it.” He yawned dismissively. “Kid, you've barely even used a miraculous, you're like nine years old, and you’re going up against an actual murderer. You should be thanking me right now.”
“You don’t think I should be guardian Plagg?”
“Not what I said.” Plagg huffed, but Marinette wasn’t following. “I understand Fus’ situation was… sudden, but you shouldn’t have to pay for that. I do believe you would make a good guardian, Marinette, but I don't think you should have to be one.” Plagg did a weird thing as he spoke. His voice softened, his gaze became glued to the floor, and his ears pressed gently back against his head.
Her lips broke into a warm smile, and she brought her hand up to the cat to run her fingers across his soft fur. He purred, very quietly, in response. “Thank you, Plagg. It's nice to know you've been looking out for me.”
His eyes widened suddenly before he jerked away and shook out his fur, repressing his growing purr. “Too cheesy, even for me.” He fake gagged, then settled comfortably on her knee. She gave him a breathy laugh before ruffling his head with a careful fingertip and turning her attention to Tikki.
“I think I understand. So, how do I prove myself?”
“It’s not about that, Marinette. The box doesn’t think you're not good enough, only not ready.” Tikki sighed.
“I thought Plagg was the one that stopped it?” Her head tilted in confusion.
“I stopped it from granting full guardianship to you once, but I don't control the damn thing. It's in your hands from here, so take it up with the box.” Plagg huffed, beginning to groom his paws.
“You just need patience and focus. Keep preparing yourself, and the miraculous will tell you when it's time.” Tikki reassured.
Marinette let the words sit for a few moments as the kwamis flew off in search of other activities. Patience and focus. Marinette wasn’t known for either. ---
School was supposed to start on Monday. Two days to finish her studies on the miraculous, which Marinette knew she wouldn’t be able to accomplish. How could she get the flu in the next couple hours? Also, how could she make it last for a month?
“Maybe I could be of some assistance, Master?” Trixx offered playfully as he drifted towards his guardian, her hair unkempt, eyes heavy with dark bags, and body curled over her notebook, taking intense notes. An array of dirty cups and plates littered the space around her, many reeking of old coffee. “Using the miraculous of the fox you could make an illusion of yourself being sick to trick your parents! Free extra long summer break.”
She paused writing to look up at the small fox with skepticism. “Really? And it would work?” Marinette questioned, like such an easy answer was too good to be true. “Also, just Marinette. Not Master.”
“So long as no one touches the illusion, it should. It’ll disappear when it comes into contact with anybody else.” The kwami gave a nonchalant shrug.
It was hard not to roll her eyes, but instead she opted for letting out an impatient huff and pouting her bottom lip. “Thanks for the offer, Trixx, but that won’t work. The second I mention being sick to my parents, they’ll want to take my temperature and feed me soup, it would be a literal nightmare if their daughter disappeared when they touched her.”
“Your loss.” He shrugged again, but his tail lashed in a way that said ‘Don’t come crawling back to me’.
“You’re welcome to my miraculoussss.” Another kwami hissed, bringing Marinette's attention to Sass, the snake kwami. “The power of intuition will allow you to rewind time at your command, letting you try any number of ssssolutionssss until one workssss.” A long, forked tongue flicked in and out of his mouth as he spoke.
This one she gave more thought to before declining. “I would only be able to do that if I transformed.” She frowned, “My parents would definitely have some questions if I was in some random snake get-up.” then began chewing on the already heavily dented cap to her pen.
“My offer sssstandssss should you change your mind.” He nodded politely. “Perhapssss the other kwami with a time related power can help. Fluff!”
The cotton white bunny bounced through the air towards them, big ears flopping with the movement. “Yes, yes, yes, what’s happening?” She was holding a baby carrot between her paws, indicating they had interrupted her lunch.
“Do you know of any way to convince the parents our Master is ill?”
“Just Marinette, please.”
“Of course, Marinette, my mistake.”
Fluff sat on a tomato shaped pincushion on the desk, abandoning her carrot and considering her options. “I can use my power to burrow back a few days ago and find some way to get you sick?”
Sounded weirdly horrific. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but please, please don’t do that. Please.”
To Marinette's surprise, the fluffy kwami bent over giggling in response. “I won’t, I won’t, besides it would cause some horrible catastrophic event.”
“What?”
“If a kwami uses their powers without a holder to channel them, the concept that kwami represents in this universe will ‘break’, causing some calamitous event, which can usually only be fixed with the ladybug cure.” Tikki chirped, joining Fluff on the pincushion.
“Good to know.” Marinette bit down on the pen again, pressing it between her molars as she took in, well, everything. For about the millionth time.
Crack.
Ink exploded into her mouth, coating every taste bud and slipping down her throat in seconds. She gagged instantly, choking on the putrid tasting liquid, as the kwamis around her gasped.
“SHE’S DYING!” Xuppu screamed, a little too loudly, because instantly Maman shouted back.
“What? Who’s dying?”
In a hurry, the kwamis flushed through the air like a flock of birds interrupted by a hunter, all diving for the safety of the concealed Miracle Box. Marinette forced her lips together to contain the ink, a plan forming in her mind as she moved towards her vanity and its sink, pushed against a wall in her room. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan nevertheless.
As her parents flung open the trapdoor to her room, she made a big show of dramatically spitting out the ink and starting the faucet with exaggerated gags.
“Me! I’m dying! I was chewing on a pen and it exploded!” She whined, taking a mouthful of water from the faucet and swishing it aggressively through her mouth. It came out a murky dark gray, and Marinette had to grit her teeth as she swallowed the remaining half still in her mouth. It felt just as foul in her stomach as it had tasted in her mouth, but it was a necessary part of the plan. If she was going to fake a debilitating stomach ache, she needed a bit of honesty behind it.
“Oh, Marinette, I’m constantly telling you to stop chewing on your pens! If you have to do it, at least use a pencil or something.” Sabine said, half joking, as she walked up and gently rubbed her daughters back.
Marinette nodded in agreement as she continued sipping and spitting mouthfuls of water to clean out the remaining ink. Eventually she stopped the faucet and dried her mouth, then turned to her fearfully observing parents. Tom was fanning his eyes like he was on the verge of tears, for some reason.
“Papa! Don’t cry, oh my god—”
“I was worried you were choking to death!” Tom replied, dramatically stretching out his arms to gesture at his daughter. Sabine continued rubbing her back, then bit back a laugh at the sight of a dark blue ink stain on the corner of Marinette's lip. “How do you feel?”
“I’m alright,” She brought a hand to her stomach and clutched it before pulling her mouth down in an exaggerated frown. “But I think I swallowed a lot of the ink. I don’t feel very good.”
Her parents exchanged a look before sending her up to her lofted bed for some immediate rest and recuperation. The last thing Marinette heard before the door closed was her Mama starting a pot of tea, and her Papa frantically running downstairs to the bakery to make treats for his little girl. Never mind the fact she was supposed to be having a horrible stomach ache right now.
“You got a little something right there.” Plagg flew to his holder's side when the door was closed, his tail flicking at the ink stain on her face.
She flicked her tongue across her thumb and pulled out her phone, quickly thumbing to the camera, and began to scrub at the mark. “That should get me a few days off at the very least.” She sighed, wiping at her skin more and more aggressively. “I don’t know what I’ll do after that though, it’s not like my parents would let me drop out of school. I doubt they’d even let me miss more than a week.”
Tikki joined the guardian and black cat kwami with a tissue in her hands, and she silently took over cleaning the girl's face. “Don’t worry about that now, Marinette. What’s important is you have time, and we’re all here to help teach you.” The small bug pulled back, taking in her guardian's freshly cleaned appearance. “There, all better.” ---
Marinette's week with the kwamis was busy, extensive, and overall exhausting. When she wasn’t feigning stomach pains to her parents, she was taking thorough notes on the complexities of each individual miraculous, wrestling with the Miracle Box, and not getting nearly enough sleep.
Instead, she spent her nights rotating through the different jewels, pinpointing all the different strengths and weaknesses they had. Some could see in the dark; the black cat, the tiger, the fox, and some others. Some were faster and stealthier, others were sturdy and solid. Each transformation gave her new abilities, but they all made her feel strong, refreshed and ready to fight.
They all allowed her to bounce between rooftops easily, to swing across the city, and balance like she weighed no more than a feather. Her energy was endless. Marinette wondered if it would feel that way when she was face to face with the butterfly’s latest villain. For now, she was focused on finding a good level of understanding of all the miraculous, as well as fostering a relationship between her and the kwamis.
Which she had been able to do, for the most part. She’d use part of her time with the miraculous to transform and use its powers, of course, but the rest of the time she'd spend bonding with the kwami, getting to know their favorite foods and past holders. They’d even play a twenty questions style game to get to know each other. Most enjoyed it, or at the very least tolerated it.
She had learned a lot.
Ziggy is the ‘youngest’ of all nineteen, with Tikki being the ‘oldest’. Mullo likes to spend their time pranking and teasing their fellow kwamis, while Longg prefers to stay observant and silent, surveying and keeping others in check. Trixx talks like he’s constantly trying to scam you into some sort of pyramid scheme, while Kaalki has a thick, prissy accent. Wayzz, Pollen, and Stompp are more on the quiet and calm side, unlike Roaar, Barkk, or Xuppu who can make a sold out Jagged Stone concert sound like a chill lofi playlist. Every kwami had a boisterous presence, regardless if they tried to keep calm or not. Marinette was slowly falling in love with each of them.
But most importantly, she learned the true powers of the earrings of creation and the ring of destruction.
“When combined together, the miraculous of the ladybug and black cat can grant their holder the ultimate power, any wish they ask for. This comes at a terrible price; however, the universe will be destroyed and rewritten in accordance with the request.” Tikki nodded solemnly as she explained, small eyebrows pressed together in sincerity.
“What—What does that even mean?” Marinette asked.
“If you use my ring and tikkis earrings, you get a single, all powerful wish. Could wish for anything you want. Let’s say you wish for a lifetime supply of camembert, as one does. To make that wish come true, someone else would be devoid of its cheesy creamy goodness for the rest of their life! And y'know, existence itself is destroyed and remade.” The cat kwami had an annoying habit of simplifying the most important things.
“That’s… not the example I would have used, but I guess it works.” Tikki shrugged. “That’s why the butterfly wants our miraculous, and why he killed Master Fu.”
“Well… what’s his wish?”
“Fuck if we know,” Plagg scoffed, settling on his guardians shoulder. “It happened too fast. Wayzz had a horrible feeling when the butterfly was activated, and—”
“Wait— only Wayzz? Why not all of you?”
“It’s not allowed within the order, but should a guardian become a permanent wielder to a miraculous, their kwami will transform and have more intricate and sensitive powers.” The ladybug explained, “Wayzz was able to provide warning due to his connection with Master Fu.”
Marinette glanced at the Miracle Box resting on her chaise lounge chair, and at the kwamis resting around it. The turtle was asleep on top of the box, limbs all tucked inside his shell while his head poked out just slightly. Curled around him were Pollen and Barkk, comforting him with hushed words and soft fur. It made her heart sore.
“And that’s what’s going to happen when I pick one of you.” The realization dawned on her.
Tikki and Plagg looked at each other for a few seconds, a wordless exchange, then turned back to her. “Yes, it will. A guardian has never wielded the ladybug or black cat, since they are the most powerful miraculous, but you are in a… difficult position, so it’s inevitable.” Tikki mumbled in response.
“There’s no way of knowing what will happen when the kwami of creation or destruction is transformed, Marinette. Could be nothing, could be everything. It could hurt you.” Plagg said, pressing his front paws against her hand softly. His eyes were clouded with concern.
“I’m sure it can't do anything worse to me than what that… butterfly did to Master Fu.” Marinette said softly, petting the cat's forehead with a gentle touch. “Don’t worry about me, Plagg.”
There was only so much Marinette could learn in the short time she'd had so far with the kwamis, and taking on too much was leading her to anxiety attacks and paranoia. Holding up so much all at once was crushing her, it was obvious, but she refused to sit and breathe. Everything needed to be put in the right place for when things went wrong. Everything needed to be prepared, everything needed to be written down. It was the closest thing she had to a guide.
Because of this, she could tell the kwamis were holding back. There were some things they knew she wasn’t ready for, and Marinette didn’t think she was prepared to challenge them for it. But knowing there was potentially vital information right out of her reach made her heart race, it made her hands start to shake. How could she be ready for anything if she didn’t know everything? It was best to reassure them all that there was nothing to worry about.
There was a blur of motion, then she watched the black cat kwami zip through the air in front of her to the skylight overhead, then out to the balcony above. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was shaking as he flew.
Marinette looked at Tikki, who was also starring after Plagg with a sad frown. “Did I say something?” She asked softly.
Tikki shook her head, “Not in the way you think.” she tried to comfort, then lifted into the air and began towards her fellow kwamis. “I think you should check on him, Master.” The bug flew away before she could correct her.
She reached up and pushed open the passage.
The night air felt fresh, blowing through her unwashed hair and tingling the smaller hairs along her arms and legs. A slight chill flowed through the breeze, raising goosebumps across her skin.
Plagg was curled into a small, black ball in the center of her sun chair, his tail flicking every few seconds. She watched him in silence, until his bright green eyes peeked open from the void to stare back at her.
“What, I can’t take a catnap in peace?” He grumbled, ears laying flat against his head.
“What’s wrong?” She asked softly, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the occupied chair.
“I’m feeling catty, so what.”
“You know I don’t want you guys outside on your own.” Marinette ignored his response, brushing her palm softly across his silky back. “Are you okay, Plagg?”
He shot up with a sudden and violent hiss, batting her hand away. “I don’t know, kid! Am I okay? Are you okay, Marinette?! Is this what we’re doing now?!” He spat, fangs bared.
She flinched back just slightly, unprepared for his outburst. Plagg had just yelled at her. “Wh-what? I don—”
“None of this is okay! And I’m sick of being told not to worry about you!” Plagg floated just above her, black fur bristled out in angry spikes as he snapped. “Why don’t you care, Marinette?!”
Plagg must have known how that stung. “Care about what?! I care about you! I care about all the kwamis, the miracle box, even that old man I knew for thirty seconds! I care about all of it!” Marinette bit back at him, unable to hold her tongue. All she had done was care, how could he say that?
He quieted, then dropped back to the chair without a word. Plagg looked up at her with sad eyes and droopy whiskers, “Why don’t you care about yourself?” he asked.
The words stopped her. Stunned her, really. “I-I… I don’t even— Plagg, I— I care.”
“You’ve been tearing yourself apart, Pigtails. Back-to-back all-nighters studying us, blaming yourself for what happened to Fu, putting our own emotions and wellbeing above your own. It’s too much.”
Water welled in her eyes as she choked on a response. “I didn’t mean… The— I thought I was doing the right thing.”
He watched her for a second, considering her words. “You did the right thing. I just sometimes wish you would do whatever the wrong thing is, too.” he said, then continued before she could question it. “Sit down and do nothing for a while. Go to sleep at nine. Let yourself be selfish, Kid, if that’s what it means to care about yourself. It’s a kwamis job to care for their guardian, too.”
Tears slowly rolled from her cheeks, quickly turning to a steady pour from her eyes. Marinette sniffled, wiping the heel of her palm against her face in a vain attempt to dry her skin. “Th-there’s so m-many of you… and s-so much to do, I-I just want to keep you all safe, and—”
“We’re safe, Marinette. No one else knows where the miracle box is, and you’re going to make sure it stays that way.” Plagg said, tail wrapping reassuringly around her wrist. “There’s a lot of us, sure, but we can manage on our own. And you have all the time in the world to do everything there is to do.” He gently rubbed his face against her hand as he purred, just like a real cat would. “You freak out too much, Pigtails.”
She had no response to that. It was true.
“So don’t tell me not to worry about you.” His voice was weaker now, wavering like he was also fighting against a wave of emotion.
“I’m sorry.” She sighed, still wiping tears from her face. “I just want to do this the right way, so I try to control it all, and I freak myself out. I want to be a guardian, and be there for you all, b-but, I—” Marinette trailed off momentarily, “I just want to be Marinette, too.”
Plagg gave her a small smile. “I’ve been telling you since you saved us, this isn’t your fight. You're not in charge of controlling it all. You don’t deserve to go through this, but I won’t stop you from going forward.” He took a deep breath then gave a resolute nod, before diving back inside the room below. He reappeared moments later with a smooth black ring in his paws, and a crowd of kwamis all poking their heads out of the balcony door.
Plagg held out the ring to her and spoke, “I, Plagg, the kwami of destruction, ask you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, to wield the ring of the black cat. Using it, you will protect the kwamis in your care, you will reclaim the stolen butterfly and lost peacock miraculous, you will enlist the help of a ladybug holder, and you will rest when you need to.” The words had the same effect as the ones Master Fu had spoken at the Pont des Arts, only both she and Plagg started to gently glow.
Marinette reached out slowly, still convinced the kwami would yank back the jewel at the final moment, explaining to her that she wasn’t worthy at all. Instead, he happily let her take the ring, even purring just slightly when her hand brushed his chin.
She slid the cold, black ring onto her right pointer finger, intrigued that it had the same weightless feeling that the earrings had. A dim, green glow passed over the jewelry and Marinette watched as it changed to an iridescent silver, and a small flower replaced the paw centerpiece. She twisted it slowly with her thumb, eyeing over the camouflaged details. Unless someone knew to really look, it truly seemed like any other ordinary ring.
“It’s never too late, Pigtails. You can always back out.” Plagg spoke gently, his eyes darting between her and the ring. It was her decision, her choice.
“I accept.” She spoke, igniting a bright change in the steady glow encompassing them. The light burst in a flash, passing over the guardian and her kwamis, solidifying their connection. As it subsided, Marinette blinked open her eyes to find nothing had truly changed. Except for the feeling.
This felt final, like a decision set in stone. She was the holder of the black cat. She was the guardian.
She turned to the kwami audience, smiling softly at them. They returned her smile with cheers and congratulations, some of the more emotional kwamis genuinely brimming with tears.
“Oh, we’re so proud of you!” Ziggy bleated.
“You’re destined for great things, Marinette!” The mouse kwami squeaked.
“Never before have we had a guardian so young and with such potential. Under careful guidance she will go far.” Even Stompp seemed genuinely happy for the girl.
Marinette let herself bask in their praises, just for the moment. A happy laugh rose from her throat, one she didn’t try to deny. “Do you guys think I’m ready?” She smiled, hands passing from kwami to kwami as she pet them.
“As ready as you can be for now. You’ll learn on the job, chickie!” Orikko clucked warmly, pushing his feathered head into her palm. The other kwamis agreed, slowly gaining energy in the space around her. Soon they were bouncing in the air, some singing and dancing in excitement.
“Guys, guys! Shh, come on, let’s take the party inside.” Marinette hushed, waving the group inside. The kwamis giggled among themselves and drifted back into her room, followed quickly by their guardian. “Thank you, Plagg. It actually feels… kind of real, now.” She whispered to the black cat as she latched closed the trapdoor.
“It wasn’t me, Marinette. All I did was ask something of you. You’re the one who chose us, we should be thanking you.” He said, when another squeal rang out.
She huffed in annoyance, gave him a small peck on the forehead, then climbed to the ground floor of her bedroom and glared at the kwamis in warning. They quieted, and she pressed an ear to the floor to listen for her parents. The muffled sounds of a video game sounded from beneath them, signaling they hadn’t heard. Marinette turned back to the kwamis, ready to scold, when she finally focused on what her tiny gods were looking at.
Where the Miracle Box used to sit, there was now a bonsai tree, nestled inside an intricately designed pot. On thick bands around the vase was the same pattern that used to be on the top of the box, but that was the only thing that looked similar between them.
“What… is that?” Marinette gasped as she crossed towards the plant.
“The Miracle Box! My liege, it has accepted you!” Pollen buzzed with joy, flying in fast circles around her head.
“The Miracle Tree, you mean.” Plagg meowed at the bee while nuzzling into his holder's shoulder. “It’s all yours kid.”
She reached out a hand, rustling the orange-pink leaves that sprouted in eager clusters across the branches. At the base of the tree, engraved into the trunk, was a yin-yang symbol with the marking of the cat and ladybug balanced between each other. Arched above it was the fox, turtle, and bee, with the butterfly and peacock on either end. The growth above was occupied by the zodiac kwamis, each one laying claim to their own bushel of leaves.
The plant was gorgeous. If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed it to be an expensive gift or invaluable family heirloom. In some weird ways, it kind of was.
There was only one blemish.
“It’s rotting.” Marinette muttered, mostly to herself, as she studied the tree. Surrounding the butterfly and peacock markings were deep gouges, threaded with dark veins. They seemed empty and lifeless when compared to the other miraculous along the tree. Corrupted, almost.
“It’s hurt.” Tikki chirped, popping into place beside Plagg. “Nooroo and Duusu are essentially dead– or dying, according to your Miracle Tree, which is what’s causing that damage.” The bug flew closer to the trunk, extending a small arm to test the bark. “We’ve never seen a Miracle Box like this before.”
She almost sounded impressed.
“How do I fix it?” Marinette asked, now fiddling with the scarred wood. The kwamis were all still celebrating, but she couldn’t help feeling like she broke the thing. It hadn't hurt before, afterall.
Tikki turned back to her with a blank stare. “You can’t.” She said, flying back to her cat counterpart. “Not right now, at least. Maybe once the butterfly and peacock are retrieved, but even that isn’t a guarantee.”
“The tree isss now connected to you, Marinette. It’sss deeply aware of your feelingsss, moralsss, and desssiresss. In a way, the only one who truly knowsss how to manage it isss you.” Sass chimed in, settling carefully onto the fork in the center of the trunk.
“Me?! I don’t even know the first thing about plant care! Do I need to go get fertilizer? Wait, first, I need to make a list of everything I’ll need so I can go to the store— Shoot, do we still have those gardening gloves Maman bought a few years ago? Where would she put— No, no, we gave those to Nonna for her birthday…” Marinette started to ramble, already beginning to pace around her room.
“Pigtails!” Plagg interrupted, pausing her spiral. “It’s magic. It’s a magic tree. You don’t need fertilizer, or gloves, or whatever else you’re already thinking of buying.”
“Oh.” That’s simple. Why couldn’t it all be that simple? She went back to the potted plant, then took a deep breath and heaved it up from the floor. Straining, she slowly carried it across the room, then hoisted it onto her desk. She’d find a more permanent place for it later.
A cheerful tune began from the computer behind her, bringing her attention to Fluff, Mullo, and Daizzi fiddling with the speaker and song settings. Xuppu and Roaar were spinning and bouncing in rhythm with the music, tails swaying with glee. Even Longg and Kaalki, always the serious and sometimes uptight, looked like they were enjoying themselves.
“Master Marinette?” Wayzz spoke up from behind Marinette, the seemingly only kwami not partaking in the festivities.
“Hm? Something wrong, Wayzz?” She reached for the chair sitting at the computer, pulling it over and taking a seat as she talked with the turtle. Even in her private time with him, he hadn’t said much.
“Well, Its… uhm… You’re aware I was Master Fu's personal kwami.” He began, settling on one of the miniature cushions. “He wasn’t a perfect guardian. But he tried very hard, and… and he would–,” Wayzz swallowed, fighting emotion. “He would be very proud of you.”
It meant more than she realized it would. When Wayzz looked up to meet his guardians eyes, she was crying again, eyes red and puffy with tears.
“Thank you, Wayzz. I really needed to hear that.” She gave a breathy laugh, happy tears trailing down her cheeks. The turtle kwami flew upwards, pressing himself in a loving hug against the side of her face. Marinette returned it with a cupped palm.
“Its not a real party until theres a group hug!” Barkk yipped from the pretend dance floor, inciting the kwamis to swarm Marinette. They coated her head, arms, and torso, all purring and giggling as they wrapped their tiny limbs around her.
Her first highschool party, and she got to spend it with gods. ---
The idea of going to school felt equivalent to some kind of death sentence. How is she supposed to be the Marinette they had known before? Everything is different now. She is different now.
‘You’re still Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a normal girl with a normal life.’ She reassured herself in thought, but the feeling remained. ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng, guardian of the miraculous, soon to be protector of Paris. Normal girl with a normal life.’
Laying partially awake in bed, her thumb lazily toyed with the miraculous ring that now resided on her pointer. She was quickly falling into the habit of checking to make sure it was still on her hand when she woke up. She found it reassuring. The sun was slowly rising, and was currently settled perfectly to glare through the trapdoor above her bed and into her eyes. Blindingly so. She groaned at the brightness suddenly attacking her vision, but sealing her eyelids shut did little to filter the light.
It was time to get up and get ready anyway. Although, being late was definitely more of a ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ move. She debated it internally for a few seconds before climbing the ladder from her bed to the floor below. Her parents had been nice enough to let her miss the first week, the least she could do was try to be on time her first day back.
Kwamis were already busy floating throughout the room, each fairly settled into their new routine. It was hard to keep track of them all at once, but they tried to stay near the Miracle Tree as much as possible, which helped. Sass and Wayzz were flying from kwami to kwami, scribbling down drink orders for the morning. Marinette had taught the two how to use the kettle and coffee maker in the kitchen, and had shown them any other beverage options they might want. She trusted the two (seemingly) most responsible kwamis, and had made them promise to only use it if her parents were working in the bakery. Longg and Tikki would be in charge of the remaining kwamis.
“Finally awake, Pigtails?” The recognizable sour meow rang out through the room as the black cat kwami floated through the air to his holders’ side. His eyes were cloudy with sleep, so he clearly had also ‘finally’ woken up. Marinette was too drowsy to tease, luckily for him.
“Mmm… ‘morning Plagg.” She responded through a lengthy yawn, miraculous wielding hand coming up to cover her gaping mouth. She stood herself in front of her mirror, sleep-disheveled hair in messy knots down her shoulder, and eye bags reflecting back to her in all their glory. In all honesty, she hardly looked like Marinette these days. Even worse, she was starting to think that wasn’t a bad thing.
“Wow! You look like shit.” Plagg chirped, stilling in the air beside Marinette and watching her painstakingly comb through her bed head in the mirror.
“Yeah… I do, don’t I?”
He gave her a weary look before responding, “Don’t worry Kid, that’s why I’m here.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna brush my hair for me?” Marinette smirked, playfully batting at the kwami with her free hand as she untangled the last sections of dark hair.
“I was thinking more along the lines of supervi—sing… Marinette, what’s wrong?” The cats voice trailed off as he spoke, and he turned from watching her reflection to floating directly in front of her.
Marinette watched her reflection closely, eyes wide in what looked like shock, maybe confusion. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, like she was grasping for what to say. She settled for, “Nothing, Plagg.” and gathered her loosely strewn hair in a hand.
“Are you sure?” Plagg normally didn’t sound so… concerned. There was nothing to be worried about.
“Yes, Plagg, I’m just getting ready.” She reassured, voice becoming curt with annoyance. The way she spoke had a sharp edge, as did her movements as she pulled and tied her hair behind her head before stepping away from the mirror.
It took barely a second for Plagg to interrupt again. “Hold up!” He was flying through the air again, a black swarm of magic as he blurred in motion. “No pigtails?”
A bun, just a simple, basic, plain ol’ boring bun had replaced her signature matching pigtails, and a light pink hair tie held it in place. Marinette usually tied her hair with ribbons.
“No ribbons, either?”
“Aren’t they a bit… I’dunno, childish?” Her outfit for the day was being pulled from her closet, shirts being thrown aside after being quickly compared to a pair of pink sweatpants. She was doing anything she could to avoid his almost pitiful stare. She didn’t need to be pitied. “I think it’s time I grow up.”
“I didn’t think they were childish.” Plagg mumbled under his breath before flicking his whiskers, like he could shake off the weird energy his holder was putting out. “Well, my nickname for you doesn’t really work anymore.” He sat by idly as she dressed, considering new combinations or phrases that fit the teen.
“Most people just call me Marinette or Mari. When I was little my parents would call me Nette and Nettie.” The latter brought back nostalgic memories of walking through Paris, both her parents' hands in her own smaller grasp. They used to lift her from the ground and swing her through the air with each other step. Now, she wasn’t sure she could even remember the last time one of her parents had picked her up. Not like that really mattered right now, anyway.
“You sure you don’t prefer Master? Maybe ‘Guardian of the Miraculous’ suits you better?”
She rolled her eyes at him before stepping in front of her full length mirror. Hair pulled back in a bun, but otherwise untouched. Her frame was hidden under a thick, heavy gray sweatshirt, which pooled just beneath her shoulders, exposing a black tank top underneath. She had abandoned the sweatpants in favor of an ankle length white skirt. The silver ring on her finger fit in perfectly.
“It could use more black.” Plagg commented, looking her up and down in the reflection.
Marinette smiled, made her way to her desk beneath her bed, and slipped a black messenger bag off a hook and over her shoulders. Plagg flew through the air to investigate it. After giving a few investigatory sniffs, he smiled and looked up at his holder.
“I’ll allow it.” He slipped inside the bag and curled into a black ball.
“Ready for our first day of school?”
“Your first day. I plan to sleep the whole time.” the black ball huffed without moving.
“Lucky you.”
She waved goodbye to the rest of the kwamis, smiling and nodding at their niceties and wishes for her to have a good first day back. It dawned on her as she left her home and began down the stairs to the bakery that this would be the first real time the kwamis were home alone. Marinette at school, parents in the bakery, they would have free roam of the home.
No, they know better than that. Or at least, Tikki, Sass, Wayzz, and Longg know better than that, and they could be trusted to keep the others in check. Right?
“Kid, don’t worry about them. They’re centuries old gods, they’ll be alright without you for a few hours.”
Marinette pouted her lip. “I wasn’t worrying about them.”
“You’re stopped on the first step and haven’t looked away from that door once.” Plagg yawned and poked his head over the top of her bag, peeking out at their surroundings. “Really, Marinette, they’re gonna be alright. Sugarcube knows how to keep them in line.” He chuckled.
She took a deep breath and continued down the stairs. “Sugarcube, huh? I think I’ve heard you say that before.”
“Little nickname I came up with a few decades ago for my Tikki. Fits her well, huh?”
“Perfectly.”
Plagg popped his head back in the bag as Marinette swung open the stairway door.
The bakery was bustling, as it always was the first morning of the week. People coming and going, buying their pastries and baked goods, or placing orders and grabbing business cards. Monday mornings were always Maris least favorite shift to work. Though she’d be willing to sacrifice her school day for a few hours work in the bakery right now, if her parents would let her.
“Good morning, Marinette! Hurry up to the school, it’s already nine o’clock— Your alarms have been going off for the past fifteen minutes.” Heavy emphasis on the if.
“Right. Sorry, Maman.” She was heading for the bakery doors when her father shouted out from behind her,
“Wait! Look sweetheart, I made you macaroons! You know, to take to school and share with your classmates,” Tom shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, a chunky cardboard box filed with macaroons balanced in his hands. “Since you’ve been- uh— well, you missed that first week and uh…”
Sabine softly jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “She’s already late, Tom.”
“Yeah, uhm, thanks Papa, but I should go—“
“Please, Nette? At the very least it’s… it’s a good conversation starter. You could even show off
the logo you designed.” He settled on, big bushy eyebrows pushing together in a conceded frown. “I also packed some of those gougeres you asked me to make, in case you wanted one for a snack.”
“Fine, fine, hand it over.” Marinette huffed, cheeks warming at her fathers show of affection. It wasn’t part of the plan, but macaroons can’t exactly hurt, and Plagg was sure to be elated by the pastries. As for designs, she hadn’t touched her sketchbooks since the night at the Pont des Arts, and she wasn’t sure when she’d find time to do so again. Designing wasn’t a priority right now. She took the box from her dad, was decently surprised by its moderate weight, and placed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Bye, love you guys.”
She hovered by the door a second more before deciding to add,
“Also, my room is a mess, cause of a– uh, new… science project… so, um, just please don’t go in there. I’ll clean it when I get home. Bye!” Then jumped out the door before they could question her.
Perusing through the treats her father had sent with her, Marinette started towards the neighboring school. She had always viewed her home's proximity to the school as a burden, like some kind of curse. It meant everyone knew where the weirdo-klutz-baker girl— a favored victim of the Bourgeois— lived, and with her own bad luck, it always meant she was late. Daily.
Popping a lemon macaroon in her mouth, Marinette ascended the school stairs and considered the thought that maybe being late every day wasn’t the worst possible thing.
“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the ridiculous, dusty, dirty baker girl, late as always.” Speak of the devil. Suddenly the tangy lemon flavor turned as bitter and foul as the blonde bully. “Y’know, I was really hoping you had dropped out Dupain-Cheng. Only you would miss the entire first week of high school, and have the balls to show your face right in front of me.”
Chloe stood, waiting for her prey, tucked behind the large entrance doors to the school yard. She wore an expensive, brand name dress that began with a warm yellow and slowly turned to a rosy orange as it flowed down her body. Her patent white and gold themed sunglasses hung from a hand at her hip while the other twirled a pale lock of hair. Hovering just behind her, as always, was Sabrina. Her very own henchman.
Marinette bit back the growing retort bubbling inside of her. Fighting with Chloe was almost entirely the opposite of the plan. “Yup, I’m back from the dead. Could I get to class now?”
Her attacker blinked, before scoffing and drawing her face into a scowl. She threw the sunglasses to the girl behind her, pushed a manicured nail against Marinettes chest, and used the other to smack the box of treats from her hands. “No, you can’t go to class, your pathetic ass shouldn’t have even come to school! I’m the boss of this whole loser school, and now that I finally got Adrien out of that despicable home, I won’t allow you to ruin it for me! For us!”
Marinette was about to ask who this ‘Adrien’ person was, when a new voice chimed in, smothered in ridicule. “Wow, Chloe, I knew you were a bitch but this takes the cake even for you. If you’re the ‘boss’ around here, why have I heard at least seven people refer to you as ‘Blondezilla’?” Now at Marinette's side, with an arm slung around her shoulder, the third girl stood nonchalantly with an award winning, shit-eating grin beaming at Chloe. “I’m gonna guess you’ll say they’re fired, utterly fired!”
Chloe’s face began turning a violent shade of red as she glared daggers at the two girls, mouth opening and closing as she fumbled with a response. “Mind your own business, four-eyes.” She spat out at the girl, reaching out a hand to flick the lens of her glasses.
“Ouch, you wound me,” The girl thumped a fist against her chest, as if she’d been hit by an invisible weapon. Then she wagged a finger at the bullies and said, “If anything that just makes me feel even more sorry for Sabrina back there.”
The sweater vested, red headed girl cowering behind Chloe ignored the comment, opting instead to fidget with her own glasses and have a strict staring contest with the floor. Sabrina said nothing as she studied her shoes.
“If you had any idea what’s good for you, you’d shut up, Césaire.” Chloe’s words came out as a hiss through gritted teeth.
“If only, Bourgeois.”
With a final sneer, Chloe turned and walked away, followed by her henchman and the tic-tac of her shoes against the concrete. Leaving behind Marinette, and her mysterious savior.
“Thanks.” She said as she bent down to gather the box and its contents Chloe had spilled across the floor. Thankfully, a few macaroons had been spared, and the gougeres had been placed in their own packaging within the box.
“No problem. You’re, uh— fuck what was it… Mariette? Right? I’ve heard a lot about you in the past week. Everyone here missed you, a lot.” She stuck out a welcoming hand, helping her stand up. “My name's Alya, I’m a new student in your class.” Alya had warm brown skin, and thick, brown, curly hair down to her shoulders. The ends of her hair were dyed a soft orange-red color, and resting on the bridge of her nose were thick black glasses frames.
‘You haven’t heard enough to get my name right, apparently.’ She thought in passing annoyance before clearing her head with a soft shake. “It’s Marinette, nice to meet you Alya.” She shook Alyas hand with a polite smile. “Thanks for standing up for me, but you don’t have to. Chloe just likes making my life miserable, so I’m used to her bullshit by now. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”
“That’s because you let her, duh! It’s stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
Alya flinched back. “Sorry, that was kind of a mean way to say it, but it’s true. Have you ever heard the quote, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.’?” She didn’t wait for a response as she continued, “Its from the greatest superhero ever, Majestia. It means a lot of things, but I like think the most important are; leaving or ignoring someone in need of help will only fuck everyone over in the end, the only way to take down a bad guy is doing it yourself, and if someone’s being a dick you’re allowed to make fun of them for it.”
Marinette blinked, stunned by what she’d just heard. She was not expecting some kind of lesson on the ‘triumphs of evil’ this early in the morning, or from someone taller than a soda can. ‘Alya and the kwamis would be sure to get along.’ She thought for a second before sighing, “I can understand that, but still. I don’t need a new student getting caught up in my drama.”
“Are you kidding?! Please let me get involved in your drama! I’m well aware I don’t need to, I want to.” Alya slung her arm across Marinette's shoulder again, slithered a hand into the box of treats, and returned victorious with a pomegranate macaroon between her fingers. She took a bite and smiled, “That’s what friends do. Friends, right?”
Marinette froze, the question bumbling around her brain. The light kick to her side from her bag told her Plagg thought she’d be stupid to decline, but the word ‘Yes’ wouldn’t quite come out. “Acquaintances, for now. Let’s see how the rest of today goes.”
Alyas eyes widened with surprise, then she looked at the half eaten sweet she was holding, and back to Marinette. The panic and mild guilt was evident in her expression, eliciting a genuine laugh and smile from Marinette.
“Have as many as you want, don’t worry about it. The baked goods don't cost any kind of friendship.” She said, opening the box lid as an offering. Alya helped herself, plucking another three macaroons from its confines. “I should probably get going to class.”
“You mean we.” Alya added quickly.
“Hm?”
“We should probably get going to class. I’m with Mme. Bustier too.”
“Oh, right.” Marinette yawned, still tired from her extensive learning and practice throughout the past week. She took a nibble of another macaroon, this one, strawberry. “I keep forgetting everyone else started last week. I know it’s not that long ago, but— I don’t know— I feel like an intruder. It’s weird.” She said as they began walking through the quickly clearing school yard.
“I’d feel the same way if blondie treated me like that the moment I stepped foot in the school. Don’t get me wrong, she hasn't been friendly, but she's been nowhere near as mean to me as she was to you today.”
“Yet.”
“Yeah, yet.” Alya waved a hand in the air, like she could shoo away the idea of Chloe. “Anyway, don’t let her get under your skin. This is your school too, same way it’s mine.”
Marinette's eyes stayed glued to her feet as they climbed the stairs and headed for the classroom door. “I’m not worried about Chloe anymore. I have bigger problems under my skin to deal with already. I just want school to be school.”
“You…do know this is the start of high school, right? A.K.A the period of time people make entire movies, shows, and books about?” Alya questioned in a teasing manner before swinging open the door and stepping into the busy atmosphere. “The dramas going to happen anyway, might as well try to enjoy it!”
No one stopped to acknowledge their entrance, no burning stares turned onto Marinette and no one was whispering about why she was only just now starting school. ‘Maybe it’s a bit egotistical, thinking everyone in class would spend all their time thinking about you.’ She thought, taking another bite of her macaroon and timidly following Alya to an open table, towards the front-right part of the room.
Alya took her seat and excitedly patted the space beside her for her new acquaintance. “I was told to save you a spot last week.”
Marinette paused, casting a glance around the room at the bustling students and landing on a table in the second row, on the left side of the room. Where she had sat through all of last year, with Soqueline. Now Chloe and her drone resided in those seats, while Nino and…some new blonde boy took up the table in front of them. Marinette gave Nino a sympathetic frown, though he wasn’t looking anywhere near her. He hated sitting in the front of the class.
“Earth to Marinette!” Alya snapped her fingers mere inches away from Marinette's nose, capturing her lost attention. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”
“Sorry. I try not to, just get lost in thought.” Marinette inspected her new spot, noticing the small addition her table mate had added. A bright pink sticky note that read ‘MLLE. DUPAIN-CHENG’ was stuck onto the back, like she had reserved it ahead of time.
“Fancy, huh?” Alya asked, eyebrows jumping up and down with amusement. It was easy to see she found herself hilarious.
“How much did the reservation cost?”
“You don't want to know.”
Marinette rolled her eyes playfully and took her seat with a smile. “I think it's very fancy, thank you Alya.” She removed the sticky note from the back of the chair, folding it carefully to tuck away for later. As she fiddled with the small paper, her attention wandered around the classroom.
Juleka and Rose, sitting together like always, although now with a lot less space between one another. Mylene and Ivan were on opposite sides of the room, but it didn’t stop him from stealing quick glances at her. Kim and Alix were arguing about who’d win in an arm wrestle, while Max provided the possible outcomes of said wrestling match. At the back of the classroom, Nathaniel was bent protectively over his sketchbook as he drew. She watched him for a few moments before her gaze went back to the table she used to occupy, and its two newest occupants.
Alya stared at her with a weary look, before tapping her shoulder in quick repetition. “I get that he’s handsome, and a famous model, but you can’t be into him that fast, girl.”
Marinette looked back at her, one eyebrow arched in complete confusion and her mouth hanging open, awaiting an explanation.
“Weren’t you just gawking at Adrien?”
Adrien? Adrien. Adrien! “That’s Chloe's boytoy or whatever, yeah?” She questioned, swiveling her head back to the two boys across from them, trying to catch a glimpse of the blonde one— Adrien’s— face.
For a model, his outfit lacked any kind of style. An open, white button up overtop a cool gray shirt. A boring teal pair of pants, though they were leaning more towards a turquoise. And to top it off, orange converse that burned into her memory like a red, hot branding iron. She could ignore all that though, because of his face. His resplendent expression. His laugh that made her tune out any other noise. His golden hair that looked like he’d been blessed by King Midas himself.
He was definitely handsome, and he was definitely a model. Adrien Agreste, famous model and teen heart-throb, son of the beloved late actress Emilie Agreste and the globally revered fashion designer Gabriel Agreste— one of Marinette's idols in the world of design—, was a new student in her class. She’d have recognized him faster if he’d been wearing one of the famous designs he’d so often advertise, but that wasn’t exactly conventional school attire.
“She’s dating him?”
“It definitely seems that way from her behavior, but the first day she made a big deal about how she and her ‘Adrikins’ are childhood best friends. They practically grew up together, so they’re family to each other. She said something about having to convince Adrien’s dad to let him attend public school for the first time, called him ‘Uncle Gabe’ or something.” Alya said with a nonchalant shrug. “But that did all come from Chloe, so take it with a grain of salt.”
“What the fuck.” Marinette stated with blunt disbelief, making Alya burst out laughing. “That’s literally Adrien Agreste. I had no clue they were so close— shit, I didn’t even know he was going to the same school as me, until now.” Marinette sat back in shock, mind running through all his fathers designs she’d looked up to over the years. “No wonder she took my seat.”
Alya gave her a quizzical stare, one that said ‘Do you not see the amazing chair you’re currently sitting in?’
“For all of eighth grade, me and my best friend sat where Chloe and Sabrina are right now. I thought they’d taken it just to bother me, but I guess even Chloe takes a break from her evil ways.” She explained “I know it’s kind of ridiculous, but I was honestly looking forward to having that seat again. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“Only when you compare that seat to your new fabulous one!” Alya joked, but quickly recoiled when Marinette didn’t laugh in return. “Sorry. That’s not ridiculous, if I’d known I would have reserved that spot instead.”
That one did make Marinette chuckle. “I’ll live, but I appreciate the thought.” She rubbed the iridescent ring with her thumb, eyeing the flower centerpiece. “Anyways, it’s like I said earlier. I have bigger problems than Chloe Bourgeois.”
The bell rang out, and class began, cutting off the conversation. The rest of the day passed along at a sluggish rate, each hour-and-a-half long class slowly boring Marinette to death. Mme. Mendeleiev had rambled on and on about the periodic table without even pausing for air, M. D’Argencourt made the class run laps all period long because Kim wouldn’t stop cracking jokes, and to top it all off, Plagg had eaten all the gougeres by the time lunch eventually came around. So, she sat with Alya, sharing a few pieces of her lunch.
“How do your parents run a bakery, and you don’t have lunch for school?” Alya teased as she ripped open a small bag of salted potato chips, then popped one in her mouth.
“Poor time management skills.” Marinette shrugged, reaching over and snatching a chip for herself. “When we were in second or third grade, Chloe used to steal my lunches.”
“That’s so fucked.”
Marinette let out a small laugh, “Right? Jokes on her though, my mom would make me traditional chinese meals. Imagine eight year old Chloe eating tofu for the first time.”
Alya snorted at the thought, then looked around the room with realization. “Speaking of, where is she? She almost always comes to bother me at lunch.” ---
Public school was almost nothing like he had expected. Even after everything Chloe had told him throughout all the years, nothing would have prepared him. It was… weird being recognized in public. The first day people had flocked around him in crowds, all pleading for pictures and autographs. When class began, he would mess up attendance out of pure confusion, or he’d get lost trying to find a book in the library. Adrien stuck out from the rest of the class like a sore thumb, even though he had joined at the beginning of the school year like everyone else.
Truth be told, he mostly had himself to blame for the latter problem. After a week of his childhood friend endlessly berating his father, Adrien had been allowed to attend school. He had stayed by Chloe’s side each day like she was his security blanket, and when he wasn’t stuck to her, she was undoubtedly stuck to him. Walking beside him in every hallway, sitting beside him in every class they had together, and practically hissing at anyone that approached them.
The other students had been nice enough, asked his name if they hadn’t already known it, and said good morning when they passed by, but they all seemed a bit weary of him. Like he was someone to avoid, to be scared of. Someone you didn’t want to be around. It wasn’t the impression Adrien had been wanting to give.
Despite that, he had made one new friend. In Mme. Bustiers class, a person besides Chloe finally took the seat beside him. Granted, it was because he was assigned to sit there, but he was next to Adrien nonetheless. Nino had been closed off for the first half of that beginning week, but he had slowly come around to the new boy. What started with frustrated grumbles about being moved to the front of the room and untrusting side eyes, slowly turned to sharing music recommendations and watching videos together in the mornings before class began. Adrien wasn’t sure what he’d done to get on Nino's good side, but he was happy to have him as a friend.
Chloe wasn’t as thrilled about sitting behind the two of them, but it wasn’t enough to stir her to action. She still got to be near Adrien, and she had Sabrina right at her side. Not to mention, it was a… refreshing break from her constant presence. Sometimes Adrien felt like her very own real life Mr. Cuddly, the stuffed bear Chloe has clung to since they were toddlers. He preferred when they felt more like cousins, siblings even.
That's what made him wander back to the classroom early, with a handful of minutes for lunch still to spare. Chloe was nowhere to be seen the entire meal, which in Adriens experience, meant only bad things were happening.
He came straight up to the door, then leaned his head carefully against it to listen inside. After a few silent seconds, he slowly opened the door– just an inch– taking the utmost care to remain silent.
Chloe was perched atop the table where Marinette and Alya sat, with Sabrina kneeling on the ground by her feet. “Ready?” she asked the girl accompanying her.
She nodded, to which Chloe fished the gum out of her mouth and into her friends' waiting hands. Sabrina carefully took the chewed wad of gum, obviously hesitant to even touch it, and practically threw it onto the seat. She pressed her thumb against it, then smeared the sticky substance across the surface. Her eyebrows were quivering with nerves as she did so.
“Perfect, Brina! God, this is going to be so funny.” Chloe clapped her hands in quick succession as she praised, voice thick with amusement.
“Chloe? What are you doing to Marinette's seat?” Adrien interrupted, stepping inside the classroom with a concerned expression. The two girls turned to look at him, first both in surprise, then one in guilt and the other is annoyance.
“I'm just commanding a little respect from certain brats. Go back outside, Adrikins, you’re not involved in this.” Chloe rolled her eyes as she disregarded him.
“What? How is this about respect?” Adrien asked, walking closer to the bench. He kneeled beside Sabrina, nudging aside Chloe to reach the tampered chair. “I thought you were above childish pranks, Chlo.” He frowned at her, inspecting the gummy seat with a cautious hand.
“I’m not above anything when it comes to Dupain-Cheng.” She grumbled in response, but made no effort to stop the boy.
“Nino told me about your weird vendetta against her. Is she that girl in all those stories you’ve told me? The one that you say hates you?” Adrien huffed, now prodding at the gum with a tissue covered finger.
Chloe shuffled her feet uneasily in response.
“I thought so. I love you Chloe, but the only brat I see here is you.”
The classroom door swung open behind them, followed by an exasperated gasp. Before Adrien could turn and open his mouth to explain, Alya had pulled him from the floor, first clenched into the neck of his shirt. The rest of their class stood behind her in the doorway, eagerly watching.
“What are you blonde bitches doing now?!” She demanded. Chloe stepped back, shielding behind Sabrina as Adrien was ambushed. Seeing Alyas' furious expression only made the two girls laugh.
“I wasn’t—!” He began, only to get interrupted.
“Oh, really mature you three. Gum in her seat! What’s next, gonna start pulling her hair and stealing her lunch too?” Alya shoved him backwards with a pointed look at Chloe, throwing the boy into Ninos arms, who jumped to his defense.
“Woah, woah! He didn’t do anything, Adrien’s a good dude, alright? Just hear him out.” The taller boy argued, helping to steady his friend with two hands on his shoulders. Adrien shot him a grateful smile.
“I saw it with my own eyes, he was literally sticking it to her chair when we walked—”
“I was trying to remove it!” Adrien stressed, hands raising to pinch and pull at the back of his neck. A nervous habit he’d developed since Maman passed.
“See, he was just trying to help.”
“We didn’t ask for his help.” Alya was inches away from Ninos face, with clenched fists at the ready by her sides.
Marinette stepped behind her, hand tugging gently at her arm in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “It’s fine, Alya. The damage is already done anyways, just leave it.” She whispered into her ear, eyes glued to the two boys. Adrien stared back at her, his eyes a mixture of cautious hope and guilt-racked pity. Even if he was telling the truth, and removing the gum, part of him still felt responsible for it.
Alya gave her a unsure side eye, but ultimately heaved a frustrated sigh. “Fine, fine. Just get out of our way.” She huffed, waving away the two boys with a scornful glare. Nino gave her a weary look before leading Adrien away to their respective bench.
The growing crowd of students dispersed, settling into their own seats with nosy whispers as the passing period transitioned to an end. Marinette reached down to inspect her side of the bench, now ruined with seemingly invulnerable gum, and frowned as she quickly gathered tissues to layer over top of it.
“I’ll clean it off, I swear.” Alya said, reading her expression. She reached out a hand to rest on Marinette's shoulder in a friendly gesture, something that said ‘I’m sorry, that sucked.’ or ‘Don’t worry, it’s okay.’, neither of which Marinette needed to hear.
“Don't worry about it.” She sighed, taking her seat with great care to avoid the gum. "Thanks for standing up for me again, Alya." Marinette turned to look at the girl as she took her seat beside her, "You're a good friend."
Alyas mouth formed a small 'o' in surprise, then spread into a big smile. She hooked an arm around her new friends hip, and pulled her into a tight bear-hug. "Of course, girl!" ---
Normally, rain wouldn’t deter her from the quick minute long jog across the street to her home. But this was a steady downpour, bringing fat drops that bounced off your head like marbles. Dirty water pooled at the curbside and threatened to flood the streets. A few seconds out under the clouds would waterlog her, undoubtedly.
Accompanying the constant drumming of the rain was the frequent crack and boom of thunder in the distance, paired with a bright flash of lightning. Each time another light struck, it would reflect from the sky onto the wet pavement, followed by the familiar thundering clap ringing out soon after.
It was the kind of storm Marinette would love, were she nestled away safely in her room, watching through a closed window. Now, all she could think of was that she hadn’t asked if any of the kwamis were scared of loud storms. Dogs will sometimes freak out from thunder, could Barkk be cowering under her bed? Was Daizzi rolling in mud puddles outside, forgetful of the rules Marinette had put in place?
Suffice to say, some separation anxiety had blossomed in her weeks with the kwamis.
“Marinette?”
She jumped in surprise, somehow managing to suppress an involuntary squeak. Adrien stood behind her, inquisitive expression burning holes through Marinette's skin.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Adrien.” He stuck out a hand in greeting, eyes never wavering from her face.
She squirmed under his direct gaze. “I know you're Adrien. Do you need something?” She asked quietly, avoiding meeting his eyes with her own. Briefly, she considered whether or not ruining her sweater in the rain was worth the escape after all.
“Oh, no, no, I— Well, I just— I just wanted to say sorry.” He stumbled over his words, clearly struggling with what to say. When it became clear she wasn't going to shake his hand, it anxiously found its way back to his neck. “For the gum, and not explaining properly, and… Chloe. I know she’s been horrible to you.”
Marinette watched in silent awe, not daring to speak. Bullies didn’t often apologize in her experience.
“For what it’s worth, I really was trying to remove it. Chloe isn’t perfect, believe me, I know that better than a lot of people— Well, probably not you— and…and she can be childish and petty, but I can't throw her under the bus. I know she can be good too,” Adrien rambled, free hand motioning in the space between them. “Before last week, I had never been to school before. Because I’ve known her since we were little kids, Chloe had been my only friend. She was the one that was able to convince my father to let me go to school.”
The rain continued in the background. What had been a persistent pounding of water against earth was turned into white noise around him.
“The only new friend I’ve made is Nino, and I don’t even know how I managed that.” He chuckled, pulling aside his bag and taking an umbrella from it. “It’s all sorta new to me, you know? I’m still trying to figure it out.” he opened the umbrella and peeked out to the street. “Is your ride getting here soon?”
“I-I’m walk... doing walk—The walking thing — Me t-that. No car.” The word vomit poured forth without control, leaving Marinette in a daze. What had she just said? Doing the walking thing?
Somehow, it didn’t affect Adrien. He looked up at the still darkening clouds with a frown, “You’re going to get drenched if you’re walking.” They stood in silence for a few moments, the only sound between them being the timely rumble of thunder. Then, a sleek, dark gray limo pulled to the school's curb, fitting neatly over the intimidating puddle. Adrien pursed his lips in thought, then stuck out his hand, with the umbrella in his grip. “I think you need this more than me.”
Marinette blinked in confusion, eyes bouncing between the outstretched hand and its owner's face. “No, I’m-I… it’s just a-a cute— quick walk, really, I—”
“Consider it an offering of friendship!” He pressed the handle to her palm before she could refuse anymore than she already had, then turned, raised his bag over his head, and ran out into the storm. It was like he passed through a waterfall, the way the rain soaked him through in a few seconds. Halfway to the fancy car, he looked back over his shoulder, rain water dripping from his hair despite the desperate cover he’d attempted. “It was nice to meet you, Marinette!” He shouted over the hissing of the rain.
Her eyes wide, still in shock, Marinette opened her mouth to yell back, maybe something like ‘Thanks, Adrien! I forgive you!’ or ‘Do I need to give this back?’, when the umbrella folded inward on her. A loud burst of laughter followed, and when she raised the plastic covering from her eyes, Adrien was standing at the open car door with a delighted smile, taking his time in the downpour. He raised a hand, waved goodbye, then climbed in the limo to the tune of his disgruntled chauffeurs complaints.
“Hello, Adrien, how was your day? Who is that girl there?” Nathalie asked politely from the front seat, eyes fixed on him through the rear view mirror. His bodyguard grumbled and frowned, grumpy about the soggy teenager sitting in his pristine backseat, but pulled the car back out into the road and back to the Agreste mansion.
“My day was incredible, Nathalie. That’s Marinette, a new friend of mine.” He said, eyes filled with joy.
“That’s wonderful, Adrien. I’m happy to hear you’re doing well in all aspects of school.” She praised, then turned her attention back to the tablet in her hands. ---
Marinette waved a shaky goodbye, which continued long after the limo pulled away and out of sight. With a long— and exaggeratedly loud— stretch, Plagg flew from her bag to float by her side. “First day back and you’ve already found yourself a boyfriend! Good job picking a rich one, it’s exactly what I woulda done.” He purred with an affectionate tease.
“No, no, no. No way. He’s—He’s just a friend, and that’s it, and that’s all he is! I do not have a crush on him. I don’t.” Marinette's brain instantly went into panic mode, alarms ringing off in her head at the idea. She had no time for romances, she barely had time for friendships.
Plagg flicked his tail from side to side, saying nothing, but staring her down with an eyebrow that said ‘Really?’
“I don’t!” She insisted, umbrella waving wildly as she motioned with her entire body. Marinette let out a long, frustrated groan, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she let it out, she turned back to Plagg, face serious and focused. “The miraculous has to come first. Above everything else, everything, I need to be the guardian and the black cat.”
She walked forward without waiting for an answer, umbrella partially shielding her and her kwami from the rain as she made for the bakery across the street. The stoic expression plastered on her face was a good try, but the way her eyes kept darting back to the street the gray limo had sped away on was betraying her thoughts.
“I ever tell you how brave you are, Kid?”
“You can tell me once I’ve beaten my first akuma.”
The bakery door swung open with the sing-songy ‘Ting!’ of its bell, announcing a visitor. With a storm like that, it was no wonder the bakery was empty of any costumers, and Marinette quickly made her way up to her home. Inside the living room, her parents were cuddled on the couch, both asleep in front of a long ended movie.
“Now I see where you get it from. What a bunch of lovebirds.” Plagg gagged quietly from beside his holder.
She shot him an exhausted glare, silencing anymore playful attempts on his behalf. Marinette gently laid a blanket across her parents, turned off the tv, and climbed the stairs to her room.
Inside was a mess. Craft supplies and decorations were scattered across the floor, the cat pillow she kept in her bed was propped at the computer like a person, and the kwamis were wreaking utter havoc. Some swinging from light fixtures and railings, others painting and drawing on the pale pink walls, and she thought she saw some quickly hide a game of cards.
Not as bad as she had imagined.
Tikki flew to her guardian with urgency, face fraught with worry. “Oh, Marinette, I’m so, so sorry! We tried to keep them all in line but—”
“Master Fu would contain us all within the miracle box for this very reason! Some kwamis are not to be trusted on their lonesome!” Longg interjected, his usually calm face pulled down into a disappointed frown.
“We will clean it all, don’t worry, young Marinette.” Sass reassured her with a solemn expression.
Marinette nodded, observing the state of her room. It would take a few hours, if not an entire day, to bring back to its original state. “Everyone’s inside, all safe, no worries?”
The kwamis she had left in charge looked between each other before the bug spoke up, “Well, yes, but—”
“Then it’s okay. Just—just clean it all up, and it’s okay. You guys did a good job being in charge.” Marinette complimented with a smile, then walked across the room to her desk, and to the bonsai set atop it, just beside her sewing machine. She pulled it forward, studying it as it sat in front of her. The Miracle Tree had sprouted a few new buds of growth. “Are you ready, Tikki?”
“Do you think it’s time?” Tikki chirped, flying into place above the plant. She must be so impatient, so antsy without her old guardian and no new holder, yet she hadn’t made a single complaint. Marinette thought of how she would manage being guardian without the little bugs support in her ear. It was going to be hard without her.
“Yeah, I do.” She decided, fingernails digging into her palms. It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Tikki flew effortlessly through the yin-yang symbol marked in the tree stump, phasing through the wood with a hazy pink light. She reappeared moments later, small jewelry case in hand. Marinette took it slowly, hesitant to remove the earrings from the safety of the tree, scared to let them out into the world where she couldn’t hide them away.
Still, that was one job she couldn’t do herself. “I need a ladybug holder, and fast.”
#carpetbug writes#ml au#ml feline blue au#ml fbau#miraculous#miraculous ladybug#ml#miraculous fic#marinette#marinette dupain cheng#adrien#adrien agreste#kwami#Miracle box#finally done with this chapter holy fuck
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"Yes, Claire left in a huff this morning. Apparently she can dish it out but can't take it," Gabriel grumbled, the telephone tucked between his collarbone and his ear. "You work as a model and yet the reality that broads like you are a dime a dozen is some sort of shock? ..No, Audrey, not you, them. They're- Fucking forget it. I need a cigar. Talk to you later." Gabriel slapped the phone back into its receiver, standing up from his office chair. Claire leaving was for the best—The minute she'd started to run her mouth, her worth as a muse had all but flown the coop. And he meant that literally: His desk was a mess of unfinished, malformed designs, nothing he could even sell as that avant-garde social critique couture crap. Not even working with her sat on his lap did anything after a while.
But the good thing about fashion was that women were plentiful. If he was a stock broker or movie executive he'd need to be choosy about he treated the next tight-bloused intern. But he wasn't any of those chumps, he was Gabriel fucking Agreste. And if Audrey was right, he was only going to keep rising to the top, become a god among men. The broads would flock to him.
There was a knock on the door to his office.
"What is it?"
Gabriel was in the middle of lighting his cigar, letting it stick out of the side of his mouth and practically hang off his lip. He had been expecting either his secretary or one of the other men to be at the door—perhaps Alphonse had another client for Gabriel to see or Charles was in the middle of holding off another press hound—but what walked through the door was instead a young girl with perfectly curled blonde hair, all swept in a ponytail over her right side.
“Mr. Agreste?”
Emilie Graham de Vanily, if he had remembered correctly, had been traded through a few hands as a model over the past few months. She’d been working through that Elite Model Management that had just started up maybe 7 or so years prior, and she easily had that sort of ‘Model of The Year’ image about her: Bright green eyes, good jaw, and a body that filled out her clothes just enough without it being too egregious. Gabriel would’ve been a sucker to let her slip past his fingers with the 1979 Spring/Summer Paris Fashion Week steadily approaching, and if he wanted to keep her he’d have to pull all the stops.
Gabriel’s shoulders softened, and he took the cigar out of his mouth. “Emilie, just Gabi is fine,” he smiled. “Come on, we’re friends, aren’t we? Sit down, sit down.”
The girl practically beamed from his words, skipping over to take a seat on one of Gabriel’s large leather armchairs and practically being swallowed whole by it. She crossed her legs, both hands together and placed in her lap.
“You wanted to see me, right? About your next designs?”
“Yes, yes. I was hoping to have you look over them with me,” he said almost flippantly, watching as her eyes lit up. “But– But but but. I just got the unfortunate news that Claire Freeman won’t be working with us for Fashion Week.” Emilie tilted her head, a furrow in her blond brows. “She wasn’t very nice to you anyways, Mr. Agreste. Maybe it’s for the best.”
“An astute observation—One I entirely agree with.” Gabriel twirled his cigar in his fingers, adding “But that leaves me without a crown jewel to show off my collection. I was hoping you’d fill that role for me.” It was almost comical how easy it was to make Emilie smile, a sort of sparkle emanating off of her every time Gabriel said the littlest thing. It was a refreshing change of pace from Claire, a woman with a permanent scowl and a face that he could tell was beginning to wrinkle. Nobody would’ve wanted to watch her up on the catwalks anyway, not when a hot young dish like Emilie Graham de Vanily could take her place. He’d change some things over, tweak the proportions, take a few overnights to fix things to fit the new girl, and it would pay him handsomely. In hindsight, it might’ve been worth it to throw Claire out himself if she hadn’t done the dirty work for him. “I’d love to!” “Good. Now that includes filling in for the dinner reservations I had for La Scène. I always take my main girls out the first night." He tapped the end of his cigar on his desk's ashtray as he spoke. "How old are you again?" "Seventeen." Gabriel laughed so hard tears pricked his eyes. "No, you're not," he smiled. "Not if anyone asks, that is."
#thewarmembraceofshadow#gabriel agreste#miraculous gabriel#emilie agreste#emilie graham de vanily#writing blurbs#miraculous fandom#miraculous lb#miraculous fanfic#miraculous ladybug
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When The World Is Free: Chapter 2 - La Valse de Paris
MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1.7k
AuthorsNote: Chapter 2 of new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This details our reader settling into Paris and the outbreak of war. Benedict turns up next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3
Paris, September 1939
Your first few weeks in Paris are a delightful blur.
Spending late summer exploring the city - with Solène as your occasional guide and Eloise when she is not at work. You soak up every moment, from the windswept magnificence of standing atop the Eiffel Tower, your words being stolen by the wind, to the monastic silence of the Louvre on a quiet Monday morning. And everything in between - from Notre Dame's atmospheric incense-laden gothic darkness to the airy, resplendent glass dome of Galeries Lafayette that glitters like a prismatic jewel even on cloudy days.
But perhaps your favourites are the little slices of city life: sitting watching the world go by at a corner cafe, the crunch and warm, pillowy softness of the first bite of freshly baked baguette as you wander back from the boulangerie, the lingering fragrance of the rose garden at the Château de Bagatelle in Bois de Boulogne... It's all pieces of a puzzle that fill your heart in ways that make your life before now seem drab, almost in black and white, like a photograph.
You have written to Stanley once since you arrived, effusive in your praise, a homily to your new home, however temporary. While proclaiming his happiness for you, his response tempered, a touch dismissive of your wonderment. I can scarcely believe any city could truly live up to the praise you so readily heap upon Paris, my love, he wrote back. That was a week ago, and your urge to reply has been muted.
It's during an idle lunchtime by the Seine, eating a sandwich as you dangle your feet over the river wall, that you genuinely feel a local. An elderly French couple, likely visiting from the provinces, approaches you and asks you for directions to the Musée de l'Homme. Part of you aglow they think you sophisticated enough to look Parisian, and French. And you are able to help them, giving them the information in French, not fluent but sufficient that they are surprised when you confess “je suis américaine”.
In your third week, you secure the art gallery job Eloise had seen posted. An opportunity to meet many new people, primarily British and American, who share your love of art of all persuasions. You spend many a happy hour answering questions and building your knowledge of art, not just in your gallery but across the city. Part of you is wistful to study the subject in even greater depth than the books you borrow in copious quantities from the library where Eloise works.
You grow so close to Eloise so quickly that it’s as if you have known her your whole life. A sense of kinship, a near familial bond. You know, on some instinctive level, she will always be a part of your life somehow. Your evenings are often spent in lounge bars together—venues awash with art deco splendour as you listen to jazz through a cigarette haze and flirt aimlessly with a carousel of handsome men. Life seems so full of potential, a hum in your very being.
“What do you think the purpose of life is, y/n?” Eloise sighs as she flops onto your bed after returning from one such decadent night out.
“Aaaand we are done with the brandy…” you declare, taking the bottle of Martell cognac from her grip and placing it pointedly on the dresser, your high-handed point only mildly undermined by your own unsteady gait.
You collapse down next to her, the intricate ceiling rose around your light fixture swirling slightly before your very eyes.
“Love?” you hazard in answer to her question.
“Boo! Cliché!” she jeers, elbowing you good-naturedly.
“I don’t just mean romantic love,” you protest, “the love of family… friends…”
“Ah, yes, family. Endlessly large family. Don’t suppose you want an extra sibling or two, do you? I could be persuaded to let a couple go,” she squints comically.
“Depends… can I have the artist?” you jest.
“You have to stop staring at that painting; it's getting weird,” she opines with her typical bluntness, “and no, you can’t. You know he’s my favourite,” she pouts.
“I think he’s my favourite too,” you opine over a stifled yawn, any embarrassment about being called out for your unbridled admiration overridden by the sleepy state your comfortable bed lulls you into.
“If you end up being attracted to my brother, I will have to disown you, you know,” she pats your hand drowsily.
“Hmm, good thing he’s so far away…” you trail off with a lazy giggle, eyes drooping heavily.
It’s the last words you exchange before you both fall asleep on your bed.
–
Perhaps, as with all things that are too good, the idyll is temporary. It's the news you wake up to that following morning, September 4th, which throws everything into uncertainty. Solène knocks on your door early with an uncharacteristically sombre expression, wordlessly handing you the morning paper and flicking on the wireless on your mantelpiece, the fine lines on her face deeper etched, furrowed with worry.
‘La Guerre!’ the headline screams from the newspaper. And the voice on the airwaves, your ear more attuned to the language now, details how Britain and France have jointly declared war against Germany for their invasion of Poland a few days prior.
At the sound of the radio, Eloise emerges from your room, blinking and hair asunder, a little delicate from your previous night's revelry. You sip coffee at a loss for what to think or do. It’s an odd cognitive dissonance when life at once seems identical but also changed by an invisible shape - an undercurrent of fear, of the unknown, a punch to the pit of your stomach that you don’t know how to acknowledge - even as you go through the motions of your daily routine and head to work.
By the evening you are more phlegmatic about the situation. Your spirit dampened, yes, but not crushed. You feel an immense sense of privilege that conflict is not yet at your doorstep, but equally knowing being in the capital city of a nation that just declared war against a neighbouring country is not exactly safe.
You and Eloise splash out on dinner at an upscale brassiere that night, one you have both passed and commented you’d love to dine in some time. Both of you seized by the unspoken “what if”, the previous reluctance to treat yourselves entirely absent.
Talk on all the tables around you as you dine - on heavenly butter-soft steak - is about the war. What it could mean for Paris, fear of another major European conflict so soon after the last, the economic concerns - the bite of the early 30s depression just relinquishing its hostile grip on the somewhat bruised denizens.
Afterwards, you wander the cobbled streets back to your apartment, arms looped, bellies full, occasionally staring up at the starry night sky in mostly contemplative, sober silence. It’s a beautiful evening, but something in the warm breeze feels melancholic.
When you open the door to your building, Solène is waiting, rocking on her heels.
“Eloise, a telegram has come for you!” she announces, shoving a piece of paper into her hand. “And a telephone call from England earlier,” she adds, gesturing to the black rotary phone outside her place—the only one in the building.
Eloise gives you a brief glance and then opens the message. You watch her eyes ping across the text before her shoulders slump.
“My mother,” she sighs in explanation, “it appears she is summoning me back home.”
“What?!” the selfish reflex of not wanting to be left alone is the first thing flaring in you.
“It’s not fair!” she whines in a flash of child-like defiance before continuing in a more subdued tone. “She is sending my brother to come get me. She doesn’t specify which, but seeing as Anthony is a Lieutenant General in the Army and has likely been called to Churchill’s side, I'm presuming Benedict,” Eloise surmises.
Your thoughts instantly fly to that painting hanging in your apartment upstairs. A strange flutter under your ribs at the idea you could be about to meet its creator. Quickly followed by a wash of guilt that you could even focus on such a frivolous thing.
“What will I do without you?’’ You fret aloud, grasping her arm tighter.
“There was a call for you too, y/n,” Solène pipes up. “Your father wants you to exchange your return ticket for a sailing home as soon as possible,” she relays.
“But.. I just got here!” your lament as defiant as Eloise’s. A frustrating sense you are losing a fleeting opportunity you already hold so precious - like a new toy being ripped from the meaty fist of a truculent toddler.
“Mes amis, what can I say?” that trademark Gallic shrug seizing Solène’s shoulders. “While Paris is safe for now, we do not know how much longer that will hold true… it is likely best you return home. Perhaps this will be over in weeks, and you can return?”
You know your parents have paid your rent upfront for a whole year, likely similar for Eloise, your landlady not impacted financially by your leaving, merely a wish for you to enjoy your Parisian adventures.
As you unlock the door to your apartment and wander in, both of you sigh; the illumination from the Eiffel Tower that refracts upon your window pane just adds to your melancholia, a sight that before had never failed to warm your heart.
“When will your brother get here?” your inflection dull.
“Tomorrow, most likely. It only takes a couple of hours to cross the Channel, and as you know, the train ride from the coast is just a few more. I expect he’ll be waiting for me right here when I return from work,” her tone is just as flat as yours.
You want to ask if she will pack tonight, but you stop yourself, seeing the flame that usually burns so bright behind her blue eyes dimmed. Wordlessly, you draw closer and pull her into a firm hug.
“I will miss you like a sister,” she whispers into your hair, returning the embrace just as fiercely, “maybe moreso.”
You nod and band your arms tighter briefly before letting go, bone-deep exhaustion overtaking anything else you see in her mirrored stance.
The last thing that captures your eye as Eloise turns to her room is that painting of her childhood home and, strangely, how it feels closer now than ever before.
Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa
#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n
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ayakaze sakina and asami jun in jewel de paris!!
#yukigumi#asami jun#ayakaze sakina#takarazuka#jewel de paris#sakiaasa#my gifs#from raku digest#colouring on the first one could be better but#ty hank editors for putting both of these on the raku digest i love u actually#sakis smile...#i love them ur honour#might also make a gifset of aasas scene if theres enough footage in the news digests from both shonichis and rakus idk we'll see#anyway they r the cutest
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Sous le ciel de Paris



Warnings : none this is just fluff
A/N: I tried to describe the places I talked about as best as I can as an ex Parisian but since it was sometimes ago I might have gotten some stuffs wrong . Once again excuse my poor English as I am not a native English speaker . Feel free to send in requests , I’ll get to them asap next week
The sun was high and the weather was warm . I stared around the Parc des Champions as athletes who had won medals in the previous days made their way on stage and were cheered on by everyone .
I clapped my hands at each one and laughed when some of them even started dancing or hyping the crowd .
I stared at my left as I heard Jessie laugh too .
It was only five days after Canada’s loss in the quarter finals . Five days after I I saw them lose and everything that had happened prior with the drone and Jessie’s injury .At first , I thought that it would be better to cancel our small trip we had planned to Paris for when Canada finished their play in the Olympics. I remember telling Jessie about it , thinking that she would be upset to stay here after everything but she insisted we still kept up with our initial plans so here we were .
Even if she seemed happy to be here it was pretty obvious that Jessie still seemed a bit down from seeing people celebrate their medals while she and the team couldn’t . I stared at the athletes on stage one last time and looked at Jessie .
« Should we head somewhere else ? We could go see Notre-Dame or just go visit The Louvre . What do you think ? We aren’t here for long so it might be better to directly get to visiting » I said softly , Jessie thought for a moment before agreeing .
It wasn’t long before we were on the parvis of Notre-Dame . Jessie was taking pictures of the cathedral and other buildings we came across as we made our way here . Notre-Dame was a good spot to start our trip , not too far from the Louvre by walking and the Seine surrounding the area .
« You know , it’s a bit sad it’s still closed for renovations, I would have liked to take pictures of the inside to add to the ones I took there some years ago when I came with the team » said Jessie as she took a specific shot of the cathedral . I nodded as I looked at her camera to see the picture « I agree , sadly back when it was still open I never went to Paris so I never really got to see the inside . It must be really cool to see it from up close »
We continued our way alongside the Seine towards the Louvre . It was pretty packed , not because of the museum in itself , no . But because of the Olympic flame being shown not far from the main building in the back gardens of the Louvre . I heard Jessie sigh behind me as we saw just how long the line to see it up close was .
« Guess we’ll just have to stick to the museum » shrugged Jessie as we made our way down the stairs of the main area before entering the museum .
We made our way across the statues galerie , the museum was far bigger than I remembered and walking all around it was getting tiring . Apparently it was the opposite for Jessie who only seemed to get happier the more we came across different statues or old relics . As we made our way to the art galleries I saw Jessie take pictures of some statues and the Crown Jewels in the French royal history part of the gallerie that was right before the art one .
Thanks to Jessie having managed to get us a specific badge it was possible for us to take a picture of the Joconde up close which seemed to overjoy the freckled Canadian .
When we made our way out of the museum it was already late evening . I gasped when I saw Phryge , the Olympic mascot for Paris , near the entrance .
« Babe look !! » I exclaimed as I pointed to Phryge « We need to take a picture with Phryge before we leave » . I led Jessie to the mascot who greeted us both with a hand sign . Jessie chuckled as she waved back at Phryge . She went up to someone near and handed them her phone , asking them if they could take a picture of us . The three of us posed while the person took the photo . We said our goodbyes to the mascot as Jessie picked up her phone and thanked them for the photo .
That night we had dinner at a fancy restaurant before we made our way to bed in our hotel room . Jessie cuddled into my side as we both looked through her camera at all the pictures she had taken today . I blushed slightly as I saw she also took pictures of me without me knowing . We both chuckled when we saw the ones of us and Phryge .
It wasn’t long before both of us fell asleep , cuddled up to each other . I couldn’t wait for tomorrow , being able to continue exploring the city of love once again .
#woso#soccer#jessie fleming#portland thorns#canwnt#jflem#jessie fleming x reader#woso x reader#woso community#paris 2024#paris olympics
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Tour Cantate is a minimalist apartment located in Paris, France, designed by Augure Studio. Nestled within the prestigious Cantate Tower—a crown jewel of Parisian residential architecture and a cornerstone of the “Les Orgues de Flandres” complex—this apartment epitomizes the art of reimagining space
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Cartoon Heroes Paper Cut-Outs
Ladybug & Cat Noir
The French animated series Miraculous, les aventures de Ladybug et Chat Noir takes place in modern Paris. It involves the adventures of two teenagers, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste. Whenever evil arises, the two teens transform into their superhero personas, Ladybug and Cat Noir. Their powers are derived from magical jewels known as the ‘Miraculouses’. The various menaces the two heroes are forced to contend with are super villains created by the evil Hawkmoth.
All the while, Marinette and Adrien struggle with their feelings for each other and not knowing each other's secret identities… Marinette is in love with Adrien, but not Cat Noir, while Adrien is in love with Ladybug, but not Marinette. Oh, le jeune amour est si compliqué!
Debuting in October of 2015, the show was translated into English and premiered on Nickelodeon in December of the same year. Actress Anouck Hautbois voices Ladybug in the original version with Cristina Vee voicing her in the English language dub; while actor Benjamin Bollen has voiced Chat Noir in the original with Bryce Papenbrook provided his voice in the English dub.
#Cartoon Heroes#Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir#Miraculous Lady Bug#Chat Noir#cut-outs#paper art
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silhouettes emerging: chapter vi
“Don’t You Want a Lark Whose Every Blood Cell Sings Your Name?”
🎶turning time! every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end🎶
iwtv oc x armand, this chapter ~2.2k
sing it with me now I KNOW WHO I WANT TO TAKE ME HOME (the vampire armand) I KNOW WHO I WANT TO TAKE ME HOME (armand de whatever) I KNOW WHO I WANT TO TAKE ME HOME (armanddd) TAKE ME HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOME
chapter v fic masterlist chapter vii
Twenty Twenty-Three (The Next Day), New York City, United States of America
“We’re back with the vampire Isabelle de la Rue, who last left us in Paris with her hope to be turned by the vampire Armand in order to ensure he could never supernaturally manipulate her again. Which, it should be noted, does not rule out your garden variety gaslighting.”
They were back in Daniel’s living room, equipped with the same recording gear, new wine glasses of blood, and a day’s worth of reflection before getting back to the story at hand. Isabelle let out half a scoff and took her seat once more; clearly, today’s conversation would not be any easier.
“You’re right, it doesn’t, made very clear by the crux remaining the same even when I had to shift my stories a hell of a lot in order to safely tell them to a human therapist. I eventually realized that was futile; our emotional experiences as vampires can be so caught up in our nature that it’s hard not to feel alone in how to deal with it.”
“Starting off cheerily, I see.”
“Hey, man, you started it.”
“I want to know,” Daniel began, “how it worked-if it did work that time. You weren’t turned yet, so he could still read your intentions; why wouldn’t that stop him?”
She was quiet for a moment, a small smile blooming up from the longing part of her that still existed somewhere. It was time to tell this part of the story.
“Because none of what I told him was a lie.”
~
Nineteen Thirty-Six, Paris, France
Through all her years of performing, Isabelle was not used to spending much time at a mirror after a show. The placing of each curl and ribbon came beforehand, when she gave herself the almost ritualistic escape of becoming something else for a night. But now, here she was, after a performance that had rid the world this time of an abusive factory supervisor, standing in front of her dressing room mirror.
The usual post-show hum of muted audience chatter as they left, castmates’ lipsticked voices in her ear, and laughter from all the coven regarding that night’s slip-ups and audience reactions was a comfort to her intermittently sparking heartbeat. Her makeup had just started to fade into her skin, her jewelry was glittering hopelessly askew, and she basked in the post-performance glow that tended to be carried long into the morning.
She always felt her most beautiful like this.
Despite her certainty in all that had passed over the preceding months, a small part of her still felt anxious in the need to be so, tonight.
Then there was the sudden, melting warmth of a hand on her back.
“Something is on your mind, love,” came Armand’s whisper as she looked into the eyes of his reflection. “Tell me.”
“Not here,” she murmured, and no sooner had she than Armand nodded and turned away with clear intent and hope for her to follow. They ascended the stairs, but not before Isabelle caught Eglee’s gaze, widened her eyes in wordless communication, and received an encouraging wink. More time had passed since their conversation, with the addition that the romantic nature of the newcomer’s relationship with the maître was no longer denied, and the house manager-having guessed her human friend’s plan-seemed to be delighted at its finally coming to pass.
Maybe.
Depending.
As she and Armand made it to the top of the stairs and went down a hallway to his room, Isabelle absentmindedly twisted the ring that her character wore. It had been a gift; the jewel itself was no ordinary burgundy stone, but rather a small glass circle filled with Armand’s blood and embedded into the golden band.
“So that,” he’d smiled, “when you’re swooning in your false lover’s arms, you will not forget how it all began.”
She and Gustave had had a laugh about the melodramatics of it when she’d told him at rehearsal one day, but she secretly cherished it, this constant reminder that her attention was valued. As she had learned more and more about Armand and his past, her deeper understanding of all that lay behind his wistful eyes and measured words made her quite adept at reading him; her heart went out to him more and more, and she now could hold a constant drop of this person she adored.
“The gossip of the coven,” Armand said as he closed his door behind them, “is growing with every week you are not one of them. I still cannot think of any situation here worthy of you, but time is passing quickly and the Great Laws still hold. Is this the source of your pensiveness? Do you have a preference as to who becomes your maker?”
Although this was asked quite intently, he was also shuffling through a few papers and putting them into a drawer. After taking a steadying breath, Isabelle placed her hand over his on the desk, waiting until he looked up to meet her gaze.
“Indeed I do.”
A thousand thoughts widened Armand’s amber eyes, and he lifted a hand to her face in something like incredulity.
“Truly?”
She nodded, and a moment passed before he feverishly turned away.
“I cannot. I will not. You have heard, I am sure, every reason that I have sworn never to make another, never to doom someone-especially someone like you-to this eternity.”
“I’m going to be doomed anyway,” Isabelle said, fully levelheaded. “You said it yourself on that very second night-my being turned is the only way to survive, and I’m not going to give up on life now, not after finally experiencing so many reasons to stay, reasons that I always knew existed and have been working for all my life. Those reasons-a community, a dream career, a true romance, and a real impact that I’m still figuring out-they have their many thorns here; all the rest were willing to kill me to preserve the status quo, but you alone broke that, you alone were there from the beginning. Someone in this building will have to be my maker, and I truly, truly want it to be you.”
Having looked out the window through this monologue, unable to face her but watching her in the reflection of the glass, he now turned around as he processed this last statement.
“You were turned without a say in the matter,” she said slowly. “The horror that happened to you…that is not how things should be, and it’s not how things have to be. I have some odd, stubborn hope that this-that this doesn’t have to be a curse. So if there’s going to be one moment that changes the state of my existence forever…”
She had tentatively approached him throughout this, every word of her planned seduction having been forgotten the second she stepped into the room, and all that was left was earnest compassion and an irrevocable longing to be close to him. Breathing intently, Armand allowed her to take his hand.
“...If everything comes down to that moment, I want it to be one of love.”
His chest hitched. She didn’t know how much she’d expected her entreaty to truly affect him, and how much he’d let it show if she did, but she saw it all plainly now. Isabelle knew for certain that they shared a yearning to be seen fully and loved wholly, and this was the core from which every word lifted.
“I could die now, or I could spend an eternity reckoning with all that happens here…I never thought I’d be comfortable with the idea of immortality, but-”
His hand came to her waist, almost trembling, almost as if holding onto her would mean holding on forever to the words she spoke-
“I’d gladly take forever if it was here with you.”
He let out a breath, so close to her that she could nearly taste a warm, metallic, somewhat sweet combination of blood and cigarette smoke.
“A companion?”
This proposal was softer than she had ever, ever heard him speak before, and she nodded, hazel eyes almost glowing with pure emotion.
“Entirely, my love,” she answered. “Intertwined in every cell and every breath.”
Armand slowly kissed her jawline, drawing a breath of anticipation, then pulled away to look her in the eye. The intensity there told her that something in him had wanted this too, had been waiting for her to ask, had been longing for the chance to give himself permission.
Shoulders finally relaxing, she nodded again, each of them finally letting themselves somehow smile in wondrous disbelief. The grip both his hands now had on her waist grew more certain as he pulled her in, kissing her soundly as one arm looped around to pull her ever and ever closer. She tangled her hand into his hair, eagerly massaging those dark curls free from the gel that held them; each was an arpeggio that she had longed to play from the very first moment. The blood ring was still cold on her hand, and when Armand realized that it was this ring currently twisting itself further into his hair, he let out a sigh that made any remaining worry in Isabelle completely melt away.
Slowly, deftly, Armand’s kisses worked their way down to the base of her neck, and a thrill went through her every nerve. This was the top of the sky, and there was no chance of stopping her freefall now; it was the most untethered, most intoxicated, most free she had ever felt, and she didn’t know how it could possibly become any-
Then there was the gleam of his fangs, and the shock of a sting, and the pulse of her every burden and beauty flowing into him, breath by breath. She gasped again and again as she felt the blood leave her, head cradled by Armand’s hand as her forgotten black lace veil fell from her hair, leaving them both tangled within. The office was small and didn’t necessarily lend itself to the most luxurious of turning conditions, and Isabelle soon became aware that she was sitting on top of Armand’s coffin, head spinning both with the loss of blood and the need of him near her again. He was looking down at her as he sliced a nail through his forearm, eyes heavily lidded in reaction to however it was she appeared at the moment, and Isabelle blinked in the vague sensation of her own blood trickling down her chest and into her gown. They’ll have to clean this, said some faraway voice in her head, soon blown quite away by the second phase of the turning.
Armand had sat beside her, solemnly presenting his wrist, which she gingerly took into her hands before pressing her lips to the wound. The moment that the blood hit her tongue produced a high, musical cry in the back of her throat; this was the headiest of wines, this was strawberry and melted chocolate and four fateful pomegranate seeds, this was honeysweet and indigodark and Armand, Armand, Armand. She gasped it in, drinking with her eyes rolling back, and kissed along his wrist every few slurps in complete devotion.
All this time, while it still could, Armand’s voice caressed itself into the contours of her mind. That’s it, my own, my everything. That’s it, my belovéd, my one; I know you deeply, I love you madly, I am yours alone. And you, you my lark, you my precious songbird…you shall be entirely mine.
With this last thought, he pressed his wrist further into her mouth for the final push, nearly gagging her on the warm sweetness of his blood. She replied telepathically as much as she could with a rhythmically repeating I love you, I love you, I know you, I see you, I love you that kept in time with their now-synced heartbeats; he would no longer have that access to her mind after this glorious night, and she made certain that the last he’d hear of her thoughts would be everything he’d ever wanted.
Her eyes, still hazel but truly glowing now, opened with a vision that was suddenly sharper and more clear than she had ever had before. She laughed in joyful surprise, entirely high on blood and lust and newfound power. Armand, with a wicked and utterly fulfilled grin, swept her up into his arms and kissed her deeply, lifting up her flowing dress and hooking her leg around him until they were-
Twenty Twenty-Three, New York City, United States of America
“Aaaaaaaaaaand fade to black,” Daniel interrupted into his microphone, pressing his spacebar with a strong and barely-contained clack.
“...Sorry, what?”
Isabelle blinked and realized that she had been near tears this whole time, thoroughly lost in the memory.
“Why would you-”
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said, a bit shaken. “The story should come first, I know, and I can tell you that it always does with me. But this is…I don’t know. Our memory lanes are crossing, Isabelle, only with a few key differences.”
She was quiet for a moment, still coming back into reality, and then it dawned on her what he really meant.
“Wait-”
“Yeah.”
“You two were-”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. There’s a story there too.”
“Oh!!”
“Right,” he said, moving to his door and grabbing a jacket before turning back to her. “You wanna get lunch?”
#silhouettesemerging#iwtv x reader#interview with the vampire#iwtv#amc interview with the vampire#amc iwtv#iwtv amc#iwtv oc#daniel molloy#the vampire armand#the vampire eglee#the vampire gustave#armand x reader#devil's minion#theatre des vampires
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