Part 2: You start running closer to the Dennys and soon you’re standing at the front door to the famous breakfast food restaurant. With the egg yolk in your hand, you pause and catch your breath before stepping inside. You feel nervous. You know he’s watching you. Quickly you step inside and look around. A genderless elderly couple is sitting in the farthest corner booth away from you. They look up from their meal and stare at you with black, beady eyes. A tingley feeling shoots down your spine when you make eye contact with them. You turn away and walk towards the door to the kitchen. You step inside and walk over to the cook.
“I thought you might want this back,” you say to him. He is at least two feet taller than you. He looks down at you, perplexed, and then down at the yolk. His eyes widen when they see it. After a moment of pure silence, he grabs the yolk and puts it in his apron pocket. Then he grabs both of your hands with his and shakes them vigorously. Tears are streaming down his cheeks.
“Thank you so, so much,” he says. “You have no idea how much this means to me … to us.” You nod and smile uncomfortably. Without saying anything more you wave and walk out the door. A metaphorical weight lifts off your shoulders and you take in a deep breath. You did it. So you think…
Magnus shooting down the stereotypes that some biphobic assholes made up in one scene, Alec standing up for what he believes in and officially becoming head of the institute, Izzy moving forward in her recovery and kicking ass as usual, Maia literally knocking some sense into Jace. I am so proud.
“Okay, I quit. Ladybug’s mother likes me more than Ladybug does. How does that work?”
Walking back to her computer, Marinette snorted, wondering if that had anything to do with hearing her mom shout, “She’s AFK, dear,” earlier.
“Because she never has to talk to you, obviously.”
“Meouch. I assure you that your mother and I have had some lovely conversations.”
Marinette, who’d been a party to most of those conversations (which mostly consisted of her mother handing over blackmail material by the bucketload), hurried on, “Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear all about my exciting trip to the bathroom, so—”
Right on queue, her channel partner said, “Wait, what kind of exciting are we talking about? Because—”
“The kind where I stubbed my toe on the cabinet,” she interrupted, choking down a laugh as she booted her character back up, “so hush.”
A rush of notifications from the livesteam chatters let her know that Chat had been ‘yowling like a horny cat’ and that they were glad she was back.
“Oh my god, you guys.”
“Looks like Elle’s gonna win the prize,” Chat sang, either oblivious or uncaring of the way their supporters were slandering his name, “If there ever was a perfect couple, this one qualifies—”
Fifteen different variations of, It’s true though! popped up on Marinette’s screen.
You two need to kiss!
“A-huh,” Marinette half-snorted and half-sighed. “If kitty-gamer over there ever wants to move his butt from New York to Paris, I’ll give it a thought.”
All her lines went dead silent, and what followed had to be the strangest silence in Marinette’s Let’s Play career.
Oh my god popped up in the chat window a couple of times, but other than that, no one said a peep.
Chat cleared his throat.
“I, um… I am.”
One second for it to sink in, and then Marinette’s gut flipped inside-out.
Chat cleared his throat again, and Marinette wondered how she could hear the blush. “Moving. To Paris.”
“Not! Of course! That we have to meet or anything if you don’t want to, but I’m not going to be online for like five days in like… two weeks.”
“Oh,” said Marinette, and sank her teeth into her suddenly tingling lips, face hot. “Well, h-how about that.”
‘How about that’ indeed, she thought as Chat laughed on the other side of the line. Three years of shooting down her friend’s ridiculous advances, and now, suddenly, she was faced with the idea that they might not be quite so ridiculous, and…
And, suddenly, all of her was a little warmer — and a little more eager — than she’d like to think about.
“Aaaaaanyway,” she said in her very best Ladybug voice, “we’re burning airtime, people! Let’s move! I want this base conquered by sundown!”
petition to add to the collective fanon that while dipper receives his very own ford-made journal at the end of that first summer (and a new one every year after that probably lbr), mabel gets a book of her own too
it’s wider than dipper’s and matches the light magenta of her favorite sweater, down to the thick golden shooting star sticker on the front… a new scrapbook!
she looks up at ford with a sort of elated confusion. he beams at her, kneels down to her height, and reminds her that without her scrap booking skills and trust, stan wouldn’t have his memory back, and she’s really got a knack for -
he’s not even halfway through the speech he’d prepared when she throws her arms around him and yells, “I LOVE IT! thankyouthankyouthank-”
ford freezes for a second, and then smiles and hugs her back.