my man is still in paris guys

anonymous asked:

Just stay with me: marichat?

Marinette huddled under her blanket, her hands clutched around a mug of steaming tea to help fight off the cold. 

She didn’t want to go inside. 

She had thought she had seen the worst of it. She had faced down so many akumas. She had fought against her best friend with barely a flinch of hesitation, knowing that she could do what needed to be done and that everything would be alright. She thought there was nothing she couldn’t handle. 

She had never thought she might have to fight her own mother. 

Marinette huddled further into the corner of her terrace. 

They had been victorious of course. Cleansing the akuma and restoring the city to rights. But while the superficial damage may have been repaired, the emotional damage was taking a toll that Marinette had never realized was possible until it struck at the heart of her own family. 

The attack last night had been all over the news. They always were. The first time the footage aired that morning Marinette had watched in horror as her usually indomitable mother had burst into tear, shutting herself in the bedroom and leaving a silent Tom and Marinette to finish the morning preparation. The normally bustling bakery had been a ghost town, and even though Marinette was off from school her father had told her there was little she could help with and to go enjoy her day off since there wasn’t much to be done.

Alya had insisted that this was normal and would die down in a day or two, sending Marinette several links to articles and interviews she had done on the subject. It didn’t do much to lift Marinette’s spirits, but she couldn’t help but feel an awed sense of pride at the incredible dedication her friend had towards her site.  

Sabine had of course eventually recovered after a few hours. Coming down and joining Tom in the empty shop, but in spite of her attempts to act as though everything was fine, the general atmosphere was sullen. Tom had ultimately retreated to the kitchen to take his frustrations out on a new bread recipe he had wanted to try, and Marinette had retreated to her balcony. 

She felt like a failure. 

She kept seeing the image of her mother- twisted and transformed into one of Hawkmoths minions, glaring at her lunging forward to rob her of her Miraculous. 

It had been by far one of her worst fights. Her mind had been unable to focus, instead racing with questions and wondering if she could have stopped this. 

Thank God for Chat. He had immediately registered her distress and more than picked up the slack, taking the lead for a change. He had forsaken his habitual good humored flirting and managed the battle with a quiet, efficient intensity that she would not have expected from her usually exuberant partner.

It had been over in a matter of minutes, one of their shorter battles if she was being honest. But it had somehow felt like an eternity, and she had barely been able to get through the traditional fist bump before fleeing the scene so that no one would see her burst into tears. 

Now here she was, huddled helplessly against the wind, her face stained with tears that had been falling on and off for the last few hours, ashamed to go inside. 

She heard the sound of footfalls on the roof and looked up expecting to see her father. Instead she was met with the concerned green eyes of her partner. 

“Chat… what are you doing here?” she asked fighting the urge to attempt to straighten up her appearance. 

“I like to check up on the victims after the attacks,” he said collapsing his baton and stowing it behind his back. 

“I wasn’t the victim.” 

“I know. I already spoke to your mother down in the bakery.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, surprised, “How…” she trailed off. 

“She’ll be ok,” Chat said coming to sit down beside her. “She was blaming herself for something she had no control over.” He gave Marinette an assessing glance. “Seems to be a trait with the Cheng women I see.” 

She laughed softly then scooted closer and dropped her head against his shoulder. Too tired and too heartsick to care that she was untransformed and therefore shouldn’t be showing this level of familiarity.

Chat’s eyes widened slightly in surprise but he made no effort to stop her, only adjusting slightly so they fit together in a more comfortable angle. 

“I didn’t know you did this,” she said quietly. 

“Did what?”

“Visited with the victims. It’s very kind of you.” 

“No one should have to go through something like this alone,” he said, “pain is worse if you don’t talk to anyone about it. It can change you, leave you broken. Even hurt the people around you.” 

“You sound like you have some experience on the subject.” 

“I might.” 

She nodded slightly and took a small sip of her tea. “Do you talk to all of the victims?” she asked curiously. 

“No, not all of them. Some of them don’t need it, I’ll go to check in on them and they will already be on the road to recovery. Your friend Alya for example. She had her own ways of coping.” 

“You should have talked to her anyways. You know she would have adored getting a personal visit from Chat Noir.”

“You know in retrospect you are right,” he said with a small smile. “Next time I’m on patrol I’ll make a point of letting her catch me for an interview. Unless you want to make my life easier and just help with a set up?” 

“She’s coming over for a sleepover tomorrow night,” Marinette said feeling warmer for the first time all day.

“I’ll be sure to coincidentally land on your balcony during my rounds. Say around 9:00?” 

Marinette smiled. 

“So, who was the most difficult person for you to talk to?” she asked. 

Chat thought for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. 

“Probably the little girl, the one who stole all your dolls, remember?” 

“You talked to Manon?” 

“Yeah, that one was rough. Not gonna lie I went home that night and put together a Hawkmoth dart board. Might have gotten a little carried away. Even stabbed the thing with a fencing sword if you can believe it.” 

Marinette laughed, pressing closer against her partner and he wrapped an arm around her. 

“That’s actually kind of fantastic,” she said, “Do you still have it?” 

“Nah, my father made me take it down. I think it freaked him out that I was violently lashing out what most of Paris thinks of as some unknown mystical super being.” 

“What do you think of him as?” 

“Exactly what he is- some guy in a suit who thinks its ok to terrorize innocent people for his own selfish gain. He might have powers but he’s just an ordinary man.” 

“Like you are?” she said, looking up at him and for the first time desperately wishing she could know the boy behind the mask. 

“Exactly.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Marinette sipping on her tea without really tasting it and Chat rubbing his hand idly up and down her arm over the blanket. 

“Why did you come to talk to me?” Marinette asked at last. 

“Because you looked like you needed a friend,” he replied. 

“I do,” she admitted, hating the pricking of tears she could feel returning to her eyes, “I really do.” 

“Is there anything I can do for you princess?” he asked tenderly, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her in close. 

“Just stay with me.” 


Look I did angst!!!! Part of my 4 word prompt drabbles. Not taking on new ones atm just finishing the ones I have. 

First BATB fanfic.

This is my official first de-anon-ed post, guys. Here’s some fanfic. I plan to write more. Prompts are welcome!

I’m still learning how to do this tumblr thing.


Maurice’s thoughts, Part 1

Maurice was not a narrow minded man.

He was born and raised in the streets of Paris. He married a woman that many considered at best fearless and at worst backward. He was an artist so prolific that his drawings spread rapidly off his canvases and onto the surface of all his meagre posessions, celebrating and illustrating everything he loved.

And even lately he had spent his days tinkering with the workings of small mechanical marvels, and teaching his only daughter, reading, writing, science and mathematics.

No. No one could say that Maurice was not a thoughtful, and imaginative man.
But even he balked when a small china cup spoke to him with a child’s voice.

“Mum said I shouldn’t move ‘coz it might be scary,” it had confided in him, like he was a playmate sharing a naughty secret.


The bite of bread he had snatched into his mouth dried instantly.

“Sorry,” whispered the teacup, so sincerely that manners almost made Maurice reply. Then reason returned and he bolted from his chair. And that was only the beginning of it!

Well, no, really the beginning of it was the wolves, and the magic forest and the snow. In June.

Now looking back, with plates of lavish dishes spread out before him on the very same table he had run away from so very long ago, he was rather bemused. The teacup that had so terrified him was nothing compared with the horrors that followed.

It especially bemused him that the former teacup was now seated across from him speaking at a rapid pace.

“…and then I went down to the pond near the forest, and I caught a frog, and it’s so much easier to catch a frog now then when I was little. They are so fat and slow now. I think I could catch a hundred, non! A thousand frogs if I wanted to!  Mama says it is because I have so much energy saved up. I have a lot of playing to do. She says that it’s a good thing I can go outside now, because if I was to stay inside and slide around on the dishware, all the cupboards would be full of nothing but broken plates in a day. I can’t really do that anymore. Now I slide down the stairs instead. Do you ever slide down the stairs M. Maurice? Mama says it’s not something older gentlemen do. But I asked Lumière, and he said that only really proper gentlemen know how to slide down the stairs. And usually they use the bannister, and not a teatray. And anyway, he said I’m a little big for a teatray now…”

And so on. The little boys’ words were almost lost in the miasma of clinking silverware, and cheerful voices.

Maurice took a bite of a most excellent paté and listened with half an ear to the boy’s excitement and the pleasant converstation.

He had not been surrounded by such energy, such vitality for a long time. It had been many years since Belle was bouncing around his feet with her little skirts flying wildly, her pockets full of creatures, her piping voice asking questions about everything she could see from his knees down, her face smudged with charcoal.

Well, actually, her face was still smudged with charcoal. The young man sitting across from her was gazing at her with such lovestruck idiocy he did not seem to notice. Nor did he notice that the spoon full of food had failed to enter his mouth three times now. It was a good look for him.

“And tomorrow, Belle is going to teach me to ride Phillipe. She said Phillipe is very gentle, even when you fall asleep on the wagon, or she is reading on his back and doesn’t remember to turn him where he is supposed to go. I like Phillipe, but I think when I have my own horse to ride I will name him Goliath, because he will be big, and black and the most handsome horse. Mme. Garderobe said she will teach me to braid his hair…”

'Yes,’ thought Maurice, taking another bite of paté, 'silly to be afriad of a thing like a teacup.’

Marinette probably be savin Paris even with her period, Ladybug be doin all that kickass acrobatic shit with bad guys and her uterus tryin to kill her at the same time,, cramps be punchin worse than a fist but Ladybug still kickin and flippin,, savin lives like nobody’s business,,, shit man I salute her mad respect,,,,