way to class

MariChat Fic Rec 2017 Pt.2

It’s that time again!  (⊙‿⊙✿) –was that time, but! ten more, here ya go~

<<Day 1-10

Day 11 - Age-up Marinette

Day 12 - Sleepover

Day 13 - SIN

Day 14 - Age-up Chat Noir

Day 15 - Something Sweet

Day 16 - Flowers

Day 17 - Balcony Visits

Day 18 - Rejection

Day 19 - Identity reveal

Day 20 - Night on the Town

Thank you again writers and readers alike!

I feel like I missed a few, message me if the link’s wonky, or to add a fic.


I woke early, sauntered to the latrine.
From sleep, a few strange tunes in my head, ba ba ba, I did not know them.
One, it might have been I was remembering a windchime,
the other, its doppelganger, almost–an exquisite reedy timbre, some bassoon concierto (from the radio {?})
I strummed my thumb on my thigh, relieved myself, noticed an ingrown hair, thought of you. Hummed on my way to class, it was the usual thing.

I arrived there, da da da, and there sit my professor and classmates as if in some greek frieze, models with their necks set at odd angles, you know.
Oh, you were merely sipping tea and discussing culture? Ha! Sure you were.
One lights another’s cigarette, dangling from the corner of his shocked expression. It falls out of his mouth. We all have a cathartic giggle,
I examine the lipstick on the corner of my sleeve
and erase every page in my textbook until it is a lovely shaded window,
a beam of light cut across motes of dust,
a handsome owl hoots with its chick,
la la la and so on,
now of course all this I did in my sleep, Mia, and I’m writing you so we both remember, but please, keep a secret.

being multilingual like...

What people think it’s like:

  • *speaks multiple languages fluently on command*
  • *is very sophisticated*

What it’s actually like:

  • constantly speaking to people in the wrong language
  • managing to squeeze 3 or 4 languages into one sentence without noticing
  • gradually forgetting your first and second language, while not speaking anything fluently anymore. not even your first language is safe
  • Grammar? What grammar? Which grammar??!!
  • being permanently confused
  • can’t even order bread at a Danish bakery after 2 years of language training
  • cry and curse yourself for moving somewhere where they don’t speak English or your first language. but mostly cry. and weep


726. There was one muggleborn in Hufflepuff that developed a strange habit of snatching food from the hands of Gryffindor students. When they were finally confronted about this behavior they simply said "Honey badgers have been known to steal food from lions. Honey badger doesn't give a shit it just takes what it wants." They then proceeded to snatch a pastry from the hand of a prefect and walk away.

submitted by 1000gallonsofgaming

Accurate god tier class analysis
  • Knight: Hero complex to the moon and back.
  • Page: Doofuses who don't realise they're doofuses.
  • Seer: Try telling them that they're wrong. I dare you.
  • Prince: Walking disaster and arrogant as hell.
  • Maid: They'll devote themselves to helping you in any way that they can. Until you get on their bad side. Then prepare to be bombarded with four tanks, an army of gnomes, a flower, and lots and lots of fire.
  • Heir: You kinda want to protect them. You don't for the life of you know why.
  • Sylph: If you're still alive, they've decided they like you. And you probably don't even realise they have a vengeful side. It's because they like you.
  • Mage: Highly skilled in avoiding people and pretending that's not what they're doing.
  • Witch: Are they fully sane? Probably not. Do you like them anyway? Pretty much.
  • Thief: Assholes with talent.
  • Rogue: Good at dealing with assholes with talent.
  • Bard: I don't even know man. Let bards be bards and everyone else get the hell away.

high school !!!!!


Eleanor: Magilou! PDA isn’t allowed at school!
Magilou: Now now, Ms. Secretary. If you’re jealous, you’re always welcome to join!
Velvet: [longest sigh ever.mp3]

self care is eating an entire tube of Pillsbury Original Crescent Roll™ dough raw while driving in the pouring rain with your windows down


Barcelona, I want to hear you sing this song with me. Muy loud. Very loud. Here we go. It’s called Brother.