mistkitt: (Default)
 Originally Posted: 04/12/18

Anonymous: love square request - a lucky us missing scene or after the fact?

OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY adjahlsdkjfhasldkf

~*~

Rain.

It fell in irritable fits throughout the day. Water dripped from everything and puddled everywhere, whispered across the sky in dense gray clouds. Adrien’s eyes followed a droplet as it slid down Marinette’s window, slowed, collided with another, picked up speed, collected more.

His thoughts had gotten lost in another rainy day, more than a year past. A long email. Restless anger. A night without sleep. Haunted by the image of a brokenhearted woman, abandoned with all of her fears.

It had never gone away, that restless anger. That need to do something. That overpowering desire to reach back in time and pull that woman out of the ruins of her confidence and into his arms.

His gaze shifted to Marinette, who stood in her small bedroom coaxing Tikki’s ball-jointed arms into a bright pink raincoat. He stepped away from the window.

Marinette smiled at him as he entered the room. “Hungry yet? I know we planned to go out but I really don’t feel like eating in wet clothes.”

Adrien took Tikki and set her down on Marinette’s desk. Then he turned back to Marinette, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

She smiled against his lips and stepped closer to him. But when he ended the kiss and looked into her eyes, her smile faded. “What is it?” she asked.

What indeed? How could he tell her that he was filled with the aching need to make her stop hurting? How did he articulate the desire to kiss away tears she’d shed long before they’d ever met?

He kissed her again. Pulled her hair loose from its ponytail. Lowered a hand to her waist and caressed the skin beneath her shirt with his thumb. He poured love into every touch, love enough to right the wrongs committed against her. Love enough to leave her breathless and asking for more.

An hour passed, and Marinette lay in his arms, pressing feather-light kisses to his chest. He wound a strand of her hair around his finger. Outside, the rain continued to fall.

“Ladybug?”

“Mmm?”

“I want to make you happy. Every single day.” He lowered his chin and kissed her forehead.

Marinette smiled wide. “Silly kitty,” she whispered, “you already do.”

mistkitt: (Default)
 Originally Posted: 03/06/17

Today, a Lucky Us drabble… about Chloe.

~*~

She doesn’t hate him.

~

Things have never come easily for her. Not happiness—her spoiled upbringing saw to that; not trust—she’s a politician’s daughter, after all; and certainly not love—an experience that fundamentally involves happiness and trust.

So she was screwed, one way or another.

And then she got sick.

~

It seems she’s always losing things before she has a chance to experience them.

Her mother. Her happiness. Her trust. Her ability to have children.

She figures, what does it matter if her life is among those things?

What does it matter if he is among those things?

~

She doesn’t hate him.

But she’ll be damned if she ever lets him think well of her.

~

Because the way she sees it, she’s a walking corpse. Death haunts her every waking thought. She spends unhealthy amounts of time in the Catacombs and walking through graveyards.

(He saw her in a graveyard, once. Stared at her from the other side of the fence. The living side.)

And the dead have no right to impose themselves upon the living.

~

He’s much too alive, she thinks, to spend his time putting her together.

He’s much too alive to experience the fear of losing her (she still hasn’t forgiven herself for putting Adrien through that).

She wants to hate him for being the kind of guy who would go to the trouble.

~

She doesn’t hate him.

She hates the reporter.

Loathes her for being so beautiful, so interesting, so alive.

But the dead have no right to impose themselves upon the living.

~

So she tells the reporter everything she doesn’t hate about him and watches him drift just out of her reach.

Then she steps onto the dance floor because damn it, she may be a walking corpse

but his music makes her feel so alive.

mistkitt: (Default)
 Originally Posted: 01/23/17

Lucky Us drabble.

~*~

Truth be told, she does not expect much

from the person that she’s been emailing all day.

She assumes that when they bid each other farewell

she will never hear from him again.

So imagine her surprise when

she wakes up the next day and finds

“Good morning, Stranger on the Internet”

in her email inbox.

(She hasn’t smiled this hard

in months.)

mistkitt: (Default)
 Originally Posted: 10/19/16

MariChat Week 2 Day 3: HalloweenFEATURINGLucky Us.

~*~

Chat Noir
Boo
Just now

Can someone tell me what the point of Halloween is? As if I don’t play enough dress up in my day to day life, now I’m stuck at a costume party.

No offense if you like it, though. It’s just not my thing.

~

Marinette yelped as a gauze-wrapped mummy bumped into her, almost causing her to drop her phone. She glared at them. “Excuse you,” she snapped, then hurried to catch up to Alya, who wore a witch’s hat and a warty nose that Marinette had customized just for her. The club’s Halloween party was in full swing, monsters and undead things of every sort dancing and drinking and flirting the night away. “How long do we have to be here again?”

Alya looped her arm through Marinette’s. “For as long as it takes you to go home with a handsome stranger.” She noticed her best friend’s sour expression and sighed. “Come on, you’ve been single for months. You can’t keep moping around in the bakery.”

“You’re right. I’ll mope around here instead,” Marinette said. But at least she wasn’t the only person having a bad time. She glanced at her phone again and considered telling Chat Noir she’d been forced to go to a costume party too. And dressed as a wraith, no less. Under her many layers of black she was starting to sweat through her clothes.

She collided with someone.

Both of them jerked backwards. “Sorry,” Marinette said, because she was the one at fault that time.

In front of her stood a tall, rogue-ish blonde in some kind of were-beast costume. Pointed black ears sat on top of his head, half his face had been expertly done in black monster makeup that made Marinette’s ball jointed doll face-ups look like crayon drawings, and rather than wear big furry gloves his hands had also been painted to look like real claws. He wore contacts with green sclera and slitted pupils, which would have been alarming anywhere outside of a costume party.

“No, I’m sorry. I was the one who ran into you,” he said.

Marinette held up a hand. She tried to; it was concealed by the long sleeves of her cloak. “Don’t worry about it. That’s a really great costume.“

The stranger’s smile revealed fake fangs. It was uncharacteristically adorable for someone so tall, dark, and handsome, and somewhat familiar, though Marinette couldn’t place it. “Thanks,” he said, “so is yours.”

Marinette excused herself and pushed her way to the crowd to Alya, who’d flagged down a bartender for drinks. “Where were you?” Alya asked.

“Oh, nowhere.”

Marinette hit reply on Chat Noir’s email. Cheer up, sourpuss. Maybe you’ll run into a cute girl.

His response came a few minutes later: Unless she’s wearing spots, I’m not interested. 

mistkitt: (Default)
 Originally Posted: 10/05/16

A while ago I wrote some back story for Lucky Us featuring Marinette and her past relationship. Today, it’s Adrien’s turn.

~*~

When he imagines her, he sees a woman standing proud, chin up, back straight, fists ready, commanding authority. He sees the girl who fought bullies for him, who picked him up off the ground and wiped his tears and gave him the last of her chocolate bar. He sees someone who would move heaven and earth to make him smile.

It’s no big secret, then, why he jokingly calls her “mom.”

~

He is not prepared for her to fall apart.

There is no protocol, no warning system, no drills to practice.

One day she is firmly fixed between him and the world, the next she is broken glass and shattered vases and ripped violet curtains and roses scattered on the floor.

He cannot bring these two images together: his knight in shining armor, and the girl who lies sobbing in his arms.

~

Who will save her?

He sits in the hospital waiting room.

Who will save her?

Her father, tense, sits across from him.

Who will be her knight in shining armor?

Both of them think, please God, don’t let me lose her, too.

~

She asks him for a favor. Anything, he says. He’d give her the world if he could.

She says she needs him to love her. He says he already does.

Yes, but not like that, she says. I want to be loved like that, before.

He refuses to think about what comes after before.

~

So he takes up her discarded armor and tries to be brave, for once in his life.

He holds her hand and takes her out because she deserves it. He tells her that she’s beautiful because she is. He says that he loves her because he does, and kisses her the way a lover would.

Then he sits in the hospital waiting room and thinks, please God, don’t let me lose her, too.

~

Inside the suit of armor he remains the same. Still frightened. Still reluctant to move.

Seeing her on the hospital bed—fragile, scared, angry—he hates himself for burdening her with his weakness. He hates himself for forcing her to wear this ridiculous suit for so long.

He vows that he will be braver. Honest. Daring. Someone she can be proud to call her friend.

He vows that she will see him truly happy, before.

(Though he still refuses to acknowledge there is something after before.)

~

Then she dumps him.

It’s not working out, she says, and smiles.

He smiles back.

And the armor falls away, and he starts to cry. 

Because for now, for now, for now, he will not lose her, too.

Space

Jun. 9th, 2018 06:32 pm
mistkitt: (Default)
Originally Posted: 08/12/16

 Back story for Lucky Us, which won’t be updated for a while due to schoolwork I can’t seem to get right.

~*~

When she thinks of him, she thinks of space.

Outer space. Solar systems. Galaxies. Asteroids. 

A vast expanse of nothing that, to the naked eye, appears full.

~

It’s the sunlight she likes best. 

She throws her arms out and spins, one full rotation. The apartment whirls past her: stainless steel kitchen, exposed brick wall, abstract art prints, a canvas set up on a tarp, television, tangerine sofa. 

But it’s the sunlight that leaves its impression. It’s the sun that gives life.

~

She thinks of space.

For example, the complete and utter lack of it on certain nights. The inches that separate them as they walk down the street. The feet between them as they work, each lost in their creative minds. The blocks when he’s home and she’s at the bakery.

For example, the way they can read each other’s minds sometimes. How they crave the same foods without mentioning it to one another. How their hearts beat in perfect sync.

It all looked so full.

~

They were a solar system, the two of them.

Orbiting a star called love.

It was love that fed her designs, love that warmed her mind and coaxed her seedlings to sprout. 

It was love towards which they grew.

~

She learned in one science class or another that things have a habit of leaving their orbits. Gravity weakens. The universe expands.

Who left first, then—him, or her?

~

Her best friend: “Him, obviously.”

But he wasn’t the one being swallowed by darkness.

~

She thinks of space.

For example, the distance from his voice to the meaning of the words he speaks. The miles that separate his gaze from hers. His body, light years away.

The vast expanse of nothing between their hearts that looked so fucking full.

~

Without light, nothing grows.

Without love, nothing grows.

She can’t bear to ask herself where all this nothing came from.

~

In the end she leaves without saying a word. 

(Because in space, no one can hear you scream.)

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