#MusicFrenDoesWords

[musicfren]

Hey y’all! Here’s a preview of the piece I wrote, The Road Ahead, for the @ashpikazine ! And if you know anything about me I dunno, do any of you? its gonna have some grumpy babies in it >:D Be sure to check out the zine and the free digital PDF that’s gonna be dropping April 1st!

#zine promo #pokemon #music fren does words #musicfrendoeswords

[musicfren]

What was going on with this boy?

...wow I was not expecting to write this much for this prompt, but I think I really like the direction it went in. I had massive technical difficulties making this post because tumblr is mean (dun ban me i’m sawy), and @nottesilhouette has literally saved my life and non-existent bacon, and also helped write this a lot cause she super cool and awesome. Anyway happy @felinettenovember y’all!

“May I interest you in some popcorn?”

Marinette squinted at the lanky, smartly-dressed boy before her with the air of a market-goer trying to determine if the merchant is going to rip her off.

“I, um… sure?”

Felix gave a stiff nod that she was pretty sure had a “yes, ma’am” implied in it, and marched away to the kitchen. Marinette settled into the very expensive couch with a sigh and fixed her attention on the TV. She could not for the life of her figure this boy out.

This was the third time Felix had invited her over to his house (mansion might be a more accurate term), and each time he had been so politely, unfailingly impersonal she had wanted to scream. He had provided her a vast array of movies and activities, each of which he’d performed in efficient, stoic silence. He had offered her every kind of h’orderve imaginable. He had even volunteered to hang up her coat. Not once had he begun even the tiniest of conversations with her. He was like a robot butler, always at her shoulder with whatever she needed, never displaying the slightest trace of humanity, shoulders stiff, straight backed, stoic beyond belief. She honestly could not decide if he was asking her on a date or trying to sell her a catering service.

Felix returned after some time with an enormous silver bowl of popcorn, which he set gently on the coffee table before her before taking his seat (3 feet away from her) on the couch.

“I have prepared several varieties of popcorn,” he proclaimed, “so that you can be sure to have one that is to your liking.”

Marinette stared at the bowl before her, expertly arranged with an artisanal spread of popcorn, caramel corn, and candy puffs. She was really starting to wonder what this boy was trying to sell her.

“Um… that’s very sweet of you Felix, thank you.”

She looked over at him and caught him stifling a yawn. Her temper started to flare. What was he doing here if he was so bored by her? He was the one who invited her here! But as she opened her mouth to speak she noticed the bags under his eyes, the exhausted slump to his shoulders that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide. This boy looked like he had not slept in three days. Concerned, she reached out to him.

“Are… are you okay? You look totally spent”

Felix put his yawn away like a Gameboy after recess. “I’m fine!”

Suuuuuure you are, Marinette thought, but didn’t press the issue. She wasn’t sure if Felix would be comfortable with it. She wasn’t sure of anything to do with him, to be honest. Still, she shifted a few concerned millimeters closer to him.

“Let’s just start the movie.”

Felix had picked one of his old black-and-white samurai movies that he so loved (or… what Marinette assumed was love, compared to his usual intense disinterest). It was grim and bloody, full of vengeance and honor and serious men doing serious things. There were no subtitles because Felix spoke Japanese fluently, and had not bothered to acquire a version suitable for guests. Marinette was bored out of her mind. Why had she agreed to this? If she made it out of here with her brains intact she resolved never to agree to a movie date again.

She was just starting to consider falling asleep right there on the couch when she glanced over and noticed that she was not the only one. Felix’s eyes were fluttering, sinking, his breath growing slow and deep. Within moments his head was lolling to one side, and she swore she could hear a snore over the sound of clashing blades and proclamations of vengeance. He was sliding sideways, and Marinette let out an involuntary yelp as his lanky frame landed against her shoulder. Felix gave a small sleepy murmur and drifted off, leaving her awkwardly supporting him with her head.

“Felix!” she hissed, but he did not stir. He was passed out cold. His weight was starting to become too much to bear, yanking painfully on the muscles in her shoulders and neck, so she gingerly began pushing him upright. Then, on a whim, she let him slide down further until his head was in her lap. He let out a confused murmur and stirred in his sleep, putting his legs into a curl and tucking his hands under his head. Marinette gazed down at him, amusement and confusion in equal measure. What was going on with this boy? He hadn’t let his mask of rigid decorum slip once in all the time she’d known him, but here he was, curled up in her lap like a kitten. He was… pretty cute, honestly, with his short blond hair hanging off the edge of her leg. Instinctively, she reached down to run her fingers through it but stopped herself immediately, blushing and looking around as if someone might have caught her. No one but the oh-so-serious samurais and the darkening living room.

They sat like that for some time, the only light the flickering of the TV, the only sound but the crashing of swords and shouts of pain. Despite herself, Marinette was starting to enjoy sitting there with him in her lap. It was only after the 16th betrayal and blood-oath of revenge passed in the movie that Felix finally started to stir. He blinked and shifted where he lay, looking blearily around the room.

“Wh… whaaa?”

Then his eyes found Marinette looking down on him, and he nearly jumped off the couch.

“M… Marinette! What… why am…?”

Realization spread over his face right alongside his blush. She knew that he already knew, but she said it anyway because she knew it would make him blush more.

“You fell asleep! You seemed really tired so I just… let you rest for a while.”

“I… I shouldn’t be in your lap…” He said, trying very hard to pull his composure back together. She squinted at him.

“You… don’t seem to be trying very hard to get out of it though.”

For a moment she thought he might push her out of the way, but he simply rolled over and buried his burning red face in her tummy. A grin spread across Marinette's face, the first she’d managed all evening.

“You like it, don’t you?”

No response but a muffled grumble, and a decided lack of pulling away. She wiggled happily and gently ran her fingers through his hair, grinning, waiting patiently for him to react.

“...this is call-out culture.” 

Despite herself, Marinette let out a quiet laugh. Yes, this had turned out to be quite an… illuminating date after all.

#felinette #miraculous ladybug #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #he is just a butler #blushy #random samurai movie for no reason #not even bad #fluff #callout #MusicFrenDoesWords

[musicfren]

They’ve got a bad reputation (they’ll get a standing ovation) part 2

HI HAVE I, TOLD YOU, THAT, @nottesilhouette IS THE MOST FRIGGEN AMAZING WRITER IN THE WHOLE WORLD? God...why do we do this to ourselves, friggen 3400 word story in the span of 2 days...this is entirely exclusively my fault pay no mind  Read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all, time for slep!

...oh, dear gods, why is Felix here? The spotlight burns into his face like shame, regret bubbling up in his stomach. He doesn’t remember challenging Marinette but he has, apparently, and now everyone’s watching and he has to-- he has to-- fight. Defend himself. 

Or breathe, if he can manage it.

One seems easier than the other. Well, here goes nothing. Felix steps forward and calls engarde. 

“Ophelia did nothing but obey the men in her life!” He cries, stepping forward, gesticulating wildly. The crowd gasps, and Felix doesn’t understand why until he realizes he's still holding the sword prop, white-knuckled grip around its hilt. Marinette’s eyes go wide with surprise and Felix nearly blurts out an apology right there. But then a glint of something sharper flashes in her gaze, burning with determination and suddenly Felix isn’t feeling quite so confident. It’s too late to quail now. He steps forward and matches her, still talking. “She’s hardly enough of an independent person to qualify as a character.” 

“What would she be, then?” Marinette’s voice is steady, calm, and Felix is wildly, irrationally envious of it. He can’t work out how to make his statements come out smooth, suave like she’s managed, so he goes for the next best weapon: rage.

“She’s little more than a symbol, a prop,” he spits, and the crowd reacts appropriately. Something in his chest loosens at the idea that he’s performed correctly. Something in his heart wrenches.

Marinette sends him a snide look. “You would know. You’re a model mannequin.” 

They’re circling each other now: Felix is brash, forceful, cutting broad slashes through the air with each sweeping generalization he makes. Marinette is steady, precise, pulling apart the stitches of his defense with needle-fine precision. His pulse quickens; a glance at the audience shows she’s winning their favor. This isn’t the clever riposte and quick banter they expected, and Felix is coming across as dim-witted at best. 

“Well, what is she then? You have so many judgements, it’s time you raised an opinion of your own-- or do you have no policy but to raze mine?” Felix pushes her back, scrambling for repost. He needs to be interesting, he needs to be clever, he needs to-- turn it back onto Marinette before the crowd realizes he’s faking, that he doesn’t want to be here, that he’s… scared. 

His tongue sours at the words, and he hates himself for saying them. Marinette shoots him a glare full of challenge, and for an instant he considers conceding right there. Marinette believes so strongly in her cause, and Felix is desperate to apologize, to reconcile, to just acknowledge the points she’s making. But he’s trapped now, caught in the reputation he’s built for this audience and his own pride, and he has nowhere to go but forward. 

Or backwards, apparently, because with each point Marinette makes, crisp and concise and clear, Felix finds himself frantically retreating further and further.

“Ophelia is the only person in the play who recognizes that Hamlet needs help.” 

“That’s not true--”

She cuts him off with a slice.  “She’s the only person who notices and tries to stop him, who cares enough to call him out on his actions, to hold him accountable to the promises he made before his mad plan, to who he used to be.” 

“The entire argument is milquetoast--” He stabs desperately.

“They speak of beauty and reputation, of expectations and the way one’s actions will never outweigh the image others have of them.” 

“They speak of madness and prostitution!”

They’ve become locked in combat now, their blades darting in the scant space their words leave behind. The crowd presses forward, squeezes the stage almost to bursting. Nino presses his face to the camera lense, not wanting to miss an instant.

“The argument is framed against women but its themes are centered on Hamlet’s own realization of the position he’s found himself in. It breaks the adrenaline rush long enough to show him, in all his grief and desperation, the reality he’s constructed for himself. They speak of agency!” 

“Ophelia has none!”

“Ophelia reminds him that he does!” Marinette’s voice finally raises. “Ophelia reminds Hamlet who he is, what he has, if only for a moment. Ophelia grieves for him, for his loss: of his father, of his sanity and dignity and agency. She acknowledges that he is a liar, but remembers the man he used to be, the person he put work into being.” 

“She laments the loss of his attention, nothing more.”

“To write her statements off as such discounts the tone and the manner with which they are intended; she is returning his madman’s accusations with compassion and reason, she is the only person who has done so, who will ever do so.” 

“Why should I take her seriously when no one else does?!” It’s a mad, desperate response as he finds himself teetering at the edge of the stage, and he’s unbalanced. He swings again, unhinged. 

“None of the men in her life-- not her father, not her brother, not god himself-- take her seriously until she dies.”

“She trips into a river.” Finally, Felix is in charge of this conversation; this, Marinette cannot deny. It is his strongest point, and the only point that matters. He steadies himself, holds his sword like a shield to defend his statement. 

“Her death is not an accident. Her death is the culmination of the climax. Her death is the reason anyone stops long enough to notice how far gone Hamlet is! Her death tethers Hamlet to the person he used to be, who loved her once, who remembered what it felt like to choose what he did and who he was.” 

“That makes her nothing more than the physical manifestation and harbinger of Hamlet's descent into madness,” and Felix puts on a smirk because he knows he should. 

Felix wishes he was being honest, passionate the way Marinette is being. Felix wishes her voice didn’t seem so far away, calling from a world he remembers existing in but can’t find his way back to anymore. Felix wishes he was talking to her in a realm even close to reality instead of the mirage he’s operating in, desperate not to fall through. 

Instead, he steps forward from the edge of the stage and keeps his sword aloft. “She’s trapped in the societal confines of traditional womanhood. She’s nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right.” 

Marinette stops moving forward to meet him, drops her arm. Felix is thrilled, and sick and confused, doubly so when he notices the ferocity in her expression. It is not one of someone who has given up. It is one of someone who is about to pounce.

“You’re right, she is nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter. No one cares what she has to say. So she makes it matter. She dies, and she is finally heard. You’re right, and she’s a genius for the way she wields it like a weapon.” Marinette smirks, matching his smugness with self-assured pride, and taps his wrist with her sword. His own slips easily out of his grasp, and he trembles; with what emotion, he cannot place. “Being able to do the work of all these men in 58 lines doesn’t make her less of a character, Felix. It makes her more of one, and more power to her for what she’s able to notice that no one else will. It’s not her fault men can’t manage it.”

 Felix finally snaps. “My sense is not less than yours!”

Marinette pauses, and very very slowly, grins. It’s terrifying, predatorial. She rakes her gaze down his body, and he shivers. “I had thought to agree but this battle of wits has proven very much so the opposite. When she blows him a kiss and winks, Felix collapses where he stands. 

It’s over. The tension the assembled students have been holding in their collective lungs for the last five minutes erupts into cheers and thunderous applause.

“Bravo, bravo.” says Nino, pushing through the crowd, most of whom are still frantically scribbling in their notebooks. Felix can scarcely bring himself to look up, his face burning with humiliation. The room around him is rapidly becoming a confusing blur of angry lights and prying eyes.

“You guys were amazing, I’ve never seen anything like that before! Honestly I should turn this in just like that.” Nino moves around to get a few more shots of their faces, lit up under the harsh theatre lights.

“No way!” shouts someone from the crowd, “I’m turning it in first!” “--can’t believe how easily Marinette just eviscerated Felix! I thought he was good at literature but--” “--she’s so clever, he could barely keep up--”  “--he’s not very good at this, is he--”

Someone else laughs and soon the whole crowd is bickering, arguing over who will lay claim to Marinette’s mental prowess and Felix’s mortification. 

“Enough, ALL of you! That was completely uncalled for. This wasn’t for you to take advantage of. None of you-- none of you-- bothered to state your own position, your own opinion. All you did was encourage my attacks, which were honestly in poor form.” Marinette hardly stops to breathe. “And anyways, I’m only more coherent because I’ve done weeks of research on this character. Felix kept up to someone who wasn’t just thinking on her feet, and his points still had credibility-- do you know how many literary analyses I’ve read on his position just to try and work out how to defend mine?” Marinette leans over and offers Felix a gentle smile and an outstretched hand. He gratefully accepts.

Felix takes her hand and pulls himself up with it, and stands shoulder to shoulder with her, looking out at the sea of chastised faces. “And now you think you can turn in our work-- her work, really-- and our performance as your own as if you have any claim to it-- it’s disgusting. Marinette poured herself into caring about this, and… and I should’ve listened to her, but I don’t get to take credit for the work she’s done to be this person. I need to do the work myself. You’re manipulators and thieves if you think you deserve any part of what she’s done.” 

“Hey, everyone is manipulated by something. Hamlet, Claudius, Horaito… you would know, right?” Marinette looks at him again, soft and shy and concerned through her lashes.

Felix swallows hard, glances at the cameras still rolling. Yeah, he would know.

“Thank you.” He says, stumbling and trying to hide the way his legs are shaking. “I, um… I guess I’d better put these swords away before someone stabs themselves.”

Nino slaps a hand on his shoulder so hard he nearly falls back down again. “Felix, my man! Get that grumpy black uniform off you!”

“Um… what?” Felix turns in confusion, head still spinning.

“You, my friend, are stage-hand no more! We’re still missing a Hamlet, and I know I’ve found the perfect one right here!”

“...WHAT?!?” 

As the world around him starts to blur, Marinette slips her hand into his and squeezes, shooting him a fond, amused grin. “You’re going to do great, Felix. I’ll see you on stage.” She presses her lips to his cheek, soft, warm, and… the scene fades to black to the sound of cheering.

#felinette #battle of wits #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #MusicFrenDoesWords #aaaaaaaa #nottesilhouette is just hamelton #but a good person

[musicfren]

to be heard

There are so many hopes that exist in one heart, so many expectations that pull them apart, so many people they’re desperate to be, so many voices they’ll never flee. They’re shrouded in secrets they can’t quite explain, but if there’s a person where they can abstain, avoid the disdain, inane, insane, and find a way to be human again, then they’ll take it with both hands outstretched, and hold on before they find themselves wrecked.

We really were gonna not to a colab this time! We weren’t! Oops  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This is a companion piece with to be seen, for which @nottesilhouette wrote far too many words for and I am so so sorry. Also she’s amazing and I love her <3 Happy @felinettenovember y’all!

Showcase night is finally here. Felix’s fingers dig into the strings of his exorbitantly expensive violin like a drowning man grasping at shore. He is prepared of course; he’s done scarcely anything else for the last month. He knows every twist, every wrinkle, every potential hiccup of his piece, and has ironed it all so flat it barely has any texture at all. There is nothing left to criticize, which is precisely as it should be. Maybe this one will be good enough.

Felix’s parents will hear about his project for the first time tonight, maybe think about it at all for the first time. That’s how they tend to approach his projects, from behind a well-stocked fortress of disregard. They can always pay the attention back afterwards, if it turned out to be worthwhile. Given such a small window to make an impression, he damned well better make sure it’s good. He wants a return on his investment, just this once. 

As he steps out onto the stage, into the burning, blinding heat of the spotlight, Felix gives himself ten whole seconds to panic. He is allowed this much at least, in the few moments left before the doors open and the showcase begins. He stares blankly out at his classmates --amatures all-- who have already set up at their stations, gluing the last foil stars onto their posters or whatever it is they’re doing. His white-knuckled fingers, almost translucent in the harsh glare, clutch his instrument so tight it might snap. He will be better than them. He will stand out. 

When those doors open and they see him for the first time, everything will be perfect, calm, effortless. It will all pretend, of course, but that’s for the best. No one needs to bother with his real, trembling self.

Then the parents flood into the room, and chaos ensues. 

The showcase passes in a blur as he waits for his turn on stage. Everything is irrelevant noise, everything is distracting. He tries desperately to keep his focus but he can’t help staring at the girl, Marinette, presenting with a veritable seraglio of models and mannequins standing behind her in silent support. She seems so sure of herself, so unconcerned by the dozens of hungry eyes on her. Well, if a second-rate like her can pull it off, maybe he can as well.

And then all at once it’s his turn. He hopes these notes won’t flow from his fingers like ketchup from a bottle: awkwardly and in sudden spurts, making a big mess and staining his clothes with blood and shame. 

It goes so much worse than he expected. He is nanoseconds too late on his transitions, millimeters imprecise in his fingering. Once, he almost plays an emotion. 

When it’s done, he doesn’t even wait for the applause, just turns to his right and strides off stage. He needs to find his parents.

“Oh, we could hear it well enough from over here,” says his father, who has spent the entire performance by the snack table.

“I wrote this piece specifically for you. I thought you’d... appreciate it. I was hoping you’d get to hear it tonight.” 

“Oh, how lovely.” His father takes another sip of his martini. Felix shuffles uncomfortably before him. His mother offers a wan, thin-lipped grin. 

“What did you… think of it?”

“Well, it was certainly very clear it was written by you.” For a moment, Felix is hopeful-- did they understand it? Has he finally managed to be heard, under all of the pretense? Have they managed to care? “The... childlike quality of the melody was very prevalent, but you played it rather stiff.” Another careless sip. 

His mother cuts in. “I’ve never been a big fan of that trill thing you do, it always feels so pretentious. Still, I suppose it marks your… creation… as your own, so that’s quite the effect, certainly.”

His fingers are white on the strings and his teeth are slowly grinding themselves into a fine powder. At long last he chokes out a reply.

“Th… thank you for your feedback.” 

His father munches on an olive. “Glad we could help.”

He makes his exit before his façade can crack. The crowd of excited, babbling parents flows around him in a blur as he flees into the auditorium. He doesn’t know where he’s going but eventually the sound of the last presentation still going reaches his ears. He shoves through the throng and finds Marinette, as calm as before, still jabbering on to the sycophantic oohs and aahs of the crowd. As Felix listens, a thick sludge of resentment starts to fill up his stomach. Her presentation is talentless, amateur, and yet somehow she is loved and admired. As the final cycle ends, he strides forward.

“How quaint of you.” 

Marinette doesn’t bother to turn around. “Thank you. I liked yours a lot, Felix.” 

Felix’s fingers whiten further against the violin still gripped in his hand. Her words are dull, generic, pulled out of a convenient box of well-worn phrases. How like his parents. Well, here’s someone he can speak his mind to.

“No, you didn’t. You have no appreciation for true art. You think this is art? This is derivative. This is… this is nothing more than a false pretense of an understanding you don’t have in a failed effort to curry favor with someone who is never going to notice you.” 

Goodness, it feels good to say it. He stands there, breathing heavily in the ensuing silence. But then, she knocks him clean off his high horse.

“I liked the way your composition sounded in the rehearsal room.”

Felix’s already spinning world spins ever faster. “What.” 

“I’ve spent most of class time sitting outside the rehearsal room you always choose-- you’re very predictable, Felix-- and sketching there. That’s what my designs are based on: that mournful, hopeful, determined, resigned haunting tune that you practiced day by painstaking day. That’s how I imagine the heroes feel. I can understand how you’d know that. I do too.”  

He tries to argue, to push back against her words, but they have already sunk well past his mask. Yes, this has the ring of truth. Never in his life has Felt this understood. Why did it have to be by this girl, of all people?

“I wish you had played it like that today.” She says, and he finds he wishes that too.

She’s a lot like him, he thinks. All they ever wanted was to be known. Maybe they can do that for each other.

“I wish you would’ve worn these yourself.”

#felinette #felinette month 2020 #felinette november #pretentious #both the prompt and the story :P #MusicFrenDoesWords

[musicfren]

Love Stinks

Gosh, this prompt is very rude just giving me the most correct title for it right in the name! Let me make up my own titles :P @nottesilhouette definitely had absolutely no interest in this prompt until I made her do it, so i’m really grateful to her for putting up with my nonsense <3 Have a good @felinettenovember y’all!

 Felix could not stand the smell of camembert. It had been his father's cheese of choice, a rancid symbol of everything stuffy, stuck-up and aloof that he represented. The universe had a cruel sense of humor however, and had decided to saddle him with the one ancient cat spirit in the whole world who could not get enough of it. To feed Plagg’s insatiable appetite, Felix needed an almost constant supply of the stuff. He had back-up stashes for his back-up stashes. He kept handfuls of the stinking cheese in his pockets wherever he went. When he fell asleep at night, his last sensation before merciful darkness swallowed him was the lingering aftertaste of that accursed camembert.

It should hardly have been a surprise then, when Marinette took notice. She already seemed to know every single thing about him, things he was barely even aware of himself. It was a good thing they loved each other. It scared him sometimes, the way she could just pick apart the tiny scraps of information on his surface and reconstruct the deepest parts of himself to examine. So of course, she had noticed the smell. Worse still, she had taken note of it.

She made her move with an excited wiggle over lunch one afternoon as they sat beneath the maple trees a few blocks from her house.

“Hey, Feeeeeeeelix?” She asked, a self-satisfied grin spreading across her features.

Felix looked up from his incredibly bland salad. “Yes?”

“I got a present for you! I’m really proud of it, I think you’ll really like it.”

She reached into her bag and, with a flourish, pulled out a delicately wrapped package. Inside, perfectly powdered and shaped with such loving care, was a camembert danish.

“I...” Felix looked down at the pastry before him and clamped down on his gag reflex so hard it nearly broke. Dear god, not here. Not now. Don’t let her notice. Don't...

Mistaking the source of his speechlessness, Marinette reached over and took his hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I’ve been trying to find something you liked that I could put in a pastry for so long! I really wanted to make something special for you!”

Felix looked into her bright, expectant, wonderful eyes, and realized there was no way out of this. He would gladly choose death over disappointing her, and this was only slightly worse.

“Thank you! How… how did you know it was my favorite?” 

From that point on, Marinette decided to personally see to it that Felix was never without camembert. She would find times to give him small treats of it between classes, slip a pastry into his lunch bag when he wasn’t looking, prepare him an extra special dessert when he was feeling down. She liked to watch him eat it too, looking at him so hopefully expectant until he took the first bite and told her how much he liked it. Felix’s life revolved around camembert. Everything he owned smelled of it. Any leftovers were quietly fed to the ravenous Plagg, who had never been so happy in his entire existence.

“Well I’m not normally one for romance, but I must say this love of yours is paying off wonderfully!”

Felix had thrown one of his eight camembert muffins at him then, which had only made the irritating cat sprite cackle louder.

Then, after nearly two cheese-scented weeks, Felix made a revelation. They were sitting together eating lunch under the same maple trees where this ordeal had all started, when Marinette spoke up.

“You know I’m… really glad you like camembert actually,” she said, contemplatively turning over her half a muffin. Felix, who was mid-way through forcing down the other half of said muffin, stopped to give her a quizzical “huh?” 

“I just… no one else seems to like it.” She continued “I used to make these pastries for myself all the time, and I could never share them with my parents.”

She chuckled a bit at the memory. “They have to buy this stuff just for me! No one else in my family eats it. It’s… nice to have someone to share it with.”

Felix was silent, but the beginnings of a thought were growing about his mind. Marinette had been trying so hard to do something good for him, and he wished so bad there was something he could do in return. Maybe there was something he could do.

Felix was not a very good chef, but Marinette had shown him a few recipes, and he had determination on his side. He worked through the night, pounding and cajoling the unwilling ingredients as Plagg darted about his shoulders. By the morning Felix was a baggy-eyed mess, but his work was complete. He invited her over that evening.

“I’ve um… really appreciated all the pastries you made for me.” Felix started awkwardly, as Marinette tried to peek around him to see what this was all about. “And I thought I could make something for you. With our… mutual favorite ingredient.”

With a stiff flourish, he revealed his creation: A towering camembert cake. Every inch of it was deliciously coated in rancid cheese, lovingly crafted across dozens of sleepless, nose-pinched hours. Marinette was beside herself.

“Oh, Felix! You shouldn’t have.”

As the two of them, Felix almost managing to match her enthusiasm, set to work on the cake, Plagg watched sullenly from a corner. All of Felix’s camembert had gone into this cake. Every stash and back-up stash had been emptied to fuel the fires of love, and Plagg knew he would not be eating for at least a week.

“Man,” he grumbled, “love stinks!”

#love stinks #felinette #felinette month 2020 #felinette november #he will not say no #MusicFrenDoesWords

[musicfren]

Without Incident

@nottesilhouette is wonderful and also wrote at least 2 very good things in this document. Happy @felinettenovember y’all!

“Felix, you have to eat something!”

Felix hissed and writhed in his blanket with such violence that he nearly toppled his stool over. Marinette rushed over to steady his chair, but he was already on the floor, squirming in the blanket that encased him from head to toe.

“Dun… wanna… FOOD!”

With a sigh born of carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, Marinette stooped down to pick up the Felix burrito. The Felix burrito was not pleased with this turn of events.

“No! No no no food!”

Marinette plopped him back in his chair with a thump that was admittedly a little harder than necessary, and returned to fussing about the kitchen.

“Felix, I got this cereal just for you! It’s your favorite! Enough sugar to keep an entire litter of cats doing cartwheels for a week!”

Felix stared glumly down at the bowl before him. There were still puddles of milk from the last time his thrashing had upturned the bowl.

“Do I gotta? Really really gotta?”

Marinette let out another sigh, heavy enough to crush a car, and sat herself on the table in front of him.

“Right now you’re grumpy. You gotta eat so you can feel better,” she explained with the bearing of a kindergarten teacher who’s explained handwashing one too many times. 

This set off another chain of writhing that very nearly upended the entire table. Marinette grabbed Felix by the blanket and pulled so she was eye to eye with him. The writhing stilled a little as he looked up at her. His mouth hung open a little as he tried to avoid her gaze.

“Please?” She said, and gave him a small hopeful smile and wide puppy-dog eyes that could shatter worlds-- or his, at least.

The only sound out of Felix’s mouth was a quiet burbling but after a few seconds he managed to wordlessly nod. Marinette gave him a small scritch on the top of his head.

“Good kitty!”

Needless to say, the milk puddles were quickly cleaned up without incident afterwards. 

#felinette month 2020 #felinette november #felinette #absolute trash #no redeeming value #I have wrought this #crack #he is just a baby #purrito #ARFID #good kitty #MusicFrenDoesWords

[musicfren]

tend hearts to bloom (our folly exhumed) part 2

Everything takes time to grow. Some good things take so much longer than you could have ever thought possible, and the best things might never grow at all. All you can do is tend to your garden. Part 2 is HERE y’all. Me and @nottesilhouette have finished part two of our hyper-extended flower metaphor saga :P You can read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all! May this post last you a lot longer than 3 days <3

Felix lives in a state of “too cool”: too cool to be friends with the kids at school, too cool to be friends with the teachers and faculty, too cold to be friends with anyone at all. So he’s the last to realize when a new trend finds its feverish way across the school in whispers and muffled laughter behind lockers. Normally, he wouldn’t care-- schoolyard trends are little more than the transient, ephemeral whims of children drifting on the winds of their judgement, but there’s something about the ink that peeks through the sleeves of Kim’s shirt that demands his attention. 

“What is that?” 

“...are you checking out my muscles, bro?” Kim is genuinely baffled, not a trace of judgement in his tone but clearly trying to slot the puzzle pieces together as to when Felix became someone who cared about brawn, either in himself or anyone else. Still, Kim is nothing if not kind, so he flexes in Felix’s direction to give him a better look. 

His sleeves ride up when he does, and Felix brushes his arm over the bulge of Kim’s forearm, which probably doesn’t help the confusion. But the ink is irresistible to Felix. It’s familiar and gorgeous, sharp clean lines on Kim’s skin, and so glossy Felix worries it might smudge. It doesn’t. 

There on Kim’s wrist, perfectly framed by his bulging veins, is a comically cute grey dumbbell, and a doodled little snapdragon curled around the handle of the weights. 

“Oh, dude, did you mean my tattoo?” Kim is clearly relieved that his perception of Felix can remain intact, and helpfully flexes a little more. This is a much more reasonable thing for someone like Felix to find attractive. “Yeah, I finally caved and got it done, I wasn’t really sure what to get, y’know? I didn’t want to show up there like an idiot with no idea what to say or ask for, but Max told me that she was really good about just listening to you talk about what you liked and working with you to get something nice done. I like Max a lot,” he shares conspiratorially. 

Felix nods, as if this makes sense, and wanders away. Show up where? Get what done? Clearly someone was drawing this on Kim. There’s no way he could’ve done it himself; it was on his right wrist and Kim is right handed, but… Felix needed to know. He just didn’t know what to ask, or whether he should ask at all. 

But Felix knows how to hold his tongue, how to say the right things and keep himself safe, so he waits three days before ending up in a partner project with Max. Not by design, he plans to insist to anyone asking. No one asks. 

They’re listing their skills to decide who’ll take which piece of the project when Felix makes his move. “And you draw, too, right?” 

“No?” Max looks flummoxed, and Felix panics immediately. 

“Oh, well… I just… you had… Kim-told-me-you-drew-a-dumbbell-for-him!” He rushes the sentence out all in one breath, and Max looks more startled at his explanation than anything else, which sends Felix spiraling even more. 

But Max just takes a moment (a way too long moment) to process, and then laughs. “Is that what Kim said? He must’ve explained poorly. Nah, he got it the same place I got this.” And then Max is unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it up enough to show off the robot brushed over his abdomen, adorned with a cheerful amaryllis where its heart would be. 

“Where… um, where did you get it?” 

“Oh, art room after school! I’m surprised you haven’t seen the line out the door yet, it reaches well past the auditorium and I know you like to practice violin there after school. So, the project?” 

Max is too focused on the work to answer anything else after that, and Felix is too afraid to try. But he does know that Alya spends ages in the art room writing up articles for her blog as she waits on Marinette. 

He doesn’t get a chance to ask Alya anything, though, because Chloe derails the rest of class bragging about the shopping bags on her bicep and thoroughly avoiding the subject of the creator. Each one of them has an orange lily stamped on it in bold color, and Felix snorts. Fitting, though he’d never say it. Beautiful hatred is the modus operandi that Chloe exists on. 

The day after that, he waits until Nino is busy getting lunch to corner her at a lunch table. 

“Cool drawing, Alya.” Compliments are good, right? Compliments help people get what they want. And Felix wants, needs to know what this is, because there’s something so familiar, important, the way they’re tagged, and he would know it if he just had one hint, the right clue to fit into this picture-- 

“Thanks! My girl’s talented, don’tcha think? I love the way she let me match Nino.” She tugs down her collar to show off headphones slashed through with a pencil, and the ball of a group of sycamore flowers dangling off the end of the eraser like a pom pom. 

Felix bluescreens. No, no, that’s wrong. That’s not what he’d glimpsed on Nino’s neck, and Alya said they matched, something is wrong.

“Why is that flower there?” 

Alya laughs. “Well, every designer’s gotta have her tag, right? She’s a real tattoo artist, tags every piece with a flower she chooses out of nowhere. No one can work out what the pattern is, even when we cross referenced traditional flower meanings, but they’re always gorgeous and fit in so well-- have you seen Juleka’s? You’d hardly even notice, it’s so punk rock.” 

Nino’s making his way back and there’s no sycamore pom pom on his pencil, just an aster on the ear of the headphones, and Felix’s mind is whirring too fast to follow but Alya is walking away and the clues are slipping away like sand between his fingers and gripping harder only makes them slip away faster and--

“That’s the wrong flower.” 

“What?” Nino startles, absolutely taken aback at this out-of-character greeting. He’s used to Felix being curt, speaking out of context, but this is beyond even Nino’s ability to nod through. 

“It should be a marigold, right? Creative, passionate, absolutely driven by your art and the things you love, that’s who you are, why is it an aster?”

“...what??”

Felix can do little more than point. “Alya: sycamore, curious, journalistic drive, asking questions and doing everything she can to know a person so she can take care of them. Max: amaryllis, determined and focused on the work he builds and proud of it when it works because he has every right to be. Kim: snapdragon, strong and gracious and so, so, so protective, because that’s who he is so why is yours an aster?!”

“He deserves to know he’s clever, even if he doesn’t feel it.” 

Felix whirls around, and Marinette is standing there clutching her bag to her chest, trembling, but glaring at him from half a foot shorter than where he stands. She’s so strong. She’s so strong, and Felix wonders if she kept marigold for herself. She deserves to, if she wanted it. 

Maybe it shows on his face, what he’s thinking, or maybe she’s just always been the kindest person he was ever dumb enough to let go, because her gaze softens, hurt and hopeful in equal, anxious measure. “You remembered.” 

“...you made it hard to forget.” The way her face crumples confirms that yep, nope, Felix is an idiot. He scrambles to fix it, take it back, get it right this time no matter who’s watching. “No, no!! Like… unforgettable.” His voice is breathy on that last word, nostalgic for a childhood they barely shared, and it’s wrong and someone’s going to make fun of it but right now just for a second he doesn’t care. 

“...oh.”

What people really do make fun of him for is the way he ends up apologizing, for hours, sobbing into her blazer and wiping tears from her cheeks, and still not walking into school with her art on his skin, and Felix doesn’t correct them. 

He was right: there’s a marigold inked over her heart like a treasure. 

There’s a butterfly inked over his, now, landing on the petals of a geranium, and they’ve talked about now. Butterflies, first of all, can live for years, so that wasn’t even true, and friendships… friendships are like flowers. They take root and they grow, and when the sun hits right their seeds will burst into petal and stem and exist, persist, against every odd and obstacle. 

She has no idea how apt that butterfly is. Felix brushes his fingers over a brooch barely visible behind his tie, and feels hope blooming in his chest for the first time in years. 

This time, he knows how fragile it is. This time, he vows, he’ll keep the sunlight on it, patch the soil around its roots with fertilizer and keep it safe. This time… he’ll love her the way she deserves to be, the way she wants to be loved, the way he knows he’s allowed to.

#felinete #felinette november #felinette november 2020 #felinette month 2020 #felintte month #miraculous ladybug #PV felix #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #tattoo artist #sneeky sneeky akuma reference #agressive flower metaphors #MusicFrenDoesWords

[musicfren]

amidst the wreckage

@nottesilhouette is writing an AMAZING 6 part story right now! She doin real good serious stuff y’all! You could be reading that! Or...you could read my ridiculous crack fic about Chat Noir bein dumb. Either or, really :P you should read both plz. Happy @felinettenovember y’all!

Ladybug does not have time for this. Paris does not have time for this.

“CHAT!”

The carefree cat bobs up and down on the seesaw, tail swaying in the shockwave from the collapsing building.

“Come on, my Lady! Get on the other end!”

He jabs at the other seat with an outstretched toe. In the distance, a child screams.

“We have to stop the akuma!” Ladybug’s fingers are twitching, tapping a jagged pattern of worry into her wrist as she mentally counts down the seconds until she has to detransform. “Can’t you just… do something?”

The playground is deserted, all the kids having mercifully been shuffled away before the buildings started falling. Ladybug had made sure of it. She was careful. She always is. Chat on the other hand...

“You’re no fun!” He pouts, letting his tail droop in mock dismay. Ladybug scrunches her eyes shut, taking two seconds to exhale the headache from her skull. When she opens them, she yelps in shock.

“Chat, move! Now!”

“Okay, okay, just one more swing and then-- mmph!” Chat Noir lets out a squeak as Ladybug yanks him off his perch. A moment later the crash of a collapsing windowpane resounds across the playground, smashing into the space where Chat had been and shattering into a million tiny shards. Chat Noir slams into the pavement, his breath lost somewhere amidst the wreckage of glass and metal.

“What… was…” Gasping for breath, Chat looks up to find Ladybug on top of him, red mask pressed against his. His eyes go wide in awe and terror as he realizes she’s probably just saved his life. She’s panting hard, every breath pressing into him.

“I told you to move!” She pushes herself upright, still sitting on his chest, and shakes the dust from her hair. “Two more seconds and you would have been toast!”

“You… you did…” Chat finds his normal bravado gone, lost wherever his breath went. “I… I’m sorry, I’ll help now…” He sends one last, forlorn glance towards the now-broken seesaw, then pulls his focus to her. 

But he’s interrupted by the sound of her earring, beeping quietly amidst the sirens and the shrieks.

She lets out a small resigned sigh. “I… I have to go.” But she misses nothing, including the wistfulness in his gaze, and promises this: “We’ll play later, Chat, okay? Tonight, during patrol. Just… lets finish this first.” Ladybug tosses him the lucky charm, some obscure object he’s not even sure he recognizes.

Chat pushes himself up desperately. “Wait!!! What...”

But she’s already gone, swinging away into the smoke. He gazes glumly at the shattered remains of the seesaw, wishing he could  return to being just a child once more, or for the first time, maybe.

“...am I supposed to do with this?”

#felinette #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #felinette november 2020 #felinette month #musicfrendoeswords #miraculous ladybug

[musicfren]

This single day

This morning, @nottesilhouette decided to unload on me the most exquisite, perfect, breathtakingly heartbreakingly beautiful plot idea I have ever seen for this prompt, and then I had to work out how to write something myself in the aftermath :P I think she’s inspired me cause I like this one a lot and I like her a lot so they match <3. Happy @felinettenovember y’all. Go find yourselves one day to be happy. You deserve this <3

It had been Chat’s idea, because of course Ladybug would never suggest something so downright irresponsible. She had agreed to it, though. In truth, she was exhausted, battered, and being the responsible one was starting to wear on her. Maybe some shenanigans would do them good. After all, they had already saved Paris nearly a dozen times that week. Maybe just this once, Paris could wait. This bug was going on a vacation.

Being with Chat Noir made it so easy to believe this was right. He had a casual self-assurance about him that calmed her, convinced her that maybe it was okay to put down the heavy mantle for a few seconds. The heavy weight of duty never seemed to hamper his spry shoulders.

“Come oooon,” he’d said one evening, as they leaped across the city, their city, like they were the highest points in the whole world, just two specs of dust drifting across an endless sky. “You’ve given them so much. I can see how much it’s dragging you down. You deserve this.”

She envied Chat, the way he could just relax under his mask, like if they messed up everything would be okay the next morning. When she was with him everything felt possible. But when she was alone, standing atop the Eiffel Tower as the wind tore through the thin fabric of her costume, staring down at the city, her city, her self-confidence started to crack. What would they do without her? Who would protect them? Sometimes, standing there at the very top of Paris, she was afraid to close her eyes for fear of what might happen to it when she wasn’t looking.

Even though she’d agreed to Chat’s idea, it had taken her almost a month of preparation before she felt like she was ready for the single day off. She had worked with the police and the city council, making sure that they would be ready for every eventuality. She’d trained and drilled them for so many hours she felt like one of her teachers. Chat had helped, of course. In fact, Ladybug didn’t think she’d ever seen Chat Noir work this hard at anything in her life. There were nights when, long after she had de-transformed from exhaustion, he remained up, running late night Akuma Drills and preparing lessons for the next day. This was going to be his vacation too, but Ladybug suspected that it wasn’t for his sake he worked himself to baggy-eyed, sleep-deprived exhaustion. The thought made the small speck of confidence in her stomach curl into a warm happy ball.

They set the date for their little vacation one day before the anniversary of the first Akuma attack. It was Felix’s idea, to mark the last day either of them had had a break with their first in nearly two years. Everything was set up. New defenses had been established, new safety protocols put in place. Paris was as safe a city as it had ever been. They had both poured thousands of hours, dozens of sleepless nights into creating space for this single day. Surely, this was enough.

They got a solid half-day together before the attack happened. They went to the library together like they’d always joked about, curling up with a book together in the warm sun through the window. They’d gotten breakfast at a café. They’d visited the Eiffel Tower, from the ground this time, as citizens. It had been a good day. They’d just barely made it to the beach.

The Akuma was strong, stronger than any they had ever seen before. It was on the other side of the city, but sound travels far and they had both become well-tuned to the sound of crashes and screams. It wasn’t until the evac alarms (newly installed just last week) sounded that they realized how bad it was.

Marinette, as herself for the first time in close to two years, turned to him. Her voice was trembling “We… we have to help them.”

Felix looked at her, and the sadness in his eyes nearly swayed her. “Mari, it’s not your responsibility today. We did all this work so it wouldn’t have to be. Let’s just be happy.”

Something in Marinette snapped. “No, Felix! It is my responsibility! It always is! You get to be the carefree one, but I don’t!”

The silence hung thick between them, interrupted only by the distant wail of sirens and the Akuma’s bellowing roar.

“I… I have to go Felix,” she said, pushing to her feet and refusing to look him in the eye. “My city needs me.”

She started to turn away but Felix reached out to stop her. Lit by the red glare of the evac alarm, his face was oddly calm. “Okay, but… maybe I can go instead.”

His calm was infectious. “I… no, Felix. You can’t do this for me.”

He was smiling now, that same wicked confidence he always got when a fight was coming. She shouldn’t let him do this. She shouldn’t. She couldn’t. But she was so tired. The sand was warm and the blanket comfortable beneath her, and a small and growing part of her wanted nothing more than to sit there forever.

“Mari, do you trust me?”

She looked into his eyes and found herself reflected there: and, with a resigned sigh, realized that she did.

As the cat rushed off to save the city once more, Marinette settled back into the comfortable sand and closed her eyes. Maybe, just this once, things would be okay when she opened them again.

#felinette #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous: tales of ladybug and chat noir #life is mean #give these kids a break #time for a vacation #felix is still can't say no #I haven't forgotten #don't you worry #you deserve this #shinanigans #MusicFrenDoesWords