Summary: After years of relentless battles, Marinette finds herself adrift and weary in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat. By a twist of fate, she ends up in a new city, leaving behind the tangible reminders of her trauma in pursuit of a genuine fresh start. University life brings new friendships and, unexpectedly, sweeps her into a whirlwind romance with someone who understands all too well the scars left by a childhood of being forged into a weapon. Through newfound honesty and boundaries rarely granted to them before, the former child heroes slowly begin to heal; together.
Chapter 7/?
Marinette hummed a soothing melody to herself as she waited for the elevator to arrive at her floor. Nerves buzzing under her skin from how her date had ended. Not buzzing in a bad way, no, the compatibility date had gone far better than she had hoped, seeing as her expectations were to walk out of the blind date with a new friend, not to walk out with an actual date, but she was left buzzing with energy nonetheless. She was still slightly flushed from testing their physical compatibility, her mind replaying the moment as she stepped out of the elevator and fumbled with her keys, flicking through the clicking metal for the one that would unlock her apartment door.
She hadn’t expected to like Damian as much as she does, but, well, to say that Marinette wouldn’t mind a repeat of their parting moments would be a blatant lie. It was strange to be looking forward to something as simple as a date again. Especially with someone who didn’t start as a friend, but she was excited to see where this spark with Damian would go, which unfortunately left Marinette a ball of anxious energy. Positive as the feelings are, she still felt the need to do something.
Stepping into the apartment, Marinett is met with the familiar scent of Pomeline’s lavender candles wafting through the air. Something familiar and grounding, welcoming her home as she takes a steadying breath.
Walking further into the apartment, Marinette is surprised to find none of her roommates up and about. She had sort of expected to be interrogated, if not by Olive, the resident psych major, then at least by Maps, who is not only the one who set up this blind date, but also the nosiest of her roommates. Plus, there was also the fact that Damian is a good friend of all three of her roomates, meaning that this was prime time to be interigated, or maybe Marinette was way too used to Alya’s brand of chaos, Marintte couldn’t help but think with a fond roll of her eyes as she locked the door behind herself, and slipped of her shoes.
Padding past the living area, Marinette stopped by her bedroom to grab a change of clothing before heading to the bathroom to shower. Making a pile on the counter of her wet clothing and Damian’s similarly rain-soaked jacket. She’d have to handle the laundry before going to bed, but preferably, after her shower. Right now, she could really use the warmth of a hot shower to chase away the chill that has settled in her bones. Setting the water just the way she liked it, Marinette was quick to step under the shower spray once the steam had started to rise. Breathing out a calming breath, Marinette forced her anxiety-tense muscles to relax. Letting the ritualistic pattern of washing away that day’s dirt, conditioning her hair, letting it sit, and rinsing it out. The familiar movements helped to calm some of the buzzing under her skin, but even as she stepped out of the shower and began drying off, the feeling of needing to do something still buzzed under her skin in a restless sort of way.
Marinette scrunched out the excess water in her hair before wrapping it up in a towel and patting herself dry with a fluffy towel. She quickly dressed herself in fluffy pajama pants and a warm top, hoping to preserve as much of the warmth from her shower as she could. Taking down her wrapped hair, Marinette ruffled her towel through the strands gently a handful of times before letting her hair rest on the towel around her neck.
With a tired sigh, she gathered her damp clothes, Damian’s jacket, and the wet towels into her arms and made her way to the laundry nook. She set about loading them, grateful for the clear, step-by-step structure that doing laundry offered. Sorting out the items that needed extra protection, like Damian’s jacket, her sweater dress, and her undergarments, she slipped each into its own mesh laundry bag, carefully zipping them closed to prevent snags or stretching. The towels, sturdy as they are, were left free to tumble in the drum. Only once everything was properly arranged did she add detergent and softener with practiced precision and set the cycle in motion, following each rule like a lifeline that had been offered in the middle of a storm.
Having properly taken care of the wet clothing, Marinette padded quietly toward the kitchen, only to pause in the doorway at the sight that met her eyes.
Pomeline stood by the stove, her sharp profile illuminated by the soft under-cabinet lights as she poured steaming water into a pair of ceramic mugs. A teapot steamed gently next to a bowl of freshly made strawberry oatmeal, the pink-red fruit bright against the creamy oats. Marinette blinked, genuinely surprised. Of all her roommates, she hadn’t expected Pomeline to be the one waiting for her tonight.
“Pomeline?” Marinette asked, arching a brow as she stepped into the kitchen. “I thought for sure it’d be Maps or Olive lying in wait to interrogate me about my date.”
Pomeline didn’t look up immediately, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Maps and Olive drew the short end of the straw. So, you’re stuck with me.” She finally turned, offering Marinette a mug. “Coincidentally, I made enough tea for two.”
Marinette smiled, accepting the mug and sliding into a seat at the kitchen table, content to be interrogated as it followed what she had expected to happen upon arriving home. Plus, with Pomeline’s dry humor, this interrogation was sure to be interesting if nothing else.
Pomeline sat across from her, stirring her own tea. Her gaze was cool but not unkind, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. “So. Did anyone get hurt?”
Marinette blinked, startled by the bluntness, but laughed softly. “No, Pomeline. No one got hurt. No fights, no drama.”
“Did either of you end up hating the other?” Pomeline pressed, tone casual but intent.
Marinette shook her head, unable to hide her amusement as she answered, “Actually, we got along really well.” She said, feeling the flush of her cheeks, and hoping that it wasn’t too noticeable.
If Pomeline noticed her blush, she didn’t mention it. In fact, Pomeline seemed satisfied with what she saw, nodding once. “Good. That’s all I wanted to know.” She pushed the bowl of strawberry oatmeal across the table toward Marinette. “Eat. You’ve had a long day, and you will have an even longer morning once the other two can get a hold of you.”
Marinette huffed in amusement, bidding her roommate goodnight as Pomeline collected her own mug and slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Marinette with her tea, a warm bowl of oatmeal, and a faint smile lingering on her lips.
Left alone in the soft kitchen light, Marinette ate her oatmeal in slow, thoughtful bites, savoring the burst of strawberry against the creamy oats. She sipped at her tea, feeling the warmth settle into her bones, and once her bowl was empty, she rinsed it and her mug, washing the bowl with soap, leaving it in the drying rack while her mug was left on the counter for later use.
Padded back to the laundry nook, Marinette listened for the familiar click that signaled the washer’s end. She transferred the clean, damp clothes to the dryer, shaking out each piece and tucking delicate items into the mesh bags again. When she started the dryer, she set a mental timer and returned to the kitchen, filling the kettle once more and preparing a second cup of tea, the actions so ingrained she hardly thought about them.
With her cup warming her hands, Marinette set about gathering ingredients. Pulling out flour, butter, salt, and water to make the dough. Measuring and sifting the flour. Dicing the butter into cubes. Tossing them together into a crumbly mixture with a pinch of salt and a splash of icy water, that she mixed together until it combined into something that resembled a shaggy dough. Marinette then gently pressed it into a rectangle before wrapping it in cling film and placing it in the fridge to chill while she cleaned up.
By the time she was done cleaning, the dough was ready to be pulled out. Dusting the counters with flour, Marinette worked quickly, folding the dough over itself, rolling it out, folding it, rolling it, until the dough began to warm and needed to be wrapped back up and placed back into the fridge.
Putting the dough back, Marinette pulled out the apples and lemons for the filling before closing the fridge door and moving to the spice cabinet, pulling out the cinnamon and sugar. With everything gathered, Marinette began peeling and coring the apples, dicing them into small cubes in smooth, practiced chops. Tossing the apple bits, sugar, and cinnamon into a pot, Marinette halved and squeezed the lemon juice into the mix and left that to simmer. Washing her hands and the work space once more before dusting the area in flour again. The dough folding process was repeated until it was smooth and streaked with butter.
Once the apple compote was finished and cooled, Marinette pulled out the chilled dough and rolled it out for a final time, cutting perfect rounds of pastry dough that she then filled with the apple compote. Brushing the edges with egg wash, folding the circles shut and sealing them with a fork, crimping the edges, and arranging them on a tray.
Once the last of the pastries were filled, Marinette covered the trays with cling film and slid them into the fridge, planning to bake them fresh in the morning. The rhythm of the kitchen soothed her, each step familiar and easy, hands moving with the confidence of a long habit.
The dryer beeped just as Marinette finished cleaning up the kitchen, leaving her to unload and fold warm, clean clothing. Sorting her clothes from the towels and Damian’s jacket. She put everything away in its correct spot, leaving Damian’s jacket folded neatly on her desk as a reminder to give it back when she next saw him.
With everything in its place, Marinette poured the last of her tea and gave the kitchen one final glance, the scent of apples lingering in the air as she headed to bed, already looking forward to the morning.
Sleep came quickly, exhaustion and anticipation mingling in her dreams. It felt like no time had passed at all when Marinette was abruptly roused by the unmistakable sensation of someone, or something, perched almost on top of her. Groggy and confused, she blinked her eyes open to find Maps, knees tucked up and chin propped on Marinette’s blanket-covered hip, peering at her with the intense focus of a cat demanding breakfast.
“Maps?” Marinette croaked, voice rough with sleep. “What are you doing?”
Maps, unrepentant, grinned down at her. "Morning! I need details. All the details. You promised, remember? What did you do, what did he say, how did it go? How long did it last?"
Marinette groaned, squinting at the clock. "Why are you waking me up for this? Couldn't you have asked last night instead of sitting on me like a needy cat?"
Maps pouted theatrically but didn’t budge. "Mel banned us from interrogating you last night. But it’s morning now, so it’s fair game!"
At that moment, Olive appeared in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hands. She offered Marinette the cup with a sympathetic smile. "Hot chocolate. And sorry, I tried to contain Maps, but clearly my powers are limited."
Marinette accepted the mug, her lips quirking in amusement. "You’re not really sorry, are you? Now you get to ask your questions too."
Olive only shrugged, hiding a smile behind her own mug, eyes bright with curiosity.
Rolling her eyes, Marinette slipped out from under Maps’ weight, slipping on a robe and pocketing her phone before she padded to the kitchen, pulling her robe tighter around her. Setting the oven to heat, Marinette hopped onto the counter next to the stove, taking a sip of her hot chocolate drink.
"Alright, you gremlins," Marinette said, shooting Olive and Maps a wry look over the rim of her mug, "Start asking your questions before I cut you off, and I won’t answer anything more."
Maps, of course, was first to dive into asking questions, or reasking in her case, since she had woken Marinette up with these questions. "How did it go? What did you do? How long did it last?" She rattled off once more, barely pausing between questions, eyes wide with anticipation.
Marinette huffed a tired laugh, taking a sip of her drink to buy herself some time before answering. “It went well once we switched to a Parisian dating structure.”
Maps furrowed her brows, clearly thrown off by the unexpected answer. “What does that even mean? What’s a Parisian dating structure? Is that like, an itinerary or…?”
Marinette couldn’t help but laugh, the sound lighter now that she was surrounded by her friends and the familiar comfort of morning routines. “It means that all expectations of romance were cut from the date. The first date is more of a compatibility interview than anything else. It allows for both parties to ask the nosy, invasive questions that might cause problems later on, and if one of the parties thinks they wouldn’t work as a couple, the date can end before anyone gets hurt.” Marinette explains. “It removes the risk of akumatization later on in most cases.”
Maps blinked, then grinned. "So you interrogated each other the whole date? That actually sounds kind of fun.”
“Definitely something Damian would enjoy." Olive agreed, sipping at her hot chocolate, eyes twinkling with mischief. "And what was the result of your interrogation?"
Marinette opened her mouth to answer when the oven beeped, giving her the perfect excused to close her mouth, offering her roommates a slight smile as she jumped off the counter and went over to the fridge, pulling out the trays of chilled pastries, the dough firm and cold beneath her fingers. As she uncovered the trays, Olive and Maps edged closer, clearly not deterred by the short interruption but also curious as to what Marinette had made. Marinette grabbed the small bowl of egg wash from the fridge, dipping her pastry brush and methodically painting each pastry until they gleamed with a golden sheen.
“You’re not getting out of answering- but what are those?” Maps inquired curiously as Marinette put the trays in the oven.
“Chausson aux pommes.” Marinette answered, setting the timer on her phone before turning her attention back to her roommates. “Apple turnovers.” She translated with amusement.
Olive’s eyes widened with delight. “You made homemade apple turnovers? Marinette, you’re spoiling us.”
Maps immediately leaned against the counter, nose twitching as the scent of baking pastry began to fill the kitchen. “I knew there was a reason I liked living with you,” she said, only half-joking.
Marinette rolled her eyes, but affection warmed her smile. “If you want anything freshly baked in the future, then I expect my answers to be respected. One question at a time, no shouting over each other. And your time is up when the timer is.”
Maps and Olive shared a look.
“Deal.” A third voice answered before either roommate could.
“Good morning, Pomeline.” Marinette greeted with a slight raise of her mug and an amused smile.
Maps crossed her arms, already bristling with frustration. “Wait, wait, Pomeline doesn’t get to set the terms! She already got to interrogate Marinette last night. She can’t just waltz in and call the shots now!”
Pomeline fixed Maps with a flat look, unamused. “First of all, I did not ‘interrogate’ Marinette. I merely ensured that her date went well enough that introducing her to our friend group later wouldn’t be a disaster. There’s a difference.”
She set her mug down with a soft clink and arched an eyebrow at Maps. “Second, you know very well that food rights, especially the distribution of fresh treats, are a collective decision. You can’t just leave me out because you’re feeling impatient.”
Olive snorted into her mug, clearly entertained, while Marinette hid a smile behind her cup. Maps looked mutinous, but couldn’t quite argue with Pomeline’s logic.
Just then, Marinette’s phone buzzed loudly on the countertop, cutting through their bickering. Maps whipped around. “Wait! That’s the timer already? I didn’t even get to ask any questions!”
Marinette rolled her eyes and picked up her phone, thumb swiping over the screen. “It’s a text message, Maps. The timer hasn’t even gone off yet.”
She glanced at the message, blinked, then read it again. Pink crept up her cheeks, warming her ears. Olive, ever observant, grinned. “Was that Damian? Did the date really go that well?”
Marinette ducked her head, pretending to fuss with her mug. “Yes, it’s Damian. He’s just checking in with a good morning text, nothing more.” She says while sending a text back.
Pomeline raised a brow, her voice dry. “That’s considerate.”
Olive leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re blushing, Marinette. So, is this a one-sided thing, or should we expect another date in your future? We need to know if we should get invested or not.”
Marinette sighed, tapping her mug, knowing that it was futile not to answer, as her roommates could quite literally just text Damian themselves since he was their friend first. "Yes, we will see each other again. He asked last night, and I said yes."
Maps let out a whoop, pumping her fist in victory. "Knew it! Knew you two would hit it off!"
Olive, ever the calm counterbalance to Maps' exuberance, smiled warmly and nudged Marinette’s shoulder. "I’m glad. You look happy, Marinette. It's nice to see."
Marinette’s blush only deepened, but she couldn’t hide her smile. "I am. It was good, different. I had never done a compatibility date before, so it was a little intense sometimes, but in a good way."
Pomeline, arms folded and expression unreadable, gave a short nod of approval. "Damian’s intensity is part of his charm, if you can handle it. You’re one of the few people I thought would be able to match him beat-for-beat.” The ‘and it looks like I was right,’ was left unsaid but not unheard.
Maps, never one to let a moment sit, leaned across the counter, her eyes wide and eager. "So, what did you actually do? Did you two just sit there and swap life stories, or was there, you know, actual chemistry?"
Marinette laughed, the last of her embarrassment melting away in the face of Maps’ relentless curiosity. "We talked a lot, actually. We talked about family, future, boundaries, and weird pet peeves, what we want out of life, and yes, I suppose there was chemistry. Enough that we lost track of time until it started to rain.”
Maps groaned dramatically. "Ugh, you two are so mature. When did we all get so grown up?" She pressed both palms to her cheeks, only half-joking, while Olive snickered behind her mug.
"So, what happened after the rain?" Olive prompted, eyes glinting as she leaned against the counter. "Did you two just run for cover or...?"
Marinette offered a small smile, warmth in her eyes as she remembered. "We ducked under one of those covered structures- with the benches?” She tries to explain, making a house shape with her arms.
“A gazebo.” Pomeline supplied.
“Sure.” Marinette assumed Pomeline was correct and continued. “We stayed there long enough to get our bearings, he gave me his jacket to borrow, and then we headed back into the rain so he could walk me back.”
Olive let out a low whistle. “Dramatic and chivalrous.”
Marinette shook her head, but her grin was soft. “It was sweet. He didn’t say much on the walk, but he made sure I didn’t step in any puddles. And when we got to my building, he asked if we could see each other again.”
Before anyone could tease her further, the timer on Marinette’s phone finally went off, its cheerful chime breaking the moment. She hopped off the counter and headed straight for the oven, slipping on her mitts. With practiced care, Marinette pulled out the trays of golden, flaky apple turnovers. The smell of warm pastry and cinnamon-sweet apples filled the air, making everyone in the kitchen go noticeably quiet for a few seconds.
Maps let out a dramatic sigh, unable to contain herself. "Honestly, I did such a good job matching you two up. If it weren’t for me, this whole adorable love story wouldn’t even exist!"
Pomeline, still leaning against the counter, deadpanned, "Marinette and Damian are literally the only successful blind date you’ve ever set up for anyone in our friend group."
Maps just grinned, undeterred. "Hey, I stand by my record. Quality over quantity!"
Olive laughed, reaching for a pastry but waiting for Marinette’s nod. "Well, here’s to the one pairing that worked out, and to Marinette’s baking."
Marinette sighed, cheeks pink but eyes bright, as she placed the trays on the table. Surrounded by the laughter of her friends and the scent of fresh pastry.
Summary: After years of relentless battles, Marinette finds herself adrift and weary in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat. By a twist of fate, she ends up in a new city, leaving behind the tangible reminders of her trauma in pursuit of a genuine fresh start. University life brings new friendships and, unexpectedly, sweeps her into a whirlwind romance with someone who understands all too well the scars left by a childhood of being forged into a weapon. Through newfound honesty and boundaries rarely granted to them before, the former child heroes slowly begin to heal; together.
Chapter 6/?
This was not how Damian initially planned, at the beginning of the week, to spend his Friday afternoon, and yet here he was, waiting in a coffee shop for Mizoguchi to arrive in order to fulfill his debt. Something he refused to leave unpaid, no matter how irritating he found Mizoguchi’s choice of repayment. He stood stiffly, leaning slightly against the corner wall closest to the entrance, watching the steady flow of customers, as the minutes slowly dragged by. The agreed-upon time felt to be approaching at a snail’s pace, despite time continuing to pass normally.
Eventually, the jingle of the door opening is followed by Mizoguchi bursting in, practically vibrating with excitement as she pulls a young woman through the doorway as well. Allowing himself a moment to observe, Damian stays where he is, not bothering to make his presence known just yet. The woman that Mizoguchi had brought for him to entertain was wearing a pastel off-the-shoulder sweater dress; her hair was left loose, dark, and shoulder-length. Her eyes were a deep blue as they caught the light. She was on the shorter side of average. Perhaps no taller than five-foot-four. She has soft, slightly rounded features that mask the lines of lithe muscles well. A dancer’s or gymnast’s build, if he had to guess. Overall, she was rather pleasant to look at, which was an improvement from what Damian had heard about some of Mizoguchi’s picks for the others’ blind dates.
Hopefully, her looks weren’t the only reason Mizoguchi chose this woman as his forfet, otherwise this would be an awfully dull meeting. And, while yes, he didn’t want to be here in the first place, he’d also rather not be bored or annoyed to death. So, here was hoping that Mizoguchi had at least a little sense in her mind when picking a match for him to entertain.
Pushing himself off the wall, Damian moved to a nearby table. Catching Mizoguchi’s attention as he does so.
“Damian! Hey!” Mizoguchi beamed, all but shoving the woman she brought in his direction. “This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Marinette, this is Damian Wayne.” She cheered, already backing away from the pair. “You two have fun! I’ll just-” She pointed behind herself, quickly turning and disappearing the way she came. Leaving Damian and Marinette alone in the lingering silence, stranded across from each other.
Exhaling a long, silent breath, one that was not quite a sigh, but in the way that it deliberately wasn’t one, Damian pulled out a seat at the table he had been standing next to. Gesturing for the woman to take a seat. The woman, Dupain-Cheng, smiled kindly.
“Merci beaucoup,” she spoke softly, bowing her head slightly in polite acknowledgment as she took the offered seat. Damian nodded sharply in return, tucking the seat in, but neglecting to take his own. He had been raised with manners after all, and knew how these sorts of things were supposed to go, even if he didn’t usually partake in the act of dating.
“What would you like to drink?” He inquired, tone flat but not unkind.
“Oh.” Dupain-Cheng blinked, her eyes going wide with panic when they opened once more. “Uhm, something sweet? I suppose?” Damian raised a brow. Waiting for her to continue, and when the seconds started to drag on with neither of them doing or saying anything, she only seemed to panic more.
“Tea or coffee is fine.” Dupain-Cheng reassures him, clearly nervous, even as she offers a kind smile. “I’m not picky. Just something sweet, if you please.”
He nodded, then turned to the counter and placed the order for both of them. His own black coffee, hers with cream and syrup. A few minutes later, Damian returned, balancing both mugs carefully. He set the cup of mocha in front of her with a short, precise nod, then took his seat across from her.
"Merci," Dupain-Cheng murmured, fingers wrapping around the warmth of the cup. Damian simply inclined his head. He took the seat across from her.
They sat in silence, sipping at their drinks. Damian gazed just over the woman’s shoulder, out toward the window, with his jaw set as he counted down the seconds until this woman would inevitably say or do something that would become an acceptable excuse to end this so-called date, according to Mizoguchi. His thoughts once again wandered off to the topic of how this wasn’t how he had initially planned to spend his Friday, and if it wasn’t for the need to honor his debts that had been ingrained into Damian from a young age, he would have been back at his apartment working on the new canvas he had perched earlier that week.
To be fair, Damain probably would have ended up just as annoyed trying to get the medium to work with him as he is about this social obligation.
After a few more moments of awkward silence, Dupain-Cheng huffed, resting her elbows on the table and folding her hands to make a perch for her chin.
“Alright, Monsieur. Let’s begin so we may end, as you look to be wishing yourself anywhere else at this moment. Which is fair, considering that you are here to fulfill the terms of a lost bet.” The woman said in a lightly accented, but rather pleasant-sounding, soft voice.
At least hearing her speak wouldn’t be an issue. It was more likely that what the woman chose to say would bother him more than how she spoke it. Another point for Mizoguchi in regards to this match, so long as Dupain-Cheng can avoid sticking her foot in her mouth, he should be able to tolerate her for the afternoon.
Damian dipped his head in agreement.
“If not for the debt I owe Mizoguchi, I would not have bothered with this... social experiment.” He states, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he regarded the woman in front of him. “Which begs the question of why, exactly, you are here, and what you are getting out of Mizoguchi’s schemes.”
Dupain-Cheng’s lips curled up in an amused half-smile. “Honestly? I was bored,” she admitted with an easy sort of amusement. “I asked Maps what normal college students do during school breaks. And the conversation that followed led her to decide the best cure for my boredom was to rope me into being your blind date.”
She shrugged. "Apparently, this is what counts as 'fun' for average college students. I figured, why not? Maps, Olive, and Pomeline were going to introduce me to their friends in the next week or two anyway. By doing this, we get some one-on-one time instead of a group introduction, which is way less awkward for some people." Dupain-Cheng explained, giving Damian a tiredly amused look, her blue eyes sparking with a mixture of challenge and understanding, as if she was well aware of the absurdity of doing this just because of boredom, but was willing to play along for the sake of the experience.
Interesting, but not necessarily a good thing.
Damian regarded her for a long moment, his green eyes cool and appraising. “You don’t seem like someone who settles for boredom.” His tone edged with curiosity despite himself. “Although most people would have found something less, orchestrated to fill their time with.”
Dupain-Cheng offered another soft smile, transferring her chin into the palm of one hand so she could drop her other hand onto the table, lightly drumming her fingertips along the wood surface. “No, I’m not usually one to get bored, and yes, maybe most people don’t jump into their friends' odd schemes. But most people aren’t used to a life where ‘normal’ is the weirdest thing imaginable.” She stilled her fingers as her blue eyes met his own green ones. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try on someone else’s version of ‘normal’ for a day.”
Damian cocked his head slightly, studying her with renewed interest. “You keep using that word, ‘normal.’ You asked Mizoguchi what ‘normal’ college students do, and you keep referencing not having a ‘normal’ life. What exactly does ‘normal’ mean to you?” He inquired skeptically. Wondering if this was merely a ploy to try to catch his attention. As if he were so easily won, Damian wanted to scoff, or perhaps roll his eyes, but the urge was suppressed in favor of retaining his manners.
Dupain-Cheng gave a soft, almost wistful laugh. “That’s a good question. I suppose it’s because I grew up in Paris. During Hawkmoth’s reign of terror.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed in recognition and understanding. Paris truly had been something else entirely for a handful of years, a different dimension almost, for all that the events of the magical terrorist had been contained in way of damage and news until the final battle, when the rest of the world suddenly became aware, but he didn’t interrupt the following explanation, even if he now understood, vaguely, what normal would have been like for the parisian before him. He wasn’t one to turn down information that was offered freely.
Dupain-Cheng continued, her tone casual, as if relaying a bit of local color rather than a harrowing history. “Back then, ‘normal’ meant keeping an eye out for akuma attacks, making sure you didn’t get too upset in public, and always having an escape plan in the back of your mind. It was just… part of life.”
She hesitated, a small, wry smile curving her lips. "For example, dating is very different in Paris. People are... careful, I suppose. There’s this awareness that negative emotions could turn you into a target. So before anyone considers a relationship, we set clear boundaries and expectations right away, almost like a compatibility interview. No romantic assumptions at first; we talk through what we want, lay out limits, and see if it makes sense to move forward. If not, you leave before anyone gets hurt or things become complicated. It’s all about avoiding unnecessary drama, and, ideally, becoming akuma fodder."
Damian sat for a moment. Simply absorbing the information he had been given. It was interesting to hear about, and far more preferable than the dates he’s witnessed over the years. “Efficient,” he decided. “Direct. I imagine it saves a lot of time, and, I assume, heartbreak.”
Dupain-Cheng laughed softly.
“Maybe. Or maybe it just gives everyone more to overthink.” She says with a tilt of her head, leaning more heavily into her palm as she examines him with a curious, searching gaze.
After a moment, Dupain-Cheng straightened, her expression thoughtful. “Would you be more comfortable if we did it the Parisian way?” she asked, voice gentle yet direct. “We could go through the compatibility questions, set clear boundaries. If we’re not compatible, you can leave and honestly tell Maps you tried and completed your date. No need to drag this out into an all-day affair you never wanted.” She offered a small, understanding smile. “If we did so, no one could accuse you of not giving it a real effort.”
Damian blinked, surprised by her candor but also unexpectedly relieved. “That would be acceptable,” he admitted, his posture loosening just a bit. “Much more preferable than the alternative.”
A glimmer of relief flickered in bright blue eyes. “All right then. Shall we?” She inquired curiously. Sitting up straight, she let her elbows fall off the table in favor of grabbing a notebook from her bag. Flipping to a new, blank page with practiced ease. Ripping out two sheets of paper, Dupain-Cheng pens out a list on each. It takes up only a small portion of the page. The rest is left blank. She then hands one list to Damian, along with a pen. “Make as many notes as you want. We can come back to things later if necessary. But these are the main points. Let me know if you need another paper later.”
Damian hummed in agreement, reading over the list. There were only ten things, but he could understand how this list of ten categories could help weed out incompatibility.
1. Relationship Intentions & Expectations
2. Boundaries & Dealbreakers
3. Long-Term Vision
4. Lifestyle & Habits
5. Career & Ambitions
6. Finances & Values
7. Family & Community
8. Personal Growth & Change
9. Communication & Conflict
10. Faith, Politics, and Values
They weren’t questions so much as categories, but it was a good jumping point. Still, Damian looked around their open surroundings, where they were already drawing the occasional nosey glances from the other patrons.
“Perhaps it would be best to relocate to a more private setting.” Damian suggested, more of an order given the flat, no-nonsense tone of his voice.
Dupain-Cheng blinked once, twice, then conceded to his decision to move locations with a tip of her head and a small smile.
“Where would you like to go?” She inquired, slipping the loose paper between the sheets of her notebook to be packed away in her purse.
Where to, indeed. Ideally, somewhere that the tabloids can’t get a hold of any answers he may give. Especially given their invasive nature.
Damian considered their options. The city outside the coffee shop window bustled with life, but every public space felt like a potential trap for prying eyes and lingering cell phone cameras. For a moment, he hesitated, then met Dupain-Cheng’s curious, patient gaze.
“There’s a small park a few blocks from here,” he offered at last. “It’s usually quiet in the afternoons, and there are some secluded benches. Will that suffice?”
Dupain-Cheng nodded, her smile gentle. “That should work.”
They gathered their things and stepped outside, the bell above the café door chiming softly behind them. The late afternoon sun was hidden behind thick clouds that seemed to have darkened a few shades of gray since he was last outside. Damian led the way along tree-lined streets until the city noise faded into the hush of the park. He chose a bench in the more restricted area, where the general public was discouraged from visiting at risk of upsetting a certain greenskinned metahuman. The benefit of this area far outweighed the risk, as Ivy tends to leave the Waynes alone in what she considers her gardens, for the most part, allowing for more privacy, partially shielded by an overgrown but suspiciously healthy willow’s drooping branches. Once they were seated, Dupain-Cheng retrieved the lists from her bag again, smoothing the paper on her lap.
She glanced at Damian, blue eyes bright but earnest. “Which topic should we tackle first?”
Damian scanned the categories, then tapped the first, “Relationship Intentions & Expectations.” They might as well do the list in order.
“Alright, what does entering a relationship mean to you?” Dupain-Cheng inquired. Earning a flat press of his lips as Damian contemplated his answer.
“I have no interest in superficial relationships,” he states simply. “If I choose to pursue something, I will do so deliberately and with the intention of a long-term partnership. I value honesty, loyalty, and ambition. Anything less is a waste of time.”
Dupain-Cheng nodded, jotting down a note. “I don’t really date for the sake of dating. I didn’t go on compatibility dates when living in Paris. I witnessed more of them due to my parents' work than anything else. All of my former relationships came from important friendships, and when the relationships ended, we were able to go back to those friendships. For me, relationships are partnerships. They are built on trust, mutual respect, and shared goals.”
“We are agreed, then.” Damian nodded stiffly, gesturing for Dupain-Cheng to start them off on the next topic.
“We do.” Dupain-Cheng agreed, but instead of going to the next topic, she asked, “What is your love language? Words of Affirmation, acts of service, gifts, quality time, physical touch? How do you like to show and receive affection? Keep in mind that how you give can be different from how you receive. People think they have to be the same, far too often, and that thinking is entirely false.”
He gives her a thoughtful look, as if weighing his response against a list of classified secrets. "I suppose I tend to show care through acts of service," Damian admitted, his words measured. "Making sure those important to me are safe, that their needs are handled efficiently. I am not particularly demonstrative, but I value reliability and practical support. As for receiving affection, words and gifts mean little, and I’d prefer to be the one doing instead of being served. Perhaps quality time?"
Dupain-Cheng nodded, writing something down. "Physical touch and quality time are important to me," she offered, her voice steady and warm, encouraging but not condescending. "I grew up in a very affectionate household, so hugs, closeness, and small gestures come naturally. But I also appreciate when someone makes time for me, even if it’s just to sit together in comfortable silence.”
She jots something down on her paper before glancing up to offer a slight smile. "Alright, that’s topic one, done. It seems we both value trust and want long-term partnerships."
Damian offers a shallow nod. "So it seems."
“Quality time is also a shared love language, and I have no issues with acts of service. I actually find it quite endearing to be on the receiving end of.” Dupain-Cheng states. “Do you have any issues with physical affection?”
Damian frowns, contemplating how to answer, as physical affection wasn’t a straightforward concept for him.
“Yes and no.” He settles on, as for him, touch could truly be both an issue and not one at all. “I dislike most touch, and can react violently to unknown or unexpected contact. Family and friends are no exception to this. However, some people can initiate touch without any issues, and I will, on occasion, encourage them to do so.”
Dupain-Cheng made an understanding sound as she marked something down on her paper.
“So that would be something for us to test at the end, if we’re planning to move forward with an actual date, and if we don’t want to continue, then it will simply be something I’ll keep in mind for future interactions.”
“That is agreeable.”
“Good.” Dupain-Cheng cheered, tapping the list, "Shall we move to the next topic, Boundaries & Dealbreakers?" she asked, her tone shifting to businesslike curiosity.
There was a detachment in the question, as if a shield or a wall had been put in place, cutting off her emotions from her actions. Curious, but understandable if Dupain-Cheng has had issues with boundaries in the past.
Allowing his gaze to drift away to the willow branches that have begun to sway in the wind, Damian decided on what he would be willing to put up with in a relationship and what would be nonnegotiable.
“I have little patience for dishonesty or manipulation, even in jest.” He states, because while he can mostly tolerate his siblings' usual shenanigans nowadays, the idea of having a partner who would do anything similar sets his nerves on edge. “I require privacy, and expect any partner to respect that. Prying past the lines drawn would not be tolerated. If I am to share something, it would be on my own terms. Loyalty is non-negotiable, and second chances would not be given to those lacking fidelity. Any disregard for my personal space will not be tolerated unless it was something previously agreed upon.”
Dupain-Cheng listened attentively, nodding slowly as she made a few careful notes. "Understandable. I agree that loyalty is nonnegotiable. If a partner wishes to pursue someone else, then the relationship should end. I don’t tolerate cheaters. Prying isn’t a dealbreaker for me. Questions can be asked, but if I choose not to answer, then that should be the end of it until I wish to share more. I am also not someone who allows dishonesty in my life, but not in the traditional sense, as I understand some things are not yours to share. Flat-out lying is a dealbreaker. Talking around or insinuating something is fine. As is leaving information out, or lying by omission, I believe it’s called? I do not count that as lying, as it is sometimes necessary to have secrets.” She paused, biting her lips lightly. Her brows furrowed together. Then she shakes her head, releasing her lip as she speaks. “Truly, I don’t count anything but falsehoods as dishonesty. Ideally, if my partner doesn’t want to talk about something, they would just tell me that, but misleading someone can be a form of protection, too.”
Damian turns his sight back to the woman beside him, considering this, a peculiar sense of understanding blooming in his chest. Willingness to accept omission, so long as it wasn’t outright falsehood, he found the distinction odd, but undeniably practical. Most civilians, in his experience, clung to absolutes: the truth or nothing, honesty or betrayal. But life, at least his life, anyway, demanded more nuance. He’d spent years balancing on the razor-thin edge between what could be spoken and what had to be concealed.
It was, in a way, almost refreshing to encounter someone who understood that sometimes the truth was a luxury, and omission was a necessity. That not every secret was a lie. He wondered if she’d come to that philosophy out of experience, or if it was simply part of who she was. Either way, he appreciated it; it was a rare quality, and one he’d never expected to find outside the world of masks and midnight patrols.
Just because he no longer donned a cape didn't mean his life was free of secrets or scenarios where the whole truth was not his to share. Perhaps, he thought, this was a small, unexpected mercy, to be seen and not expected to bare every scar or shadow, to be allowed his silences so long as he didn’t weave falsehoods in their place.
He glanced at Dupain-Cheng, a flicker of genuine respect warming his usually sharp gaze. "That is… surprisingly reasonable," he admitted, voice low, as if confessing a secret. "Most people aren’t so pragmatic."
Dupain-Cheng’s lips quirked in a wry half-smile. "Living through years where secrets could save your life makes you practical," she replied, her voice soft but certain. "I’d rather have a partner I trust to keep what needs keeping than one who insists on transparency for its own sake. There’s honesty, and then there’s survival."
She glanced down at her list, then back up, meeting Damian’s gaze with a candid steadiness. "Besides, I don’t want someone to pour out every detail of their life on a silver platter. Working for that trust is something I find very rewarding. I value having choices moving forward, and the freedom to hold back."
Damian inclined his head in acknowledgment, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. "It’s a rare quality to find in people, but one I appreciate."
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the distant chatter of birds and the howl of the wind. After a moment, Dupain-Cheng tapped the next topic on the list.
"Long-Term Vision?" she prompted, tilting her head invitingly. “We both have a preference for long-term partners, but to what end? What would that look like in regard to work and family?”
Damian considered the question, tracing the edge of his mostly blank paper with a thumb before speaking. "I plan to get my MD and specialize in emergency medicine and trauma surgery," he said, voice calm but certain. "Becoming an emergency physician and trauma surgeon, working in acute care, that’s where I think I’ll do the most good. I want my work to have purpose, something immediate, something lasting. Eventually, I would like to marry, and I wouldn’t mind having children, but not for some time. There are other things I intend to accomplish first. Building something strong, resilient, and enduring, something that is mine, and mine alone. I want to look back and recognize what I’ve created, not just for my family’s sake, but for myself." He glanced over, meeting Dupain-Cheng’s eyes. "Stability, legacy, and growth. That would be my vision. And you?"
Dupain-Cheng hesitated, pen poised over her paper. She let out a slow breath, her lips pressing together as she searched for the right words. "That's actually a little difficult for me," she admitted, her gaze drifting to the willow’s swaying branches. "Career-wise, I've already reached my goal. I’m a designer at a big company who gets to work on a lot of amazing projects. I’m doing the work I love, and I’ve been fortunate with success. I know, for certain, that I want a family someday. Marriage, kids, pets, a house I can call my own, a place to come home to, the whole thing."
She paused, a faint furrow appearing between her brows. "But beyond that… I suppose I’m a bit lost. Technically, I don’t even need to be in school, since people typically go for future work purposes, but I already got my dream job, so the degrees aren’t really necessary. They just make it feel like I’m doing something.” She sighed, offering Damian a small, self-aware smile, a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes. "Sorry, is that too vague? It sounds a little aimless, but it’s honest. For now, I just want to build a foundation for something lasting, even if I don’t have a perfect blueprint."
Damian shook his head. "It’s not aimless. You know what you want the foundation to feel like, even if you aren’t sure what shape it’ll take. That’s more than most people can say." His tone was softer than before. Still restrained, but with a thread of understanding woven through it. He knew what it was like to have an aimless future.
Dupain-Cheng’s answering smile was small but genuine, the last of her tension easing from her shoulders. The sound of whistling wind drifted through the willow’s curtain, and for the first time since they’d sat down, the silence between them felt companionable rather than strained.
She glanced at the next topic, tapping her pen thoughtfully against the paper. "Lifestyle and habits?" she prompted.
Damian considered the question with a slight tilt of his head. "Routine is important to me," he said. "I exercise every morning, have designated work and recreational periods. Meals are always around the same time period. I keep my living space orderly, and I prefer structure. I don’t mind spontaneity, but I function best when I know what to expect."
Dupain-Cheng nodded, jotting notes. "I’m a little more flexible," she said. "Growing up in a bakery, chaos was the default state of my home. I like having a routine, but I can adapt if something upends my plans. I do best with structure, but once I run out of my preset plans, I always end up crashing. I’m neat about some things, my workspace, especially, but I don’t mind a little creative mess."
They both seemed to recognize the overlap. A shared need for balance, even if it looked different in practice, with Damian’s preference for both making and following schedules, and Dupain-Cheng for just following them. Definitely something he could work with. Yet, Damian found himself hesitating, an uncertain knot tightening in his chest. Part of him appreciated the sense of compatibility, the quiet reassurance that their habits might line up. But another part resisted the idea of letting someone new settle into the ordered structure of his life. Could he really see himself opening space for someone else, risking the equilibrium he guarded so fiercely? No, that wasn’t the right question. The question was whether he wanted to even try.
Dupain-Cheng gestured to the next item. "Career and ambitions? I suppose we already answered that."
"In part," Damian allowed. "But I would ask you the same. What drives you now, if you’ve achieved what you set out to do?"
She pondered, twirling her pen. "Creativity drives me. I want to keep growing, learning new techniques, and collaborating with other artists. I enjoy mentoring beginners, helping others find their voice. I want to do new things, to stay challenged, not just comfortable."
Damian nodded. "A restless spirit is rarely content with stillness."
He tapped the next question on the list, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Finances and values. Why don't you start us off? I believe we can both agree that my own situation is sufficient."
Dupain-Cheng let out a long, amused sigh. She rested her arms on her knees, fingers laced, and looked out through the willow veil before answering. "Well, I'm the owner and co-CEO of MDC," she said, almost offhandedly. "It used to be known as Gabriel, but I staged a semi-hostile, completely legal takeover to free Adrien from his father’s control. Now, it's one of the most successful fashion companies in Europe. Financially, I make more than enough to support myself."
She shrugged lightly, a wry smile on her lips. "My family is comfortable, too. My parents run the most popular bakery in Paris, and they both came from money before that. But I wasn’t raised to flaunt it. Most people just assume, based on my friends, that I befriend a lot of rich people. Really, it's just that I already moved in those circles. Those schools, clients, friends' parents, that sort of thing. I have more than enough, and I don’t need or want someone else’s money. I don’t gather wealth for its own sake; I’ve just been lucky and successful, and it’s worked out that way."
She turned to look at Damian, blue eyes steady. "If anything, I’d rather be valued for what I build and who I am than for what I have."
Damian gave a short, approving nod, his lips twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "A sensible attitude. I assure you, I have no interest in anyone’s accounts or assets, and even less in becoming a benefactor. My own finances are more than sufficient." He paused, his tone growing more contemplative. "Money is a tool, a means to protection, freedom, and ensuring those I care about are provided for. But it’s never a substitute for character, nor a measure of worth. I was raised to treat wealth with respect, not as a trophy." He met her gaze, expression serious. "I have little patience for those who pursue relationships with an eye toward gain. My values are rooted in discipline, loyalty, and integrity. If my partner is self-sufficient, all the better."
He gestured lightly to the notebook between them. "Shall we move on to the next topic, Family and Community?"
Dupain-Cheng leaned forward, curiosity brightening her expression. “How close are you to your family? And how much involvement would you expect from a partner?”
Damian considered the question for a moment before answering, his tone thoughtful but honest. “My relationship with my family is… complicated. We’re close in some ways and very distant in others. Expectations tend to run high, to say the least. Family is important to me, but I do value independence. As for a partner, I am aware that my family can be overwhelming, so I wouldn’t expect them to get deeply involved unless they wanted to. Preferably, they would be more than just tolerant of them, but everyone liking each other is not a requirement, especially as some of us don’t like each other most times.”
Dupain-Cheng nodded in understanding. “I love my family, but I grew up with a lot of independence, so I can relate to being both close and distant with family. All I would ask of my partner is an attempt to get along with my family, but I wouldn’t make it a requirement. Tolerating my friends, however, is a requirement, as they’re the ones who helped me get through living under Hawkmoth’s control.”
Damian raised a brow. "Your friends are important to you, then?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.
"Very," Dupain-Cheng replied, her voice softening slightly. "They're my found family in many ways. Some of them have been with me through the worst and best parts of my life. I wouldn’t be who I am without them. I understand that partners don’t always fit perfectly into each other’s worlds, but I hope for respect and a willingness to try."
Nodding, Damian moved them to the next topic. “Personal Growth & Change.”
Dupain-Cheng glanced at the list, then looked directly at Damian, her tone shifting into something more thoughtful and direct as she stepped naturally into the next compatibility topic.
"So, when it comes to growth and change, what have you recognized as your worst qualities or even toxic traits? Are these things you've noticed yourself, or have people close to you pointed them out? And more importantly, are those things you're actively working on, or are some just parts of who you are that you don't see changing?"
Her question was not accusatory, but matter-of-fact, treating self-reflection as a basic, necessary part of the conversation. There was an implicit promise in her attitude that she'd offer her own answer as well, making it a true exchange rather than an interrogation. Something that made it easier to answer such invasive questions.
Damian regarded her with a rare moment of candor. "I've been told, more than once, that I have a temper. It’s something I’m aware of and have been actively working to keep in check. Old habits die hard, but I try not to let anger dictate my actions."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered his next words. "I’m possessive of things and people that I consider mine. That’s not something I see changing. If I care about someone, I’m protective to a fault, and I expect a certain level of loyalty and belonging in return. It can cross over into being controlling. I’ve been called that more times than I care to admit. I try not to control others, but it isn’t a trait I can entirely shed. Anyone choosing to be close to me would have to be willing to stand their ground, but also allow me some say over certain things."
He let out a slow breath, as if admitting all this cost him something. "I’m also overprotective. I know it can be suffocating. I’m working on it, but I can’t promise it’ll ever go away. If anything, I can only promise to be honest about it, and to listen when I’m crossing a line."
Dupain-Cheng gave a quiet, acknowledging hum, her posture relaxed with a vulnerability that mirrored his candor.
"I've been called obsessive more times than I can count, by friends, by family, even by people who barely know me. I try to keep my obsessions under control, let them just be healthy interests, but sometimes they get the better of me. I get so absorbed in a challenge or a project that I lose track of everything else."
She glanced down, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. "I’m also known for being controlling, though not always in the way people expect. A lot of pressure and responsibility were put on me at a young age, way before I really knew how to handle it. I got used to managing everything, making sure nothing slipped, but now, when I’m not the one in charge, I can be incredibly indecisive. When there’s no crisis or no one relying on me, I get stuck overthinking the smallest choices."
Her voice softened as she continued, "And I fixate on things. Projects, people, problems. If something matters to me, I can’t let it go, even to the point of neglecting my own care. I’ll skip meals or lose sleep or forget about everything else just to see something through. It’s not always healthy, and I’m trying to be better about it, but… as you said, old habits die hard."
After a few moments, Dupain-Cheng cleared her throat, tilting her head to study the next item on the list. “Communication and conflict,” she read aloud, her voice steady but curious. “I suppose this is where we get to the tricky parts.”
Damian glanced over, the hint of a wry smile ghosting across his lips. “Not everyone is good at confrontation. But it’s necessary. I believe in addressing issues directly and as soon as possible. If there’s a problem, I want to know about it right away. No silent treatment, no expecting me to guess what’s wrong.”
“Direct, then,” Dupain-Cheng summarized, a thoughtful note entering her tone. “How do you handle it if someone is upset with you, but doesn’t say so?”
“I ask,” Damian replied simply. “But if they refuse to talk, I will give them space and then try again at a later date, but only once. I won’t chase after someone who doesn’t want to be found. Communication is a two-way street.”
Dupain-Cheng nodded, jotting a note. “I tend to over-communicate, honestly,” she admitted, a touch of humor in her voice. “If something bothers me, I need to talk about it, even if it’s uncomfortable. I’d rather have an awkward conversation than let resentment build up. That said, I’m not always good at expressing anger, I’ll worry about hurting the other person, or try to smooth things over too quickly.”
Damian regarded her thoughtfully. “Resentment is more dangerous than conflict. I would rather face an argument than have to guess at unspoken grievances.”
She smiled, a little rueful. “I agree. Silent treatment and grudges don’t work for me. If I care about someone, I want to fix the problem, sometimes too quickly.”
He nodded in return. “It’s better to risk a difficult conversation than lose trust. I expect honesty, even if it’s uncomfortable. I’d rather hear the ugly truth than a comforting lie.”
Dupain-Cheng considered that, then added, “If I need time to process, I’ll say so. But I won’t leave someone guessing. I’d expect the same courtesy from a partner.”
Damian’s reply was simple, “Agreed.”
After a few moments, Dupain-Cheng tapped the next item on the list. "Last one. Faith, politics, and values? This is usually the one that turns into an argument," she said, her tone light, though there was genuine interest in her eyes. Glancing down at her list, then looked up at Damian, asking in a tone that was open and curious. "Are there any religious or spiritual beliefs that are important to you? And how do you feel about being with someone who has different beliefs?"
Damian considered the question carefully, his jaw tightening as he weighed his words. “I was raised with certain traditions, but I don’t consider myself particularly religious. My family’s values lean more toward discipline, duty, and legacy than any particular faith. I respect belief in others, but I don’t look to religion for guidance myself. As long as my partner’s beliefs don’t demand that I change who I am, or expect me to participate in things I’m not comfortable with, I have no issue with different perspectives.”
Dupain-Cheng considered this, then offered a sheepish, lopsided smile. "Technically, I am religious. At least, in certain rituals and traditions. I don’t really pray to any particular god, so I suppose you could say I’m spiritual more so than religious, as it’s not in a way that’s centered on doctrine or worship."
She hesitated, glancing away as she fidgeted with her pen. "This is the awkward part where I have to explain that I’m technically considered a priestess in the temple I belong to. It’s not something I think about much, honestly. I inherited the title when my pseudo-grandfather passed away, so it’s less about spiritual authority and more about carrying on a responsibility. It’s not really a big deal besides having to handle a few things every now and then.” She cleared her throat, offering Damian a self-deprecating grin. "So, yes, I have roots in ritual and tradition, but I don’t expect anyone else to follow them, and I’m not likely to preach or proselytize. It’s just... part of my life, but not all of who I am."
That was something Damian could understand. Inheriting a title from a grandfather, pseudo or one of blood, either way, it was quite similar. Settling the grandchild with titles and responsibilities not asked for. It wasn’t quite the same, but something Damian has learned through his many years dealing with both his own and other people’s trauma is that sometimes, just close enough is all that’s needed to feel understood.
“Are there conditions to adhere to under your title?” He couldn’t help but inquire. “Most priests, or priestesses, have limitations regarding romantic relations.”
She shook her head gently.
“No- well,” She pursed her lips. “Preferably, at least in accordance with the temple wishes, I would pass on the title to my future children, but I have failsaves for that. I taught a few of my friends how to do what I’m supposed to, so if anything happens, they can take up the title, and it wouldn’t be forced upon anyone.” Dupain-Cheng offered a gentle smile when she caught sight of the look on Damian’s face. “I value being able to choose.” She reminded him.
Damian dipped his head in acknowledgment and gestured for them to continue.
Dupain-Cheng glanced at the next section of the list and looked up with genuine curiosity. "Are there political or social issues that matter deeply to you?"
Damian considered the question, but kept his answer brisk, as if not wanting to linger. "Human rights are important to me," he said, his tone even. "People should have the freedom to choose their own paths, and I have little patience for injustice of any kind." He left it at that, his conviction clear but not overstated.
Dupain-Cheng nodded, breezing in with her own answer. "Same here. My family always taught me to value equality and dignity. Helping others, protecting the vulnerable, and standing up for what’s right. I suppose you could call my beliefs liberal, but mostly I just care about fairness and compassion."
Before either could go further, a sudden spatter of rain began to drum against the willow branches overhead. Dupain-Cheng looked up in surprise, then let out a soft laugh. "Looks like we’re about to get soaked."
Damian was already getting up, gathering their things,moving with brisk efficiency as the rain picked up. "We should find shelter," he said as the downpour cut off any further debate or confessions for the moment.
They hurried from beneath the willow’s drooping boughs, the rain intensifying into a steady torrent that quickly soaked through Damian’s jacket and left Dupain-Cheng’s hair clinging to her cheeks. The park, so recently a haven of privacy, was now deserted except for the two of them dashing for the nearest gazebo. A quaint wooden structure with peeling white paint and a leaky roof.
Damian held his arm out, hovering behind Dupain-Cheng’s back as they made their way to the structure, weary of a particularly forceful gust of wind knocking her over. Once inside, he withdrew into his own space, watching as she wrung out the ends of her sweater dress, breathless but grinning in a way that made Damian’s own lips twitch with reluctant amusement.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The steady drum of rain on warped shingles filled the small space with a gentle hush. Damian found himself watching Dupain-Cheng, whose gaze was turned outward, not to gauge the weather, but to seemingly enjoy the sensations around her. Dark loose hair, damp and shining, framed her face as she looked through the rain, blue eyes distant, perhaps lost in memory or thought. With a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she closed her eyes, just for a heartbeat, as if letting the sound of the storm wash through her.
Something about the sight struck Damian. The curve of her posture, the vulnerable peace in her expression, the way the gray light softened her features. It was an image that he felt the need to capture. A sudden, familiar itch crawled up his arm, a restless urge he hadn’t experienced in months. His fingers twitched unconsciously toward his pocket, where he always, out of stubborn habit, kept a notebook and pencil. It had been ages since he'd truly wanted to draw anything, despite his continued production of dull, lifeless pieces. But now, looking at Dupain-Cheng, outlined by the haze of rain, he suddenly wanted, no, needed to try. The urge was so sharp and sudden that it startled him, a jolt so subtle he doubted anyone else would have noticed. Just a quick inhalation, a tightening in his shoulders, a minute widening of his eyes. He nearly scoffed at himself, but the shock of wanting, of feeling that old itch to create, caught him off guard. For a long moment, he just sat with it, letting the realization settle.
And as he stood there, the answer crystallized before he could even question it. Yes. He was willing to give this a real chance. After the hours spent in honest conversation, going over the compatibility list and its questions, Damian found the idea not only bearable, but intriguing. A proper date. He wanted to try that with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
He cleared his throat, the sound quiet but decisive. When her eyes blinked open and turned to him, Damian held her gaze, steady and unflinching. "It's getting late," he said, voice lower and softer than usual. "I should take you back to the dormitory." Then, after a heartbeat, he added, "Perhaps... we could try an actual date in the coming days? A proper one."
Marinette’s lips curved into a gentle, genuine smile. "I’d like that," she replied, a soft warmth in her eyes. "And yes, I should head back."
Damian shrugged off his jacket, offering it to her without preamble. She accepted, and he helped her into the too-large jacket with careful hands, his touch gentle and precise. Then, as she adjusted the lapels, Damian extended his hand, palm up, his eyes searching hers. "You wished to test physical affection, so may I?"
Marinette slipped her fingers into his, her smile widening just a touch. "You may."
Together, they stepped out into the rain, hand in hand. The downpour had eased, but the city was still slick and shining, the world silvered and new. They kept close to the awnings as they walked back toward the shops and the dorms, sheltered from the worst of the weather but unconcerned with the stray droplets that found their way through. Their pace was unhurried, comfortable. A quiet, shared rhythm, as if neither wanted to rush the simple pleasure of walking side by side.
When they reached Marinette’s dormitory, Damian paused, suddenly reluctant to let the night end. He hovered at the entrance, searching her face for a moment before speaking. "I know this wasn’t a romantic date," he said quietly. “But, if you’re comfortable, I would like to try kissing you,” Damian suggests. “I had no issue with holding hands, which is positive, but I would prefer to test for any poor reactions to kissing before we move forward.”
Marinette’s answering smile was soft and reassuring as she nodded. "Testing romantic touch and not just platonic. That makes sense," she agrees. "Go ahead"
Damian carefully brought a hand to rest on her cheek, holding her gently in place as he leaned in to press his lips briefly to hers.
When they part, Damian is met with the sight of Marinette’s eyes fluttering open.
“Well? How was it?” Marinette inquired curiously. Leaning her face affectionately into the palm of his hand.
Offering a contemplative hum, Damian manipulated her head back further and was pleased when he was met with no resistance, allowing Damian to observe the slope of her neck and shadows along her collarbone. The angle he was holding her face at was an endearing sight when paired with her half-open eyes framed by long lashes. Plush pink lips parted ever so lightly to take in a stuttered breath.
“Once more?” Damian inquired, earning a slow blink, and then a rapid fluttering as Marinette seemed to fight to open her eyes properly, as if waking up from a trance.
Interesting. Was it from such a small allowance of physical affection, or from his moving her as he pleased?
“Again.” Marinette agreed once she had gathered herself from the trance-like state. Making an effort to lean a half-step further into his space. Testing, but not pushing, so Damian allowed it. His other hand came to rest on her waist, pulling her that little bit further that she had silently requested.
Tilting her head down ever so slightly, he lined their lips up for a second kiss. This one is more than just a brush of skin against skin. There was movement to it. Clumsy at first, until Marinette began to guide him through the motions. A bite to the lip, a swipe of the tongue. Soft but pressing, until Damian began to press back. Taking the lead as he grew more assured, deepened the kiss.
This time, when they pulled away from each other, Marinette was flushed and slightly breathless, with red lips instead of pink. A sight that made Damian feel unreasonably pleased with himself.
Huh. Okay then.
Damian regarded her for a long moment, then hummed thoughtfully. "I think we’re a good match," he said, voice warm and certain. "And I’d like to take you on a proper date. Would Sunday work for you?”
A giggle escaped from plush red lips before pulling into a pleased smile of their own.
“Sunday works for me.” Marinette informs him.
“Good.” Damian nodded to himself. Reluctantly releasing his hold on Marinette in favor of fishing out his phone, which he then unlocked and handed over, open to the contact page. “I would appreciate a way to contact you.” He states. Ignoring the fact that he could have just found her number on his own.
Taking the phone, Marinette input her information, and then sent herself a message.
“There.” The buzz of another phone going off was heard as she handed back his phone and took out her own. A message from an unknown number sat on the home screen. Something that was quickly changed in favor of a proper contact.
With a means of contact established, there wasn’t any reason to delay their farewells, but Damain still found himself lingering. He offered his hand palm up, which Marinette lightly took with her own, allowing Damian to bring the back to his lips.
“Goodnight. Rest well.” He bid before stepping further back.
“Goodnight, Damian. Sleep well.” She returned. Stepping in to quite obviously plant a kiss to his cheek, before turning away and disappearing back into her dormitory. Although not without glancing back every once in a while until she was out of sight.
Damian stood there for a moment, jacketless in the cool air, feeling strangely lighter and more grounded. He turned away from the dorm and walked back into the night. The rain had slowed to a fine mist, each drop catching the streetlights like flecks of gold.
Back at his apartment, Damian barely paused to change out of his damp clothes before finding himself drawn to where his painting supplies waited. The urge from earlier, that fierce, creative itch, was no longer something he could ignore. He uncovered his neglected canvases and set out his paints, hands moving with a purpose that felt both foreign and exhilarating.
Hours slipped by unnoticed. The city outside faded to a hush, the clock ticking into the early morning as Damian worked, brush moving in bold, sure strokes. He painted from memory, from the vivid impression Marinette had left on him. Her silhouette framed by rain, the soft glow of her expression, the quiet strength in her posture, and the light that seemed to follow her even in grayness.
When he finally stepped back, exhaustion settling in his bones, he regarded the finished portrait, a woman awash in silver rain, luminous and strong, delicate and resolute all at once. The painting was breathtaking, raw and honest in a way that surprised even him. For the first time in months, Damian felt a deep, unshakable satisfaction settle in his chest. He couldn’t help but smile, despite the telltale signs of dawn creeping in through his window.
Summary: After years of relentless battles, Marinette finds herself adrift and weary in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat. By a twist of fate, she ends up in a new city, leaving behind the tangible reminders of her trauma in pursuit of a genuine fresh start. University life brings new friendships and, unexpectedly, sweeps her into a whirlwind romance with someone who understands all too well the scars left by a childhood of being forged into a weapon. Through newfound honesty and boundaries rarely granted to them before, the former child heroes slowly begin to heal; together.
Chapter 5/?
Marinette laid sprawled out on the living room carpet, with her legs elevated on the couch and an arm thrown over her eyes to block out the light. On the couch above, sitting next to Marinette’s fluffy sock-covered feet, is Maps, curled up with her phone. Her thumbs tapped away at her screen at lightning speed as she texted someone. Or more likely, as she texted four or five people, either individually or in a group chat. Both were plausible based on the way Maps texted to notify her roommates of anything. Often switching between their group chat and individual texts at random, even if the individual text was sent repeatedly to each of them, and the group chat text was aimed at someone specific. Maps is just odd like that when it comes to her texting habits.
The apartment was quiet outside of the tapping of fingers on a screen, as both Pomeline and Olive were out doing something or other. Marinette honestly wasn’t sure what they were doing or if they were even doing the same thing. She had sorta been zoned out and not processing a word anyone was saying when they had left after lunch, and sure, Marinette could ask Maps where their other roommates were, but it really wasn’t important so long as they were safe. And, again, Maps did know where they went, so if anything happened, they could go find their lost roommates. However, nothing was going on currently, and there was no reason to be actively worrying about Pomeline and Olive, so Marinette was left bored with nothing to do.
Letting out a long, theatrical sigh, she shifted so her arm would no longer be blocking her sight. Letting the limb flop onto the floor with a dull thud.
“Maps, I’m bored,” she called up to the roommate sitting above her, voice flat with a clear lack of energy to be doing anything. “What do normal people even do on university breaks? Like, actual, regular young adults? Because I’m starting to think I missed the orientation for that part in coming of age.” She complained, earning a snort.
“Define ‘normal’.” Maps prompted. Flashing her a smirk before her eyes returned to the conversation on her screen.
“I don’t know.” The designer groaned. “What do university kids do that isn’t just the stereotypical partying, working, or doing assignments?”
“Well-” Maps drawls, not even bothering to look up from her phone this time. “Most people who aren’t out partying, or having to work their way through college, usually, spend the break sleeping, hanging out with friends, doomscrolling, or binge-watching something, usually along the lines of a true crime documentary or the like."
Marinette wrinkled her nose at those suggestions.
“If I sleep anymore, I might as well start hibernating.” The designer states, holding back a snort of amusement from her own inside joke. “My parision friends are six hours ahead of me, so we have to schedule phone calls, and with how busy we all are, those are once a week at most. And my Gotham friends are just you guys.” Marinette says, vaguely gesturing around the apartment to indicate that she means her roommates. “As for doomscrolling and watching things- if I spend any longer on my electronics, my brain is going to melt.”
Maps snorted. “Okay, so, alternatives: some people go out, like, actually outside in the fresh- ish, air, and hit up coffee shops, museums- stuff like that. Or they go on weird food adventures. Or, you know, take up hobbies. I have one friend who codes mini games just for the hell of it. My brother usually picks up a new physical activity when bored, and another of my friends rotates between different art mediums- well, he does when he’s not suffering from an art block. Which is all he’s been complaining about for the past few months.”
“Ugh- blocks are the worst,” Marinette groaned, wincing in sympathy. “Art Major?” She guessed.
“Nope. Medical with an interest in art.” Maps corrected, popping the ‘p’ while she continued texting, only to suddenly pause. Her thumb is hovering over her phone screen as she glances over, looking between the designer on the floor and her phone. “Hey, Mari, quick- random, question.” Maps prefaced, earning a curious look from the designer, and a gesture for her to continue. “How would you feel about going on a blind date? Like- would you ever go on one? Cause that’s definitely a normal college thing if you’re looking for things to do.”
Marinette opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the right words. Her brows furrowing as she pushed herself up from where she had been lying on the floor into a cross-legged position. Leveling Maps with a skeptical look.
“A blind date? Here? In Gotham? Maps, that’s basically asking to be the lead in one of those true crime documentaries you just suggested.”
“I know, I know.” Maps placates, turning her full attention away from her phone and onto her roommate instead. “But hear me out. I kinda won a bet last semester, so all my friends owed me a blind date. And Pomeline, Olive, Colton, Jon, and Kyle already paid up by going on the dates I sent them on. But the thing is, my pre-med friend hasn’t had his turn yet, and I’ve been holding out because… honestly, he’s not the best when it comes to typical social experiences and has never dated before.” Maps explain. Not quite hesitantly, but definitely with more care than she usually handles conversations with.
“He’s had some bad experiences with people trying to get close to him just to use him or his family connections, so I didn’t want to just throw him into something awkward or set him up with someone who’d make the whole dating thing seem bad. I want him to at least have a good or neutral experience on the date, like the others did.”
“And you think I would be a good practice date for this friend of yours?” Marinette asked curiously while trying and mostly succeeding to keep the incredulous tone out of her voice.
“Yup! I honestly think you could at least be friends, or an acquaintance if the date doesn’t work out, so it shouldn’t be a bad time for either of you- Not to pressure you, or anything! But… would you consider it?” Maps inquired hopefully.
Marinette pursed her lips, giving her roommate a considering look.
“Okay. Level with me.” Marinette prompts, resting her chin in her hand. “If I’m risking myself in the Gotham dating scene, I need more information than being pre-med and liking art. So, what’s this friend of yours like?”
Maps brightens immensely, clearly taking the fact that Marinette didn’t immediately dismiss the blind date idea as a good sign, as well as a go-ahead.
“Well, like I said- he’s a med student and is super into art. Any medium that goes on canvas or paper, he’s tried and probably taken a liking to.” Maps begins, scooting closer to the couch edge to get into a comfortable position for gossiping. “He’s kind of intense- not in a bad way! But, he’s definitely intense.” Maps trailed off with a frown as she contemplated her next words. Clearly trying to find the line between talking up her friend and actually giving a real representation of him.
“He’s also a bit stand-offish, and again, not great with typical social interactions. So he has a tendency to come across as cold and rude if you’re not used to him. But he’s also weirdly considerate and helpful. Like- the kind of person who points out when you have food between your teeth, or when your clothes have been ruined for one reason or another. And he does it without an ounce of shame. Actually, he finds it weird when people get all embarrassed and flustered instead of just fixing the issue.” Maps chuckles, probably referencing an old memory. “He also does things like fostering feral animals for the local shelters until they’re no longer dangerous to handle and are able to be adopted.”
Marinette hummed, thinking over the description.
“Do I get a name or an age for this guy or-?”
“Uh- he’s twenty?” Maps offered hesitantly, earning a raised brow.
“You don’t sound very sure about that.” Marinette points out skeptically.
“No. He’s definitely twenty. I’m just not sure how much of a blind date this will be if I give you his name right now.” Maps admitted sheepishly.
“Ah.” Marinette snorted. “I’m assuming he’s famous or rich then, yes?”
Maps winced. “Maybe?”
“You don’t have to worry about me overreacting or using him. My last boyfriend was a model and heir to a multi-million dollar company, and my boyfriend before that was a popular local musician and the son of a rockstar.” Marinette waves off dismissively. “And before you ask, the breakups were amicable, and we’re all still great friends, so you don’t have to worry there either.”
Maps stared. Eyes going wide with surprise, and then a bark of startled laughter spilled from her lips. Light and relieved as she settled back into the couch, tension draining from her body. Looking Marinette up and down lazily, like she was seeing her with new eyes.
“See, this is why you’re perfect for the job,” Maps grinned. “You’re cool under pressure, and apparently have a type for guys with complicated backgrounds and improbable bank accounts. Plus, you’re not going to get all weird if he has some family drama or tabloid rumors floating around. I mean, honestly, you’re probably the only person I know who’d hear ‘possible heir to a large Gotham fortune’ and just shrug it off.”
She paused, watching Marinette for a reaction. When she gives none, Maps continues with a sly smile, “His name's Damian Wayne.”
Marinette nodded slowly. Eyebrows furrowing together in thought.
“Oh!” She exclaims as she places where she’s heard the name before. “He competed against Gami in that fencing tournament a couple of years back.”
Maps gaped at her, incredulous. “Wait a second- hold on, you know Damian Wayne because of a fencing tournament? Not because he’s, like, the Damian Wayne?”
Marinette blinked up at her, puzzled. “Should I? He’s not really known for anything fashion-wise, so I wouldn’t have looked into him on my own. Plus, he was a really good fencer. Gami barely squeaked out a win.”
Maps shook her head in disbelief, grinning. “Only you would recognize the heir to the Wayne fortune from a fencing match and not from, you know, the fact that he’s practically Gotham royalty.”
Marinette just shrugged. “The fact that Kagami complimented his footwork was more memorable than whatever his tabloid headlines are.”
Maps paused, processing that. Then she frowned, lips parting and closing with unasked questions before she just gave in and asked, “When did Kagami Tsurugi compliment Damian? I never heard anything about that in any news articles. And Damian’s never mentioned getting complimented by the Kagami Tsurugi, world-class fencer.”
Marinette blinked, looking a little confused by the question. “At the celebration dinner after the competition? Gami told us that Damian was impressively quick on his feet with good reflexes, especially with how quickly he adapted to her style. And honestly, being called adaptable is sorta the best compliment Gami gives.”
Maps let out a snort, grinning from ear to ear. “Hold on. So, you just...casually know the Tsurugi heiress, too? Marinette, do you just collect rich people like Pokémon or something?”
“It’s not like that! I just meet people, that’s all.” Marinette grumbles with a roll of her eyes.
Maps’ eyes sparkled with mischief, but whatever she had been planning to say was interrupted by the click of a lock and the front door swinging open. Pomeline and Olive walked through the entrance hall and slipped off their shoes while quietly arguing about the merits of cold brew versus hot coffee.
“Are we indoctrinating Marinette into something? Or did Mel and I miss a juicy gossip sess’?” Olive inquired as she shrugged off her leather jacket.
Maps immediately perked up, scooting upright. “Actually, I was asking Marinette if she would be Damian’s blind date. You know, for the bet?”
Pomeline paused in the entryway, her usual cool detachment replaced by a spark of interest as she glanced at Marinette, then at Maps, then back to Olive, lips quirking in amusement. “Damian’s blind date, huh?”
“Yup!” Maps nodded eagerly. “Our dear Mari apparently collects the rich and famous like Pokémon, so she doesn’t care that he’s Damian Wayne. Actually- she recognised his name from the fact her friend Kagami Tsurugi competed against him once, and not from any of the various tabloids and news articles- Hey!” Maps protested when one of the throw pillows smacked her in the face.
Turning to her assaulter, Maps pouted at the designer.
“What? It’s true.” She protested, ducking down when Marinette raised another pillow at her threateningly.
“I told you, I don’t collect them. I just happen to know people. It’s sorta a consequence of my job.” Marinette corrected with a huff.
Im not counting inspiration block or blind date because they weren't used so much as vaguely mentioned. Like how inheritance was mentioned and the supplies of said inheritance was used in that chapter. I'll probably get them next chapter tho!
Summary: After years of relentless battles, Marinette finds herself adrift and weary in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat. By a twist of fate, she ends up in a new city, leaving behind the tangible reminders of her trauma in pursuit of a genuine fresh start. University life brings new friendships and, unexpectedly, sweeps her into a whirlwind romance with someone who understands all too well the scars left by a childhood of being forged into a weapon. Through newfound honesty and boundaries rarely granted to them before, the former child heroes slowly begin to heal; together.
Chapter 4/?
The morning of her second day in the dormitory, she had woken up very early to go about setting up her wards, as she wouldn’t really have time when school started in the next few days. There really wasn’t all that much time to unpack and do things before classes started up, because of the fact that all the other international, or out-of-state, students were only given three days to move into their dormitory, unpack, and get settled before class started. Unlike the Gotham natives, who Marinette had learned via her roommates, had been allowed to move into the dorms three weeks ago. Apparently, it was some kind of housing initiative to help those in unsafe homes or without homes in general be able to, and more motivated to, get a higher education. She’s not sure about the specifics, but it was interesting to learn about either. There were supposedly a lot of projects like that scattered around the city, trying to help stabilize a place that seemed so set on folding in on itself and sinking into the darkness.
It was interesting to see from a balance standpoint. And had she been a few years more naive, Marinette would have already been plotting out how to help with charities or perhaps the crime rate, but she’s not. All her naivety was beaten out of her, quite literally, during the first three or four months of fighting Hawkmoth. She’s also not foolish enough to think that one person throwing money at something is going to magically fix everything. Especially with the fact that there is weird energy built into some of the structures throughout the city.
Just the other day, her roommates had taken Marinette to Batburger for her first Gotham ‘authentic’ meal, and to celebrate the fact that Marinette had finished unpacking, and every few blocks, a weird cloaking aura would seep into the surrounding air as they walked by, setting her nerves on edge. It wasn’t the worst sensation Marinette had ever experienced, but given that she was comparing it to a corrupted and broken miraculous, that wasn’t saying anything good about the feeling. But again. It’s not her issue. This isn’t her city, and she doesn’t have to force herself to be a hero anymore, even if shaking the mindset is hard; she doesn’t have to do anything. Besides, if someone wanted to have it fixed, then Batman could have gotten in contact with one of the various magic users he knows through the Justice League, and they could have, at the very least, set up some wards, like Marinette is planning to do now that she has all her materials unpacked.
Setting up wards isn’t hard. It’s actually rather easy, which is the reason why it was one of the first things that Master Fu had taught her, after all of her lessons on how to properly care for the Ƙⱳąɱį, of course. All it requires is time, energy, and materials. Two of which anyone has so long as they're alive, and the third she had inherited from Master Fu. An old apothecary cabinet filled with all the materials she would need for her branch of practice as Grand Guardian.
It had been an all day affair, setting up her wards. Before dawn, Marinette had sat cross-legged at her desk, illuminated only by the soft glow of her desk lamp. Spread before her were small, rough gemstones, each selected from the collection of stones she had inherited, holding their own unique properties. Setting her tools in a neat row, she took a steadying breath and began the slow, careful work of carving intricate runes into each stone. The rhythmic scrape of her engraving tool and the concentration required to shape the fragile surfaces steadied her nerves, grounding her in the familiar ritual. As she worked, Marinette whispered quiet intentions in French, infusing each ward stone with purpose. When she finished, her fingers were dusted with fine shavings, and her eyes ached from focus, but after hours of carving, a small collection of gleaming, rune-marked gemstones sat ready for placement around the apartment. Standing up to stretch, Marinette gathered the gems and went about placing them. Adding a pinprick of blood to stones once they were placed to set the wards into action.
She was careful with the placements. Putting them in areas that would be out of the way and not easily noticed so as to not draw attention or create questions, but Marinette was pretty sure Pomeline had clocked her as some type of magic user during the ritual, given the fact that she had been eyeing Marinette throughout the whole process and had even gone up to the ward stones to investigate them. There was no way that Pomeline hadn’t figured out she was a magic user, but she wouldn’t know what kind, and that was all Marinette really cared about. Her roommates' finding out she does magic isn’t all that important, as it just allows Marinette to utilize it more often in her own dorm. So long as she doesn’t let slip that she has the miraculi and is the grand guardian, Marinette isn’t all that concerned with being outed as a magic user. This is Gotham after all. A lot of weird things happen here, and so long as Marinette isn’t causing trouble with her abilities and drawing the attention of this city’s vigilante flock, she’ll most likely be left alone, like any regular university student.
Her third day in the dorm was spent sleeping. She had been exhausted after setting up her wards, especially because she had set up two. One for her room, which was tightly bound and defended, and another for the rest of the apartment, which was a little looser, but still well defended. Both of which had taken a lot of energy. So much so that Marinette had spent pretty much all day in bed, barely surfacing from the fog of sleep. Whenever she left her room, the world felt muffled and distant, her thoughts slow and unbothered by the activity around her. Olive, Pomeline, and Maps were all in the apartment. She had noted their presence only in the vaguest sense, hardly aware of what they were doing or talking about. At one point, she caught a snippet of conversation. Something about a bet? a debt? or maybe it was a date? But she didn't care enough to investigate, just grabbed food, ignored the rest, and retreated to her room, letting the sounds of her roommates fade into the background as she crawled back under the covers.
Luckily, Marinette had mostly recovered by the next day and was able to attend her first classes without issue. Actually, her entire first week of classes was rather uneventful. She has shared art classes with Maps and a shared English and psychology class with Olive, but didn’t have any with Pomeline. Whatever her roommate’s major was, it apparently didn’t line up with Marinette’s Fine Arts, Graphic Communications, or Arts and Humanities based classes. Which wasn’t the strangest thing, as there was a wide range of Majors offered at Gotham University, but one would think that with Marinette going for three degrees, she would have shared a class with each of her roommates at least once. Then again, the reason she was doing three degrees was because they had so much overlap for classes needed, and she barely had to increase her course load to accommodate the extra degrees.
Maps overlapped with her art classes as a Game Design major to Marinette’s Fine Arts and Graphic Communications. Olive’s Psychology major overlapped with her Arts and Humanities major. So she saw those two far more often than Pomeline, who Marinette actually didn’t know the major of. Something that she would have to rectify at some point. For now, Marinette found herself content to slowly build a rapport with each of her roommates, like the perfectly normal university student she is trying to be.
Although her definition of normal might be the tiniest bit skewed. Even if one were to ignore Marinette’s history of heroics and magic, there was still the fact that most university students aren’t running multi-million dollar fashion companies in their free time between classes. To be fair, most of the actual running of the company was being done by Adrien, who much prefers being behind the scenes to being in front of all the cameras, but Marinette still had designs to submit and approve, and quotas to meet. There was also the matter of the winter commission requests coming in for the end-of-year events that her usual clientele liked to attend.
Suffice it to say that Marinette was rather busy during her first semester of school. Between getting acclimated to Gotham, attending classes, business calls, and working on a multitude of dresses and suits, in addition to keeping up with her social life and family back in Paris, making weekly phone calls to her friends, she hadn’t had all that much time to actually befriend her roommates. Sure, they could be considered friends in the vaguest terms of the word, but they haven’t really had the time to hang out when not in a shared class or being in the same shared living area. Not that they haven’t talked at all. Marinette has made an effort to interact with her roommates and get to know them whenever she has the time, but her fall and winter seasons are always a busy time for commissions, so her time has been rather limited until now.
By the time finals week rolled around in December, Marinette was running on nothing but determination and caffeine. Her days blurred together in a constant cycle of classes, late-night sewing, and back-to-back meetings. She barely noticed the first snowfall outside her window, too focused on finishing her winter commission list of gowns and tailored suits for clients in Paris, New York, and even a few Gotham socialites that Uncle Jagged had recommended her to. Meaning that it had been a long list, and while she had promised herself she wouldn’t take on too much this year, as always, Marinette found it hard to say no to those who relied on her creativity.
It wasn’t until she finally clicked “submit” on her last paper and sent off the final package of clothing and accessories, the last of her winter commissions, that she realized just how thin she’d been stretched. Sat on her bed, surrounded by sketchbooks, fabric scraps, and empty coffee cups, she stared blankly at the wall as exhaustion crashed over her like a tidal wave. For the first time since late August, Marinette had no immediate deadline, no urgent call or email, and nothing she absolutely needed to do. The adrenaline that had kept her moving for months abruptly vanished, leaving her feeling hollow and worn out. The bone-cold chill of exhaustion that she had been running from back in Paris was finding its way back into her core. She barely managed to text her parents that she’d survived her first semester before curling up under her blanket and letting herself finally rest.
She has a month-long break with nothing to do before the cycle repeats again. Overloading her schedule, pushing herself to keep going. The top of her school, the best designer, the ever-available friend and confidante. That’s who she was, until she wasn’t. And then nothing. Nothing but boredom and bedrotting until she had to work and start again. It was exhausting, but at this point, it was the only thing she knew. Being in control. Keeping herself on a short leash to maximize productivity. Letting herself crash and reset. Repeat.
It was in no way healthy, but it’s all she knows how to do.
And right now? It’s what she was doing. She was crashing. Letting herself fall into a state between dissociation and boredom as she mechanically went through each day of winter break.
The first few days passed in a haze of sleep and silence. Marinette let herself drift, catching up on the hours she’d lost to classes, commissions, and late-night phone calls. At first, she relished the quiet, the rare opportunity to do absolutely nothing, but the novelty wore off quickly. The familiar itch to be productive crept back in. She found herself sketching on napkins, tinkering with new ward designs, and reorganizing her supply cabinet just to keep her hands busy.
On the fourth evening, Maps knocked on her door, arms full of board games and a hopeful grin on her face. “You look like you could use a break from your break,” she announced, not waiting for Marinette’s invitation before bustling in. Olive and Pomeline trailed behind, armed with snacks and a clear determination to rescue Marinette from her self-imposed isolation.
Marinette protested, but really, it was only a half-hearted thing. She was far too grateful that someone was willing to pull her out of her spiral, as she couldn’t do it herself, not unless she wanted to restart the cycle early, so she was grateful for the distraction. The cycle of deadlines and responsibilities would start again soon enough, but for now, as Maps declared herself the reigning board game champion and Olive joked about how Pomeline was clearly cheating, while Marinette just let herself be present. Soaking in all the warmth and energy her roommates had to offer as they started a new game, and continued to gossip about the male half of their friend group, most of whom Marinette had yet to meet, but Maps seemed determined to introduce them at some point, and Marinette was content with that.
Prompt: "What if I don't want to be a Magical Girl?"
Ship: Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Summary: After years of relentless battles, Marinette finds herself adrift and weary in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat. By a twist of fate, she ends up in a new city, leaving behind the tangible reminders of her trauma in pursuit of a genuine fresh start. University life brings new friendships and, unexpectedly, sweeps her into a whirlwind romance with someone who understands all too well the scars left by a childhood of being forged into a weapon. Through newfound honesty and boundaries rarely granted to them before, the former child heroes slowly begin to heal; together.
Chapter 3/?
There was something old about the structure of the Gotham University dorm building. Not in the sense that it had been built a long time ago, although that was probably true as well, but in the sense that there is something old and ancient, an aura of some sort, that seeped out of the stone walls and into the surrounding air. Not something magical, per se, but something odd that set Marinette on edge, and if it wasn’t for the fact that first years were required to dorm on campus, she would have turned right around and found herself an apartment to live in instead of this old building. But unfortunately, the dorms are mandatory for first years, so here Marinette is, entering a building that feels haunted and yet, not.
Whatever. It’s not her issue to deal with. She’ll just ward her room, and maybe the common area if she plans to hang out there and has the time and energy to do so.
Dragging her suitcases down a dimly lit hallway, Marinette navigated the building until she found the elevator. A device that seemed new and shiny despite the surrounding structure being dated far older than the elevator would have her believe. Which was either a good sign that the building was up to code, or a sign that something bad had happened with the last elevator, causing the need to replace it; either way, an elevator is an elevator, and Marinette didn’t feel like borrowing trouble. Pressing the button next to it summoned the elevator to the ground floor, and another button brought her up to the seventh floor, where she will unfortunately be staying for the next two semesters. Which is why Marinette had splurged on the apartment-style dormitory.
Unlocking the door of her new temporary home, Marinette stepped through the narrow entrance way and into the living room that was also open to the kitchen, with only an island counter and a couch dividing the two areas. Most of the apartment was decorated already. The short hall leading to the living area was plastered with intricate maps of what she assumes is Gotham, with color-coded notes marking different things on each map. Pushpins and dotted lines zigzagged across the paper landscapes, creating a sense of constant adventure or perhaps marking adventures that had already taken place. The living room already looked lived in, with throw pillows and blankets left askew, and an empty mug left on the low coffee table. At least it sat on a coaster
“Hello?” Marinette called out into the apartment.
When no response came, she breathed a sigh of relief and began to explore now that she wasn’t waiting for someone to jump out at her while she was distracted. She left her luggage by the couch so that it would be out of the way while investigating her new living arrangement. The first thing Marinette does is open the door in the narrow entrance way. Inside just seemed to be a small, mostly empty, room that looked to be being used for storage at the moment. With that mystery solved, Marinette moved back into the living room, to the door all the way to the right. Opening that door revealed what was most definitely a claimed bedroom, given the glimpse of art supplies scattered about and the fact that there were more maps hanging from the walls, so the designer quickly closed that door and moved on to the one right next to it. And because her luck is the way that it is, that room is another of the already claimed ones, this one with books littered everywhere that had a flat surface available. Closing that door, Marinette entertains the idea of skipping the next door and just going to one of the other two, because the next one was probably claimed too, but she doesn’t, and unsurprisingly, the third room was also claimed.
This room had Marinette pause. Some of the objects scattered about were strange in the same way that the practice texts and items Master Fu had taught her with, had been strange. There were crystals, incense sticks, and what looked like tomes sitting out on the desk.
“That’s my room.” A sharp voice called from behind, startling Marinette into a coughing fit. Her heart racing and eyes flitting around to take in the changes to her surroundings. Three women had entered the apartment while she had been distracted, and she hadn’t noticed.
For Ƙⱳąɱį sake, she really needs to set up those wards. Whatever this weird energy is was messing with her senses far too much, given how overwhelming it is.
“Whoa, hey.” One of the women says, walking past the one who had claimed the room as hers. “Take a deep breath- there you go. Mel didn’t mean to freak you out, I’m sure.” The second woman says as she comes to stand in front of Marinette with a hand on her chest, taking over exaggerated breaths. Something Marinette knows is a calming technique to get people out of panic attacks when they’re teetering on the edge, as it is a strategy she had used as Ladybug more times than she could count.
Taking the deep breath she was still being urged to take, Marinette pressed a hand to her chest, her cheeks still faintly pink from her panic, but her voice was clear and steady.
“Pardon, je suis désolée,” she began softly, “I was looking for the unoccupied room? None of the doors have been labeled, so I was going from room to room. I am sorry to have intruded."
The woman who had helped Marinette to calm down after her scare simply waved off the apology with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. We didn’t even think to label the room since the three of us already know whose room is whose.”
“Yeah, that’s totally on us!” The third woman cut in. Her expresion bright and energetic as she stepped forward, offering a hand. “Hi, I’m Mia Mizoguchi, but everyone calls me Maps.” She grinned, shaking Marinette’s hand with enthusiasm when the designer took it. “That room’s mine, but I’m sure you would have figured that out with all the maps lying about inside.” Maps laughs, gesturing over her shoulder to her room.
The second woman placed a hand on Maps’ shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before redirecting the energetic young woman away so that she was once again in front of Marinette, “I’m Oliver Silverlock.” The woman greeted. “You’ll get used to us, promise. And hey! Thanks for not screaming- Mel gets a bit territorial about her stuff.”
Being mentioned for a second time, the first woman, Mel, crossed her arms, standing aloof with a sharp scanning gaze as she looked Marinette over before introducing herself, “Pomeline Fritch. Don’t mess with my things, and we should get along fine.” With that, the newly introduced Pomeline disappeared into her room and closed the door behind her.
Marinette found herself oddly comforted by Pomeline’s attitude. The standoffishness reminded her a little of Kagami. Reserved, intense, and with an air of self-assuredness. But where Kagami exuded discipline and the calculated grace of a fencer, Pomeline radiated something else entirely. There was lingering energy clinging to her, something occult and uncanny that prickled at Marinette’s senses. It made her both nervous and a little fascinated; she’d never met anyone outside her own circle who carried that kind of energy, as it usually came from interacting with a powerful magic item, and most people don’t just have those lying around. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a bit fond of Pomeline already, even if the presence of another potential magic user set her nerves on edge.
Oliver sighed, “Sorry about her. Mel’s-...” she trialed off, unable to find a good explanation.
“Not good with new people, so she seems too sharp and dismissive, but is a great person to have in your corner once you get to know her?” Marinette suggested, earning a wide-eyed look from Maps and an owlish blink from Olive.
The two women shared a look before facing Marinette again.
“Holy heck- How’d you know that?” Maps asked excitedly, earning a chuckle from the designer.
“I have a friend who gives off the same energy as Pomeline. Do not worry. I have a feeling we will get along just fine.” Marinette reassures the two women, causing Maps to bounce excitedly on the balls of her feet while Olive seemed to relax a bit, and some unknown tension bled out of the room.
“Why don’t we give you a proper tour, and then we can see about coaxing Mel out for some get-to-know-you questions?” Olive suggested.
Marinette hesitated, glancing back at her luggage by the couch. “Would you mind if I put my things away first? And, perhaps, allow me to take a quick shower? I have airport germs sticking to me still.” The designer joked, even if she was entirely serious. She needed a shower before she even considered sitting down on any of the furniture.
Maps laughed, gesturing to the door in the living room closest to the kitchen. Marinette grabbed her suitcases before following her roommates. The door she was led to opened to reveal a full-sized bathroom, with a double vanity, a shower and bath, and obviously, a toilet. “Here’s the bathroom! We have guest towels if you need them, so help yourself.” She cheers before leading to the last unopened door, which is the room right next to Pomeline. “And here’s your room! Sorry in advance, but none of us wanted to deal with all the sun that floods this room in the morning. I mean- seriously, why does one room need three windows' worth of sunlight?” Maps joked nervously, clearly feeling bad about something.
And apparently, Olive was on the same page as she winced apologetically. “Sorry, we probably should’ve warned you. It’s almost blinding in the morning.”
Marinette looked them over curiously as she examined her room and the large windows. “It’s not a problem. I like lying in the sun, but you guys aren’t allergic to sunlight, are you?” The designer asked in amusement. “My bestie, Alya, warned me that gothamites were allergic to all things bright and cheery, but I didn’t think she meant it so literally.”
The bark of surprised laughter from Olive and the estattic cackling helped to settle the deginer into the flow of the building relationships. Maps energetic nature would make it easy to get along with her, and Marinette already knew how to get along with people like Kagami, but the therapist personalities were always hard to know where you stand with, because they were always doing their best to make you comfortable even at their own expense. You have to shock a reaction out of them to really be able to tell how they’re feeling, unless you can become so in tune with them that you can read everything about them. At least Luka had always come out to say things, but it’s what he’s left unsaid about his time as Viperion that leaves her worried most of the time. So meeting another therapy personality had set her on edge even more than they had already been.
“Sorry- sorry,” Olive wheeze. “I hadn’t expected that.” Relief flickered across her face. “No, we aren’t allergic to sunlight, but if you like it, then that works out nicely.”
“Thank god you’re not boring!” Maps cheered excitedly once her cackling had calmed down.
Marinette offered a small smile in return. “I wouldn’t say I’m all that interesting.”
“If you can crack more jokes like that, and you can learn to roll with the punches, we shouldn’t have any problems.” Maps waved her off, turning to shove Olive out of the room. “Now go unpack and shower! I have so many questions!”
“Don’t listen to her,” Olive called over Maps’ shoulder as she was forced over the threshold. “Take your time. We’ll be here the rest of the night. And we will have plenty of time to get to know each other during the school year.”
Chuckling, Marinette watched her door swing shut behind an enthusiastic Maps, leaving her alone once more. Getting to work, Marinette unpacked just enough to feel settled, then made her way to the bathroom for a much-needed shower, letting the hot water rinse away hours of travel and nerves.
When she emerged, with her hair damp, dressed comfortably in gray leggings and an oversized pink and white sweater, feeling more like herself, Maps and Olive were waiting in the living room with Pomeline’s door now open once more. Maps clapped her hands together. “Okay! Now that the new roommate is clean and officially moved in, it’s time for our traditional getting-to-know-you game!” She turned to Marinette to explain for her benefit. “We do this every time we get new potential lifelong friends!”
Turning back to face the group as a whole, Maps continued, “Favorite color, favorite hero, your weirdest school story so far, secret talent, most unusual hobby you’ve ever tried, and your most irrational fear- go!”
Marinette blinked at the list of questions to answer, but luckily, Olive started them off.
Olive grinned, tucking her knees up on the couch and fiddling with the drawstring on her hoodie. “I’ll go first.” She said, giving Marinette a reassuring look. “We already know this stuff about each other, so you can go last, that way you have time to think of an answer to them all. Okay. So, my favorite color is teal, like the ocean on a stormy day. Favorite hero? I mean, I am legally obligated to say Batgirl or Batwoman. She gets things done, you know?” Olive’s expression softened in admiration. “Weirdest school story? I once accidentally set off the fire alarm during finals week because I tried to microwave a mug of ramen without adding water. Whole building evacuated, I still passed the test, though.”
She laughed and shrugged, glancing between Maps and the open bedroom. “Secret talent? I think we decided that it was being able to recite the entire script of The Princess Bride from memory. Like, every single line. Don’t ask me to prove it unless you want to be here all night.” She warned Marinette, who smiled mischievously. “Most unusual hobby? I collect old subway tokens. There’s just something about the way they feel, like little pieces of lost history, you know?”
Olive hesitated at the last question, but then gave a small, sheepish smile. “Most irrational fear is probably… koi fish. I know, I know, but they just look so weird, and they follow you around in ponds. I can’t explain it.”
Maps, who had been bouncing on the edge of the couch through Olive’s answers, shot her hand up as if in class. "Me next! Me next! Okay, favorite color: orange. Not just any orange, but like, sunset-orange, the kind you see over the Gotham skyline that makes the city look like it’s on fire but in a good way-” She says while shooting Marinette a look as if to say, see? I like the sun. “Favorite hero? Easy! Robin. Every version of that kid is a legend. I mean- how cool is it that they can keep up with Batman, the world’s greatest detective, as a kid. I aspire to be that level of cool." She paused only to take a deep breath, eyes practically sparkling. "Weirdest school story… oh man, where do I start? There was the time I tried to map out the supposedly haunted tunnels under the old science building, and accidentally set off a security lockdown. Campus security had to rescue me, but hey, I got the first-ever complete map of the tunnels! Secret talent? I can fold a paper crane in under eight seconds. I’ve timed it. Multiple times."
Maps leaned forward, as if sharing a great secret. "Most unusual hobby? Urban spelunking. That’s like, exploring abandoned buildings, rooftops, storm drains, don’t tell campus security, okay? And my most irrational fear? Birds. Not like, all birds, but specifically, pigeons. They always look like they know something. And they’re everywhere in Gotham. It’s a conspiracy, I’m telling you." She finished with a triumphant grin, clearly proud of her answers and brimming with so much energy that Marinette could help but giggle.
A beat of silence settled over them as they waited for the next person to answer. When no one started, Oliver sighed, cupping her hands around her mouth and calling towards the open door. “Mel- you’re up! No more hiding!”
“Yeah! Common! It’s tradition!” Maps whined.
There was another beat of silence, and then a muffled sigh as Pomeline emerged from the dark room. The faint smell of incense and old paper clings to her black and purple hoodie. She didn’t hurry and didn’t fully enter the room. Choosing instead to lean against her door frame. Pomeline regarded the group for a moment, and then, “Let’s get this over with,” she said flatly, fixing each roommate with a level stare.
She answered in clipped, matter-of-fact tones, ticking them off on her fingers.
“Favorite color, black. Not for the aesthetic. For practicality. You blend in easier. Favorite hero? Batman. Gotham’s constant. Doesn’t rely on luck, just hard, smart work. Weirdest school story: Last year, I caught a TA trying to break into the chem lab after hours. Didn’t ask questions. Just reported it. Some things don’t need explanations. Especially with Gotham’s PhD to Rogue rate. Secret talent: Lockpicking. Standard, tubular, digital, doesn’t matter. I’m in and out before anyone notices. Most unusual hobby: Crime scene photography. Documentation matters when memory isn’t enough. Most irrational fear? Cats. They’re unpredictable. More secrets than people.” She finished, arms crossed, gaze challenging. “That cover it?”
Olive let out a fond, slightly exasperated sigh, shaking her head. “You know, Mel, one day you’re going to surprise us all and answer with something whimsical. But I guess today isn’t that day.” Despite the words, Olive’s tone was soft and warm, clearly used to Pomeline’s bluntness, if not a little amused by it.
Maps, meanwhile, looked positively gleeful. “See, you did it! You even admitted to a fear! That’s real participation, Pomeline, I’m so proud of you!” She grinned, elbowing Olive with exaggerated delight. Then, bouncing a little in her seat, Maps turned her attention to Marinette, eyes shining with excitement. “Okay, Marinette- your turn! Don’t be shy, we want every single detail!”
Marinette curled in on herself on the couch, getting comfortable for her turn as fond smile appearing despite the exhaustion in her eyes. “Alright, but you asked for it.” She sighed. “My favorite color is pink, like, soft, cherryblossom, pink. It’s always made me happy because of their tie to renewal and love.” She paused to let them absorb the information. And when Olive nodded encouragingly, she continued. “As for my favorite hero? Chat Noir. He was always brave, dorky, and kind, despite everything. He made everything feel lighter, even when things got bad.” She hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater as she tried to place what would have been her weirdest day of school.
“I’m not sure what my weirdest day of school is,” Marinette admitted with a frown. “I was in the Akuma class, so being the target of an Akuma or the Akuma itself was always fair game.” The designer shrugged.
“Akumas are those who were possessed by magic butterflies during the Miracle War, yes?” Pomeline inquired, looking far more interested in the conversation now.
“Yes. That’s right.” Marinette agreed.
“What was your akumatized form then? If you can’t pick a school day due to Akuma’s being a factor.” Pomeline prompted, earning a bewildered blink.
“Excusez-moi ?”
“Is that not something people are allowed to ask?” Pomeline inquired curiously, with that blank stare that really did remind her of Kagami when she’s trying to figure out what social rules she had stomped all over.
“Generally? No. It would be quite rude.” The designer informs her, waving off the other two women who looked like they were two seconds away from apologising on Pomeline’s behalf. “But to answer your other question. I don’t know my Akumatized form. I wasn’t allowed to be one in this timeline.”
“Wait- what?!?” Maps squawks, bolting up as if to get a better look at Marinette.
The designer shrugged.
“Apparently, any time I gave in to being akumatized, the entire timeline would have to be scrapped because it was doomed. The heroes would have lost. I think that happened two or three times before I figured out a way around the whole akumatizatrion thing.” Marinette explained in what was probably a way too casual tone for what they were discussing. “It was in no way a good workaround to being Akumatized. So much so that the heroes who know my method didn’t share it with anyone else. But they couldn’t deny that it worked, and kept them from fighting a doomed battle over and over again, sooo-”
Olive shared a wide-eyed look with Maps, while Pomeline looked to be contemplating something.
“Aren’t Akuma’s caused by negative emotions? How do you just avoid them?” Olive asked hesitently. “And are you okay, like, sharing all of this? It sounds like it could be a lot.” The therapist personality poked through, earning a blink and a head tilt from Marinette, who, after doing a quick mental evaluation, has now realized that she had sunk back into controlled disassociation. All relaxed, confident movements and facts, not feelings.
“Oh, I’m fine.” Marinette shrugs, despite very much not being fine. She would just call whichever one of her friends picks up first, later. “As for avoiding negative emotions? You can’t. That was the thing. People had always focused on the emotional aspect. They never thought about the fact that Hawkmoth is offering his victims a solution to their negative emotions. So the obvious solution is to have an instant answer to every negative emotion.” The former hero explained, earning a scoff.
“That’s not possible.” Pomeline pointed out. Not unkindly, but clearly stating what she believed to be a fact.
“Sure it is!” Marinette cheered. “But I’ll let you think on what the answer is, because I am about to fall asleep.” The designer yawned. “If you can’t figure it out on your own, but still want to know, you can ask me later. For now, let’s put a pin in it.” Marinette says as she gets up to stretch.
“Yeah, okay.” Maps agreed, and even as the designer walked to her room, Marinette could feel the energetic woman’s eyes boring into her skull. “Ni night! Sleep well!” She called after some hesitation.
Turning to look over her shoulder as she closed her bedroom door, Marinette offered them a sleepy smile, calling, “Bonne nuit, les filles,” in return.
Once the door closed, her smile dropped, and she went straight to her bed, pulling out her phone as she did so. The first contact she picked was automatic. It was only when it rang dead that Marinette remembered the time difference and that Chat Noir would be out on patrol and wouldn’t have access to Adrien’s phone. Scrolling down a few contacts, Marinette hesitated for a moment before pressing the call button again.
This time, the phone barely rang once before a familiar, groggy voice answered. "Marinette? Is everything okay?"
Relief flooded her at the sound. "Sorry, Luka, I didn’t mean to wake you," she whispered, the exhaustion in her voice finally seeping through now that she was alone and safe.
"You didn’t. I was just thinking about something.” He trialed off with a hum before starting again, “First night in Gotham not treating you well?" He guessed. “You sound like an underwater melody being plucked at instead of strummed gently.”
Marinette let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, something like that.” She agreed, not really wanting to explain why she was in the state she was in, but the fact that she did call at all meant that she had to give Luka something, especially since he had answered despite the time difference. “It’s a lot. The building is weird. My roommates are nice but strange. And I haven’t even unpacked everything yet because most of it isn’t here."
Luka hummed in understanding, the familiar comfort of his presence wrapping around her even from a continent away. "Give it time. You’ll find your rhythm. Even if you have to stumble through a few phrases first. You’ve always had a lovely melody."
She smiled, eyes prickling with unexpected tears. "Thanks, Lulu. I just needed to hear a familiar voice." She breathed out a deep breath.
"You can call me whenever, you know that," Luka replied, his voice soft and steady, grounding her in a way only he could. "Even if it's 3 in the morning. You'll never be a bother."
Marinette laughed quietly, the tension in her shoulders easing a little more. "I know. I promise I won't make a habit of waking you up."
"You couldn't if you tried," he teased gently. "Now, tell me about your new place. Any secret passageways yet? Any gargoyles staring at you through the window?"
A real smile tugged at Marinette’s lips. "Not yet, but the building does feel like it’s hiding something. My room has three huge windows. So I think the sun is going to wake me up before my alarm every morning."
"That sounds like a challenge," Luka said. "Or a new inspiration for your next design. Next- Gotham sunlight, does that exist?"
She giggled. "It does, apparently. My roommates seem nice. Maps is a ball of energy, Olive is super sweet, and Pomeline… Well, she reminds me of Gami, and might be the first other magic user I’ve met who isn’t hero-affiliated, but I haven’t confirmed that one way or the other."
Luka hummed thoughtfully. "Keep the Miraculous close. And don't be afraid to ward the whole apartment if you need to."
"I was thinking the same thing," Marinette admitted. She glanced at the little pouch tucked safely in her suitcase. "I set something up earlier while unpacking a little. Nothing too strong. Just enough for peace of mind and until I can set up something proper."
A comfortable silence settled between them. Marinette closed her eyes for a moment, letting Luka’s steady breathing fill the line. Finally, she yawned.
"Go to sleep, Mari," Luka said softly. "Tomorrow's a new day. You’ll charm Gotham before you know it."
"Okay,” Marinette whispered, more of a sigh than anything else. “Good night, Lulu. Thank you for answering."
"Anytime. Bonne nuit, Marinette. Je t’adore."
“Moi aussi, je t’adore. Bonne nuit.” She ended the call, feeling a little lighter. The exhaustion crept in, heavy and cold, so she pulled the covers over herself, letting the city’s distant sounds lull her toward sleep.
Prompt: "What if I don't want to be a Magical Girl?"
Ship: Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Summary: After years of relentless battles, Marinette finds herself adrift and weary in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat. By a twist of fate, she ends up in a new city, leaving behind the tangible reminders of her trauma in pursuit of a genuine fresh start. University life brings new friendships and, unexpectedly, sweeps her into a whirlwind romance with someone who understands all too well the scars left by a childhood of being forged into a weapon. Through newfound honesty and boundaries rarely granted to them before, the former child heroes slowly begin to heal; together.
Chapter 2/?
“How’s the packing going?” Marinette heard from the other side of the room, but only spared the intruder a glance before going back to organizing her luggage.
“Good. Maman and Papa will need to ship most of this over, and I’ll just have to hope it arrives safely, but I can put anything important in my suitcases, so it should be fine.” Marinette explained, grabbing the packing tape roller to seal the box she had been working on. Her movements are methodical. Too precise. Not an ounce of energy is wasted. It was a habit formed from years of running on too little sleep and too little nutrients. Not a bad habit all things considered, but it was clear that Marinette was running low on energy. That she was exhausted, and that it was an exhaustion that sat deep in her bones. She was tired and yet unable to rest.
“Couldn’t you just portal everything over?” The blond inquired as he jumped her bed railing and landed in a crouch with a gentle thud, taking a seat on the floor. “I’m sure Ƙąąȴƙį wouldn’t mind helping you out.”
The designer hummed.
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, but I would,” Marinette states, finally turning to give him her full attention. “Unlike Ƥȴąɠɠ, who is more than happy to let you run wild, most of the Ƙⱳąɱį are resting, and I’d rather not disturb them.”
Chat Noir tilted his head in consideration. An action that never failed to make him resemble his namesake.
“Are they okay? It’s been weeks. Should they still be needing to rest that much?” He asked in concern. “Should Ƥȴąɠɠ still be resting? He hasn’t complained about anything any- well, not any more than usual, or anything new, so I thought he was fine, but-”
“If Ƥȴąɠɠ hasn’t told you he wants a break, then he’s okay to be active as long as he wants.” Marinette cut him off before her partner could spiral any farther.
“Oh, good.” Chat Noir sighed, slumping back into the bed support he was sitting against. “Speaking of being active…” He trailed off, looking for words that seemed to escape him.
Marinette smiled at the feline hero, “Chat Noir is allowed to remain active, and whether or not the Justice League's invitation is accepted isn’t up to me. It’s up to you.”
“But you’re not doing either thing, are you?” Chat Noir stated more so then asked. He was already aware of what her daydream had been back when they were still dealing with Hawkmoth. How she had wanted to go back to being a normal civilian. How, when they won, she wouldn’t want to continue fighting, hadn’t wanted to fight to begin with.
They had talked about what they wanted when all was said and done during late-night patrols, so it wasn’t anything new to her partner. Still, now that they had finally ended their war, Marinette had to say it herself. For both of their sakes. It couldn’t just be an implication she left to linger in the air. This was something they both needed to face head-on.
“No. I’m not planning to join the Justice League. I’ve agreed to be in reserve if the League ever fights a losing battle where the world or universe is ending, and I was still alive to fight, but otherwise? I’m done. My job is just to care for the Ƙⱳąɱį. No more patrolling. No more fighting. Just taking care of the Ƙⱳąɱį.” Marinette informs him. Her voice was firm as she held herself to the decision that she had made years ago. But there was a gentle quality to it. As if she couldn’t believe this was something she was allowed to voice.
Chat Noir nodded. Offering a somber smile, one filled with understanding, because he knows. He knows what she had to give up to put on that mask. What she had become due to the role she had to fulfill. Because while the mask had been Chat Noir’s freedom, it had been her prison, and he knew that. Just as she knew that Adrien Agreste would forever be a prison for her partner. How he would never be able to shake what his father had made him into. The model. The perfect son. The poor victim. The son of a terrorist. Adrien Agreste was to Ladybug what Chat Noir was to Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and that’s why they had worked so well together. Not as lovers. No. That had been a disaster. A clash of freedom-craving structure against structure-craving freedom in the worst way possible. But as a partner? Chat Noir is a reflection of the other half of her soul. She doesn’t have to worry about what he will think about her stepping away, because he would step away from his civilian persona, too, if he could.
“Okay.” Chat Noir agreed. An exhaled sound that calmed something that had been anxiously buzzing in the back of Marinette’s thoughts. The ever-present doubts and contingencies, restructuring themselves around her partner's easy acceptance. As if that hadn’t been the default plan to begin with. As if she hadn’t known that Chat Noir would love and support her no matter what she ended up doing.
“Okay.” Marinette echoed. Her next breath felt lighter, as if the pressure on her chest had disappeared.
The following silence was comfortable. A familiar thing that sat heavily with all the words that they haven’t said. All the words that didn’t need to be said. Her hands were a little steadier now that she’d spoken her decision aloud. A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she went back to packing. Each box she sealed shut felt like closing a window she hadn’t realized was open, letting all the cold in. It felt like hiding. Like running from the biting chill that has invaded her life, forcing her to make the cold, logical decisions. To be the one always in control. It felt like this was an escape. From the cold, and from the responsibility that comes with control.
Paris would always be her home, but as she was packing her life away in cardboard boxes, Marinette couldn’t help but wonder what she would become in a city that didn’t have memories of destruction and death scattered between every street and alleyway and in every building. To be fair, Gotham wasn’t a peaceful place by any means, but she didn’t need peace. That was something Marinette had learned quickly in the wake of Hawkmoth’s defeat. Just existing in a peaceful Paris these past few weeks has been nerve-racking. The alarm system in the back of her mind was always two seconds away from going off, despite knowing that nothing was going to happen. So maybe moving to the city that had been dubbed the Crime Capital of the United States of America would help even out her nerves. At the very least, it wouldn’t be her job to deal with anything that happened in Gotham. That city had a whole calendar of bats and birds from what Alya had told her during a late night rantting sesion that had been born from telling the reporter about the acceptance letter she had received from Gotham University.
“Will you miss it?” Chat Noir asked softly. His voice barely above a whisper.
Marinette hesitated to answer, and sorta hated that she couldn’t just say no. That she wouldn’t miss it because she hadn’t wanted to be Ladybug to begin with. But the truth was, Marinette had made some of her fondest memories and strongest friendships through the lens of her masked persona, and she wouldn’t wish them away for the world.
“I’ll miss some things,” Marinette answered honestly. “Not the fighting. Not the responsibility, but the people, the little moments- that’s what I’ll miss.”
Chat Noir grinned in response. “Good. Those are the important things to hold onto anyways. Everything else can fade away into the whispered myths and legends of the Miracle War.”
Marinette smiled, the warmth of shared understanding settling into her tired bones. She finished taping the box and set it aside, then looked up at Chat Noir, her partner, her friend, the only person who had truly understood the cost of the mask she had worn.
“Do you think Gotham will be different?” she asked, almost playful, but with a note of genuine curiosity.
Chat Noir shrugged, and the movement was so catlike it made Marinette’s smile widen. “Different? Definitely. Easier? With a title like the Crime Capital of the world? Absolutely not. But maybe… less lonely? Somewhere that has people who understand living in constant danger without the hero worship you gained when Multimouse was ‘exposed’ with the rest of the reserve.”
Marinette nodded along, appreciating her partner's honesty, something they had rarely been able to indulge in due to the risk of revealing their secret identities, but could share now that everything was over.
Nodding, Marinette stood up to stretch, “That’s what I’m hoping, but I think I’m just ready for something new in general. And what better place than somewhere where I’m just one of the many oddities in a city full of weird occurrences.”
“I think it will be a good place to start while you’re learning to live without a secret identity.” Chat Noir agreed.
Marinette let out a chuckle, small but genuine as she picked up the packed box and added it to her growing pile. "I’m not sure I even know who I am without something to hide behind."
Chat Noir's eyes softened. "You’ll figure it out. The world’s a lot bigger than Paris. And Gotham’s weirdness might just make you feel at home."
Marinette rolled her eyes affectionately. "I hope so. And if not, well, at least I’ll have a good story to tell." She took a final look around her room. Her pyramid of boxes, her half-packed life, the fading moonlight painting long stripes across the floor. For the first time in a long time, the future felt open.
Standing up, Chat Noir brushed the imaginary dust from his knees. "When did you say you were leaving, again?"
"The day after tomorrow," Marinette replied, her voice catching just a little on the words. "Alya’s coming to help with the last of it, and my parents are insisting on one last friends and family dinner before I go."
“That should be interesting.” Chat Noir said with a snort, earning another eyeroll from the designer.
“Like you won’t be dragged along to the dinner too.” Marinette huffed.
“Yeah, but that won’t be me.” Chat Noir sighed.
“Too many people?” Marinette asked knowingly.
“Yeah, too many people.” Chat Noir agreed.
“I assume that’s why you’ve stopped by tonight, then? So that it isn’t my favorite damsel in distress saying goodbye, but my best friend and partner?” Marinette guessed, receiving a double finger gun that she’s sure Chat Noir thought was a cool move, but just made the feline hero look like even more of a loveable dork than he already is.
“Got it in one.” Chat Noir grinned.
Huffing a laugh, Marinette glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that they didn’t have much time left for this late-night meeting.
“Do you want to watch a movie on my laptop for a little while? If we start it now, then you can sneak back to whatever fancy flat you're being kept at while in town before your aunt’s wake-up call, and she begins all that high society grooming for tomorrow’s dinner party.” Marinette offered teasingly, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Chat Noir pressed a hand to his heart, feigning deep betrayal. “Oh, the hypocrisy! The heiress of a baking empire, mocking my humble little Agreste inheritance. It’s a crime, truly.”
Marinette gave a dramatic gasp. “Excuse you! I am but a simple baker’s daughter. I know not of this empire you speak of. The only thing I inherit is early mornings, flour in my hair, and the endless struggle to keep the window boxes from flooding the kitchen.”
“Right. Because every baker’s daughter lives above the most famous bakery in Paris, in a cozy apartment with a rooftop view of Notre-Dame.” Chat Noir drawled, flopping backward across her pile of half-packed boxes. “Meanwhile, your parents are local legends, half the city comes in for your maman’s pain au chocolat, and the other half is still trying to figure out how you get away with calling yourself ‘middle class’.”
Marinette sniffed, nose in the air. “You know how hard it is to keep a sourdough starter alive in a tiny Parisian kitchen, Chat? That’s a real struggle. Meanwhile, your biggest problem is which Parisian designer’s charity gala you have to endure next week.”
He pointed at her accusingly. “At least I admit my life is ridiculous! But you? You have half of our friend group convinced you actually grew up kneading dough in the backroom, and not, I dunno, sketching fashion designs in your sunlit studio surrounded by bolts upon bolts of high-quality fabric.”
Marinette couldn’t help but laugh. “What can I say? You’re just jealous I can pull off ‘humble origins’ with a straight face. Meanwhile, you look like you stepped out of a luxury perfume ad.”
Chat Noir groaned, flopping onto his stomach. “Don’t remind me. Nino still calls me ‘model boy’ every time I try to complain about my allowance for any reason whatsoever, even just having one puts a target on my back as far as our friends are concerned. Which is stupid since they all have similar allowances!”
Marinette grinned, nudging him with her socked foot. “One, you were a model. And two, your allowance is obscene, even for our friend group. So you can only complain about it if you say it while wearing a beret and sipping overpriced espresso.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was a fond smile on his lips. “Just wait. When you’re in Gotham, and someone asks how a ‘baker’s daughter’ can afford her own off-campus art studio, and the endless parade of new supplies you’ll no doubt accumulate, I want you to keep a straight face. For my sake.”
Marinette winked. “I’ll just tell them I make a mean macaron. You know how Americans are about French pastries.”
“Utterly ridiculous,” Chat Noir groaned, but he was already laughing as he squirmed into the pillow pile beside her. “Only you could get away with it.”
Marinette’s smile softened, the teasing still lingering between them as they queued up their movie. “It’s a gift. Now hush, model boy, or I’ll tell Alya you actually cried at the last animated movie we watched.”
He gasped. “That was one time! And it was very moving!”
She only grinned wider, and both Marinette and Chat Noir burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the cozy room as their banter over the old argument regarding her family's anonymised wealth reached its ridiculous end. Their laughter lingered, warm and genuine, before dissolving into soft giggles as they queued up the movie. Letting the old jokes and shared humor carry them into familiar comfort as they pressed play and the movie began.
As the opening credits rolled, Chat Noir settled further into the tangle of pillows, his dramatic facade slipping away to reveal the easy comfort they shared in moments like these. Marinette let herself relax, the familiar banter and the soft glow of the screen weaving a cocoon around them and shutting out the uncertainty of the coming days.
They watched in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional quip or shared memory. Time, for once, felt like it was moving at a pace they could control.
When the credits finally faded, Marinette closed the laptop and glanced at her partner. "You know, no matter where I go, you’ll always be my best friend, right?" she asked, voice quiet but certain.
Chat Noir offered a genuine, if sleepy, smile. "Always, Princess. Even from halfway around the world."
She smiled, relaxing into the warm hug offered before Chat Noir slipped back out the roof hatch.
Prompt: "What if I don't want to be a Magical Girl?"
Ship: Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Summary: After years of relentless battles, Marinette finds herself adrift and weary in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat. By a twist of fate, she ends up in a new city, leaving behind the tangible reminders of her trauma in pursuit of a genuine fresh start. University life brings new friendships and, unexpectedly, sweeps her into a whirlwind romance with someone who understands all too well the scars left by a childhood of being forged into a weapon. Through newfound honesty and boundaries rarely granted to them before, the former child heroes slowly begin to heal; together.
Chapter 1/?
Thunk.
“What to do, what to do,” Marinette muttered, throwing another dart at the foam board.
Thunk.
School has been over for weeks.
Thunk.
She had finally received her bac grade.
Thunk.
It was an eighteen. An eighteen. After everything was said and done, after Madame Mendeleiev had made a big deal about how “God gets twenty, teachers get nineteen, and the best student ever will get eighteen”, she had done it. Marinette had gotten an eighteen.
Thunk.
Not that it matters since she wasn’t going to university because, despite being able to get eighteen on le bac, she’s too stupid to do anything right.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk!
It’s not like Marinette had missed the application deadline on purpose. There had just been more important things to do, like finally taking down Hawkmoth, and then she had to deal with the aftermath of the whole world suddenly knowing that Paris had been in the middle of a war for years. All of a sudden, Marinette had the Justice League breathing down her neck, asking question after question about why they hadn’t been contacted, when she had, or how she planned to secure the miraculi she had retrieved, like it was any of their business!
Thunk!
Ƙⱳąɱį of the in-between! They had tried to tell her, the Grand Guardian of the Miracle Box, how it would really be best if they were the ones to hold on to them. As if it wasn’t her, quite literally, life-bound duty to protect and care for the Ƙⱳąɱį and their miraculi.
Ugh!
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
...and now she was out of darts, and pissed off, and no closer to figuring out what to do.
Sighing, Marinette got up and walked to the foam board, plucking the darts with a little more force than was probably necessary. A knock on her door similarly pulled Marinette from her spiraling thoughts. Not even a moment after the initial sound, the hatch creaks open, revealing Alya in all of her freshly styled glory.
“Hey,” Marinette greeted with a warm smile, letting the darts in her hand roll from her fingers onto her desk as she passed it on her way to greet her friend. “How was it?” She inquired, hugging Alya quickly before ushering her deeper into her room and gently shutting the trapdoor.
“Girrrrl! It was so awesome!” Alya cheered. “The whole, ‘never meet your heroes,’ thing? Does not apply to the goddess that is Lois Lane.”
Marinette let out a snort at her friend's reverence.
“I’m glad it went well.”
“Well? It didn’t go well. It went amazingly. Ugh- what I wouldn’t give to work under a woman like her.” Alya whined as she flopped onto the chase. Which only served to draw out another round of laughter from the designer. Something that earned a glare from Alya as she rolled over to level a look at her. Not that the stern look lasted long, as it melted away into warmth. “Thanks again for getting me that invitation. I never would have been able to go to an event like that on my own.”
“It’s no problem, really. Aunt Penny’s invitation would have been wasted on me, and you know I’m always happy to help.” Marinette waved off, taking a seat at her desk since the chase was fully occupied with the way Alya was still sprawled over it, even if she was facing Marinette now and was no longer face down in the cushion.
“I suppose it would have been a waste.” Alya drawls teasingly. “Can’t really make any new, important connections if you already know everyone who is big and important at an event like that.” The brunette sighed, a dreamy and over dramatic thing as she placed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, to have the rich and famous throwing themselves at your feet.”
“Shut up!” Marinette groaned, dropping her head onto her desk. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”
Now it was Alya’s turn to laugh as she pushed herself up.
“Obviously.” Alya agrees with a roll of her eyes. “You know I’m just playing, girl.” She chuckled.
But when Marinette doesn’t laugh along with her this time, she pauses, giving her friend a once-over. Noticing the tense posture despite Marinette’s defeated slump, she took to looking around her friend’s room for clues. Alya’s eyes latched onto every minute detail with a perception she had honed from years of being the LadyBlog reporter. There wasn’t much around the room to go off of, at least nothing that looked out of place or new, so Alya’s only hint that something other than her joking commentary about Marinette being a magnet for the rich and famous is the fact that Marinette has her dart board out, which means she was upset way before Alya had even gotten there.
“Alright, spill.” Alya prompted, crossing the room to join Marinette at the desk, leaning against the wooden structure the designer was slumped against. “What’s up? You’re doing the whole, silently spiraling thing, and you know that’s not allowed- and don’t even say it’s nothing or it’s fine, I will get the spray bottle again. Do not test me!”
Marinette snorts at the threat, but it came out short and thin. More of a choked-off noise than anything else. Lifting her head to give Alya a pitifully sheepish look.
“I may have messed up,” Marinette admitted, earning a raised brow.
“Like ‘Oops, I just ordered ten yards of the wrong fabric’ kind of messed up, or ‘Accidentally on purposely staging a semi-hostile but completely legal takeover and rebrand of the company Gabriel in order to liberate the damsel in distress that is our sweet summer child Adrien Agreste’ kind of Oops?” Alya inquired. Receiving an incredulous look for both the comparison scale used and how fast and smoothly Alya had said it, without stumbling over her words.
“How long have you had that one ready?” Marinette couldn’t stop herself from asking.
Which, of course, got her a deadpanned, “Since the incident where you accidentally on purposely staged a semi-hostile but completely legal takeover and rebrand of the company, Gabriel, in order to liberate the damsel in distress that is our sweet summer child, Adrien Agreste. Now don’t change the subject. How bad of a mess up are we talking about?”
Marinette tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes.
“You just like saying that whole thing, don’t you?”
“Obviously.” Alya grinned. “It’s a mouthful, so it’s fun, and it's a statement that properly shows off and credits my best friend for her insanity. Of course, I like saying it. Now spill.”
Sighing, Marinette sat up, turning sideways in her chair to give Alya her full attention.
“I missed the university deadlines.”
Alya blinked, expecting a punchline to follow that kind of statement from the designer, but Marinette only fiddled with her sleeve, eyes fixed on the floor, she realized that it wasn't a joke.
“Wait, what?” Alya’s voice pitched up in shock. “You practically invented color-coded to-do lists. You set calendar reminders for my own internship apps. What happened?”
Marinette gave a weak smile. “Yeah, well. Turns out it’s easier to remind other people than yourself. I just got busy and kept thinking I’d do it later. Too much was going on, with school, the bakery, and helping Adrien with the whole ‘get a normal life’ operation. Things piled up and… I didn’t even realize the deadlines were passing until it was too late.”
Alya’s eyes softened, then went sharp with the glint of a plan. “Okay, so, maybe the Paris deadlines are toast. But hey, it’s not the end of the world. Some universities in the States are still open for fall apps. I saw a thread about it, rolling admissions and all that. We can look it up together, see if anything clicks for you.”
Marinette blinked, hope flickering. “You really think it’s not too late?”
Alya grinned, “If there’s one thing us backup heroes know, it’s how to improvise. We’ll get you somewhere amazing. Promise.” She assured Marinette, bumping her shoulder teasingly. Completely missing the look of guilt that flashed too quickly over Marinette's features when the topic of being a backup hero came up, before she buried it behind an appropriately optimistic look.
“Okay, let’s check it out.” Marinette breathed, Alya’s pep talk having reignited some of her hopes for the future, at least enough to pull Marinette out of her spiral to look into schools in the States.
“Greet!” Alya cheered, hopping up to sit on the edge of the desk, already pulling up university lists and forums. Her fingers flying over her phone’s screen as she taps and types.
Marinette stared for a moment, then shook her head with fond amusement as she booted up her laptop. Letting the familiar hum of her poor, achedemically abused machine, grounding her. Within minutes, their screens were filled with tabs of university websites, deadline trackers, art program rankings, and application guides. Every once in a while, Alya would tilt her phone so Marinette could read something, but the more schools she looked into, the more overwhelmed Marinette got. Her eyes widened with every new tab that Alya showed her. California, New York, Illinois, Texas…
There were so many states, each with dozens of universities, each with its own forms, essays, and requirements. The more she scrolled, the more the choices blurred together, until it all felt like an impossible mountain. Alya, being the observant friend that she is, noticed Marinette’s growing anxiety and hopped off the desk.
“Hang on,” Alya instructed, grabbing four of the darts from the desk and a map that had been left to gather dust with the rest of Marinette's studying supplies. Walking over to the other side of the room, the reporter placed the map against the foam board, which was covered with pinholes, and used the dart to stick it to the board. Each dart pinning a corner to keep the map in place. Once Alya was satisfied with her work, she walked back to Marinette, grabbing a scarf off the coat hook as she passed.
“Come on, up you get.” Alya urges so she could step behind Marinette and tie the scarf like a blind fold.
“Alya- what?” Marinette laughed, but allowed her friend to do as she pleased since it meant not having to focus or plan anything.
“Here,” Alya states. Placing a dart in Marinette’s hand. “Hold that tight.” The brunette instructed before she began spinning the designer in circles. “We’re leaving it to fate. Blindfold, spin, and throw. Wherever it lands, that’s where you apply.”
“What if it ends up in the ocean?” Marinette squeaked.
“Then you’re going to Atlantius University or something.” Alya shrugged. “Better aim well if you don’t want to practice holding your breath.” She states nonchalantly as she continues spinning her friend.
Marinette laughed, half-desperate, half-relieved as Alya spun her gently, enough times to make her giggle with dizziness. When the world stilled, presumably in the direction of the dart board, Marinette steadied her stand, took aim, and threw.
Thunk!
The dart hit, with far more force than Marinette had expected from her throw, startling her slightly. She pulled off the blindfold, blinking as the light filtered back into her vision.
Alya whooped. “There you go, girl. Choice made. Looks like Lady Luck is sending you to Jersey! I’m looking up every New Jersey university with open applications and awesome art programs, and you’re applying to all of them. No arguments!”
“Alya!” Marinette whined. “There’s no guarantee that I’ll get into any of the schools.”
“Mari. I love you, but you can’t be this oblivious. Girl, your academic grades were top of the school; any university would be luck yo have you.” Alya scoffed. “What did you get on le bac?”
Marinette muttered her answer as she turned to look away.
“What was that?” Alya inquired.
“An eighteen,” Marinette repeated.
“Seriously? You think they aren’t gonna take you with an eighteen?” Alya asked incredulously. “Don’t answer that.” She ordered, holding a hand up to stop Marinette’s retort. “Alright, first up: Rutgers. They’ve got a killer design program, and their application’s still open. Then Montclair, and- oh, look, there’s even a place called the ‘College of New Jersey.’ You can’t get more straightforward than that.” The reporter rattled off.
Marinette made a helpless noise, anxiety and hope warring in her chest. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, but she couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips as Alya continued on as if she hadn’t said a word. Explaining statistics and fun facts about each school as she switched between websites at a speed that only someone used to quickly checking multiple sources in real-time during an interview could keep track of.
Alya gave Marinette a knowing look when the designer hesitantly pulled up a few of the universities aplications on her laptop. “You know, you’re allowed to be excited, Marinette. The world’s not ending. You’re not stuck. And you’re definitely not alone in this.” She nudged Marinette’s shoulder gently.
Marinette took a shaky breath. “Okay. Rutgers, Montclair, College of New Jersey. I’ll start with those.” She decided, steadying her hands as she got to work.
“Atta girl,” Alya grinned, already pulling up bookmarked essay prompts. “And don’t worry about the personal statement, between helping to save Paris as our favorite little mouse and running a fashion brand, you’ve got more material than anyone.”
Marinette hesitated, fingers hovering over her keyboard. “Yeah, about that… I’m not going to use any of the hero stuff in my essays.”
Alya’s head snapped up. “Wait, what? Why not? Marinette, how many people can say they’ve actually been a magical girl? That’s, like, once-in-a-generation stuff. Admissions people would eat it up!”
Marinette fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, gaze dropping. “It’s just… I never wanted to be a magical girl. Or a hero, or whatever you want to call it.” She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I was just the easy pick. Right person, right time.”
Alya opened her mouth, then shut it again, surprise flickering across her face. Marinette offered a small, apologetic shrug. “Some people grow up dreaming about the spotlight, but that’s not really the story I want to tell. I do better standing in someone else’s shadow. It’s why my role was recon and info gathering.” She stated, alluding to Multimouse’s publicly known role, even if she was talking about her time as Ladybug. Not that the reporter knew that.
Alya was quiet for a moment, the hum of Marinette’s laptop filling the silence. Then, softly, she said, “You know, wanting to be seen for who you are in the aftermath, that’s not a bad story either.”
Marinette let out a shaky breath, finally meeting Alya’s eyes. “What if who I am isn’t enough?”
Alya rolled her eyes, affectionate but firm. “Girl, you’re more than enough. And if any school can’t see that, they don’t deserve you. Besides, you’re not just anyone’s shadow. You’re the one who makes everyone else shine brighter.”
A small smile crept onto Marinette’s face. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Don’t you dare,” Alya grinned, tossing Marinette a tissue box just in case. “Now. Which prompt are you starting with? I’ll help you brainstorm- no hero stuff, promise.”
Marinette nodded, determination settling in her chest. She clicked open the first application, hands no longer shaking as much. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Hey! It's been a while since ive written for the Maribat fandom. Quite literally years. So I figured Maribat March was as good a time to get back into it. Im doing the March prompts posted by the @maribatserver
Prompt List
Week One: "What if I don't want to be a Magical girl?"
Week Two: "This place is depressing."
Week Three: "Can I get an interview?"
Week Four: "I hate clowns."
Week Five: "Sounds like a wild ride."
I also made a BINGO card for some extra motivation.
Categories
Green: Hero
Light Blue: Art Pose
Dark Blue: Art Type
Yellow: Coping
Red: Romance
My own, personal goals for Maribat March are the following:
Goals
Finish the story. Don't let it be another unfinished project.
Get BINGO! And if I have time, get a Blackout.
Use all the weekly prompts provided by @maribatserver for the event. Doesn't have to be word for word if that doesn't fit, but at least the vibe/general meaning has to be the same.
Add art pieces! I've been drawing art for the story I have planned in order to motivate myself to actually write it. They turned out so good! But im not allowed to share them until the part of the story they are in, so I have to get there in order to show off my art!
Word count per chapter: 2,000 minimum
Fic info
Ship: Damian x Marinette
Rating: Mature (Explicit? Im not sure. I'll change it later if needed. Im just not sure what counts as Explicit intimacy. There will be nudity, and physical affection, but I dont write penetration or oral so anything like that will only been hinted at or fade to black.)
Setting: Gotham University
Summary: Marinette retires from being ladybug to become a normal civilian, and her healing process. Attend college, and stumbling into a whirlwind romance with someone who is learning to heal in the same way.
Yes Damian is also retired and going to college.
There will be no Adrien bashing.
There will be no Alya bashing.
This is a healing, self-discovery, romance story.
I think thats everything?
Chapter 1 will go up at somepoint this week. Im currently waiting for AO3 to go back up since I post on both sites. I'll probably post a cover art for the it and use that for the fanfic's master list.
Until then- thanks for being patient with my lack of content. My other maribat WIPs are either discontinued or need to be rewritten, and will be delt with later. I want to get through Maribat March first <3
Get ready for everybody's favorite month of the year: Maribat March! This year, we've decided to give you a little more time to answer the prompts breaking the calendar down by weeks, instead of days. We're super excited for this event's return, and we hope you are too!
If you’re publishing on Ao3, we have an Ao3 collection, just like last year. To be added to it, make sure to select “Maribat March (Maribat_March)” when you select the collection you want to add your fic to. For the ease of readers, make sure to include “For Maribat March Week #: [Prompt]” in your summary.
If you’re posting something NSFW, make sure that it’s rated as such, and has all of the relevant tags and warnings. If it doesn’t your work won’t be approved to the collection.
Prompt List
Week One: "What if I don't want to be a Magical Girl?"
Week Two: "This place is depressing."
Week Three: "Can I get an interview?"
Week Four: "I hate clowns."
Week Five: "Sounds like a wild ride."
Shout out to Mod @newdog14 for designing this year's calendar, and to @izanae for assisting with prompts. There are also special brownie points available to anyone who spots the hidden references Newsie slipped into this post!
Are you ever going to write more on AO3? Do you have plans for new stuff or updates for WIP fics?
I'm currently hyperfixated on the Percy Jackson fandom and writing for them on my non maribat account- as well as working my way through college while being chronically ill/disabled. I'm not sure when I'll be back to writing maribat stuff. Probably when this hyperfuxation dies down. I haven't even writing for my MHA fics that need updates :(
Woah- so I apparently hit 1,000 followers a while ago? And I just wanted to say thank you so much??? I haven't really had the time or energy to work on any fic for the Maribat fandom, so I'm very sorry for the lack of content. I can't promise any updates at the moment, but the fact that I still get notifications that people are liking my works means a lot. Thank you so much <3
