Jason is an outlaw, not because he has crimes to commit— well, not many— but because the law doesn't seem to be doing a great job of protecting the innocent. Somebody had to step up.
Marinette gets mixed up in some nasty business. Jason goes through great lengths to keep her safe.
Excerpt from Chapter 1: The Seamstress and the Outlaw
Gotham Gulch was a bustling cattle town of nearly 350 people. It rested between the edge of the grasslands and the start of the pine forests that thrived under the shadow of the Bitterroot mountain range. It was here that Patrick Wayne came with his young son, Thomas, after the loss of his wife in a crowded eastern city. He brought cattle, a sense of righteousness, and hope for his son. Thomas took to Ranch life with extraordinary finesse and was considered fair and good by all who worked for him. When he married Martha Kane and they had a son, Thomas donated lumber and land for the first schoolhouse and library. The United States sent out a postman, and Gotham Gulch was officially added to the map.
The Double-U Ranch thrived, and the town of Gotham grew up around it, bringing settlers and families who wanted a new life, fresh air, and a chance at making their mark on the wilderness of the Great West.
The Dupain-Cheng's were one such family.
Marinette fidgeted nervously. Her tailoring shop had only been open for a couple of months, and she was unaccustomed to this sort of drama. The pretty little shop felt overly full despite there being only two (rather large) men in it. The large masked (and still dusty from riding) man seemed like the biggest concern at the moment, but the fact that Sheriff Wayne was scowling at her was its own reason for concern. He had seemed considerably more friendly back when he was just the heir to the largest ranch in town. The badge was intimidating when paired with his frown. She didn’t think she’d done anything to bring the law down on her, but he didn’t look as if he was interested in her services either. She shifted her gaze between the two men. Before she could figure out her next move, a large leather glove wrapped around her arm.
“Sorry, lil’ Lady, I don’t mean ya any harm, but yer gonna have to come with me for the time bein’.”
Marinette snapped her attention up to the masked face with a scowl of her own. She could just make out dark teal eyes under the darkness of his hat. “Who’re you calling little?”
Uninterested in being kidnapped, she smashed her heel into his instep and threw an elbow into his ribs before making a dash for the front door. There was no way she was going to stick around to be part of some strange tug-of-war just to find out why the Sheriff and that outlaw had simultaneously stormed into her shop through opposing doors. Not bothering to close the door behind her, she dashed across the street towards the mercantile. A quick glance over her shoulder proved that while the Sheriff had followed, the outlaw had not. Odd, but maybe he had simply been trying to avoid the sheriff when he came through her back door?
A rope fell out of the sky, wrapping around her arms and torso, and yanking her off her feet before she could register what was happening. Before she had time to orient herself, she slammed into the firm mass of a horse and rider. Knocked breathless, she was helpless to resist when she was unceremoniously tossed across the back of the horse like so many potatoes.
So it’s been awhile since I’ve bound anything, but when I read the Cursed Amulet Story by @sunderwight, I was like, I gotta make an actual, physical evil amulet now. Except the evil amulet is also going to be a book. And the book is like a diary by the guy trapped in the amulet.
The book is held in the brass frame (also made by yours truly) by friction; it pops out super easily so you can read it but it’s not going to fall out accidentally.
The typeset fit into exactly one piece of normal 8.5x11 printer paper, and if anyone else wants the file to make their own evil amulet, I’m happy to share.
Let’s Have Another Bullet Point Story, Courtesy of a Friend
So I have a friend that used to be in the tumblers troupe at the renfaire as a contortionist
We were chatting online and she told me to tell you all this story.
I love Kat dearly
but she forgets that she’s stupid strong and hypermobile
so one day she throws her back out
bad enough that she needed painkillers and couldn’t stand upright
“But also I needed Tampons and like. A Burrito, real bad.”
she’s flat on her back in her apartment when she decides this
and, in an
impeccable
leap of reasoning, decides
“I can’t roll my back forward to sit/stand up like normal.
But I can ARCH my back just fine.
SO
I’m going to do that and get on my hands and feet in a stomach-in-the-air this-shit-belongs-in-a-horror-movie-type pose,
And amble on down to the 7-11”
“And get me that Burrito”
It is,
for context,
after midnight in July during a wildfire so it’s hot as satan’s own asshole and the moon is red and shit’s already generally cursed.
Imagineyou are some poor sap working nights at the world’s deadest 7-11, and you hear the door jangle but you don’t see anyone’s head over the counters.
Whatever.
Except you keep hearing noises like there’s someone in the next aisle over.
Fucking around in the burrito section
It’s also worth mentioning that Kat
1. sings whatever earworm is currently running through her head when she’s not paying attention
2. sounds EXACTLY like some kind of creepy child from a horror movie when doing so
tonight’s song is something from veggietales.
DUDE ACTUALLY STANDS HIS GROUND
and/or is really fucking high and isn’t sure if he’s tripping balls or notanyway
Kat goes up to pay for her burrito and tampons
She realizes the counter presents something of a challenge, and then demonstrates for me on her kitchen table at 4AM during a different july wildfire,
exactly
how she used the shelves to climb up the counter
like one of the boston robotics beasties
dude stares at her for like, five minutes and says.
“Register’s broke.”
“Oh No!” Says Kat.
“Just Take ‘em.”
“Really? I can leave cash-you don’t have to give me change I don’t want you to get in trouble with your manager.”
“…Nah.”
“Oh! OK! Thank you!”
“Yeah ok bye.”
Shortly after she arrived back at the apartment, she got a text on her phone from the campus security about "A Suspicious Individual” at tle 7-11.
every time this crosses my dash, all i can think is “i’d love to hear this from the perspective of the cashier who encountered some sort of demon buying a burrito on the night shift”
Here's a Tip — Don't send your bestie to tease your brother if you don't want to become a third wheel in your own friendship
Also on Ao3 right HERE
Summary:
Jason and Marinette are friends. Jason wants to take a little petty revenge on his brother and talks her into helping him.
Notes:
@boldlyanxious dropped the prompt. The discord spit-balled. @theladylu made a sketch I couldn't resist, and @starwarsmum egged me on. Enjoy!
Jason Todd was livid. He'd spent weeks building the perfect library and filling it up just so. It was like something out of a damn fantasy novel. It was his oasis. A childhood dream that was his and his alone, and it had been torn from him while he patrolled. Only Dick knew he'd finished it. Dick and Pixie. And Roy. But only Dick was the right mix of clever, stupid, and capable to pull off the kind of heist that had set Jason off. Each one of his carefully curated books had been replaced with boxes of cereal. He turned to his best friend, holding a fifty-dollar bill out to her. "He stole my books. You gotta help me."
Marinette shoved his hand away. "Jay! It's your brother. Just ask him to bring the books back."
"Please, Pix? It'll be so funny." The anger lacing through his expression gave way to something lighter, a little giddy, but she wasn't ready to go along with him yet. He had sabotaged their meet-up without warning. All she'd wanted was a cup of coffee and a moment to enjoy a bit of rare Gotham sunlight.
Meeting Jason for coffee was hardly a new thing. But instead of one of their relaxing catch-ups, it had turned into… this. "Ugh, Jay. I don't want to get in the middle of a sibling feud."
"That's just it! He will have no reason to suspect me. I just need him to get slowly more and more miserable until I pull the big caper."
She rolled her eyes at him. Sometimes he was such a kid. The only reason she was even tempted to go along with it was because Jason had never introduced her to his family before. It would be nice to know him better, and family was usually full of insights.
"C'mon, don't think of it as revenge, Pix. It's just a prank. It'll be fun."
She paused: pranks could be fun… but they could be hurtful too. "I don't know—"
It was all the opening Jason needed. He explained his plan, pressing the cash into her hand. "Please."
With a sigh, she accepted the cash.
"Yes!" Jason grinned, and Marinette couldn't help but smile at his antics. It hadn't always been like this. She liked happy Jason. The first time she met him, the most generous description she could have used would have been gruff.
-----
Red Hood stared as the pint-sized woman took down two would-be muggers before he could get a swing in. She backed up a step or two to retake her suitcases from where they'd fallen in the scuffle. He slipped out of the shadows and zip-tied the thugs for safekeeping.
"That was somethin' else, Pixie."
The eyes she turned on him burned blue under the streetlight, and her stance shifted once again—as if she was ready to take him down if he proved to be another threat. "Who are you supposed to be?"
He gestured to the red helmet on his head and the blood-red bat symbol beneath his leather jacket. It was fairly obvious. Once upon a time, the name Red Hood had been little more than a threatening whisper slinking through the worst alleys in the city. But now? He was a known anti-hero. The black sheep of the Bats and Birds. Dangerous to a fault, but with a soft spot for the truly innocent. Children knew to come to him if they needed help with anything. Dead men didn't hit their kids.
She blinked once before turning to walk down the street. Her heels clacked against the sidewalk. "What is it with Americans and their ridiculous cosplay?"
That racket would bring every thug within a mile. "Wait! Pix. Need a hand with your luggage?" He could escort her safely home since he'd been too slow to help with the first set of muggers.
Marinette stared at the helmeted vigilante who was offering to walk her home. She had asked the cab driver to drop her off in front of a building two blocks from her actual apartment complex to avoid doxxing herself. Her trip to Paris had been good, but she'd arrived back in Gotham with double the luggage she'd left with. Parisian textiles were irresistible. Despite her outward display, she was aware of the city's crime-fighters; she simply hadn't run into one in her last year of living in the city. The rest of her walk would be easier if the hulk gave her a hand.
"Oh, alright. But I've been gone a fortnight and don't have any snacks to offer you once we arrive."
He tilted his head. "You in the habit of feeding vigilantes?"
Marinette sighed, shaking her head against a half-smile of remembrance. "In another life, I fed a hero or two."
"Right. So, where to?" Red Hood grabbed one of her bags as she led the way to a decent building that he knew had a doorman by day, but left its security to other measures by night.
Marinette smoothly used her palm, a key card, and a solid brass key to open the outer door nearest the stairwell. The elevators didn't operate between the hours of midnight and five — for security reasons. She opened the well-lit stairwell door, waved to the camera, and started up.
"Stairs?" Hood grunted behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder. "If you can't handle it, I can take my bag from here. I'm not likely to be jumped in the stairwell." She had chosen this building in particular for the security. Not only was she an acclaimed fashion designer who needed to keep some of her work out of the public eye, but she was also the sole caretaker of a miracle box in a rather danger-filled city.
"Oh, I can handle it."
Marinette listened to Hood's breathing as they climbed. He sounded a little like Darth Vader as his breath twisted its way through his voice modulator. Magic was much more convenient than all the layers and technology that most of the Bats employed.
"Something wrong with the elevator?" He huffed as they passed the fifth floor.
She shook her head. "Thieves don't like stairs. Slows them down. No doorman, no elevator—at least without an ADA badge to override it."
Hood growled as they climbed, lapsing into silence for a floor or two. "I guess that's as smart as anything else in this town. Pain in the ass though. Couldn't you have gotten a better flight?"
Marinette paused on a step to crack her neck before continuing up. "I had a better flight. I got bumped." She'd made out like a bandit for the inconvenience, though. You don't travel between continents as often as she did without knowing all the ins and outs of air travel. One lost night of rest was hardly the end of the world… although the stairs were wearing on her.
"Huh. Bad luck there."
She heaved her bag up the last flight. "Not for the family that didn't get split up instead."
"That is an extremely altruistic attitude for three in the fuckin' morning."
Marinette keyed herself onto the twelfth floor with a smile. "So is carrying my bag for me. Thank you."
He glanced back down the stairs, then down the hall. "You're welcome. You gotta balcony or big window? I'd rather take my chances grappling than with those stairs again."
She shrugged, holding the door open. "I guess I could allow that."
The floor opened to a wide hall with only four doors. Hood took another look at the tiny woman. Her clothes were nice, but he'd assumed that it was a European thing with the accent and all, but it must be more than that. Most of the floors in this building had a dozen apartments. She wasn't quite penthouse material, but she wasn't hurtin' either.
She unlocked the door marked 12D, and he walked in as she flicked on the lights and set her suitcase aside. He dropped the slightly larger bag next to it. "Nice digs."
One wall was all windows with a balcony that traveled the full length of her quarter of the building. The furniture was nice, but plush. The place screamed comfy and cozy in the kind of setting where he was used to seeing overdone elegant austerity or a mess of antique knick-knacks.
"Thank you." She kicked off her shoes, slid into slippers, and padded across thick rugs over dark hardwood to open the French-style balcony doors. He paused in the entryway, glancing at his boots. He didn't owe her anything, but it seemed rude to track Gotham muck into her homey oasis. "Don't worry about it."
He shrugged. It was her place. He followed the shortest path and slipped out of the doors. "Night, Pixie."
"Thanks, Hood."
"Hah!" He whirled. "You do know who I am."
She only smiled as she shut the door, leaving him to grapple back to the street in the noisy excuse for nighttime silence that was the melody of Gotham City.
-----
"He's undercover, playing Barista Ken for the foreseeable future. All you have to do is resist his charm."
Marinette rolled her eyes. She could handle charm. Chat Noir had tried for years to turn her head. "How do you know he'll even hit on me?"
Jason snorted. "Listen, Pix. And don't take this the wrong way—You're hot. You're cute—adorable even. You're confident. He'd hit on anyone with any one of those characteristics. You're basically catnip. He'll want to roll around in you until he can't think straight."
She looked at him with a grimace, appalled. Jason was like a little brother to her. "What's the right way to take that?"
Jay poked her shoulder. "I'm your big brother, right? I can admit basic truths without drooling all over you. Those are all objective observations."
"You— You're the little brother! By almost four years."
Jay laughed. "Age is irrelevant. Just a number. I've got like three feet on you."
"Three—" Marinette screeched, shoving him as hard as she could, but without leverage or momentum on her side, he didn't budge. "You keep up those wild over-exaggerations, and you'll need to find a new bestie to harass your brother. I bet Roy wouldn't work for your plan."
Marinette didn't actually know Roy, but Jason talked about him often enough. Of course, she didn't know his brother either… Maybe Dick really would flirt with anything.
"Sorry, sorry. You're the tallest four-and-a-half-foot woman I know. Just shut him down—with a little flair. Okay? That's all I'm asking."
"Hair up or down?"
Jason grinned, glancing her over quickly. She was dressed down since this was supposed to be a casual meetup and not one of her business meetings or client things. But Paris casual was in a different league than Gotham casual, and she looked good. Classy, but chill. As luck would have it, she had a fancy little hair stick holding a simple twist. "Pull the hair stick out and give your head a little shake just before you order."
Marinette blinked twice. "This better not be some kind of librarian feti—"
Jay shook his head, waving her off. "Don't make this about me, Pix. No straight man can resist an action even remotely close to undressing. Not that you'll need it. Catnip, remember?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Stop saying that. It's weird."
Jay rolled his eyes at her discomfort but nodded in agreement. "I'll behave, little sis. You torment Dick."
Jason hadn't been… well, he had been joking, but the Barista who grinned at her really did have a name badge that read Ken. Was his whole family ridiculous? And hot? Because while she and Jay would never be an item, she could admit he wasn't bad to look at. But Dick…
Feeling flustered under the light of his deep blue eyes, she shook her hair out while Ken asked what he could do for her and, admittedly, enjoyed his reaction. His words slowed to a stop while his eyes traced the movement of her hair. She glanced at him and quirked an eyebrow.
He shook his head. "Sorry—what, uh, can I do for you?"
Marinette offered him a sunny smile. "I'd like a café au lait, and the closest thing you have to a croissant, please." She wrinkled her nose, laughing softly. "Nothing here is quite like what we have in Paris, but I can't give up my daily pastry even if it isn't the same."
"Sure thing. Can I get a name for the order?" Ken stood with his pen poised over the cup and an eager look in his eyes.
Given his alias, she was tempted to say Barbie, but resisted the urge. Not that she wasn't open to trolling him a little more, but she was starting to feel guilty about what she was here to do. Maybe she could keep the lies to a minimum. "Marinette."
"I'll get this started for you, Marinette."
The sound of hissing steam joined the jazzy café music and engulfed her while she waited. She loved coffee shops. There was something soothing about them… although that was probably on purpose.
Dick/Ken turned back to her with an admittedly charming smile, her coffee and croissant ready and plated on a tray. The latte was perfectly formed with a leafy sort of heart crafted from foam skimming the lip of the mug. Her heart sank. He'd done such a nice job…
"What do I owe you?"
He winked. "Nothing, if you call me handsome."
If it had been a usual day, she would have laughed and gone along with it. Not for the free drink, but because he was cute (and yes, handsome) and not everyone flirted so sweetly. She probably would have flirted back and tipped him anyway. But she could almost feel Jay's gaze boring into her back. She couldn't let her best friend down.
It was just a prank. Backed by brotherly revenge. Carried out by her.
She handed him the $50 without a word.
Dick's smile dropped along with her heart. Hurt dimmed the light in his gorgeous blue eyes. "Oh. Right." He swallowed and nodded. "Thanks."
Riddled with guilt, all she could do was say, "Keep the change," as she took her tray and slipped out to the rarely used outdoor seating where Jay waited for her.
Jay was already in stitches where he'd collapsed into a seat. His boisterous laughter felt at odds with her sudden sadness. "Keep the change. Oh. My. Fucking— that was beautiful. Pixie, you're a genius."
Marinette dropped into a seat and slumped over her coffee. She took a sip; it was perfect. She set it back down quickly — as if it had poisoned her. "It was awful. I feel sick. I don't know how Lila and Chloe could act like this all the time."
Jay glanced up. "Who?"
She couldn't meet his eyes. "Just these girls who bullied me in school."
He reached across and tapped her chin lightly in a 'buck-up' gesture. "C'mon, Pix. You're no bully. Dick can take it. It'll probably be good for him."
Spiders in lockers, gum on chairs, a well-timed foot for her to trip over, and accusations of stolen bracelets rattled around her mind along with the sick feeling that came with being told all her friends would be taken away if she didn't play along with lies and schemes.
She was no better. Not now. Dick didn't even know her. Didn't know why. She had been open to teasing, to having fun with Jay, but this feeling wasn't fun. The memory of hurt and embarrassment in Dick's eyes slammed into her as she shoved her coffee and croissant in front of Jay.
"Here. I bought it with your money. I'm not hungry anymore."
She ran, jumping the little gate that separated the outdoor dining area from downtown Gotham proper, ignoring Jason as he called after her.
Why was it always the wounded ones who got under her skin?
-----
Marinette was sensitive enough to the whims of luck that she wasn't surprised when Red Hood landed on her balcony only a couple of weeks after their first meeting. She wasn't expecting him exactly, but what man (regardless of heroic tendencies) wouldn't come around for baked goods if he thought they could be had?
She hadn't expected him to be hurt.
The thunk against her balcony doors was anything but stealthy. Hood was big enough—an easy foot and a half taller than her—that his dark form would have been terrifying if he'd been able to stand. As it was, she dragged him in, scolding him for getting hurt, for bleeding, and for waiting so long to stop by while she helped him out of his armored uniform enough to patch him up.
He'd lost just enough blood to be… difficult.
"Stupid helmet. Can't see." Hood reached up with unsteady hands and unclasped his stupid red helmet before turning to look at her in a domino mask. "Heeey, Pixie-girl. Little French fighter woman. D'ya have a bandage I could use? Or a cookie? Somethin' to take the edge off?
"Hood! What happened to you?" She'd had to cut his leather jacket off when his limbs wouldn't cooperate.
He lifted his head to try looking down at his torso. "Guy had a knife. Big one. Not sure where he was hiding it." He'd pouted, frowning in confusion as she lifted his shirt to find a messy stab wound. Hood's head dropped back to thunk against the floor.
"Owwww. Whatcha do that f— Bandaid? Or! Or a really stiff drink, maybe?"
Marinette pressed her hands against the wound, and with little more than a whisper, her first aid kit was delivered to her side by a plethora of tiny, colorful deities who disappeared as quickly as they'd appeared. Even if Hood had seen them, he would never believe it.
"You could have stopped by for pastries without getting hurt, you know," Marinette said softly while she worked. Cleaning the wound made him pull away from her, but she didn't want him to get an infection.
"Hold still." She yanked him back, pressing gauze against the wound, and begging a dozen gods for him to start clotting. She knew how to do basic stitches, and thanks to her occasional leatherwork, she had the tools for it, but she didn't really want to have to.
"Hate holding still." Hood slurred.
"Unless?" She needed to keep him talking. Surely he had some kind of hobby that he'd stop for.
"Huh?"
"What is something you like to do that keeps you still?"
Hood's head twisted toward her. "Yer lll-ittle."
"Next to you, maybe."
"Next t' most people." He lifted a hand up and held it over his face to study it, but he was too weak, and it dropped back to the floor. He sighed heavily, then winced. "Hood doesn't hold still. Too angry. Jason though. Jason likes to read. Whole ass worlds are in stories, and they are all better than this one."
Marinette taped the gauze down securely and scrambled for a glass of water with a straw and her phone. She linked to her speaker and started an audiobook before offering the straw to Hood.
"You need to stay hydrated. You probably need an infusion of blood." She said worriedly as he slowly sipped the water she offered him.
The straw fell from his lips as he whined. "I just wanted a cookie and a Band-Aid."
With an incredulous huff, Marinette grabbed a plate of macarons, an older blanket and dropped to the floor next to Hood. "Here. I don't want you to choke or mess up your bandage." She helped him sit up just enough to slide the rolled blanket under his shoulders and handed him a cookie.
Hood stuffed it into his mouth with a smile. "Can't believe that worked."
"Next time, you only get one if you don't bleed on my floor." Marinette watched the wound site carefully while they talked. If the bleeding didn't slow, she'd have to call someone. An ambulance maybe.
"Shit. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
"Jason always was a screw-up."
"Who would Jason call if he needed help?" She asked carefully, "I bet someone cares about him." There's no way he was completely alone—he'd have died from some previous fight.
"Alfie would come. He'd stitch me up too, iffin' I needed it. But you gave me a band-aid and a cookie. Soooooo I'm aaaall good."
He smiled at her. She smiled back, but her heart hurt. Whatever this man had been through had left more scars than the ones that riddled his skin.
"Thanks, little pixie-girl."
"You're welcome, Jason."
She was stiff and sore by the time the dim daylight crawled through her windows. Jason—Hood—snored on her floor where he'd fallen asleep. She'd spent the night cleaning him (and her floor) up the best she could and monitoring his wound. Thankfully, it didn't seem too deep and had stopped seeping through the gauze about an hour before daybreak. He still looked a little pale from the blood loss, and she didn't want him trying to walk or, worse, grapple on his own. She rifled through the pockets of his jacket until she found a cell phone next to a small paperback copy of Jane Eyre. It wasn't a new model, just a basic old thing with a very short list of contacts. Alfie was the first one.
Scooting across the floor with the phone, Marinette dialed the number of the one person Jason thought might care enough to sew him up, which hopefully meant that this Alfie also knew that Jason was Red Hood.
He answered after only one ring. "Ah, Jay-lad. What can I do for you?"
Marinette paused at the formal British accent. Not what she'd expected, but he sounded like he cared. "Bonjour. Hi. I mean. Sorry. Jason is hurt. Can you come help him?"
"Certainly, miss. Can you tell me what's wrong and where you are?"
She rattled off her address, along with instructions for the doorman, before explaining Jason's injuries. "I don't think he should walk on his own, and if he tries to leave the way he came, he'll reopen the wound for sure. I didn't stitch him up… It's just gauze and bandages. He might need clothes. Something less conspicuous, if you know what I mean."
"Yes. I think I do. Anything else?"
"He lost a lot of blood."
"How much, Miss?"
"Enough that he was babbling like he was drunk. He referred to himself in the third person a lot."
"Ah."
Dead air hummed over the line while Alfie took care of things on his end and Marinette watched Hood sleep. He looked softer, younger than he had that first night.
"Alfie?"
"Yes, miss?"
"How old is he?"
"How well does the mademoiselle know the young master?"
She filed the 'master' comment away to scrutinize later. "I've only met him once before. He helped me carry my luggage late one night."
It should be impossible to hear a smile over a phone line, but she swore Alfie was smiling when he spoke next. "Good lad. He was always a good lad. He's twenty now, Miss."
Twenty to her twenty-four. How long had Red Hood been operating? Had he been a child-hero too? If the rumors about Red Hood once being a Robin were true… then quite possibly.
"I'll look after him until you get here."
"Thank you, miss. I should arrive in approximately fifteen minutes."
Alfie—Alfred—looked exactly like he sounded, except he wore a black suit coat instead of the cardigan she had imagined. He'd inspected the wound, made a satisfied expression in her direction, and set up a blood transfusion right in her living room. After a little while and an injection of some kind of painkiller, he'd made the call to add a few stitches before Marinette re-bandaged him.
"I'd like to let him wake up here, if that's alright with you, miss."
"Of course. I don't know that we could move him even if we wanted to."
"Quite so."
"Besides, I wouldn't want to put him through the stress of not knowing how or where he was," Marinette added. The idea of being moved while she was unconscious was terrifying.
"Quite right."
She took a turn getting cleaned up while Alfred watched over Jason before they shared a cup of tea and waited.
And waited.
She kept an audiobook running while Jason slept. It was after noon before he stirred. Alfred remained calm, poised in his seat, but his eyes didn't leave his charge. Marinette wasn't stoic enough for that.
"Jason? How are you feeling?" She slid her hand into his and squeezed.
He squeezed back but remained quiet.
"It might take him a moment, miss."
Jason's eyes fluttered open. "Alf?"
"Right here, Jay-lad."
Jason scoffed, then coughed, wincing as he tried in vain to clutch at his wounded side. Marinette held him back. "That bad, huh? I must be near to dead if you're dropping the honorific."
"Not so, Master Jason. I simply wished to offer you an added layer of support in this trying time."
"Thanks, Alf." Jason turned his head to find Marinette holding his hand. He grunted. "How'd you get here?"
She shook her head. "You came to me. For a bandage and a cookie."
"Shi—"Alfred cleared his throat, and Jason snapped his mouth shut before trying again. "Cool. I'm an idiot."
"Are not. You got everything you wanted." Marinette said.
"Doesn't count if I don't remember it."
Marinette let go of his hand to fetch the remaining cookies. "Here, and it's not polite to suggest a lady's baking is forgettable, for future reference."
"Good to know." He popped a macaron into his mouth and moaned. "That's good. Alf?"
"Yes, master Jason?"
"Nobody else knows about Pixie. Ya hear me?"
"Yes. Of course."
Jason turned to look at her. "You're my friend now."
Marinette smiled. She didn't necessarily want all of Gotham's vigilantes crashing her place, so she had no problem being exclusive. She'd never had a little brother. "Sure. Why not?"
-----
Dick flipped the open sign to closed with a sigh. He'd spent a lot of time undercover. In bars, warehouses, a couple of times as a loiterer in a popular alley, and once as a hired goon—none of it had been as devastating as the sick burn he'd received from that girl, Marinette. She hadn't even been willing to call him handsome for free food. In Gotham of all places. It was possible she'd been embarrassed or had a jealous boyfriend, but something about the exchange had sunk into his psyche and refused to let him alone.
Maybe it was karma. He probably deserved it. He'd pulled the most epic prank in the history of the bat-clan (depending on who you asked), and his whole life had tanked directly afterwards. He hadn't even been able to enjoy Jason's reaction before being sent on assignment. And Ken the barista, didn't know Jason Todd. There was no way he could check in with him; he couldn't even go to his own apartment or the manor if he wanted to protect his cover.
Marinette had broken his heart like a cheap coffee mug.
His fake apartment had been broken into, and all of his left shoes had been stolen.
Someone had called his bank and frozen his account, citing questionable purchases. It was his undercover account, and he wasn't allowed to use any other assets while on assignment. By the time he'd sorted it out, his rent had been late, and he'd been hungry enough to consider stealing from his fake job. Which would have been bad considering he was trying to earn the trust of the mochaccino mafia (his name, not theirs, like villains could be that awesome).
Undercover life was just plain lonely. He couldn't trust anyone in the organization, and he couldn't break the trust he was building by connecting with his family or friends.
He'd gone so far as to stop by the library and borrow a few books that he knew Jason liked. Fictional friends had to be better than nothing, right?
Wrong.
The stories were great, but the characters all had their own lives and friends, and there wasn't room for him. So, with nothing better to do when he wasn't at the café, he closed his blinds and trained in the little living room of his cheap apartment. Focusing on his muscles and the burn that came from focusing on individual muscle groups before putting them all together with basic acrobatics. He walked himself through empty-handed sword drills because he knew Damian would challenge him when he finally returned, and he wanted to be in top form.
And he moped. He'd grown up in the circus — with a big, bright, loud family in addition to his parents. The slow accumulation of Robins had revived some of that, but for now it was all gone.
What else could go wrong?
It didn't take too long to close down. He'd wiped the tables and cleaned most of the dishes before closing time. Once everything was clean and locked and balanced, he let himself out the back door, only to come to a dead stop.
Marinette was waiting for him. And she was so much prettier than he'd allowed himself to remember.
-----
Jason had gotten his books back. Marinette had helped him restock the shelves with his careful arrangement of genre and author name. He'd apologised for asking her to do something she wasn't 100% comfortable with, and things seemed to be back to normal.
But a furious guilt still gnawed at her stomach. Jason had not apologized to Dick (she tried not to think about what else his revenge had entailed)… and neither had she.
He probably didn't even remember their exchange, what with how many people drank coffee every day. And Dick was attractive. Plenty of women — and men — would make sure to flirt with him. But that didn't help the feeling of self-disgust.
So she had decided to do something about it. Dick closed the cafe on Tuesday nights, and there was a working streetlight above the employee entrance at the back. It was as safe a place as Gotham had to offer outside of her apartment.
She tapped the ring on her finger while she waited. Plagg was better for stealth in the dark shadows of Gotham if she had to fight or run. Finally, the door swung open, and Dick Ken (she wouldn't bust his cover) stepped out.
He froze. His eyes raked over her red silk skirt and white polka-dotted blouse. She'd had a client meeting earlier.
"Wha—This isn't a safe place to be loitering. Unless you came to mug me for the $50. But I have to warn you, I don't have it anymore."
Her hand twisted around the ring. She shook her head. "I came to apologise."
Dick looked up and down the littered street. "Is this some kind of prank?"
She waved her hands frantically at him. "No! No pranks. Not anymore." She clutched her stomach. "I'm not cut out for cruelty… I thought I was fine with joking or teasing, but that requires some kind of relationship. And we don't have that. I'm sorry."
Dick frowned. "For paying for your drink?"
Marinette leveled a glare at him. "It was more than that, and you know it."
He gestured away from the shop, and she fell into step beside him. It would be safer to join the greater populace on busier sidewalks. "Can you tell me why you did it?" He asked as they walked.
"Someone put me up to it," Marinette answered quietly. "A friend of mine was hurt and wanted to play a revenge prank."
He eyed her again, his eyes lingering everywhere but refusing to meet hers. He was probably used to hanging out with masks. "Do we know each other? Because I'm pretty sure I'd remember a woman like you… and I've got nothing."
She shook her head. "We have a mutual friend. He likes books and freaked out when he found his bookshelves empty."
Dick's eyes widened. "Oh, shit. Wait—has he been torturing me the whole time?"
Marinette shrugged. "I didn't want anything to do with his pranks after the first one. The guilt has been eating at me."
"No way. You're way too sweet to be friends with— that guy."
Marinette scoffed. "He can be good when he wants to be."
"So are you guys…" Dick crossed his fingers and waggled them suggestively.
Marinette gagged lightly. "No! He's my friend. Practically my little brother. One hundred percent platonic."
"Okay, then. Apology accepted."
Marinette paused. "Really? Just like that?"
Dick narrowed his eyes at her. "Why? What did you have in mind?"
"I was going to offer to buy or make you dinner. You know, to make up for my rudeness and lying. And to keep me out of the next prank war."
"You cook?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I'd kill for a home-cooked meal."
Marinette took a step back. "Ummm…"
"Not for real. And not you. Obviously."
Marinette knew Dick was a decent guy—book theft aside—but she wasn't going to let that comment slide. Jason would kill her for her stupidity, even if he was the reason she trusted Dick. "Right. How about I buy you dinner tonight, and if we live through it, we can see what happens next."
"Sure."
"Well, come along, handsome."
A grin spread across Dick's face, making him even more attractive. He slipped a hand around hers. "Just for that, I'm buying."
-----
Hood stared across the rooftops at Marinette's balcony. Things had gone back to normal over the last few weeks, but Marinette had been busier than usual, and their hangout time had dipped. He noticed movement in her apartment and grinned. He hadn't had a macaron all week, and she always had something fresh on Friday nights. He'd pop over, make sure she didn't have company, and steal a couple of sweets. Keeping her to himself and away from the rest of the flock had been one of his smarter moves. He liked that he didn't have to share. The cookies or his friendship.
With a smooth grapple, he dropped almost silently onto the balcony and looked around the edge of the curtains. It wouldn't do for some random client to discover that their designer was an anti-hero hot spot… but Marinette was very French and didn't approve of working overtime. She was sitting on the edge of her sofa, relaxed, a glass of wine in her hand. He couldn't see the rest of the sofa, but she never looked that chill when she had a client up. He walked to the door, but found it locked. Which was good. Safety first and all that, but she usually expected him on Friday nights. He could have knocked, but their friendship was more 'barge and bluster' than 'niceties and etiquette', so he pulled his lockpick kit out and got to work.
Quietly, he opened the door to see if he could get the jump on his best friend. She was surprisingly aware and prepared. He'd only managed to sneak up on her once over the last couple of years. He ditched his helmet in the kitchen before slinking around to the living room behind the sofa, where he came to an abrupt stop.
She wasn't alone.
Abort! Abort!
Some dude had his arm wrapped around her and was plastered to her face. Marinette had dated on occasion, but she hadn't been in a relationship since he met her. No wonder the balcony door was locked—but why hadn't she told him she met someone worth bringing home?
He tried to back up and out, but bumped into the edge of the wall. "Shit. Fuck. Crap!" It was a whispered slurry of words, but whatever show was playing on the TV wasn't loud enough to hide his reaction from Marinette and her guest. Marinette jerked back and up off the sofa, clearly ready to throw down. And more surprisingly so did—
Oh, shit. Fuck him ten ways to Sunday.
Dick.
Jason recoiled in horror. Then he turned to his best friend. "Ew, Pix! You put your mouth on that?"
Marinette blushed. Blushing wasn't enough. She should be horrified. Jason had thought she was smarter than that.
"Hey, little wing!" Dick grinned. What little space their reaction to his intrusion had caused disappeared as Dick pulled Marinette back into his arms—where she went willingly.
Jason scowled. This was not the revenge he'd wanted. He looked around balefully. From the way Marinette was blushing and nibbling on her lip, eyes darting towards Dick, to the last remaining cookie crumbs on a plate at the table, and Dick's smug face, Jason knew that life with his best friend as he knew it was over.
Marinette blinked awake at the sound of a thud. It wasn’t thunder. It wasn’t the creak of old wood. It was the solid, heavy kind of noise that only happened when something hit the roof that shouldn’t be on a roof.
She grabbed the closest weapon she had—a rolling pin—and slipped out of the warm kitchen of her Uncle Wang's apartment.
Outside, the air was cool and damp. The moon was low and soft over the tiled rooftops. Her slippers made no sound as she climbed the short ladder to the top, her rolling pin at the ready.
Then she saw him.
A man in a red helmet. Leather jacket. Black gear. Bleeding. He was sprawled across her uncle’s rooftop like a fallen bat, one arm clutching his side. The other—holding a gun that was now out of reach.
“…You good?” Marinette asked, lowering her weapon.
The man groaned.
“Wrong roof,” he grunted. “Go back inside.”
“You’re bleeding on my uncle’s roof,” she said, stepping closer. “And he just re-tiled it.”
“Lady, I have a bullet in my ribs.”
“And I have a rolling pin and a grumpy uncle who values tilework. You want help or not?”
There was a long pause.
“…Do you have alcohol?”
“I have baijiu.”
“Close enough.”
---
2:33 a.m.
He was wayyyyy heavier than he looked. She dragged him inside, laid him across the kitchen table, and got to work. First alcohol, then gauze. Then needle and thread.
“You’re not a civilian,” he said hoarsely, helmet and mask removed and sitting on the floor.
She didn’t look up. “And you’re not a tourist.”
“Who taught you to stitch up bullet wounds?”
“My ex-boyfriend had enemies. Long story.”
He hissed as she tightened a knot. “So you’re just out here in China for fun?”
“I’m visiting family. Uncle Wang lets me stay when I need time to… disappear.”
“…Same.”
She paused, then finally looked at him. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Piercing blue eyes cold as tempered steel, filled with exhaustion and caution and guilt.
“You have a name?” she asked.
“…Jason.”
“Jason what?”
He gave her a look.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Jason Whatever. I’m Marinette.”
He looked down at her bloodstained fingers. “You’re good at this.”
“I sew and bake,” she said with a shrug. “Precision helps.”
Jason snorted. “You stitched me up like a croissant."
----
3:03 a.m.
She handed him a still-warm pork bun and cookies.
He stared at it. “Are you feeding me?”
“You bled all over my uncle’s kitchen. You’re lucky I didn’t hit you.”
Jason took both the bun and a cookie. Chewed. Groaned. “You’re a witch.”
Marinette smirked. “I get that a lot.”
They sat in silence for a bit. He didn’t ask why she wasn’t scared. She didn’t ask why he was injured, or who he’d been fighting.
Some things don’t need answers.
But just before dawn, as he stood to leave—
“Don’t die,” she said softly, handing him his helmet.
He paused. Helmet in one hand. Food in the other.
“…You got a phone?”
She raised a brow. “You wanna call me or track me?”
“…Both.”
She gave him her burner number.
Just in case.
---
2 Years Later – Gotham City
Wayne Manor – Present Day
Jason slammed a grocery bag on the kitchen island. “If anyone touches the tarte Tatin in this bag, I’m fighting them.”
Tim peeked in. “Is that from her?”
Jason narrowed his eyes. “Marinette is not ‘her.’ She’s my pastry witch and you will respect her almond crust.”
“She’s in town again?” Dick called from the living room. “Tell her she still owes me a batch of those lavender macarons and Nightwing themed cookies!”
“Tell her yourself,” Jason snapped.
“What, is she coming over?”
Jason grinned.
The kitchen door opened revealing Alfred and Marinette.
“Hi everyone!” Marinette chirped, stepping inside with a bag full of baked goods and wearing a soft blue hoodie. “I brought food!”
Jason beamed. “See? Little sister privilege. You’re all beneath me.”
---
Across the kitchen…
Damian Wayne looked up from his book.
And stared.
She was shorter than he expected. Freckles. Black hair up in a messy bun. Eyes like calm ocean.
Characters/Pairings: Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng; Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Rating: Teen and Up
Summary: Luka should be sleeping. It’s a big day tomorrow, after all. Except his sister’s banging on his door after midnight with a special delivery…
Author’s Notes/Warnings: I was watching a clip from Fjord & Jester’s wedding, and it got me kicking something stupid around, and I was bored on hold entirely too long today. Oops? 😂
“Big Day Tomorrow”
Luka was not expecting the knock on his door at…nearly one o’clock in the morning.
He was supposed to be asleep, for one. Tomorrow was a big day, after all, and he had to be over at the boat early to help finish setting everything up. It was going to be an amazing day, but it was also going to be a long one, and he wasn’t sure when he’d actually get another chance to sleep. He needed his rest. Anyone that would be knocking on his door would be in the same boat, actually, which brought him back to: who the hell was knocking at this time of night?
It had taken a long time to find the perfect bell. Nothing too high-pitched, but strong enough to carry through the little shop. Marinette glanced up at the low peal and cursed the placement of the new garment rack. She couldn't see the door from her sewing stool behind the counter anymore. Thankfully, she had a stellar employee in one of her best friends.
"Rose?"
"I got it, Marinette! Don't you worry. You make the customers happy with that needle, and I'll take care of sales."
It had been terrifying going into business with her best friend. There was no shortage of horror stories about ruined friendships because of business drama. But Rose had been absolutely confident that not only would their friendship be fine, but that Marinette's boutique would thrive. And while the fledgling business hadn't yet stood the test of time, working alongside Rose had been fun. Regret had no power at A Rose-Tinted Wardrobe by MDC.
"Welcome in! Let me know if you have any questions." Rose's cheerful voice floated across the shop while Marinette focused on finishing the last couple of inches of hand-sewing. Since they were new, she did want to greet their customers if at all possible. Once this seam was sorted, she would find their customer. After all, she wanted the shop to be memorable. Maybe one day she wouldn't feel the need to meet everyone who walked into her shop, but today was not that day.
Rose wound her way through the clothing stands, looking for whomever she had greeted. She caught sight of a dark head a couple of racks over, but they were quiet as they browsed. Marinette made ready-to-wear stuff that filled the boutique in addition to the bespoke and custom pieces that she worked on for the kinds of clients who didn't usually do their shopping in public.
Carefully straightening dresses and angling hats just so as she went, Rose made sure every corner of the shop shone. Finally, she caught sight of their customer. She was tall, with purple-accented black hair and the kind of gothic elegance that always made Rose's heart beat a little faster.
She froze, one hand still clinging to the hanger she'd adjusted. Chill. She had to be cool. Smooth like the cerulean silk skirt of that dress Mari had just finished.
The woman turned towards her, browsing the clothes with one free elbow to make up for her full hands. A coffee mug in one hand, a phone in the other, and a cute casket-shaped handbag dangled from her other elbow. All attempts at calm or cool dissipated like water on a hot skillet the moment Rose caught sight of her black ruffled blouse. Several buttons had escaped the confines of their holes, leaving a gap in the material to reveal a corset bra that left her breathless where she stood. She sucked in a deep breath to pull herself together. It worked. Barely.
Chill. Casual. "Hey, dude. You've got your shit unbuttoned." No, no no! Not that casual! Was this how Marinette felt all the time?!
The woman glanced down and frowned. Her voice was soft, like the whisper of fabric, "Could you help me out? My hands are full."
"Yeah, I got you!" Rose answered promptly, diving for the buttons. In two shakes, she had her done up and resituated. Once she was finished, there was considerably more heat in her cheeks than was warranted for the cool afternoon. Maybe she should have skipped readjusting her cleavage for her. Casual. She smiled, meeting the woman's stunning amber eyes once more. Stay cool. "There you are, brother." If not for her natural enthusiasm and boundless confidence, she would have cried at the words that kept escaping her in the face of true beauty.
The whispered "thanks" was all but lost as the girl slipped around the corner. Rose stared longingly after her until she heard Marinette clear her throat behind her. Rose turned, on the verge of gushing about their gorgeous customer, but the look in Marinette's eyes froze her.
"What the h— was that?"
Marinette never cursed during business hours. Not out loud, at least. It was kind of funny.
"Customer service?" Rose answered. The golden haze of longing was slowly dissipating under the reality of Marinette's shocked expression, and a new thought slid through Rose's mind. Maybe, just maybe, she should have offered to hold her drink or bag instead of buttoning her shirt…
Marinette's eyes darted between her and the counter where the gorgeous goth girl had paused. She heaved a sigh that let Rose know she wasn't done with her yet. "Oh, my gosh. Rose. I'm going to meet her at the counter… but… Ugh! I can't believe she hasn't fled yet."
Shaking with shock at what she'd just witnessed, Marinette made her way up to the counter where their customer had come to a stop near the jewelry display.
Her voice floated softly across the space, "You do custom stuff?"
Marinette plastered on a smile, biting back the urge to apologize for Rose's handsiness. What's done was done, and there was no way she would be able to get the right words out without swallowing her foot whole. "Yes! If you want a specific style in a specific color palette, I can make it happen. I've even incorporated personal effects or momentos into some pieces. That goes for the clothes too."
"Cool." She held out a plum-colored velvet patterned skirt and a black chiffon blouse. "I'll take these for now, but I'll definitely be back."
Nodding, Marinette rang her up, wrapping the clothes carefully before handing them over in one of her signature pink bags. She watched as she left, glancing nervously in Rose's direction on her way out. Probably wary of being assaulted. Again.
Rose all but appeared at her elbow the moment the low chiming of the bell ceased. "I've never seen anyone more composed or beautiful in my life. Did you see her eyes?" She sighed, long and breathy. "And her voice? O.m.g. Like the whisper of drifting leaves or falling satin, inviting me closer to hear her better," she swooned dramatically, draping herself over the counter.
Marinette's mouth fell open. "We're lucky she didn't accuse us of harassment! You can't grope customers, Rose!"
Rose turned wide blue eyes on her. "I didn't grope her! It's called customer service."
"She said she'd be back. Let's hope she doesn't bring the police."
Rose moaned, exasperated. "Don't be ridiculous. She asked for help with her buttons. She isn't going to come after us for helping her out."
Marinette huffed. "Rose! You touched more than her buttons!"
Rose caught her lip between her teeth in an attempt not to smile. She had done that, hadn't she? The bustier had shifted, and Rose had made sure the girls were situated properly once she was done-up. She was definitely enamored with more than her eyes. "—I"
Marinette was glaring at her. Rose swallowed. "Okay, maybe I did grope her a little—but I didn't mean to! I just wanted to be helpful. It's on me, okay. If she complains, I'll take full responsibility. The shop will be safe."
Black hair swished around her neck as Marinette shook her head. "No. We're a team. Just—don't grab anyone else's boobs on the job, okay?"
Rose made her promises, hugging Marinette before skipping off when the bell pealed its merry welcome to a group of lycée-aged girls.
-----
Juleka walked home in a daze, barely registering the world around her. She knew she'd bought something from the cute new shop, but couldn't for the life of her remember what was in the bag. All she could think about was the shopgirl. Golden hair, the brightest smile she'd ever seen, and quick, deft hands. And sitting just below the scooped neckline of her pink top was a nametag that read Rose. It was a perfect name for a girl like that. A girl made of sunshine with a face more welcoming than a garden full of flowers.
Music greeted her as she boarded the Liberty. That was life as a Couffaine. Music and a touch of madness. She wouldn't have it any other way. Except now she wondered what her life would be like if she brought Rose into the hold. The music shifted, mirroring her mood—a tangled, wistful sort of sound that came with Luka's concerned eyes. Rose had blue eyes too. It was a comforting color. A color that cared.
"What's up, Jules?"
"I found a new shop. Custom jewelry and clothes…" She remembered that much. Ma's birthday was coming up, and she and Luka had been looking for a place that could do something out of the box. "Someone grabbed my boobs, and I can't stop thinking about it."
"What?!" The music stopped, and Luka stood, a storm in his eyes.
Juleka shook her head. "Not like that—I mean. Kind of like that, but not."
Luka dragged a hand down his face. "What the hell, Jules?"
"My buttons came undone. The salesgirl told me, but my hands were full, so I asked for her help, and she just—" Juleka stopped, grinning as she relived the moment.
"She?" Luka prompted, a note of relief in his voice.
"I thought maybe she would hold my stuff." The adorable blonde had only held her stuff for a second. Juleka whimpered.
Luka groaned, dropping back into his seat. "I take it she buttoned your top?"
"Mmhmm. And then she made sure everything was sitting right. God, her hands."
Her brother grabbed his guitar again, plucking at the strings in a way that reminded her of buttons popping out of holes… "I think I've heard enough—unless you actually do want me to beat her up."
"Fuck, no." She hoped nothing bad happened to Rose, ever, but a dangerous idea settled over her… "I need you to be my wingman."
"What? No. C'mon." Luka sounded exasperated. Not that she could blame him. If the tables had been turned… ew. The idea of helping her brother hook up with someone made her shudder. But she had social anxiety, and Rose's eyes were still dancing above that perfect smile in her mind. Luka had always helped her and would always help her. She trusted that more than she trusted the sun to rise in the mornings. He had visited every flat and been there at each tenant interview when she wanted to move out, had been there when she signed her first lease, and had already taken time off to help her move in at the start of the next month, when her place would really be hers. Luka was her rock.
"Please? I need to see her again. I only know where she works. I don't know how to do this. I don't want to be creepy."
Luka laughed through a sigh, gesturing at her. Looking down, she couldn't help but understand. Creepy was kind of her whole thing. "Good luck with that."
"Okay, Jerk. I don't want to be an asshole, then."
Luka shook his head as the music changed under his fingertips—something that sounded like it belonged in a spy movie. "Alright. I'll go to look at the jewelry for Ma. And if your handsy salesgirl is there, I'll see what I can do to help you flirt."
"She wasn't handsy—not really. She was helpful."
Luka grunted. "Only because you liked it. This would be a very different story if you hadn't."
Juleka sighed. "I know, I know. But I did, so…"
"So we'll go back. But you know you can't push, right?"
"Of course!" Juleka stamped a foot, rolling her eyes when Luka raised a brow at her. "She's probably not interested. She called me brother, and dude." She'd been trying not to think about that part, but Luka was right; she needed to be prepared for rejection.
"Ouch," Luka winced, empathetic to his core.
"Yeah. Not exactly flirty."
Luka's head bobbed to the music for a second. Juleka waited, knowing it took him time to sort out his words. "Unless she was trying to make you more comfortable while she groped—helped you."
Juleka pulled her new ensemble from the bag. It was super cute and looked well-made. Those buttons would probably stay closed until she was good and ready for them to open. "Either way, it was the best customer service I've ever received."
-----
When a few days passed without angry police, lawyers, or mafia hitmen showing up at A Rose-Tinted Wardrobe, Marinette finally relaxed. It had been silly to let one little event stress her out so much. If Rose had been the kind of person to go around groping people, she might not have been so appalled—but the whole thing had been extremely out of character, and she hadn't known how to handle it or what kind of fallout to expect. But everything had been fine.
Rose smiled and sold their ready-made pieces. Marinette designed new ideas and put finishing touches on custom pieces while managing to meet and greet some of their new customers. It was her favorite day of the week—post-day. All of her recent high-end commissions were wrapped up and ready to ship to Clara Nightingale, Jagged Stone, and even a special piece for Françoise Bettencourt Meyers of L'Oréal fame. They closed early on Fridays so she could swing by La Poste before taking it easy at home with her sketchbook or letting Rose drag her out somewhere for drinks or music or, more often than not, both.
There was only an hour left of the workday when the little bell pealed out a cheerful welcome. Marinette smiled, ready to greet their guests, when she caught sight of the girl Rose had accosted. The blood drained from her face, leaving chilled flesh in its wake. The girl wasn't alone. A tall man with blue-tipped hair and noticeable tattoos followed her closely. Her heart sped up. He was here to avenge his friend. She and Rose were small. There would be blood. The carefully constructed garments that surrounded her would never recover. Marinette sucked in a breath. This was her shop, and Rose was her friend. She wouldn't go down without a fight. She straightened her spine, even as she swayed. There was something she needed to remember…
"Hey." A hand landed gently on her shoulder. "You need to bend your knees."
Right. She was always forgetting that. But first things first. "You can't have her. She's mine." Then the world went fuzzy and faded to black.
Juleka turned the corner and stopped dead. Luka was holding the other girl, the one who wasn't Rose, in an awkward sort of bridal carry with a panicked look on his face.
"What ha—"
"No! Don't hurt her!" Rose shrieked, running from the other side of the shop and vaulting over a display to skid to a stop in front of them. She turned pleading eyes on Juleka. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. Please don't blame Marinette. I shouldn't have grabbed your boobs even though it was the greatest experience of my life. I should have asked or held your drink or something. I didn't mean to be a cad! I promise I was only trying to help. Take me instead."
"Greatest experience…?" Juleka mumbled the words in shock, her face heating rapidly.
"Woah," Luka tried to comfort the panicked shopgirl, but was hampered by the unconscious woman in his arms. "We didn't come here to blame anyone for anything."
"We wanted to talk about a custom piece of jewelry for our mom," Juleka added, unsure of how to help.
Rose looked between them before glancing at Marinette as she stirred with a groan. "What happened?"
Their voices came out in stereo—even if the inflection was drastically different.
Luka shrugged. "She looked pale, stiff. So I told her to bend her knees. She didn't." He glanced down at Marinette. She was beautiful. Soft in his arms, but the vision of her standing defiantly to protect her coworker (friend, lover?) was etched in his mind.
There had been strength behind the pallor, and a song of righteous protection bled from her soul even as she struggled to get her bearings. He found himself inexplicably jealous of the kind of customer service Juleka had received earlier in the week.
"I can—you can put me down now." The girl in his arms met his eyes, and the pallor had been replaced by rosy cheeks and trepidation that showed in a trembling lip.
"Right." He set her down carefully, keeping a hand within a few inches of her just in case.
"Thank you for your assistance. Now, like I was saying before—Rose is my employee, and I take full responsibility for her actions."
"We don't —" Luka began.
"Dinner," Juleka stated, eyes flying to Rose. "If you're going to feel a girl up, you should buy her dinner first."
"Right," Luka added. "Juleka just came to give you her number. That, and we wanted to see the jewelry." His eyes flitted to Marinette. "My sister mentioned that she experienced the best customer service here."
"Oh." Marinette still seemed confused.
Rose beamed and bounced lightly on her toes. "I'd be happy to take you to dinner, but before you start sharing stories of our customer service, you should know that the level you received is reserved for you alone."
Juleka flushed at the insinuation, but she couldn't hold back a smile at the admission. "Good to know. I guess I can keep it in the family."
Rose frowned slightly. "In the—" she glanced at Luka and Marinette, her eyes widening in understanding. "Oh. Yes. Perfect. Thank you."
Juleka reached out towards Luka. "I'm going to have a look around before we ask Marinette about the jewelry." Her hand caught the edge of the leather vest he wore over an old band tee, snapping two of the buttons off and sending them skittering across the wood floors.
Rose snorted, covering it with a cough. "Oh, nooo."
"Rose?" Marinette looked at her coworker. She was looking better, but apparently fainting took a lot out of her.
Rose grinned. "Well, you know me. We've been besties forever. I can't sew worth a lick. And you made all of this." She gestured around the shop like a proud mama. "So, uh, I'll let you help Juleka's brother…
"Luka," Juleka answered quickly. Her brother had been willing to help her with her crush; the least she could do was admit he had a name.
"…Luka, with his buttons. Seeing as he caught you when you fainted and all. Customer service is important to us."
Marinette nodded slowly. "Right. Of course. I have sewing supplies behind the counter—"
Luka jumped in as she bent over to retrieve a button, snagging it off the ground before Marinette could go heels over head. "How about I get you to a chair and then find the buttons myself? Don't want you passing out on me again."
Marinette flushed pink as she looked up at him. "Sorry about that. I don't usually—"
"Nope. No worries. I'm glad I could help." Luka assured her in that low, comforting voice of his. She'd woken up to that low rumble with his arms around her, and it would be a lie to say she hadn't enjoyed it.
In seconds, she was back on her stool, and a minute later, Luka was there, two buttons in hand. "So, how do you want me? Your coworker helped Jules with her buttons while she was still in the shirt. Is that a store policy?"
"What?!" Marinette's head snapped up, the confusion burning away. Her eyes met the ocean-blue depths of the man who had been holding her only moments before. Waves of heat and cold washed over her. He was hot and sweet, and she was a mess, and did he really want her to sew his vest while he was wearing it?
"Sorry. That was out of line. I'm not very good with words." Luka said grimly.
"You're fine." Marinette blurted. She shook her head. "So fine. But considering the needle, maybe you could take it off for me."
"Sure thing," Luka said with a slow smile.
Rose looked at Juleka, putting Marinette out of mind for the moment. Her girl was slow, but deep. She'd get there, but in the meantime, she had her own customer to service. "Was there anything you wanted me to help you find?"
Juleka smiled at her. "I like purple. And the blouse I bought earlier this week fits perfectly."
Rose eyed her with a wink. "I bet it did. I know just the thing. Marinette made this incredible deep violet gothic-styled top with the coolest asymmetrical peplum."
Juleka inclined her head, ready to follow the blonde pixie just about anywhere. "Okay. Sounds like a good start."
Rose led the way through the shop, calling back as Juleka followed. "My favorite detail is the keyhole neckline. It looks like it was made for you."
Juleka watched Rose as she talked animatedly about the perfect blouse. She had a feeling that the clothes weren't the only things in the shop that were made for her. As subtly as she could, she undid one of her buttons. Sometimes, actions spoke louder than words.
So I just simultaneously did, and possibly didn't lose my job today :)
Very much did in the sense that I literally do not know where my job is at the moment. But, for the time being I haven't been let go because nobody else including the store owner knows where it is either.
So, I don't wanna risk doxxing myself by posting pictures but goddamn am I tempted because this is not a believable event. This is a cartoon problem. For looneytoons.
But yeah, so, I work(ed?) at a kiosk selling boba tea, right? Freestanding kiosk in the mall with full water and electrical hookups and multiple fridges and sinks and a mini kitchen and the works. Fully functional tea shop. Very important to note that it was there last night, The work chat was discussing another issue last night at closing time. I'll get back to this.
It's been showing signs of being on the way out with how business is being handled lately and I've been considering other options, which is probably why I'm not as torn up about this as I should be, but maybe it just hasn't set in yet, but that's not the point. The point is there's been a lot of shit breaking and not being replaced and nobody mentioning anything about it until I walk into work in the morning and have to figure out why shit like the fucking cash register isn't there today. So I'm kinda used to having to ask questions about big things that nobody bothered to update me on. I was out for two weeks recovering from a surgery, so I came to work this morning assuming there'd be some kind of bullshit, yeah?
So, the question I had to ask the chat this morning was:
Not a text I ever thought I'd have to send in sincerity, but there it is. Because what I found instead was a fenced off patch of discolored tiles and a few holes in the floor where my entire place of employment used to be.
And the answer? Nobody knows! It was there last night when the mall closed, and every single trace of the structure and all its contents including drink making supplies and our safe and cashbox was gone when it opened again. And when I say nobody knows, I mean everyone from last night's closers to the actual (former?) owner of the store jad no fucking clue about this until getting that text from me this morning. For once I am actually the first to know. 🎉.
So. I guess I didn't so much lose my job as had it stolen. Not by AI, but good old fashioned hands-on human beings picking it up and carrying it away somehow. All mall security would tell me was that they were instructed not to tell me anything and have us contact our management. Who also don't know anything. And later on I came across some construction workers around the gravesite of the kiosk discussing filling in the holes, asked them about it, and was told that they "weren't at liberty to say".
So, not only is my job gone in the most literal physical sense of the word, but it was taken in some kind of super secret kiosk extraction in the dead of night without any warning or witnesses and nobody is allowed to speak of it. The store owner said she was gonna figure it out 10 hours ago and still no word back.
I don't know what else to say aside from I've been laughing all day and I'm gonna have a hell of a time explaining Schrodinger's Unemployment to the benefits office.
Update that is not an update because I'm basically certain this isn't what actually happened:
My mother in law thinks the FBI took it.
Not any of the other stores around the state. Just the one little kiosk.
Why? Because she loves a conspiracy and is just a little bit extra.
Also because she was around for the massive crackdown on Yakuza-owned businesses in Waikiki (in her homestate) that did actually involve the FBI seizing stores (no confirmation of making kiosks cleanly disappear in the middle of the night though).
Still no word from my job on what's actually going on, but the most likely theory so far is that maybe the kiosk was on lease and got repossessed? The mystery continues
(also shout out to the person who proposed Carmen Sandiego)
According to the owner, based on what she's been able to find out, the kiosk was not removed legally and they're starting a potentially long process of legal action. I hope she gets to sue the shit out of whoever did it but for now at least I know for sure I'm unemployed.
Really hoping for more details in terms of who/why/how, so I'll keep updating if I learn anything.
For now the summary is: An unnamed entity that is most likely mall management (on account of mall security cooperating with them) stole an entire kiosk and all the contents including money and machinery with barely a trace in the middle of the night grinch-style, with zero warning or explanation, and ensured the silence of both security and the construction crew, in an action that was definitely preplanned and illegal, and as far as I know nobody knows its whereabouts.
So now I'm officially out of a job. Because my workplace was literally stolen in the night.
Actually fuck it let's share some photos cause I wouldn't be inclined to believe this myself. It's not like anyone can stalk me at my job now and I'm not gonna have to see any coworkers that might find my tumblr.
Enjoy the unintentionally funniest text I've ever sent in my life
Aaand a close-up:
The last remains of a once Very Much Solid And Immobile Workplace
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