#willowbendt

[silverwhiteraven]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Heard some of yall like my Krypto-Mari fics. Here, have 10k words worth of one.

@maribat-calendar-events

[silverwhiteraven]

One-Time tags from other post: @b00kish4life @jumpingjoy82 @mochegato @charme-de-malchan @macncheesemonster

Prologue: Childhood… Acquaintances?

Damian hated that stupid post that went viral on the internet. He may not have been old enough to legally sign up for social media accounts, but he still had access to the whole of the internet.

He didn't like how every time he looked at that tiny and meek Dupain-Cheng girl and her persistent smile, the world looked brighter. He was disgusted how every time, it made him think of that idiotic idea about the eye’s pupils getting bigger when one looks at something, or someone, they love.

He did not love her, he didn't even like her! In fact, he despised her just for the fact her presence brings that insistent internet gag to his head. His eyes are just letting in more light so he can see better, that is all, it has nothing to do with any girl in any shared room with him. If anything, her dark hair and dark arctic ocean blue eyes were stealing all the light out of the air, requiring him to need his pupils open to the lessened light.

Damian didn’t care that it made no sense, but he was ten, almost eleven, and angry, and still freshly hurt from his own life, not to mention a lowly 6th grader in a school he didn’t want or even academically need to go to. So, he ignored that it made no sense, and held to his grudge like a lifeline in a storm.

The first time the Dupain-Cheng child ever seemed to finally take note of his never easing scornful emotions toward her, she did the oddest thing.

They were in an art class together, one Damian found bearable at first because it was the only subject he enjoyed doing. Now it only irritated him that his one haven in the entire Academy was soiled by that girl’s presence.

She had been carrying two ceramic dishes, a plate and a bowl. She had spent hours making them the week before, firing them, then glazing and firing them again. They had been in the kiln overnight, taken out by the teacher to cool in time for class earlier that morning.

Besides the sidelong glare he locked on her as she passed him, he ignored her. But just before she was out of his sight, she slowed to a stop, looking down at her creations. Her face seemed blank, and he could barely tell she was looking at him through the peripheral of her vision as well.

Then, she opened her hands, and dropped the ceramics onto the hard floor. The classroom went silent at the noise, everyone staring at Dupain-Cheng. The plate and bowl were barely chipped, and she slowly knelt down to them. She lifted the upturned bowl, held it gently as she looked it over, before dropping it back down onto the plate, where they both cracked in two.

She repeated the motion a couple more times before anyone was back to their senses and the Teacher was stopping her from continuing. She was escorted out of the room, concerned whispers following her out.

Damian scoffed under his breath as the display finally ceased. He didn’t know why she had done that, or how, for once, her face had shown a lack of any emotions it usually always adorned, even the over abundance of smiles that ticked him off.

However, he did admit, that for once, her actions didn’t cause him to scowl deeper at her. She seemed to finally be understanding that she was nothing at all, she didn’t matter, and the world wasn’t going to be any more fair or kind just because she smiled on every sunless day. Which, in a city like Gotham, was every day.

After that, the incidents seemed to keep happening.

Writing on desks. Unsigned homework. Broken doors to her lockers. School-issued books left behind or used in the wrong classes. Lunches tipped onto herself and the floor. Each time something happened, she got spoken to, reprimanded, and given detention or other such light punishments. Besides being a bit disruptive and ruining her own grades, she didn’t do anything to harm any other students in any way. And it wasn’t like the school couldn’t replace any tarnished items, it certainly had enough money that one little girl couldn't dent the budget.

Still, eventually, Dupain-Cheng did eventually get suspended for three days after yet another mess in the lunchroom and three separate highly important papers were all turned in incorrectly.

Damian saw her again the following Friday as she returned to school. She seemed... normal. A bit down, but almost like nothing had happened. Were her little fits finally over? He certainly hoped so, they were getting bothersome.

However, she seemed to have had a final card up her sleeve.

Not long before lunch period was over, Damian was returning to his classroom. He found the Dupain-Cheng girl, seated on the floor in front of a smoking waistband. She was staring into the little flames like she was cold and crying, but no tears or shivers escaped her.

He tsked, and did nothing more than turn around and leave the room, pulling the fire-alarm as he passed. Whatever had gotten into the dimmed girl, he was glad that at least it became an excuse to go home and skip yet another meaningless day of school.

Damian didn’t see her again the next Monday. Or Tuesday. Or even yet the next Friday. Monday again, and her name was no longer called during attendance checks.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was expelled from Gotham Academy, and as far as Damian could tell from a few offhand questions and bored searches, she was no longer in Gotham at all.

[silverwhiteraven]

[ Childhood... Acquaintences? ]

Tag List: @waywardpr1ncess @buginetye @user00000003 @nathleigh @our-preciousss @lady-bee-fechin @eliza-bich @alysrose-starchild @lolieg @jumpingjoy82

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A/N: Hey there~ Long time no update! I've found Tumblr to be sucky to update fics on, so I'm going to basically be switching to doing Ao3 links only instead of the full chapters. Sub to the fic itself for easier finding!! love yall byee~

[silverwhiteraven]

Someone I know died a couple days ago and my brain is back on the slope to spiral, so now I'm just imagining myself writing a story called "Death is Bulshit" to cope with the thoughts.

[silverwhiteraven]

Beauty and Self-Expression in Wing Culture

So it's like 3am as I start to write this, and instead of sleeping at 2am I was thinking about the Wing AU I've been seeing for Miraculous Ladybug, courtesy of these three lovelies: @justaferal-bastard @thechatsmeow @tizzymcwizzy

[Warning: I got carried away and this goes from analysis, to idea, and then into a short fic-snippet.]

Actual Warning: It gets kinda, like, minor-angst about how the idea works?? More of a potential hurt/comfort at the end, IDK? But it has character growth! We stan Adrien rebellion against Gabriel! And healthy use of beauty products!

Anyways!!!

I love AUs like this that are saying 'What if Idea! What if apply Idea to World!' And then there's me, who likes to say 'Yes, yes! Now lets take World, and apply it to Idea.' And this is what happens.

So I was having some thoughts and things about Adrien and his wings, ya know? The wings are always tucked in close to back, always straight up, always prim and proper and stoic, as his Father and social economic class dictates. It puts people off at first because wings are one of the first things you see, one of the first things you subconsciously assess and judge and take into account. But to anyone who actually looks at the rest of him and stays around him and pays attention to him notice, there's a clear disconnect between how he holds his wings and how his actual personality is. It becomes obvious that his wings are like that from years of following a rule of conduct given to him, and a lot of birdie-see-birdie-do behavior of being around his own family and the Bourgeois.

Basically, wings, too, are subjected to self-images and self-expression. People of higher classes use their wings to show their class, power, and wealth; 'I don't fly' is basically 'I don't have to work for what I want'. Lower classes do that sort of thing less and less, and their wings are used more freely to express the self; not just free in actual movement, but with decorations as well, with things like feather-dyes, jewelry, and fake/decorative feathers and down to make themselves more unique and more like themselves.

Then I thought, well, what else? What about cultural beauty standards?

Well wing-types likely will be subjected to this, much like body-types. Already certain wings already have inherent uses. Falcon-like wings for speed, goose wings capable of long distances, hummingbird's for agility; all these physical traits that may or may not even match up with the main body that on its own also gets told has types meant for certain activities (tall people and basketball anybody?). Imagine all those wings that are colored and shaped like those of Birds of Paradise, though, swoon. But those weren't the thoughts I had.

My thought was the techniques in which beauty standards are met and maintained. Physical things that alter the looks. For the normal body, we have things like paddings, corsets, binders, and lifestyles, too, like dieting and working out. Extremes can even go to surgery.

So here was the specific thought I had about Adrien:

Wing-Binding.

Using unseen binds like netting, straps, or even cords, hidden underneath the feathers and down, to hold the wings in place and in whatever form is wanting to be presented.

Everyone should know that long-term and over-use of anything that restricts the body is unhealthy and can cause damage, even permanently. And I imagine Adrien has been modelling since he was small, too, so he would have been subjectes to it since before he even knew what it was, what it could do. Before he could comprehend what was happening and give consent to it.

Shealtered and with all his social and media intake controlled, he would have no clue that these are things he should be allowed to not do. And, sorry to anyone who liked the picture-perfect Mother Image Adrien paints of Emilie, but just like with him not being allowed to go to school or socialize outside of Chloé, or having to work a job and take unwanted extracurricular lessons and activities, Mama Agreste, at the very least, enabled Gabriel to doing something such as Wing-Binding to their unconsenting amd still-growing child.

Given! It isn't absolute in how bad it is, he can remove them for physical activities like P.E. and Fencing, or when photo shoots are doing Wing-Fashion, and when he's at home, too, but still, all that time in public having to use them because his Father says so sucks, a lot.

And again, the damage it could cause, both to his wings as they grow, not being allowed to stretch and strengthen, but also to the feathers, having to grow past and rub and push against what's holding them or sitting below.

It's kinda heartbreaking thinking how lovely he looks but just how much getting to that pleasing image might have just crippled him.

And then I thought about Chat Noir.

Chat, with wings free to move as he pleases, free to droop and drag, free to stretch and feel the wind, free to puff up and shield another.

And when he stretches those wings, be they magically dyed a new color or made bigger, they now have an emphasis on the burden they bear outside of the magic.

The feathers once unseen when tucked are now out and bare, spread out as he makes himself look bigger while he hisses and intimidates an Akuma. Everyone can see how the edges of his feathers are jagged and don't smooth out, some of the shafts are crooked or even broke, and as he beats his wings, they swear some will simply come out, from the quil and all, and disintegrate before they even touch the ground.

Ladybug asks him about it, and he grins and shrugs, "Probably a stylistic choice on my Kwami's part; they aren't actually that bad when I'm out of the suit."

"Mon gryffon," she calls his attention to her with one of her nicknames, a serious and sad look in her eyes. "Not that bad is still bad. Why are they like that?"

"Bindings kinda chaff sometimes, I think the suit just makes it look really bad," he answers, but he doesn't understand, why is she looking at him like that? A little bit of it clicks. "I thought most did it?"

She shakes her head, spreading her own, beautiful wings to him, and he can't help but reach out and run his claws gently through them. Her's don't show the signs of the Wing-Bindings his do. His head snaps to look down to the Parisians on the streets and those above them in the air, looking for signs of his own condition in the open wings. His heart beats hard and it almost hurts as another piece clicks.

"No, Chat Noir," Ladybug answers softly, "that isn't normal... Whoever makes you use those, they shouldn't have. No one still growing their wings should ever use those, ever."

He nods in understanding. His grin, long gone, comes back as he whipes away the tears that has built and he holds out a hand to his partner. "Care for one last fly before we part ways? I think I still need the practice." Especially since I've never flown outside of the suit, and I don't think I'll get a chance to yet, either, goes left unsaid.

But sometimes realizations like this are a part of the recovery. Chat Noir flies with his Lady, and thinks about how Adrien is going to tell his Father he won't wear the Wing-Bindings again, or at least about how to hide the future fact that he got rid of them all so that he can't anyways. He thinks about how he's going to practice flying, maybe ask Marinette for tips.

Chat Noir, the Gryffon of Paris, adds a new determination for the future, alongside winning Ladybug's heart and defeating Hawkmoth: Let his wings be free, and heal, because he'll be damned if he lets Chat Noir be the only time he ever flies, and, once his role as the Black Cat is over, with no suit to aid him, he will simply burn his Father's company to the ground if he never gets to fly again because of what Gabriel had done.

Anyways!! That was the thoughts I was having, it's 4:30am and I hope y'all really like, uh, whatever this is!!!!

[silverwhiteraven]

I very suddenly want a pirate story where the captain gets pregnant and the ratter cat on the ship is the first to notice.

Cap: Siren why the fuck are you staring at my stomach and swatting it like a bug?! I just bathes, I'm not dirty! Shoo!!

Little later:

Cap: Elijah, my first mate, you'd do anything for me, right?

Elijah: Course, what is it, Cap'?

Cap: Come here. Let me put my head on your stomach.

Elijah: What the fuck. Why?

Cap: So you know how Siren has been climbing all over me recently, even perching up high to jump on my shoulders? Well that little rat had been laying her head on my stomach when I'm down for a rest, and I'm losing my mind trying to figure out why. Now hold still!

Elijah: The fuck? Aight, just- Oy your face is cold you ass!!

Even later, after they rescue a half-dead mystery person from the ocean:

Myst: Wow, congrats, Captain.

Cap: The fuck for??

Myst: Isn't it obvious? The cat gave it away.

Cap: You know what the little beast has been doing this nonsense for?? Holy fucking seas, tell me now or you and the cat both go overboard in three seconds flat.

Myst: Oh- Yikes, uh- You're pregnant??

Cap: [captain.exe has stopped working, please wait for response or force reboot]

[silverwhiteraven]

Wings of Broken White - Ch. 10

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 9 ] [ Chapter 11 ]

[ Summary: End of School picnic preparations! ]

To celebrate the class’s successful final project, they were putting together plans for a large picnic in the park at the end of the last day of school. The last day wasn’t mandatory for students to attend unless they had work to catch up on or tests to make up. So Marinette was spending that time at home, busying herself in the upstairs kitchen, preparing food and treats.

A faint knocking sound distracted her a couple hours in, and after making sure she could walk away without anything burning, listened for the source. She gasped and smiled when she realized it was coming from above her, from her own room. The balcony! Chat must be here!

She ran up to her room and up to the lost, and sure enough, she could see Chat Blanc, seated on the balcony floor next to the trapdoor. She pushed it open quickly, and he perked up, his tail flicking and wings spreading out behind him excitedly.

“Princess! You came!” He smiled wide.

Marinette giggled and pulled herself up to sit next on the edge of the hatch. “But of course, I can’t just leave my Knight outside like a stray now can I?” He laughed at that and she hid her smile behind her hand. “So what are you doing here, gryphlet?”

“Well you see,” he flourished a hand dramatically as he spoke, “I heard that today of all days was your last day of collège, and I wanted to congratulate you. So here I am.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You sure it’s not because I'm cooking? If you heard about it being our last day, then there's no way you didn't hear that we’re planning a picnic later, too.”

He gasped dramatically, setting a clawed hand to his chest like he had been hurt. It did nothing to erase the cute smile on his face, though. “You doubt my intentions, Princess? Well, you are right to do so,” he sighed dramatically. “Indeed, I am not just here to congratulate and shower you in praise, but to rob you of your goodies. Forgive this dashing rogue of his glutinous ways?”

He fluttered his eyes at her, and she couldn't help but laugh. “You are forgiven, on one condition,” she raised her hand, index finger raised to indicate her one condition.

“Name it,” he leaned in, looking ready to do anything.

“Help me with the baking and cooking for later,” she stated simply with a coy smile. “You can eat a portion of anything you make yourself. That’s the means for you to get fed. Deal?”

“Deal!” He hopped to his feet with a big grin and she gently laughed, happy to see his energy. She led him back down into her room and then into the kitchen.

She quickly checked on everything, making sure nothing had burned while she was gone. Satisfied, she waved Chat Blanc to join her at the counter. His previously excited mood was replaced by slight nervousness. He looked unfamiliar with the layout, though his eyes sparked with curiosity. Marinette tried not to stare as she cleared her throat and started introducing him to the ingredients and tools. “Now, don’t touch anything just yet,” she added when she finished showing him around. “Cooking has ground rules you should always follow.”

“Like a chemistry lab?” His ears flicked and wings shuffled, and she giggled, nodding.

“Yep, just like a chemistry lab. First, let's get you an apron.” She grabbed one of the hooks by the stairs, and as she went to toss the neck strap over his head, she noticed the decal on the front. Kiss the Cook. She blushed and turned it backwards, swiftly putting it on Chat before he could see. Now the decal was hidden from view and she wouldn't have to think about it. She then went behind him to tie the waist strap, but paused as she looked at his wings in the way.

“Something wrong?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Your wings...These aprons are usually for my parents. I only use them when my wings are bound,” she said quietly, a bit awkward and unsure.

“Oh,” he replied softly. Her breath caught and she stepped back as his wings moved. They dropped slightly, only to completely fold up, pull against his back. He smiled at her gently over his shoulder. “Better? As long as you don’t tie it too tightly, I’ll be purrfectly comfortable like this.

Dropping her head to hide another blush, she nodded, coming closer and tying the apron. “So, uhm, next thing. Always keep your hands- uh, talons, washed.” He chuckled at her fumbled pun but nodded and went to the sink. She mentally facepalmed, knowing it would be awkward to wash gloves.

She carried on instructing him, meanwhile trying to keep to the edge of his vision until her flustering calmed down. She made sure he knew never to cross contaminate foods, to always clean the work area as they went, and continue to wash hands frequently. She scolded him when the oven timer went off and he almost reached in without proper hand protection. He was sheepish about it, but to her satisfaction, he didn’t make the mistake again.

At some point, she hadn't noticed the amount of flour dusting him because of how well it blended in. She only realized it when he had patted her head in reassurance that he could do a task without help now. The pat left a white handprint in her midnight hair, and she guffawed indignantly when she noticed it in her reflection on a mixing bowl. She didn’t bother trying to get it off, though, knowing it was pointless.

Finally, with quiche, pasta salad, croissants, and macaroons all done after a few more hours of working together, they were now sitting on the floor, waiting for the bread rolls to finish. The dishes and counters were already clean, the aprons were back where they belonged, and Marinette had even let out her wings to stretch them out alongside Chat Blanc’s. She tried not to think about their feathers brushing as they sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the oven like a pair of tired but happy hawks.

Chat started humming as they sat in comfortable silence, and she listened to the gentle sound. It was enhanced by a subtle purr, and she had to hold her breath to keep from giggling at the cuteness of the moment.

When he stopped, she asked in a whisper, “What song was that?”

“Hm? Oh,” he smiled softly and rubbed his neck. “A lullaby my mother used to sing. ‘Robin and his Maiden’. I made my own little parody of it not long after I got my Miraculous. Well, I only managed to do the first line, really, I'm stuck on the rest.”

Marinette sat up, attention caught. “Tell it to me, I want to hear.”

He hesitated, a blush under his mask indicating it was from shyness and not from doubt. “The original first line went like this: Little Robin on a roof, without his Maiden. The story is about Robin Hood and Maid Marian. Now I say it like this: Little Kitty on a roof, without his Lady.” Marinette giggled, realizing the comparison to her alter ego. “I’m stuck on the rest, because the story doesn't seem to quite fit with the changed names, you know?”

With a nod of understanding, she nudged his shoulder with her own. “Art is hard, I know. It’s okay to be stuck. You should try playing with the names a bit, maybe the rest will come to you along with fresh inspiration.”

He nodded and looked away, back to the oven as he began to hum again. Soon, the hums turned to words. “Little Gryphon on a roof, all alone without his Princess,” he gave a cheshire grin as she burst out in laughter and a fresh fluster. She pushed him over and he laughed as he flopped on the floor. She stood up and huffed, hiding her smile as she checked on the bread. The timer went off just in time, and, feeling satisfied with their golden brownness, she took them out and set them to cool on the counter.

She glanced at the clock and sighed. “Everything is done in time, that’s good. The picnic is in an hour.” She turned to Chat with a soft smile. “Without fail, I always end up late to meet-ups because I put way too much on my plate right before hand. Looks like I’ll be on time this year. I couldn't have done this without you, Blanc.”

He smiled back at her from his place on the floor, looking perfectly content to be there as he practically basked in her thanks. She laughed, feeling light and newly carefree. When they lulled back into comfortable silence, he sat up and looked at the clock himself. A sad smile replaced his normal one.

“Looks like I need to go before then. I have somewhere to be later, too.” He stood, brushing the last of the flour off his white suit, his wings fluttering as they too shook out little puffs of powder. Marinette nodded and joined him, leading him back upstairs and out onto her balcony.

“Thank you for stopping by, gryphlet. I had fun,” she looked away, smiling to herself. “And don’t forget these, your promised treats for helping.” She handed him a cardboard pastry box, containing a few of the goods they had made together.

He beamed at her as he accepted it, and then took her hand in his and bowed. “It was my pleasure, Princess.” He kissed the air above her knuckles and she giggled, struck breathless by his action. He straightened back up and let her go, smiling wide. “I’ll see you again soon.”

And just like that, he was leaping from her balcony and gliding away on wings that matched the sky and clouds.

It took her a little while to go back inside, having taken her time to be dazed as she processed the last few hours. Tikki had broken her out of it with barely restrained giggles and a reminder that they needed to get ready for the picnic with her class.

As expected, the hour passed by quickly after that, and with a little help from her parents, all of Marinette and Chat Blanc’s efforts were brought to the park and set out on tables alongside everyone else’s contributions.

Everyone in their class made it to the park, and a few had even dragged along some family members who were willing to celebrate with them. Many of them spent the whole picnic talking about the school year, and all the random moments that stuck in their minds. Hawkmoth and some Akumas were brought up at some point, and almost half an hour was subsequently spent on everyone acting out each other's Akumatized versions in light and welcomed jest.

When it all started to dwindle to a close, everyone spent time making summer plans together and discussing which lycées they were going to. It was sad to think that their group, together for four years strong, was going to be split up. Luckily, everyone had plans to join extracurricular school groups that were likely to have them meeting up just as often as before. Even their humanitarian projects like planting public trees and gardens was something they were excited to continue.

If anything, they all knew that distance wasn’t going to make their bonds any lesser.

And so, all in all, Marinette had a good time, and she felt ready to keep going into the future.

[silverwhiteraven]

Wings of Broken White - Ch.6

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 5 ] [ Chapter 7 ]

[ Summary: Marinette needs to think. Chat Blanc notices. ]

The emotional troubles from the night of Sandboy still weighed down on Marinette. Not a lot, but enough to keep her awake an extra hour every night after she intended to go to bed. So she did what she always did; went up to her balcony with freshly made hot chocolate or sometimes tea, and she sat out there, wrapped in a blanket and feeling peaceful under the sky.

Her ombre grey Crane wings twitched under the blanket, the feathers irritated by the choice in warm but annoyingly rough material. She just wanted to let them free, but that was exactly what was bothering her inside.

Why can’t I just let them be seen? Use them just like anyone else? Am I really that troubled by what others think? I mean, I am, I know I am. I’ve been hiding them for years now, after all. But why is the idea of them being revealed to others suddenly scarier than before? I hid them from shame, didn’t I? When did it turn to fear? How did it go from an embarrassment, to my greatest nightmare? The thoughts of strangers shouldn't matter, right? And my friend, if they’re true friends, they wouldn't make me feel bad for having wings, right?

Marinette sighed, not really feeling like diving into her thoughts at the moment.

She could talk to Tikki, sure, she was usually right about things like this. But Marinette didn't want that right now, it didn’t feel like the right time.

Maybe Alya? No, Alya didn’t know about her wings, and Marinette suspected she might not be the best person to go to for this particular need in comfort. At best, there would be too many questions too fast. At worst, Alya would feel hurt that such a secret was kept from her for so long of their friendship, and that would just make Marinette feel worse.

Her parents, perhaps? No, she didn’t want to worry them any more than she already did. They made sure she removed her binders, stretched, exercised, and groomed her wings to keep them healthy. They took care of her as much as she let them. But they didn’t have wings like she did. They came from families with wings, sure, but it wasn't quite the same. So Marinette refused to bother them with this unless she absolutely needed to.

Oh, I could always get together with Alix, Kim, and Nino. They're usually pretty level headed and cool with me about this. But I shouldn't bother them right now, it’s practically the middle of the night. Maybe later. Soon. But Marinette didn't feel like having a conversation with them about this soon.

If she was being honest with herself, she felt she hadn’t stewed in her own turmoil enough for any logical and comforting words to stick properly, no matter who of her previous options spoke them. But if I stew too much, it probably won’t stick well, either.

She groaned at her own indecision and hesitation, curling up in her seat and thumping her forehead into her knees.

“Stupid, stupid, this is so stupid. Why is this so hard,” she spoke to the empty balcony.

“Something bothering the Princess?” Oh, not so empty after all.

Marinette bolted straight up, staring wide eyed at Chat Blanc where he was poised on the tip of his extended baton like a cat on a fencepost. It tilted forward and he hopped onto her balcony railing, resuming sitting as he collapsed the tool and set it in place at his back.

“What are you doing here, Chat?” She couldn't help but blurt, deflecting his question.

“Nightly flight practice,” he emphasized by spreading his iridescent white and blue wings wide. “I was just passing by on my way to Notre-Dame and thought you could use an extra ear.”

Marinette glanced at his white faux-ears and couldn't help but giggle. “You have four, so I guess you could afford to spare one for a little bit.”

“Exactly!” He beamed at her, and she couldn't help but relax.

I’m safe with him, I always am. He’s my partner, even if he doesn't know it’s me. And maybe, she glanced at his beautiful wings, maybe he understands me, too.

Sitting up better, she scooted back on her seat and set aside her thermos on the spool table. Then she patted the footrest area of the chair, inviting Chat to sit with her.

He perked up and obliged immediately. He surprised her when he reached to his back again and plopped an empty thermos down next to her full one, right before he sat.

“Is that my thermos?” She asked in surprise.

“The very same. Told you I’d bring it back, didn’t I?”

“Have you been carrying it around this whole time?” She was even more baffled now.

Chat Blanc chuckled, “Not during Akumas, but yeah, I’ve been keeping an eye out for a good time to return it. Is this fine?” He gleaned at it, looking uncertain.

Marinette smiled and nodded. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He relaxed himself, sitting back more comfortable, his wings draping over the side of the chair, the one nearest her brushing against her blanket. She hid a chuckle as he shuddered and gave the blanket a stink-eye. She pulled it closer to herself, away from his wings.

“Sorry, the material is warm but uh, really bad for being comfortable against feathers.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that, don’t worry, Princess. My wings just aren't used to being touched, let alone covered by anything. Not your fault, it’s okay.”

“Oh,” she said, caught between surprise and disappointment. “So, you don’t use wing-binders?” You don’t know how I feel?

He looked surprised at that question. “No? I mean, not exactly. Let’s just say, my wing’s won't be what gives me away in civilian form.” He rubbed his neck, looking awkward.

Maybe- “Are you actually a flightless bird, then?” Marinette quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry, don’t answer that- I shouldn't be prying about you, and that question itself was so insensitive, please forgive me!”

Chat Blanc only laughed, and she chuckled awkwardly.

“I forgive you, Marinette. You are hardly the worst person who’s ever asked about or scrutinized my personal life. I trust you as a friend, so ask whatever you want,” he smiled gently, something else hidden in his glacial blue eyes.

She looked away with a blush. He considers me a friend. I’m glad. “Well, friends also know not to pry, so I promise not to ask too much, or expect you to even answer what you’re not comfortable with.”

He bumped his shoulder to hers, pulling her attention back to him. “See? That’s exactly why you're a great friend. So the least I can do is return the favor. I may not be able to tell you my identity or publicly be there for you as Chat Blanc, but I can still listen when I’m here. So, tell me, what bothers the Princess of Paris?”

She looked between his eyes, seeing his genuine concern, his patience, his acceptance that she may not say anything at all, yet determined to be there for her. It made her smile. It made her want to cry with relief. I can trust him, even if I’m not ready to face things myself yet.

“Gryphlet, do you remember last time when I asked if you could keep a secret?” He nodded, listening. She could hear bells tolling midnight in the distance. “Well, the thing is…”