MLB for BLM

VIDEO COMMISSIONS OPEN

Due to my financial situation taking a turn for the worse, I have decided to open video commisions.

Marinette/Ladybug & Adrien/Chat Noir commission for @multibug ♥ for her streamer AU fic that I recommend heavily!! (scene from chapter 10) | Donation drive @mlbforblm

The proceeds of this commission go to Color of Change, a racial justice organisation centered on the Black Lives Matter movement!

Audiofic version of Double Blind Date, for @mlbforblm. Proceeds went to Color of Change. Thank you so much for commissioning me!

(ml fanfic / love square / aged-up / post-hawkmoth / identity reveal)

Title: double blind date

Summary: In which Alya knows Ladybug and Chat Noir’s identities, and now that they’re finally in the same city at the same time, she is determined to get them to meet.

Word Count: 4,966

A commission for @mlbforblm!

Read on AO3

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Alya’s hands shook slightly as she typed Marinette’s name into her phone’s contact search list. It wasn’t fear, but excitement.

She hadn’t expected to see Adrien again—not without having to track him down on her own.

All donors should receive an email at the address they listed on their request form, containing links where they can view their commission.

Hey all! I’m still working on this fic, but here is the first scene of a commission by @komorebirei for @mlbforblm*. The request was Lukadrien in a 1920s/1930s jazz club! I’m hoping to have the first part of the fic posted sometime in the next several weeks or so.

(Fic title pending–the title you see above is just for this scene. Other scene titles considered were “gay jazz fic” and “fic where they are gay and play jazz and also it’s the 1930s”. Alas, I ultimately rejected those.)

*Proceeds from this charity drive went to Color of Change.

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Patrons stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the small, hot room, but for Luka, it’s just him and his guitar.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back as his fingers find the strings instinctively, sliding from one chord to the next. He’s following the lead of the trumpet and sax—content to keep rhythm for the combo, the sound of his strings melding with the upright bass wedged behind him.

The stage is small; it’s more of a nook than a proper performance space, with all the musicians squeezed together. Every once in a while, Juleka’s elbow bumps him, though Luka barely registers her touch. What he does notice is the heat: even with the night to chase away some of the sun’s fever, Luka’s hair clings to his forehead, his limbs damp with sweat.

He supposes he could undo a few buttons of his shirt between songs. The Liberty’s dress code is lax—no one would be scandalized if he exposed a bit of skin.

In fact, hardly anyone would see. As always, the lights in the club are dim, with only a few lamps along the wall illuminating the faces in the room.

As their trumpeter, Henri, begins a solo, Luka lets his eyes rove around the room. He recognizes almost every face in the crowd, since most of club’s visitors are regulars. Few find the place by accident—while it’s right in the heart of the city, the entrance is found in an alley off the main street, and the club has a reputation among the upper crust for being seedy.

It’s not, of course. It’s just jazz.

The song moves to a piano interlude, and the space temporarily gets quieter—though really, their pianist knows how to make the keys sing as loud as any brass instrument.

“Wonder how long until we get a noise complaint,” Juleka mumbles.

Luka scoffs. “I’m sure the police are already on their way.”

There’s no law against running a jazz club, per se—but their neighbors aren’t too fond of the loud music and late nights.

“They should just move, if they don’t like the music,” Juleka says, her fingers lazing across the strings. “They can afford it.”

“Maybe they secretly like us,” Luka teases.

That’s doubtful, though. Just this past year, Gabriel Agreste has sent the police to their door fifty-one times.

The song surges again, and it’s too loud for talking. A smile tugs at Luka’s lips as he watches the crowd clap and sway, some of them attempting to dance in the close quarters. Others struggle to hold onto their drinks as they squeeze their way over to the bar, where Anarka happily refills their glasses.

Then Luka spots the stranger.

They’re tucked against the wall by the door, where the light barely reaches. At first, Luka thinks the shadows are making strange patterns on their face—and then he realizes that the person is wearing a mask, pitch black, one that covers the top half of their face. Their outfit is dark, too, making them fade into the wall behind them.

There’s one thing about them that’s light, though: the fair, tousled hair that falls on their forehead and curls over their ears, messy and unstyled.

The stranger’s eyes meet Luka’s, and his fingers lag, fumbling one of the chords. It’s not noticeable to the audience, but when he glances up at Juleka, she’s looking at him strangely.

For the rest of the song, Luka keeps his eyes glued to the frets of his guitar, even though his fingers have known the positions for more than half his life.

When the band goes on break, Luka sets his guitar aside, his eyes drawn to the spot by the door. It’s empty now, and when Luka scans the room, he doesn’t see anyone wearing a mask or a light halo of hair.

“Looking for that masked person?” Juleka asks.

“So you saw them, too,” Luka murmurs. He was starting to wonder if the stranger’s brief appearance was just a trick of the light.

Juleka shrugs. “You could ask around.”

“What if they were a one-time patron?”

“Then they aren’t coming back.”  

Luka sighs as Juleka winds her way over to the bar, where their mother is still serving drinks. Usually he appreciates his sister’s bluntness—but not when she steamrolls his daydreaming.

He does ask around. Only a few people saw the stranger before they left; one woman says the person murmured excuse me with a man’s voice, and another patron says that he seemed quiet and polite. No one knows his name or face, though.

Later, when the club has emptied out and Luka is sweeping the floor, he asks his mother if it was someone she knew. (She has strange friends, after all—a mysterious mask-wearer is just the sort of person she might be friends with.)

“Never seen them before,” Anarka grumbles, as she wipes the inside of a glass. “Probably one of Agreste’s goons, looking for a reason to shut us down.”

That feels wrong, but Luka doesn’t push. His mother is right to be paranoid when the man in a mansion is constantly breathing down their necks.

The three of them keep cleaning, and Luka loses himself in his thoughts. He knows it’s not that strange for someone to slip into the club and leave before closing—but someone wearing a mask? What are they trying to hide?

Their face, obviously. And that’s the part Luka can’t stop speculating about.

“You know,” Juleka says, “you don’t have to sleep with every handsome stranger that sets foot in the bar.”

Luka rolls his eyes. “I don’t do that.”

“Only the unmarried ones?”

“Usually,” Luka says drily.

He knows she’s kidding—and she has a point. It doesn’t really matter who the masked stranger is, if Luka doesn’t want anything to do with them.

But Luka craves people’s stories. Because he’s always been more of a listener than a talker, he’s been mistaken for a loner, and that’s stunted his social circle. Learning about people—who they are, where they come from, where they’re going—is his way of feeling less like a recluse.

Almost everyone who’s ever walked through the door of the club, Luka has learned something about them. (Even the policemen, who look increasingly apologetic every time they’re called to investigate a noise complaint.) For this masked person to come and go without telling Luka anything…he can’t help but feel that they’ve slipped through his fingers, like a melody he’s forgotten before he could write it down.

My last charity fic for @mlbforblm! The prompt was Aged Up College AU lovesquare, in which Adrien is struggling with his love for both Marinette and Ladybug and Nino is put in the position to be the ultimate wingman. I went a little off script with this prompt but I hope it scratches that itch nonetheless. 

The concept itself lent itself much better to 15k than 4 but I did what I could! Hope it gets a laugh out of you. 

MLB for BLM Commission | Love Square + Someone to You (for my friend Zoé).

 Rating: T

Summary: Or: five times these disaster humans had to disguise themselves and the one time they didn’t.

Slot: 2.5k+ fic.

Written for an anonymous donor for the @mlbforblm drive, with all profits going right to Color of Change! I hope you love these disasters! The response to the drive was absolutely overwhelming, and I’m touched to have been commissioned for it!

AO3 link

Rating: G

Chapter Summary: Nathalie and co. crash the party. This time, Alya is the one with the backup plan. Meanwhile, Ladybug and Adrien are both stupidly in love.

Word Count:  4294 | Chapter 4/4

Notes: Last chapter of the fic for @marinetteplztakeabreak commissioned through @mlbforblm!  The drive is over, but please check out the blog to see what everyone else has created and how to stay involved!

XXX

“I am telling you!  If you did not RSVP, you do not come in!  That is the rules!”  Philippe spread his arms wide, blocking the entrance to the rink.  Nino could barely see him through the crack in the double doors.  Philippe was a cool dude, but he wouldn’t last long against Nathalie, Adrien’s bodyguard, and tablet-Gabe himself.

Nino was tempted to go out there and turn the tablet’s power off, just to see what Nathalie would do.  But he didn’t want to get Adrien grounded for the next millennium.

Plus, he wasn’t supposed to be seen at all.  Kagami and Wayhem were on stalling duty with Philippe.  Nino just had to make sure that Nathalie wouldn’t find any trace of Adrien when she eventually forced her way in.

“They’re gone.  Finally.”  Chloé reported.

Nino nodded.  He’d seen a red blur leave through the window.

I was commissioned to cover Eurydice’s part in Wait for Me (in the style of a siren) as part of @mlbforblm. This request was anonymous. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your contribution ♥️

Summary: When Adrien Agreste, klutz extraordinaire, spills coffee over Marinette Dupain-Cheng, he certainly hadn’t expected it to lead to him finding out her identity.

Some things may be less coincidental than they look, it seems.

Notes: life swap au for a commission from @mlbforblm! this is a significant amount longer than it was supposed to be,,, double the length,,, im so sorry i couldn’t fit a reveal in 2.5k! anyway, it’s somewhat adrienette, mutual pining, and…. lots of dumbassery? a heads up: it’s not exactly a personality swap. marinette’s much more blunt than adrien as chat noir is but ,,, still life swap? 

AO3

Contrary to popular belief, late night photoshoots are better than the ones that happen in the middle of the day. And even more contrary to common belief, having the constant excuse to miss out classes isn’t as great as it’s made out to be. But at the end of the day, middle-of-the-day-photoshoots and late-night photoshoots still share one thing in common: they suck. 

Marinette’s practically falling asleep on her feet when the photographer finally announces the wrap up, and even a few splashes of water to her face doesn’t do much to combat the fatigue. She changes into more comfortable clothing, washes the makeup off, and drags herself off to the car. 

Halfway through the quiet drive home, her phone chimes. Marinette blinks down at the screen. 

Adrien Agreste, 11:34 PM 

oh my fhasklfh u will not BELIEVE what just happened ?? 

Her exhaustion falters to make way for a tired smile. Adrien’s texts often come sporadically, but strangely at the right moments: when she’s tired from a long photoshoot; when she’s frustrated with her mother’s absence; when Plagg is being an absolute pain in the butt. Which he is right now, demanding for food in a worrisomely loud whisper from her pocket. Marinette pushes his head out of view and moves to reply. 

Me, 11:35 PM 

What happened?

Adrien Agreste, 11:35 PM 

my dad told my mom she wouldn’t dare dump a bowl of flour on him and she did and now our kitchen is in RUINS. please help me i’m supposed to pick a side and i just need to finish the homework for today ahhasdfh im running on six cups of coffee and two hours of sleep ! im gonna start hallucinating soon mb i alr am 

Marinette has to stifle her laugh, but it’s obvious enough because she catches the driver glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She bites her lip to compose herself before typing her reply. 

Me, 11:36 PM 

Two hours counting the time you slept in class today? 

Adrien Agreste, 11:36 PM 

U H O K AY listen i didn’t fall asleep i was just closing my eyes 

She considers her next sentence very carefully. Then, Marinette decides to add, you were drooling. 

The typing bubble appears, disappears, then appears again. When his text finally sends, it’s nothing but a jumble of keyboard spasms. 

Marinette is only a little more successful in stifling her laugh this time. 

***

Adrien Agreste has gorgeous blonde hair and even prettier green eyes, but he’s not the person Marinette’s in love with. Definitely not. It’s not him. 

(Although sometimes she wishes it were him.) 

Here is the first chapter of my commission for @a-very-potter-molly​ for the @mlbforblm​ charity drive. They requested a soulmate AU, so I came up with a little fun one I hope you all enjoy.

Thank you @deinde-prandium for beta reading!

https://www.instagram.com/nikaylarice/