Hello and thank you for clicking on my story ^^ I've got some things to say before we start, so heads-up for that and please read the author's note at the beginning (it won't always be ths long, I promise) ^^ Thank you for your time and hope you'll enjoy your read =)

First of:
I have, in fact, never watched a single episode of this show. I plan on doing it once I'm back from China and have access to Netflix again (my VPN sucks), but so far my only knowledge stems from reading the wiki and, well, maybe some fanfiction (I must admit, I'm slighlty embarrassed that I fell for a fandom without ever actually watching the show).
I try my best to get everything right, but well, if you notice anything, please let me know ^^

That aside, just a few things to this story itself:

a) This is set during the Second French Republic, so roughly in 1850. The French Revolution and Napoleon Bonaparte are already history and the July Monarchy has just been overthrown. Technically speaking the French Second Republic only lasted a few years before Napoleon the Third was like "Hippety, Hoppety this is now my property" and declared the Second French Empire. Due to plot reasons, we're going to ignore that last part and pretend Napoleon the Third did, in fact, not do that, making France a republic.

b) I like history (you may have noticed). Therefore, I want to make it clear that this fanfiction takes a lot, and I mean a lot, of liberty when it comes to historical facts and the portrayal of 1850s Paris. This is in no way a realist portrayal of what it would have been like if this show was set in real-life 1850s Paris and I don't want people to think that way either. This is a much nicer and more modern version, please don't romanticize the past!

c) I'm not an English native speaker (sadly I'm not French either) and therefore there are most likely going to be a bunch of mistakes. I hope that you guys can forgive me for that and additionally, I'd like to ask you guys to point any mistake that I make while writing this.

Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug and this is merely me coming up with some stupid idea.

Marinette was on the point of throwing herself into the Seine. Just one side step. Just one swift motion. Just on leap and she could happily drown herself in the thundering torrents of the river that gracefully flowed through the heart of Paris. One misstep and she could end the misery that was her life.
She'd die from embarrassment anyway. She was used to the sensation by now. Being late was something she was used to, but being late and being late to this were two completly different things.
But, alas, the familiar weight of a pair of earrings and the equally familiar weight of two watchful eyes resting on her made her not go through with her morning plan. Tikki would have her head if she did and although the kwami was sweet and helpful most of the time, Marinette did not want to get on her bad side. Someone had to save Paris and god knew Chat wasn't capable of doing that. He'd probably just flirt until HAwkmoth had personally ripped his Miraculous from his finger.

A groan escaped Marinette's lips as she tried her best to stay awake. The sudden panic from realizing the sun was already out and about had already worn of and she had trouble to not run into anyone (again) while navigating the narrow streets of Paris.
Marinette's day had started out perfectly fine. It was spring and it had been exactly one year ever since she had first set foot into the illustrious Salon of Francoise Dupont, the embodiment of Liberte, egalite and fraternite. The doors were open to anyone, regardless of social standing, provided one was talented enough. And lucky enough. And they had enough spare time. And the connections.
So, maybe the doors weren't exactly open to everyone, but it was the thought that counted and Marinette had been amazed by all the...all the...all the sparkling!

It had been one year since she had first set foot there and it was one year ever since had met the love of her life. Even though Marinette was supposed to be in a bad mood, she couldn't help but sigh at the thought of his golden hair, shimmering like sun-rays whenever the light caught them just right and at the image of his rosy lips, always showing off that radiant, kind smile of his and suddenly the floor beneath her feet wasn't beneath her feet anymore and she had just a few seconds to realize she was falling and by god SHE HAD TO DO SOMETHING!
She couldn't get her clothes dirty. Not again. She was already late without having to run back home to fix her hair and her dress.
Again. It looked bad enough as of now.
Curse her luck. She might be Ladybug, but apparently her luck only showed when transformed. Other than that she was Marinette. Clumsy, daydreaming Marinette.
Hastily she pushed herself away from the wall she had managed to cling onto, hoping, praying, no one had seen her.
Luckily, no one had.
Well, no. People had, but no one cared. It was Paris, it was early morning and she was yet another person rushing through the streets to get to work.
Marinette shook her head, checking whether her hair was still in place. It would have been a pity to have her already sorry attempt at producing a hair style in shambles just because of some stupid stone. Said stone received an annoyed glare from Marinette, before she picked up her bag again and moved on. She didn't have time to get mad at a cobble stone.
Madame Contard had organized an afternoon gathering with her closest friends, a reading circle to catch the latest news, and had ordered a baker.
That's right. Not a cake. No croissant. No cookies. She hadn't ordered any food at all. She had ordered a baker.
Two days ago one of her maids had visited her parent's bakery and declared Misses Contard wanted macarons. Fresh macarons. Macarons that had just been baked. And thus, Marinette was now on her way to the lady's mansion, on her parents orders. They simply didn't have time to go themselves, with running the bakery and what not and Marinette really couldn't say "No" to her parents. She didn't like it though. She'd much rather spent her time working on her designs, or, you know, sleeping. And the morning had started out so great too! She had remembered what day it was, she had squealed in delight. After all, this meant there was going to be another gathering and she could yet again lay her gaze one the most beautiful and kindest being that had ever walked the earth. After that, everything had gone downhill though. She had overslept (it wasn't her fault – there had been another riot just yesterday) and her parents had quickly ushered her out of the shop, telling her "you won't be able to catch a husband if you're always late".
Marinette knew they were joking – her parents didn't put any pressure on her, even though she was nearing maturity – but she still couldn't help to feel somewhat frightened by the prospect.
Unless the prospect included Adrien Agreste in which case she was excitedly looking forward to Emma, Hugo, Louis and their hamster and…
"Mari, there's another loose stone there!", a tiny voice called out. Marinette let out a high-pitched scream from surprise (this time earning her a few glances from passer-bys) before she put a hand to her chest and glared at her bag.
She could hear Tikki giggle.
Marinette peeked into her bag, checking whether her macarons (she had planed ahead, aha!) were still where they were supposed to be instead of in her Kwami's belly and was satisfied to figure they were most likely still securely wrapped in the smaller bag she had out into the bigger one.
She had planned ahead indeed. Madame Contard had offered a great deal of money for this service (why she hadn't just asked one of her servants escaped Marinette's mind) and her parents had promised she could keep a part of the pay. There was no way she would endanger this source of income because of something as insignificant as tardiness. Because Marinette desperately needed money. Every Franc going towards her purse would bring her closer to finishing the dress that she had envisioned ever since she was young and which she was reminded of whenever she set foot into Francois Dupont's salon. Marinette could vividly remember the soft fabric and radiant colors of all the dresses she had seen the last time she had attended. She knew that most of them had never been worn before and she knew that all her efforts to adapt her nice dress to make it look just a tad different hadn't fooled most attendees. Most hadn't cared. Some struggled with the same problem.
Some people hadn't commented and then there was Chloé and Sabrina.
Marinette really hoped the two of them weren't partaking in Madame Contard's little get-together, seeing as she was merely wearing a working dress that may not have been completely unfashionable, but, well...it was a far-cry from all the sparkling wonders the ladies would be wearing.
Chloé that had worn the most beautiful dress that evening, made by none other than the famous designer Gabriel Agreste. She had even brought in the prefect accessory – none other than only the most amazing person on earth.Not that Marinette though of him as an accessory. He was anything but! However, Marinette doubted Chloé viewed him any different, seeing the way the mayor's daughter had clung to Adrien, not letting go of him once. Marinette was pretty sure she caught Chloé hissing at another girl at least once.
As if Tikki had read her thoughts, the kwami carefully popped her head out of the bag and peeped:
"Don't worry, Mari! You look beautiful just the way you are!"
Marinette smiled thankfully, before looking ahead again. It didn't matter now, did it? She'd get her dress sooner or later (at least she hoped so) and for now, she had to concentrate on the task ahead.

She just really hoped Chloé wasn't attending.

.o.O.o.

Marinette had hoped no one would realize she was late. She had prayed to god, she had even prayed to Tikki, but alas, the universe didn't like her.
And, to be fair, one had to be really good at their job to not get kicked out of the Contard home and part of that job was to check whether people were on time. The Contards were rich were a driving part of Paris' literary scene (Mister Contard owned the biggest newspaper in all of Paris) and as such expected nothing but perfection.
The moment she had appeared at the servant's door she had been ushered into the kitchen, several people starring at her in something that could be described as utter disappointment, murderous rage and mild pity.
Someone even commented on her dishelved looks, though Marinette was sure she wasn't supposed to have heard that.

Everyone knew how meticulous Misses Contard could be. Though, it had gotten better, with the appearance of Ladybug and Chat Noir and whatnot.
Anyway, the girl was here now and no one wanted to keep the madame waiting – waiting any longer that is – and thus she was quickly ordered to start making those macarons, trying their best to give her enough space in the packed kitchen that was preparing for dinner already.
Marinette sighed. God, she was glad she had thought ahead. Making sure no one was watching, she grabbed the box stowed away within her bag, containing a batch of already pre-baked macarons. Marinette hated lying, but this was an emergency.
She could feel the judgmental look of her Kwami's resting on her the entire time.
It wasn't her fault she was late. She had slept in and the reason she had slept in was none other than another riot. Ever since Hawkmoth had started to terrorize Paris those had become a thing.
Usually it was started by a disgruntled worker or a farmer, people from Paris' lower class. Somethign happened, something worked them up and they got akumatized, started to riot, creating helpful minions in the progress and were a pain to everyone.
Mostly to the lower classes.
No one knew why Hawkmoth did what he did, but the results were frightening. If it weren't for Ladybug and Chat Noir risking their life time and time again, Paris would not be standing anymore.
Lucky for Paris and unlucky for Marinette, as she was Ladybug and more often than not had to rush away to stop the riots, de-evilize the Akuma and hope no one noticed the baker's daughter's absence.

It was a relief her parent's had yet to catch her sneak out at night.

Yesterday night another Akuma attack had shaken the city and Marinette had been left to run the last mile back home in the dead of the night, because her Miraculous had run out.
It had been a frightening experience. Without her Miraculous she was nothing. Luckily, nothing had happened.

Being done with the macarons (she had reheated them best she could) she delivered them to one of the maids standing in attendance. The macarons were late, but not as late as the staff had feared and when she was asked how she had managed to prepare them that quickly, Marinette had simply shrugged and replied with a whispered "family receipt". The girl had accepted the explanation, even though Marinette's blush was rather obvious.
So far, everything had gone according to Marinette's plan B, but when she turned to leave and the maid held her back, all her careful planning unraveled. Just a few words were all that was needed.
"The madame wants you to deliver them in person. She has something to ask you."
And thus, the plate with macarons was quickly pushed back into Marinette's not so waiting hands anda rather confused girl was pushed up a small staircase leading to the garden.
She didn't even get the time to collect herself, to straighten the fabric of her dress, to fix the loose strands of her hair before she was shoved out of the house into a paradise stemming right from the bible.

.o.O.o.

Madame Contard's garden was beautiful. It was a perfect composition of colors and shapes and made Marinette sit down and start sketching. It was a first for her to ever see it with her own two eyes, though she had heard plenty of descriptions of it. Usually written by a lovesick poet who wanted nothing more than to declare their everlasting love to the newest pretty girl that was the talk of Paris.
Most of the time it ended up being Chloé.
Most of the time the love-sick poet ended up getting akumatized.
Marinette had read those poems (some at least) and of course, she had seen the paintings. Oh, the paintings! But nothing came close to seeing it live in person. Paintings didn't show just how golden the sun seemed to shine in this place or how alluring every single, handpicked flower smelled. It did not show the chirping of birds or the rapid movements of bees, working their way through something that had to be paradise to them.
Looking down at herself Marinette shifted uncomfortably before hesitantly making her ways towards the place the maids had pointed at. She couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't belong here. She was standing in the most beloved garden in all of France.
Heck, in all of Europe.
And she was wearing nothing but rugs. Well, maybe it wasn't that bad but once again she was just too aware of what she looked like and cursed her bad luck of being late to this.
Luckily, Marinette didn't get the time to spiral down a trail of regret and envy, as she was hastily pushed towards faint laughter that reminded her even more that she didn't belong here.
She didn't mind going to Salons. They were fun. They were meant to be equal. No one cared she was the baker's daughter – at least no one Marinette cared about cared – and she had plenty of friends to make her feel welcome. She wasn't the only one that wore less fashionable clothes and she wasn't the only who couldn't afford all that fancy jewelry.
This was something entirely different though. This was an afternoon gathering in one of Paris' most notorious families' garden and she simply wasn't dressed the part.
And guessing from the high pitched laughter she could make out not too far away, her hope of Chloé not being there had been thoroughly disappointed.
She glanced at where her Kwami was hidden, cursing her bad luck. She was Ladybug. The goddess of luck was quite literally sitting in her bag. But of course, she wasn't going to be lucky. There was no way she could ever be lucky.
Right now, she was just clumsy, silly Marinette after all.

.o.O.o.

Marinette was glad she had managed to not spill any four on her clothes (she had pretended to bake after all) as she made her entry. At first, none of them seemed to notice her at all. They were too caught up looking at Sabrina's portrait (a gift from Chloé, no doubt) to as much as glance at the passing girl, hurriedly setting down the macarons on the table before turning and trying to run away as fast as one was allowed by soceity's rules.
It wasn't fast enough, as she slipped and just barely managed to stay on her feet. And the moment Chloé's eyes attached themselves to Marinette's back the girl knew she was done for.

"Well, look what the cat has dragged in. A baker whois late. How uncanny", she said.
Marinette's shoulders dropped. Now she had attracted everyone's attention and the way they stared at her she wasn't supposed to just disappear again.
"Yes, yes! The baker's daughter! Always late! Don't you know being late doesn't suit a lady?", Sabrina chimed in, supporting her best friend like she always did.
"But, my, she isn't a lady, now is she?"
Marinette was fairly certain that making fun of someone wasn't lady like either and she was on the point of politely pointing that out, if it hadn't been for Madame Contard to chime in with a heart-felt laugh and some, well, nice, words.
"But, but! She is a baker! I'm sure she has had a reason for her tardiness. After all, the working class is always busy! We should cherish their efforts as they are a vital part of society as much as it may seem differently! I'm sure there is a sufficient reason for her late entry."
Defeated, Marinette let out a sigh and turned around, plastering a pleasant smile on her face and courtesying.
"Alas, my parent's bakery...", Marinette responded. She trailed of, trying to lie as little as possible without having to admit that she had, in fact, simply slept in. Her parent's bakery was busy after all. Just like every other day, but she doubted the ladies knew that.
"Ah, yes! The famed Dupain-Cheng bakery! The only place to get such exotic goods like moon cakes! How I wish your mother would simply tell us about the receipt, but I assume I will not have the pleasure of you indulging us in your family's secrets?", the older woman spoke. Her voice was kind and there was no malintent to be heard in it, although it sounded a bit condescending.
Marinette was used to that kind of tone by now. She still wished it would be over soon enough (she did not want to get into another argument with Chloé – this was hardly the place nor the time to do so), waiting for Madame Contard to dismiss her, but instead the woman simply waved her over, much to Marinette's confusion.
What could she possibly want? She felt a blush creeping up on her and a gasp escaped her throat when she realized that maybe they had already figured out that those macarons weren't fresh at all and…
"Oh, these macarons are simply delightful! Please do try some, my ladies, you have yet to taste true splendor!"
Oh, good. It wasn't the macarons. A sigh of relieved left Marinette's lips before she made her way over to the group of woman. Two of them snickered two themselves, undoubtedly amused by her walk. It was moments like these in which Marinette could simply transform into Ladybug and gracefully leap across the rooftops of Paris. But she couldn't.
The heavy suspicion weighing down her shoulders didn't make her walk any more elegantly, she could feel her blush intensifying.
What were they up to? Why was she asked to deliver the cookies all by herself, why had she been tasked to come here in the first place...
Madam Contard gestured to the seats, asking her to sit down and then…
Then she asked about Marinette's morning. It was a simple question. It was accompanied by a genuine smile which was mirrored by some of the other girls attending.
It made Marinette ever more suspicious. They were up to something. Instinctively she checked upon her earrings, fearing they might have been gone, wondering if they maybe, maybe, had figured her out (though they really shouldn't have).
They asked about her morning, her work, how amazing it was she attended Francoise Dupont's and how beautiful her dresses design was.
One of them even asked whether she took commissions.
Marinette readily said that, yes, she did indeed do commissions. She didn't do it often, but she wouldn't miss this chance to maybe, maybe get recognized by someone more well-known in the fashion world.

But to top it all of, they asked whether she had gotten involved in the latest Akuma attack, with her being a baker's daughter and all and surely she would live close to wherever those attacks used to occur. Of course, Madame Contard wouldn't know where her parent's bakery was. Marinette's family may not be rich, but they had had enough money to afford a shop in the upper parts of Paris' society, thank you very much. And yes, she had gotten involved in the attack, but she couldn't tell that to them. So she evaded the question, pointing out that her family did not live in that part of Paris anyway.
Marinette doubted they had listened. As a matter of fact, they didn't listen to any of the answers they were giving. It felt as if they were simply trying to steer the conversation a certain way. Which, well, that was probably the case.
And yup, not a minute later and her suspicions had been confirmed.

"I'm so glad the latest Akuma attack was thwarted by our brave heroine once more!", Chloé exclaimed. The girl hadn't participated at the conversation op to the point where the attention had shifted to Ladybug and Chat Noir and ever since that she hadn't stopped praising the elusive superhero every second she got the chance.
Marinette had to bite down on her cheeks to keep herself from commenting. Usually she'd call Chloé out for disregarding Chat's service, but she did not want to have another discussion in which most people disagreed with her stance.
If only they knew.
Chloé's praise only stopped once Madame Contard spoke up once more:
"I, too, cannot help but admire her. Throwing herself into such dangerous situations, so recklessly, only concerned with Paris' safety!"
The older woman shifted her attention to Marinette who wondered what all of this had to do with her. Again she shifted uncomfortably. They hadn't mentioned anything yet, but had they…? No. No one would ever expect her to be the beloved heroine that faced danger after danger. No one expected her to be the gracious ladybug so often seen patrolling on top of Paris' homes. No one expected her to be the charming and sophisticated woman that inspired poets with her fierce determination.
Which was great. Absolutely. Her identity had to remain a secret, that was for sure. Plus, being a bystander had its perks too.

"How understanding she is! Instead of blaming the lower classes for their pitiful wrongdoings, for their easiness to give away to such false promises!"
Marinette almost snorted when she heard this. Had Madame Contard just summed up politics?
"And yet! She pleads for mercy for them! She asks us to try and bridge this gap of class!"
Oh. Oh yeah. She had said that once, hadn't she? Well, at least Marinette had figured it out where they were going with this by now.
"And thus, my dear Mademoiselle Dupain!"
Madame Contard took her hands into hers, eyes set ablaze by a spark of truthful excitement.
"I have thus decided to bridge this gap!"
She let go of Marinette's hands again and turned to the assembled ladies. Chloé rolled her eyes at the implications.
"As you all know, my beloved husband's names day is coming up and I have decided to bake him a cake. All by myself!"
She smiled triumphantly and Marinette couldn't help but smile too. True. The last Akuma had been a woman, a baker, much less fortunate than her family.
They probably didn't have any Chinese specialties they could sell.
And Alya had gotten a hold of her, demanding an interview which Marinette just couldn't refuse.

"Now, dear Mademoiselle Dupain, this may be sudden, but could I ask you to instruct me on how to bake a cake? Of course I could have asked one of my chefs, but I felt that would have been dishonest...And of course, you shall be rewarded greatly! Don't you worry about that!"
The woman's smile grew even brighter, looking so utterly pleased with herself. And Marinette felt herself agreeing with the proposal before having thought it true.
But then again...Why not? She didn't have any other plans for the day and showing someone how to bake was easy money. And maybe she could use some of it to get her hands on some new fabric…
"Perfect!"
Madame Contard clapped her hands in excitement. Some of the other girls smiled politely, some seemed to be just as excited at the prospect and some could barely hide their collective groaning.

Leave it to Madame Contard to come up with an idea like this.

"Splendid! Then shall we get started? Ladies, clear the table, please!"
And then she turned around and ushered to maids in waiting to clear the table.
Both maids shot a rather confused Marinette a pitiful glance before returning to silently fulfilling their duties.
Once the table was cleared, everyone's attention turned to Marinette once more. Pointing at the table, one of the girls said:
"Shall we get started?"
Marinette looked at the small table. What the…
"H...Here?", she stammered. She didn't miss Chloé snickering and the condescending expression Sabrina shot her.
"Yes? Can't we do it here? Right here?"
The girl was still pointing at the table that had barely enough place to hold a few glasses.

This was going to be a long day, wasn't it?

.o.O.o.

It was a long day indeed. It had taken Marinette some time to convince the ladies to move to the kitchen and even then, some of them hadn't come along, claiming to having to leave or simply stating they highly doubted that learning how to bake was going to bridge any gaps.
Marinette couldn't even blame them for that specific train of thought.
During her explanations even more of them left, some because they got bored, some because they didn't want to ruin their dresses and some simply because Madame Contard didn't really pay any attention to anything else other than Marinette's instructions.
Marinette thought it hard-warming the older woman tried, actually tried, to learn. It was evident she greatly disliked this activity, but Marinette had to give it to Madame Contard – she was stubborn. And determined. And honest in what she wanted. It may be foolish to think to solve any societal issues by baking – in fact some people would most likely take it as an insult – but in all the strangeness of it all Marinette felt accomplished.
People listened to her. They headed her words. They tried to make a difference. They had come a long way ever since the first Akuma had appeared just a year ago.
There were two other girls too, who seemed to actually enjoy baking. One of them had already talked to Marinette a great deal, showing interest in her life. She had been the one whose questions hadn't felt forced but rather curious:
From the looks of it, she may have been 14. She had probably just recently been presented to society.
It was a good sign.

The day, albeit long, went on rather uneventful. She told them what to do, they did it, they made some mistakes, Marinette corrected them, one could hear screaming and shouting in the distance, the sun was slowly descending from its, wait, what! Screaming and shouting?
It took Marinette some time to realize just what was going on. But then it hit her.

Another Akuma. Another victim. Another riot.

Her eyes twitched to the three ladies still with her. They seemed to be equally shocked, though they seemed to be less concerned. They didn't have a reason to be either. The riots usually never managed to crawl their way all the way to the better parts of the city, unless the Akuma was detected too late or particularly strong. And even then – Ladybug's Lucky Charm would fix all the damage that had been done. They didn't have to worry about a thing.
Marinette on the other hand had to worry about a lot. First and foremost how she'd be able to excuse herself from this gathering for long enough as not to awaken any suspicions. Her eyes flickered to her bag, her family's name stitched onto it by none other than herself.
For a split second an idea lit up her face, before she turned around, not looking any one the ladies (or attendants for that matter) in they eyes and trying to ignore the blush that was unmistakenly creeping up on her cheeks again.
At least they were already done with the baking and were just having a friendly conversation.
A friendly conversation she'd have to end as quickly as possible, regardless how bad that'd make her look.
"I...I have to go. My...my parents...", Marinette stammered. She hoped her blush and stuttering would be taken for concern instead of for what it was – a bad consciousness. It wasn't the best lie out there, but no one would notice, after all none of them had…
"But hadn't you said your family does not live in those quarters?", a curious voice asked. It was the same girl that had seemed to be genuinely listen and had tried her best to follow all of her instructions.
Marinette quite liked her, but right now she cursed her luck. Of course someone had listened and brought it up right now.
She spared her bag an annoyed glance before focusing her attention on the three woman in front of her again, eyeing her curiously.
"Uh...ye...yeah! Of course! But...but…"
Think Marinette, think!
"In...Ingredients!", she stammered,"My...my parents are buying ingredients! From the market place!"
That wasn't even a lie. Her parents did buy ingredients from the market, They most definitely didn't do it now, but no one needed to know that.
"But...But isn't it dangerous? I'm sure Ladybug and Cat Noir will..."
"No, no, no!"; Marinette squeaked. No more talking. She had to get away. God knows what Chat would be doing right now.
Marinette waved her hand in front of her, while simultaneously grabbing hold of her bag and yanking it closer to her heart:
"I'lll, I'll be fine!"
"But what is with your pay!", Madame Contard added. The woman had come to life once the baking was over and the four of them were having a friendly conversation and she disliked the idea of her company leaving so quickly. Her comment was too late though. Marinette was already on her way out and all she could do was say "Just send it to the bakery!" before hastily leaving the kitchen and then the house, searching for a safe place to hide, a dark house entrance, an empty alley...

It didn't take long for her to find one. She rushed into it, pressing herself to the wall and letting out an unsteady breath. Good. She was safe. No one was here. She closed her eyes for a second, leaning her head against the wall, trying to soother her nerves. This wasn't the first time she had done this. This wasn't the first time and it wasn't going to be the last time.
This was normal.
And when she opened her eyes, a determined fire was set ablaze in them and a smile lit up her features.

"Tikki! Spots on!"

Well, that's the first chapter for you ^^ I hope you guys enjoyed it and please, read all the history stuff that I add. I think it's fairly interesting and I'd hate to give anyone wrong ideas of what life was like back in the times.
Other than that, I'd just like to point out that I'm not sure whether I'll be able to update regularly. I want to, but no promises. Right now my workload has increased significantly and it won't increase until China has determined to be mostly safe from the Corona Virus.

Anyway. Things I learned while writing this: Macarons and Macaroons are two different things and not just a regular spelling mistakes. Also, apparently they originated from Italy? Anyway. I hope you liked the chapter, I'd love to hear your thoughts on it (pleeeeease review =3) and here is some other stuff that I wanted to clear up:

I aged up the main characters. Chat and Ladybug havn't worked together for three years yet. I decided to this for no apparent reason other than that I feel more comfortable writing an older age group.
Depending on who is talking to Marinette, they will either use her full last name "Dupain-Cheng" or just her father's name "Dupain".

Short explanation on things I want you guys to know/keep in mind:

a) Salons: They did still exist at that time and woman played a huge role in them, often being the host of such an event. They selected their guests, decided which topics were to be talked about and directed the discussion. In addition to this, salons were pretty inclusive (well, inclusive for that time period), thus it was entirely possible for a noble and a bourgeois to meet (of course, rich bourgeois, but still). In addition, there usually was no separation between woman and men during such an event.

However, I'm not entirely sure how important they still where in 1850s France. They did still exist, but I was under the impression that they weren't as important anymore as eg. before the French Revolution.
In addition, I'm fairly sure that I made them more open and inclusive than they had been, so please keep that in mind ^^

b) Seeing this is a republican France and we're in the middle of the Industrial Revolution I assumed most power would lay with the bourgeois. I decided to go for a republic similar to the First French Republic after the Great Terror but before Napoleon the First took over which means your right to vote was dependent on whether you paid taxes or not.

c) "Bourgeois" is nothing but a word used to describe the rich, non-noble part of European society (well, it was). I'm not making any political statement using it whatsoever.

List of things that I know are different from history (does not include things that I got wrong, but didn't notice I got wrong):

a) Lets just say, I changed the way woman a viewed in this world. Just a bit.
Maybe a lot. Not sure yet how different the story will make it out to be than it actually was, but I want you guys to keep in mind this is not what it was like at all. Emancipation wasn't a thing back then and I want you guys to keep that in mind. As a woman you were bound to your father/brother/husband and as part of the upper class, you didn't work. In addition, while woman wrote plenty, they usually wrote using a male pseudonym as it wasn't seen as something positive.

b) I'm positive no bourgeois would ever have called upon a baker to teach them how to bake. However, I decided to do this because of Ladybug/Chat Noir reasons.

c) I'm pretty sure Chloé wouldn't actually behave that way. She may possible gossip behind Marinette's back, but I'm positive talking to someone the way Chloé did would have been a no-go in french society at that point (I'm not entirely sure about this one, but I wanted to call myself out before anyone else does).

d) Marinette doesn't have siblings. And everyone else doesn't really have any either. I didn't want to add characters, but having only one daughter doesn't really fit that time period (Marinette also doesn't have a bunch of dead siblings that died at the age of ten).

e) Marinette's mother being Chinese. I decided to keep this, not just for "I don't want to change anything about the main characters" reasons, but due to Master Fu. I'm fully aware he is Tibetan and depending who you ask that makes him Chinese or not Chinese, but I imagined them being from a, at least somewhat, similar culture might make it more likely to meet.

f) The fact that Marinette knows a god and doesn't flip out. This is 1850 we're talking about. Sure, we're not in medieval times anymore, but still. That however is (probably) going to be a "plot point" later on, so meh.

g) Normally, Marinette wouldn't be able to afford much fabric, as it was rather expensive (though it had gotten a less cheaper with the invention of Spinning Jenny). Most of her dresses will be adaptions from other dresses she doesn't wear anymore or handed down dresses from her mother, however I highly suspect she will have access to more fabric than she should have. Although, her family does own the best bakery in all of Paris, which means her family isn't poor and has a relatively comfortable life.