So I got some pretty negative feedback when I posted this on tumblr. Like, really negative. Anyway I talked to the main person who had a problem with it and I totally understand now why some people hated this story. Live and learn, I probably won't write in this style again just because it's really not worth it and really didn't work well if that's how it's receieved. But for the sake of posterity I'm not excluding it from this collection. Just know going in, please, that this is supposed to read as a zany, laid-back, sitcom sort of situation and is in NO WAY supposed to be taken seriously. Just assume that the stakes are NOT high and that nobody is truly upset/hurt in this story. It's all one big jokey joke. 3 thanks, cheers
Loose Lips Sail Ships
Chat Noir's jaw dropped. Even with that mask covering half his face, Alya could see the red staining his face, creeping down onto his ivory cheeks slowly like a spreading wine stain. "No," he said carefully, and his voice hitched at the end of the syllable. "No, she's not. What on earth gave you that idea?" He looked nauseous.
Amazing. Alya could scream.
Instead of screaming, she gave him a soft grin. Something reassuring to lure him into a false sense of security as she carefully stepped between him and the club's exit. The akuma was gone, and he hadn't even used his trump card to defeat it, so he was in no danger of a forced detransformation anytime soon. Therefore Chat (who famously adored both her and her blog) had no excuse to duck out of this impromptu interview without confirming the suspicion that he was hiding something.
"It's not really my idea," Alya answered belatedly. She reached over the bartop, where the employees were too busy cleaning up the mess the akuma had made of their bar to notice Alya steal a handful of orange slices. "Someone posted it on the blog about a week ago, and it spread like wildfire. Even the major news stations have begun to speculate. Surely this isn't the first you've heard of it."
"No," he said. "It's not. But it's still ridiculous." Chat looked directly into the camera lens and rose his voice to say, "For everyone wondering, and you can take this as my official statement on the matter: Ladybug is not pregnant."
"Uh-huh. So where exactly is she then? What is she doing? It doesn't really seem like her to just go on a months-long vacation from being a superhero. We're all worried about her."
"I told you," he scowled. "I'm not at liberty to answer that. And the weekly videos she posts on your blog should be enough to placate any fears, don't you think?"
"Videos shot from the neck up," Alya pointed out. "Suspicious, isn't it?"
"No," he ground out. "No, I really don't think it is. Y'know, Alya, one of the reasons I like you is because you're usually above all that gossip stuff. But this is starting to feel like a tabloid interview."
The jab rolled right off her shoulders, and she pointed one of her orange slices at him. "Tabloids aren't concerned with the facts. I am. The fact is, no one has seen Ladybug in person for almost four months. Yes?"
Chat Noir crossed his arms, and it took him a few moments to realize that she wasn't asking rhetorically. "Yes," he agreed reluctantly.
"Except for you. Yes?"
"Yes," he said, growing increasingly exasperated.
"So you can see why some people are a little angry with you, and wary of the secrecy, right?" Not that she was. But, there were some of the more avid Ladybug fans that wanted Chat Noir's head for this.
"Yes, yes, and so what? What is the point of–"
"And you agree that Ladybug hasn't shown herself below the neck in one of her 'hello Paris' videos in almost three months, yes?"
"Yes–"
"And the baby is yours, right?"
"YES, ALYA, the baby is–"
"HA!" Alya crowed so loud and spazzed out so suddenly that everyone in the bar jumped and looked at them, and she almost dropped the camera. Chat paled so quickly it looked like he'd been shot.
"O-oh shit. Shit. Oh my god, you sneaky little– Alya, please don't air this."
"Sorry, kitty, but this is a livestream." She turned the camera toward her face and gave her audience a giddy laugh. "That's right, you heard it here first folks! There's nothing at all to worry about. Our bug is happy and healthy and fine. She's just pregnant, that's all!"
.
.
Fifteen minutes later and four miles away, Marinette Dupain-Cheng stared at her computer screen as the rerun of the interview finished playing, with fury turning her face from pink to red to purple. Seeing this, Tikki slowly backed away on the desktop, then flitted off all at once to take cover. A hormonal Marinette was not to be trifled with.
The sound of the sliding glass door opening behind her sent the rage into a whirlwind. She wheeled around to find him standing there with the most frightened smile she'd ever seen. Good. "Hey, babe… Funny story…"
"You better start running," she said.
