This was the fic that was supposed to be angst but turned into fluff and attempt at humor. Writing dork Adrien is just too much fun. im sorry angst week ive betrayed you
Chapter 1: The Day Chat Noir Found Out
Chat Noir found out Ladybug’s identity.
He didn’t mean to! He just slipped!
Literally, he just slipped. He’d been hurriedly jumping across Paris’
rooftops trying to get back to the photo-shoot he’d abandoned because of an
akuma attack when he slipped on a loose roof tile. Fortunately, the fire escape
along the side of the building had stopped his fall. But he fell stomach first
onto the railing and had his breath knocked from him.
He’d been so busy groaning in pain, draped across the bars like a used washcloth,
that he didn’t notice Ladybug dropping into the alley below and
Steve Rogers had been eying a 35mm Kodak in the store window for months. He’d never said anything about it though, because he knew times were tough and there was NO WAY he could scrape up 17 whole dollars for it.
But Steve didn’t need to say anything because Bucky saw every lingering gaze each time they walked passed that window and he swore to himself that he’d get it for him no matter how he had to do it.
Over the next few months, Bucky worked tons of overtime at the factory and any other odd job he could find. Didn’t matter what it was. If he didn’t know how to do it, he’d learn. Any sort of car repair, any and all house/apartment fixes, shoe shining.
He even pawned a few things he probably wouldn’t miss too much.
As Steve’s birthday neared, Bucky had finally scraped and saved enough to buy the camera, and even had enough left over to buy a couple new paint brushes and a new pad of paper.
“What’s this Buck?” Steve said tentatively, eyeing the package on the table in their kitchen on the morning of July 4, 1941.
“Thought we didn’t have the money for any birthday presents this year.” Steve questioned with an arched brow.
“Just open it.” Bucky coaxed, with a soft but eager smile. He held the paper and brushes behind his back to reveal after the camera.
Steve eyed him suspiciously for a moment more before stepping up to the table and examining the brown paper wrapped cube.
He carefully pulled on the tape holding the paper flaps one by one until the paper fell open, revealing the boxed camera inside.
Steve immediately froze. His mouth slowly dropped open as he blinked and stared at it.
It couldn’t possibly be… maybe it’s just the box and there’s something else inside it.
“W-,” Steve’s voice was hoarse so he cleared his throat and began again. “What’s inside?” He whispered, with a tentative look back up at Bucky, who was gazing at him expectantly.
“Open it up and see.” Bucky said with a laugh.
Steve’s nimble fingers slipped under the top flap and lifted slowly, like he was scared something was gonna come out and bite him.
As he saw that it truly was the camera sitting in the box, he felt tears prickling at his eyes.
There’s no way…
“Buck…” Started Steve, but his throat was too tight to speak further, so he just looked up at him with glistening eyes.
“Happy birthday Stevie.” Bucky said as he placed the pad of paper and two brushes on the table as well.
Steve threw his small frame against Bucky’s in the tightest hug he could manage. As he stumbled back a couple steps, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and held onto him.
“How?” Steves small voice was muffled against Bucky’s chest.
“Don’t worry about it.” Was all Bucky said.
Steve would press more about it later, but right now he was too eager to try it out.
After finally letting go, Steve immediately went to the table to position the film inside the camera, pushing aside the paper and brushes for later in his excitement.
He’d apparently been researching everything about this camera long before now and was already well aware of how it worked.
He scrambled out the door, down the stairs and skidded to a stop outside their apartment building dragging Bucky behind him all the way.
Steve walked out and stood several feet away from Bucky and brought the camera up to look through the view finder at him.
“Come on Stevie.. what are you doin with that thing? You don’t need no pictures of me.” He grumbled.
Steve ignored him and continued fiddling with the knobs and switches until he had it where he wanted it and looked up eagerly at Bucky.
Bucky sighed and let his arms drop by his sides in defeat.
“Fine… so whaddya want me to do.” Bucky conceded.
“Just stand there and stay still.” Steve answered as he looked through the view finder and squared up his shot.
“That’s it? I feel like an idiot.” Bucky flatly uttered.
“Well that’s a coincidence, cause you look like an idiot too.” Steve teased, as he snapped the picture.
Cursed Child was dumb and here are some reasons why
(warning: spoilers. this probably won’t make sense unless you’ve read the script. far be it from me to recommend this kneazle-vomit of a play, though, so if you haven’t read it, good)
the plot is messy, strange, and childish. there’s only one time-turner left!! how will the characters cope when said time-turner is lost? oh lol they’ll just use this other convenient time-turner. for convenient plot points, see also: harry can suddenly speak parseltongue again, because well he just kind of needs to be able to do that
Harry cursing “oh dumbledore” without a hint of irony. like really? really
the characterisation was a pile of dragon dung and we all freaking know it. let’s break it down into individual characters here because fuck if I can stop at one bullet point for this
Hermione: the brightest witch of her age, the constant crusader for the unloved and the unrepresented, whose successful career and capacity for kindness apparently rest in the hands of her romance with Ron Weasley. oh… but wait. it sounds a little familiar, this story. hear me out. let’s see now, a highly intelligent person who falls in love but doesn’t have that love reciprocated, and who then becomes a really fucking mean teacher at Hogwarts through bitterness. sound like anyone we know? fam, they tried to parallel Hermione and Snape. Hermione and Snape. this being the same Snape who sneered in Hermione’s face when she’d been visibly hexed, and made her cry; the same Snape who bullied Neville Longbottom for years, while Hermione muttered instructions under her breath to help him. if you want to tell me that Hermione would ever allow herself to become a Snape parallel then I will kindly invite you to shove a dirigible plum where there’s no lumos solem
Harry: when Harry was at his angriest in OOTP, and he’s yelling at Ron and Hermione, there’s one thing we notice. everything he yells is true. he means it. he’s bitter about it and he’s loud and furious, but he doesn’t have the kind of anger that just says anything to cause hurt, that speaks without thinking, not even at this crisis point in his life. are you really going to tell me that the boy who knows down to his bones what it’s like to feel rejected, and misunderstood, and alone, would ever say - even in anger - that he wishes Albus wasn’t his son? I am going to snap wands over this
Cedric. and this one burns. because Cedric was brave and he was true, and he had a sense of justice that led him to telling Harry about the way the golden egg worked, and led him to sharing the winning of the triwizard tournament with Harry. he died, he was murdered at the age of seventeen, embodying a sense of justice so strong, an innocence, a goodness. Cedric Diggory - the boy who believed in fairness with an integrity that is astounding - becoming party to the indiscriminate killing and casual torture of the Death Eaters just because he had his head engorged one time… is about as likely as Hagrid stomping on a dragon egg. it’s an insult to who he was and I am going to engorge the entire bodies of the writers of this fucking play so that hopefully they’ll just float away too, with all the grace and likeability of Aunt Marge
Voldemort: can we all agree now that Voldemort would not father a child. the idea of him experiencing lust seems out of character; the idea of him giving into a base urge seems more so. it’s too human, too vulgar, too physical; it would associate him with the common and the mainstream in a way that I contend he would find repulsive. Tom Riddle Sr. was trapped by Merope into sex and romance; to have sex would be to bring himself closer to his parents, down to the level of a Muggle and a witch who lacked power and craved love, two things Voldemort could never, ever stand. no. he wouldn’t have sex just because he wanted to; he’d be repelled by the idea. what other reason could there be for him to do the nasty with Bellatrix? to ensure the continuation of his line? that makes even less sense. achieving immortality for Voldemort was always a question of magic, a personal quest. he wouldn’t go for a messy, physical back-up plan. he always thought that he would win. if anything, he would see a child as a future threat, not a security. another being in the world with the promise of his power? he wouldn’t risk it.
what the fuck was that trolley witch scene though
“for voldemort and valour” are you serious. is there a Gryffindor spy in the Voldemort camp laughing their ass off because they actually managed to get that one through. and are they ten years old
overall, the message of the play infuriated me. Delphi was the child of Voldemort, so she was evil. Albus was the child of Harry, so he was good. Scorpius was the son of Draco, so he should have been evil, but Draco’s actually kind of good now and his mother was nice, so he can be good too. where is the complexity? was five hours of drama not enough to find some shades of morality? where is the hope, where is the resonance, in a story that says that good begets good and evil begets evil, and nothing can really change? the Harry Potter book series was about a boy who grew up with something inside him that was utterly evil, and who rejected it, fought against it, changed the path that fate seemed to wish him to walk. not slytherin, not slytherin. we had Regulus Black and Sirius Black, who rejected their pasts, whose heritage and whose House stood for nothing against their principles, their eventual and separate forms of bravery. we had Remus Lupin, who transformed into a monster but never became one, not even after years of rejection and pain. we had the word mudblood, and we watched Hermione fight it, we knew it was ridiculous to label someone based on their blood. and now… we have the Cursed Child. a playwhich is flat, and stupid, and tells us that your parentage inevitably dictates your character - and that how you’re treated is how you’ll treat others. dear writers, in the words of Albus Dumbledore, you fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be. you fucks.
On one memorable Valentines day Ryan gives the whole crew hearts. Not chocolate hearts or candy hearts or even heart-shaped balloons, oh no. Fresh, hand-picked, unequivocally human hearts. More thoughtful than any store-bought gift if he does say so himself.
They’re carefully thought out, each presented differently; If Ryan’s going to do something then he’s going to do it right, wasn’t about to just throw slabs of bleeding meat down on the table and call it a day - he’s not an animal.
While it took the longest to obtain, Geoff’s is the most simple. Sitting in a basic cooler, nothing fancy, easy to identify and not meant to last. For Geoff the gift is not the organ itself but the inevitable demise of the man it came from, the involuntary donor who’s crew will no longer be trying to push their way into Los Santos.
For Jack there is a necklace, long and elegantly simple, the tapered rose-gold vial engraved with a small heart that makes her smile. Its unassuming, decorative and fashionable, perfectly belying the way the lid is sealed shut to preserve the ash within.
Ryan has never stuffed a heart with explosives before, hadn’t quite anticipated the difficulty of it, but his efforts are instantly rewarded by the involuntary way Michael snorts into laughter at the sight of the fuse snaking out of an artery. Its impossible not to join in when it goes off, humour infectious as Michael’s eyes light up, bellowing his amusement as gore rains down around them.
Ray receives what another might consider a serial killer’s love letter. A dismembered hand left in his favourite spot points him in the direction of a warehouse containing carefully arranged entrails which in turn lead to a breadcrumb trail of teeth. Thoroughly entertained Ray follows blood and gore all around the city before finding himself on the roof of an open-air parking garage, a giant blood red heart painted across the floor with the real deal placed carefully at its centre.
Gavin’s heart is in a ornamental jar, carefully preserved, bloodless and somewhat alien in appearance. It’s an almost shocking display of thoughtfulness, concession to the fact that Gavin, of all of them, would be the most disgusted, yet also somehow the one most likely to want to keep his gift. When he doesn’t have to smell it, feel the muscle gone cold in his hands, deal with the red stain of someone else’s life, Gavin is really quite delighted with the whole deal. Absolutely horrified, sure, but in that squirmy gleeful kind of way he gets, amused by his own revulsion, calling Ryan disturbing and lovely in the same breath.
Jeremy, who knows he definitely hasn’t been with them long enough to warrant a heart of his own (thank god?) watches it all play out with a bizarre mixture of amusement, horror and the tiniest pang of longing that comes along with feeling left out. At least until Ryan appears before him, as silent and terrifying as always, and thrusts a black plastic bag into his hands before ghosting away. The moment of shocked dread (whereupon Jeremy instantly realises that yeah nope warm-fuzzies of being included aside he did not need a human heart in his life actually thanks) is instantly washed away by helpless laughter when he opens the bag and catches sight of the anatomically-correct toy heart smiling cheerfully back at him.
Can you do a Dean imagine where Bobby called a friend to help with a case but he had to send his daughter? And it just so happens that the daughter is basically a female Dean so Sam sets them up on a date.
Author’s Note: Please leave requests, I love to get them and read them! If you want to be tagged in my future fics and my Series Rewrite that is coming soon, let me know! Feedback is always appreciated!
If you do not wish to be tagged, let me know and I’ll remove you.
You’ve always been a lone hunter. When your mom died by a
Djinn, your dad did everything he could to kill the monster. You were old
enough to know what was real and what was just in your imagination and monsters
were very much real.
Eventually, your dad killed the thing but he couldn’t stop
there. He actively searched for monsters and killed them, protecting people and
saving lives. He trained you like he was your drill sergeant so that once he
was gone, you could take over and save people.
You didn’t have much of a choice but did as you were told
anyways. Your father died not long ago and it broke your heart because you were
the one to kill him. A demon was possessing you and did awful things that you’d
rather not talk about. You busied yourself to shut the pain off but you were
broken inside. You didn’t have anyone left or anywhere to go.
Yes, you’ve met hunters along the way but they were your dad’s
friends. You’ve met Bobby Singer, Ellen and Jo, Frank and Rufus. They always
asked for your dad’s help but he was gone now. You kept everything he owned,
even his cell phone. No one but you know he died so if his phone rings, you
assumed it would be another hunter.
You always had it on you but not one phone call came in. You
were glad in a way because you liked hunting alone. You haven’t met another
hunter that was the same as you so you never tried to find them.
You were at a bar, drinking a whiskey when you heard a phone
ring. You knew that ringtone anywhere. You pulled out your dad’s phone and
gulped. You answered it, putting it to your ear.
“Hello?” You asked quietly. You didn’t know who it
was because your dad never saved any contacts.
“Is Y/D/N there?” You heard a man ask.
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Bobby Singer.” Your eyes widened at the name. You
hadn’t seen him since you were a small child.
“Bobby? Are you okay?” He wouldn’t be calling
unless it was an emergency.
“Who is this?” Bobby demanded.
“Y/N Y/L/N. Remember me?” You downed the rest of
your whiskey and put a twenty on the counter. You got up and walked out of the
bar and to your 1959 Cadillac Series 62.
“Y/N? It’s good to hear your voice but where is your
dad?” You bit your lip and got behind the wheel but didn’t turn the car
“Dead.” You whispered.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for calling then.”
“No, it’s fine. You always call for a reason. What’s
“I’m working a case with Sam and Dean and I could
really use your help.”
“Those are John’s boys, right? I remember you
mentioning your friend John and his kids. I’ve never met them but I’ll come out
to you. Where are you?” You grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.
“Phoenix, Arizona. How far away are you?”
“Only a few hundred miles. I’ll be there as soon as I
can.” You hung up before he could ask anything else and you sighed. Time
to hit the road again. At least you’ll be busy this time.
you know ever since listening to that last taz episode all i can think about is how the starblaster runs on bonds and even though lucretia was alone with a broken ship it still sailed and like… i can’t stop thinking about how either the bonds she has with her dead crewmates are so strong that it worked anyway or she just had a real good relationship with the fish