lets himself pretend

Amnesiac Lance (pt 2)

[part one]

oh boy this is gonna be really long and angsty, fair warning 

  • lance starts remembering things in dreams
  • the first time he has one of these dreams, it’s really just this vague image of his mother, and all he can recall from it when he wakes, sweaty and confused, is her kind, soft eyes. lance doesn’t really know how he gets there, but pidge finds him on the observation deck, shivering and half asleep against the control panel 
  • by the time morning wake-up time comes, the previous night is a blur

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Both

Written for @spnpolybingo​. This fills the “Dean x Lisa x Sam” square.

Summary: Dean knows he’s going to leave Lisa the second Sam comes back. But maybe he doesn’t have to.

Word Count: 1100ish

A/N: Hope y’all enjoy this one! Another first for me! XOXO


Dean’s lying on the couch downstairs when Lisa tells him he can have both.

He’s been sleeping down here since he saw Sam, because he can’t be in the same bed with anyone else now. It had taken him a long time to get used to her next to him, too small and too soft, and seeing Sam had undone any progress he’d made in less than a second.

So he’s folded onto the couch, cramped and sweaty and thinking about Sam, when she pads down the stairs and sits down on the coffee table.

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snowhites  asked:

Hi, I absolutely love your writing, I don't know if you take requests, but if you do, could you write a Sterek secret admirer AU?

This isn’t exactly an AU, but here you go. ♥

The first postcard came on a Friday.

It was a Friday just like any other; boring, uneventful, good. It had been like that for the past couple of years, ever since he’d left Beacon Hills behind for good, and Derek liked it this way. There was no one coming to kill him, no one manipulating or using him, it was just a normal life. For the first time, his life was normal and good and without evil looming over him every step he took.

Every weekday at nine am, he went to classes for the history degree he never got to finish before Laura got taken from him and everything back in Beacon Hills happened. Every day around noon, he went out with his two close friends (Ryan and Barbara, both fellow werewolves but neither of them pack) for lunch. Every day at four pm, he’d return home to his apartment building and rest and do whatever he wanted, because he could do that now.

That Friday was like every other. Except this time, as he checked his mailbox after coming home, Derek froze at the sight of a postcard stacked on top of the small pile of mail.

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anonymous asked:

Can you write destiel where cas and dean are ballet dancers and they have to learn the choreography together and they fall in love while they are dancing???

Thank you so much for this prompt anon!! I had so much fun writing it! The full thing is under the cut!

Fanfic requests are open! More info: Here!


Shut Up And Dance

“Dean!” Castiel scolds as Dean steps over his own feet again. Dean blushes furiously. Cheeks heated with embarrassment, he shoves Castiel’s hands away from his waist.

“If I’m so bad, Cas, then you should just get a new partner.” Dean spits out venomously, stalking over to his dance bag.

“Where did that come from?” He hears Cas grumble. “I didn’t say that at all!”

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Morty Dealing With Rick’s Absence

What if Morty doesn’t get mad? What if he doesn’t cry? What if… He just goes numb. He goes home with his family, and he just doesn’t feel? He wants to be angry, wants to feel betrayed, wants to feel sadness, wants to feel anything. But he can’t, instead he just feels empty and he just goes on living because he has to.

He goes to school where he tries to care about something, Jessica, math, the weird new alien gym teacher, anything. But its all meaningless and he sometimes wonder if this is how Rick use to feel? When he gets home he picks his mom off the floor and helps her into bed. And he tries to talk to Summer so she doesn’t feel alone. He becomes their rock while he lets himself drown.

He likes to pretend. Likes to ignore the garage and he doesn’t touch pancakes. He avoids talking about Rick and he just keeps his head down and pushes. Because its easier to pretend. Until the day he can’t anymore. It’s Jerry’s fault of course. He brings up the garage and how it needs to be cleaned because the last time he tried to find the lawn mower he stubbed his toe AND contracted some weird alien chicken pox from one of Rick’s still half full vials of alien goop. No one wants to talk about it, but Jerry keeps pushing until Morty agrees to clean up. He knows Rick would never want Jerry touching his stuff.

It’s a cold Saturday, Summer is on a date, his mom is elbows deep in a horses chest cavity, and Jerry is running errands. Morty finds an empty box and works up the courage to go clean. He tells himself its just another room in the house as he pushes open the door. His breath catches. Its like Rick is still there. Time stands still, half finished projects lie about with a few bottles and cans. Rick’s lab coat haphazardly tossed over a chair tools laid down waiting to be picked up. The only thing that shows the passage of time is the layer of dust that’s deposited itself on everything.

Morty pushes back thoughts of Rick and gets to work, his hands are shaking as he makes room and tries to put things away. It feel’s like he’s disrupting a tomb. Just as he shifts a few things a box falls scattering the contents. Morty prays nothing broke, because the last thing he needs today is to release an alien version of the black plague. But the box contains mostly junk. Wires and dirty clothes an old bottle of some strange substance Morty assumes is alcohol.

The last thing is a package. It seems carefully wrapped in paper the same color as rick’s old sweater. On a little tag in the corner Morty can see its addressed to him, from Rick. He stops breathing and peels away the layers of carefully folded paper. A portal gun. Not unlike Rick’s though newer and certainly smaller. There’s no note, it doesn’t surprise Morty. Rick’s never been one for sappy words written on cheap paper.

Morty wonders, what his reaction would have been? Would he have smiled and thanked Rick? Felt proud to know Rick trusted him with something so important? Would Rick have hidden a satisfied smile behind his flask as he made an off hand comment on how he shouldn’t get exited because its for emergency’s only?  Would Rick have given him this package on his birthday? When they were up alone in the ship or wandering some strange planet with a pink sky? There’s no way of knowing.

And thats when Morty realizes. His cheeks are hot, and wet. And he’s crying and shaking looking down into his own lap where sad blue paper sits half wrapped around the single most important thing Morty’s ever received in his life. Its the first time he’s felt anything sense Rick left. The first time he’s let himself cry. And in the quiet of the dust he lets himself finally feel again.

2

More old sketches

Back when I drew him as more….conflicted.

i.

In Yoongi’s defense, he doesn’t actually know who Seokjin is when they first meet. Seokjin, bless his soul, doesn’t seem like he’s told any of the other members either, so Yoongi’s hoping that maybe he’s forgotten all about it.

(Yoongi knows he hasn’t, but he’ll let himself pretend this once.)

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fate’s a funny thing

summary: seven minutes in heaven with the flirty boy dressed as a cat. Not to mention the mere fact that she’d met him less than an hour ago. brilliant, really. she couldn’t imagine a more interesting way to spend her night.

 pairings: ladynoir, adrinette, maayyybe ladrien & marichat if i get to it but idk yet

sidenotes: this is an au where ive aged adrien&marinette up a bit, both are 18 years old. (idk it just makes me uncomfortable sometimes to write 15 year olds?? its just me i guess anyways)  also in this au ladybug & chat noir are nonexistent, just a fun little au for me to mess around with tropes and character personalities, i guess!

ao3 / ffnet

 .

“You’re a cat.”

Adrien stretched his arms with pride. “Got that right.”

“You try way too hard.” Nino commented absently, surveying his own half-assed costume, a simple t-shirt with the super man insignia and red pants. He hadn’t even bothered with any excess details, he was only going to the party because Adrien didn’t want to go alone.

Adrien had always been a dork for that sort of thing, maybe it was his model-complex outshining his shy personality, or maybe it was just how he enjoyed getting a break from being ever-famous ever-attractive Adrien Agreste and letting himself pretend he was someone normal and reserved. Which he was, but of course, the modeling agency didn’t have any sort of attachment to that personality and liked the perfect poster boy much better than who Adrien really was. The weird guy who liked stupid jokes, sleeping in, and heights.

Nino blinked. Since when did he know so many pointless facts about Adrien? He technically was his best friend, he supposed, but it wasn’t like Adrien was a wide open book spilling his secrets left and right.

“Maybe you don’t try enough.” Adrien corrected. He really went all-out on the costume, all black and sleek and actually kind of cat-like. There was even a green finish over his eyes on his mask, giving them a glow-like effect that looked scarily feline.

Nino shook his head, not dignifying him with a direct answer. “Thirty bucks says Chloé finds you within ten minutes of the party.”

Adrien’s smug, happy grin faded almost instantly, like someone had turned on a windshield wiper over his mouth. “No.

Nino grinned. “Is that why you put so much effort into the costume? To hide from stalker supreme?”

Adrien sighed heavily, an untold burden lying on his chest. “She’s just so…intense, man…I need a break.”

“I’ll bet you do. Say, instead of that former bet, how ‘bout we make a new one? I’ll introduce you to a girl tonight that will change everything. Maybe Chloé’ll back off once she finds out you’re taken…?”

Adrien scoffed, but still smiled slowly, like he appreciated his efforts. “I seriously doubt anything could make Chloé back off at this point. But I’ll take you on, I could use a fresh start.”

Nino gaped. “…Seriously? Dude…you’re usually so… I don’t know, shy about this kind of stuff? But you…you’re really-“

“Hit me with your best shot.” Adrien thumped his fists on his chest. “Tonight, I’m not Adrien. I’m…I dunno, I’ll think of a cool code name later.”

“Hm…” Nino mused, watching his best friend strike horrifically embarrassing poses in the mirror. “What about…Chat Noir?”

Adrien looked at him, a knowing glint in his sharp green eyes.

“Nino.” He said, firm and clear. “That has got to be the worst idea I’ve ever heard from you, ever. Have a little originality, man. I’m disappointed.”

Nino laughed. “Sorry, sorry. We both know I’m dry when it comes to creativity.

Adrien scanned Nino’s costume, one eyebrow snidely raised. “Is that so?”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Hurry up and stop looking at yourself, if we’re late, we’ll miss out on all the good food.”

“Good point.” Adrien checked himself one last time in the mirror. He really did look great. “This party is gonna be purr-fect. Get it Nino? Because-“

Adrien narrowly dodged the book Nino threw at his head.

“Alright, alright. I’ll save that one for the ladies-“

“Please don’t.”

“How ‘bout this one – How are you feline today? Get it? Nino, come on, these are the jokes-“

“You know what? I change my mind. I’m not introducing you to any girls unless they enjoy pain and suffering.” Nino hissed in resentment.

“Well then I guess I’ll have to meet them on my own.” Adrien sassed.

“I pity the girl that has to deal with you.”

“I pity people without a decent sense of humor.”

“Shuddap. Let’s just go already before I punch you.” Nino ushered a distracted Adrien towards the door to the car. Right. All he had to do was try and find a girl who could deal with Adrien’s disgustingly puke-worthy sense of humor and he’d be set.

Nino grimaced. This was going to be a lot harder than it looked.

.

.

.

“You’re a…well…what are you again?”

Marinette pouted. “Alyaaa, I’m a ladybug, come on, it’s not that hard!”

Alya nodded slowly, like she hadn’t even heard her speak. “…Right. Yeah, right, I see it now.”

Marinette made an exasperated sound and fell back on the couch. “I shouldn’t even go. What if Adrien is there?”

“He probably will be.”

Alya, you’re not helping!” Marinette told her stiffly, waving her hands in front of her face manically and sighing.

“Here’s a fun idea – off the top of my head, why don’t you…hmm…I don’t know…talk to him, maybe?” Alya suggested sarcastically.

“I can’t do that!” Marinette replied, horrified. “If I talk to him, I just know I’ll say something stupid, and I’ll be forgettable and he won’t care and then I’l be crushed-“

“Girl, calm yourself.” Alya placed a finger to Marinette’s lips to silence her. “Just relax. You’re dressed up tonight anyways! He won’t know it’s you!”

“He won’t know it’s me anyways! I’ve never said a single word to him in the three years we’ve been in the same school-“

“That’s beside the point. He’ll be dressed up too, maybe you won’t even recognize him!” Alya assured her friend, grabbing her car keys and swinging outside of the Dupain-Cheng household.

“That’s even more terrifying! Then I won’t even know if I make a fool out of myself in front of him!” Marinette began to hyperventilate as Alya stared at her overdramatic friend, a cool, calculating expression laying over her face.

“Listen. Just…breathe. You’ll be fine, besides…” Alya flicked Marinette jus above her nose. “you’ve got a mask on, right? Work it, girl. Plus, I won’t lie, that costume makes your legs look out of this world.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Wha…really? You think so?”

Alya nodded in approval. “Hell yeah! Now get in the car and get ready to smoke this show. Ladybug and Alya are on the scene!”

“Ew. Don’t call me that.”

“…Fine. Alya and her party-pooper friend, are on the scene!”

“…You know what? I don’t even care.”

.

.

.

“The party’s poppin’. Now where’s this girl you were gonna introduce me to, Nin? This is taking so long I think one of my nine lives has begun to run out…”

Nino’s lips tightened and he turned to face his best friend.

“Dude…please. If I’m introducing you to anyone…this has gotta stop.” He breathed out. Adrien only gave him the cheekiest grin possible.

“This is who I am now, Nino. You can’t stop me. I’ll enchant the world with my cat jokes – just you wait-“

“Oh no.” Nino said, suddenly grabbing Adrien’s arm and pulling it to his chest. “Chloé at 9 o’clock.”

“Your 9 o’clock? Or mine-“

“Just shut up and hide! Do you want this whole night to be ruined?” Nino whispered to him loudly.

“Fine, fine. Try to keep the cat in the bag-“

“You know what?” Nino said, tightening his grip on Adrien’s arm. “Screw you. Have fun playing cat-and-mouse with Chloé all night.” With that word of finality, Nino practically tossed Adrien in Chloé’s direction, fed up with his (arguably) awful jokes.

“Shit! Nino! Don’t do this to me! I thought we were friends!” Adrien whisper-yelled from across the room, his words falling silent to the ears of Nino, considering they were at a loud, busy party at the time being.

Someone bumped into Adrien as he was sprawling about, almost sending him careening into the wall like a blind bunny.

Watch it,” a familiar voice seethed and Adrien could only look up sheepishly.

“Uh…hi, Chloé.” He gulped. So much for having a Chloé-free night.

She looked at him, eyes caked with shiny peach makeup and narrowed with a sense of scrutiny. Bunny ears were perched on top of her hair, which smelt like potent candy canes. Adrien half-smiled and awaited death.

“Do I know you?” She asked him dangerously, somewhere along the lines of how-dare-you-speak-to-me-peasant and hey-you-look-kind-of-familiar.

Adrien gulped. Could this be the break he had so desired? Had the gods truly smiled upon him this fondly on this Halloween night?

“Um…no. You don’t know me.” He told her thickly, practically spewing happiness. Her lips curled unpleasantly.

“Then get out of my way.”

“You got it!” he shot her a few finger guns and began to back away, hysterically panting in surprise.

She didn’t recognize him. Which meant nobody would – except Nino, of course.

Adrien smiled wider than he’d ever remembered.

This was just going to be a really, really awesome night.

.

.

.

“Oh my god, Alya, there’s so many people…” Marinette swallowed her fear and clutched Alya’s arm, who was dressed as an alien, finished up with a headband with two bounding antenna on top. It was cute, and it suited her quirky best friend well. Plus, it made her easy to spot within a crowd.

“Marinette, you’re cutting off my circulation. Just relax, no one here is going to hurt-“

“Someone just touched my butt!”

Alya blinked. “Ok…scratch that. Just, steer clear of people who smell like pot and stay close to me, kay?”

“Ok…” Marinette said shakily. She hadn’t been to many parties in her high school career, at least, not like this one. The parties she had were study parties, between select friends and on Thursday nights before tests. This was a whole different level of partying. Everyone smelt like fruit punch and looked like they didn’t have a care in the world, the music was almost unbearably loud, and the lights were so dim she could barely even see the details of her costume (which was a bit disappointing, she had put a lot of effort into making it genuinely beautiful and comfortable).

“Hey, I think I see a friend. Could you wait here for a sec while I go talk to him? I promise I’ll only be a minute. Thanks!” Alya told Marinette all in a few seconds before heading off in a different direction. Before she could voice and protests, she was gone, and Marinette was alone by what looked like a bookcase. Or it could just be a wall. She couldn’t really be sure with all the crazy lighting (or…lack thereof).

“-Where in the world is Adrien? He said he’d be here! If he doesn’t show up, I’m going to be so mad…

Marinette’s face fell. She’d recognize that shrieking banshee voice anywhere.

Chloé was dressed as a bunny, the effort she put into realistic-ness was slim. The only real costume element of her costume was the pair of fuzzy ears, after that she mostly looked like she could put on a good show in a burlesque house.

Marinette looked down at her own outfit and suddenly felt a bit childish. Only Alya’s compliment about her legs made her feel a bit better.

Chloé drew closer along with her friend Sabrina, still moaning on and on about Adrien’s absence, which took a small burden off of Marinette’s shoulders. Good. She wouldn’t have to worry about making a scene in front of him.

“I can’t believe this, I worked so hard to look hot for him today, and what do I get in return? Honestly, that boy is so dense I doubt even a knife could fully dissect him.”

Marinette began to fume a bit. Chloé was so full of herself, if she even took a second to factor in Adrien’s feelings, maybe she wouldn’t be insulting him so freely like she owned him.

“He’s obviously dense if he hasn’t asked you out yet.” Chloé’s friend assured her robotically.

Duh,” Chloé cried out, almost furiously. “If he doesn’t get his head out of the clouds soon, I might be forced to go to drastic measures to get him to ask me out.”

Angry at Chloé’s vanity, and at herself for not being more assertive in general, Marinette did something she’d never done before. Maybe it was the costume, or the secondhand pot affecting her confidence level, or the lighting, or whatever.

She spoke up.

“Maybe if you weren’t always climbing on top of him, he’d like you more!” Marinette shouted, just loud enough for Chloé to know that it was most definitely directed at her.

Chloé turned, murderous intent evident as she flicked her nails one by one.

What, did you just say to me, little girl?” She responded, frozen with anger as the party seemed to halt all around them.

“You heard me.” Marinette stood her ground, feeling light headed and not at all like herself. Yet, there was something empowering about finally speaking her mind that pushed her to continue.

Chloé scoffed. “And what – like you could do any better? Who even are you, some irrelevant hag from nowheresville? Please. Adrien and I will be together by the end of this week, and you will still be as irrelevant and nameless as always.”

Marinette blanched, but didn’t back down. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you just back off, Chloé? It’s obvious Adrien doesn’t like you at all, you’re just so desperate, and he’s too sweet to tell you to fuck off!

A small chorus of ‘oohs’ rippled through the small crowd of attention they had gathered. Chloé practically lost her jaw on the spot.

“You – you don’t even know who you’re messing with, you little twerp.” Chloé gritted her teeth and took a few steps forward towards Marinette.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with. So take some advice and back away from Adrien, before he finally does tell you off. If I were you, I’d take my attention elsewhere. Like, maybe, a decent costume store? Where’d you buy yours, the adult superstore?” Marinette said all in one breath, feeling adrenaline coursing through her like venom. God, it felt great to finally tell off Chloé, Adrian had dealt with her crap all his life, it was about time for her to back off and find a new hobby.

Chloé wrenched her jaw into a sneer. “Why, you-“

“Don’t make this any harder for yourself, honey. Just walk away while you still have a little bit of dignity.” Marinette told her with a sass-laced smile. She really hoped Alya was in the crowd, she’d be so proud.

Finally deciding to take her advice, Chloé reared around and stormed away, heels clicking like hammers against a nail as she retreated from the battlefield.

All of a sudden, Marinette was surrounded by a lot of yelling kids, all congratulating her on practically ripping Chloé a new one in a minute flat. Alya was one of them, grabbing her wrist and jumping up and down eagerly.

“Oh my god, was that even you? Holy shit, that was amazing!” Alya told her, alien antenna bouncing as she spoke.

“I…think so…” Marinette admitted, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She hadn’t felt this alive in a while.

“Greaaat! Listen, I just saw Alix and I’m gonna go grab her quick so I can fill her in on what just happened. God, you’re amazing!” Alya threw her a thumbs up and quickly went to go chase down their friend to tell her the news.

Marinette felt flushed, like she’d just won a million-dollar prize and got to travel the world spending it. She’d never been that brave, especially not to Chloé. Her eyes drifted down to the fabric of her costume. Maybe being a ladybug really did boost her confidence, as weird as that sounded.

Her eyes attempted to find someone she knew, maybe flaunt her newfound assertiveness to them proudly. She was still Marinette, after all. Just…different. In the best way.

She only wished, slightly, in the heat of them moment, that Adrien could’ve seen her. Maybe that could’ve sparked a conversation, a phone number, a date, a relationship…Ok, so she got a little ahead of herself. But could you really blame her? The guy was gorgeous, and sweet, and funny, and kind, and perfect…and so, so out of her league it wasn’t even funny.

Just when she thought things couldn’t get any more unnatural, the last person she would’ve expected to approach her walked up to her nervously. It was Sabrina, Chloé’s right-hand girl. Odd. Marinette made the quick decision to put herself on guard, this could mean trouble.

“Hey…um, so I know you and Chloé just kind of…fought, but…we’re playing a party game in the next room, and some people were asking for you…?” She awkwardly trailed off. The girl seemed nice enough, and Marinette had always felt kind of bad for her, especially since Chloé treated her so terribly.

“Um…other people were asking for me?” She asked, suddenly interested that other people were interested in her. Marinette wasn’t exactly a beacon of popularity, but she supposed the same couldn’t be said about ladybug-Marinette…?

“Um…yeah! They’re calling you ladybug-girl and they want you to join us…so…want to come?” Sabrina asked quietly.

Marinette thought for a moment. It had only been a few minutes since she served Chloé a new ass, and yet she felt inclined to trust Sabrina since she seemed so sweet and timid.

“I…” she looked back towards where Alya disappeared off to. She wouldn’t mind…right? “…Guess so.”

Sabrina smiled. “Great! Follow me…”

Suddenly uneasy, Marinette followed Sabrina into the next room.

Hopefully it wouldn’t turn out that bad for her…right?

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.

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“-and so I said to her, yeah, I’m kind of known for my pawsome personality.”

The girl Adrien had been talking to backed away ever so slowly, slightly terrified that he had managed to say that joke with a straight face.

Nino grimaced.

“I can’t believe you’ve been at this all night. Do you seriously take pleasure in getting your ass rejected by girls?” Nino asked him, disgusted with his off-putting behavior.

“This is amazing! For once, girls aren’t falling all over me juts because I’m a model! They hate me!”

“Wow. Simply mind-blowing.” Nino deadpanned. Adrien laughed, absorbing the party’s atmosphere greedily.

God. I love this. This is so much fun – we’re doing this next year.” Adrien bubbled, as hyperactive as a kid on pixie-stix.

“Uh…whatever.” Nino mumbled, before his eyes widened. “I gotta go talk to uh…a friend, I’ll see ya later…”

Adrien shrugged. He’d have more time to mess around on his own, he supposed.

Being someone else, or rather, being himself without consequences, was a lot of fun for him. All his life he’d had to restrain himself, socially, physically, and verbally, for the sake of his modeling career, and for the future of his father’s company. Letting loose like this, even if it was just for a night of insufferable puns and looks of utter disgust upon people’s faces, was well deserved for him.

After making a few more trips around the house to showcase some of his best jokes and laugh along with people he didn’t even know, he heard somewhat of a commotion coming from the center, and made his way towards it casually.

There was a swarm of people, too many for him to see what was going on. It was probably just some kid doing one too many shots and doing his best to embarrass himself, like any 18 year old would if the opportunity presented itself.

Too lazy to attempt to get a better view, Adrien decided to interrogate someone just when the crowd began to disperse.

“Uh…what just happened?” He asked a girl dressed as a nurse. She gave him a skeptical look before plopping her hand on her hip and answering him.

“Some girl dressed as a ladybug dragged Chloé Bourgeois through the mud.” She summed up, before turning away and hopping over to the punch stand.

“A ladybug, huh.” He spoke long after she had disappeared. “Interesting.”

Dragging Chloé was something he certainly wished he hadn’t missed. It only happened once every…well…scratch that, it never happened. She was so untouchable fifty miles up on her high horse that no one had ever managed to truly knock her down. So it was certainly a feat that a girl dressed as an insect managed to come close to knocking her down.

Adrien pushed past a few more people and happened across an extremely dark room. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Dark rooms never really held much of interest, especially during parties like these.

“Hey,” some guy called to him from inside the room, he could barely make out the silhouette of a person in the darkness, but they were definitely there, seeing as how they had spoken to him. “Aren’t you the weird guy who hit on Chloé?”

“Um…I think you’ve got the wrong-“

“Eh, close enough. Wanna play a party game with us?” The guy asked, his body still cloaked with the shadows of the mysteriously dark room. Adrien raised a skeptical brow. It was an odd proposition, especially under the current circumstances. But then again…how could a party game hurt him? He was a cat, after all, not Adrien…

“Yeah…I guess so…”

Without warning, the guy, whose face was still obscured, leaned forward and grasped his hand, pulling him into the shadowy room and into the party game of a lifetime.

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.

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Marinette had only played party games twice in her life. Once, at a birthday party, she was six years old and made an unfortunate mess of a piñata in her front lawn. The second time was a bit more unconventional, she simply played truth or dare with a group of her close friends, and consequently chickened out of her dare (go ahead and guess what the dare was. Hint, it had everything to do with her extended crush on a local model).

It was safe to say that she was somewhat of a true party game virgin. Sitting in a dark room full of costumed strangers at a party? She’d surely be knocking a few pegs off of her bucket list tonight.

“Sit down,” Sabrina instructed her kindly. There were a few sweet-smelling candles in the room, each lighting their own separate corner and drizzling the area with a low-tinted orange glow. Marinette did as she was told and sat down, in between two people she didn’t recognize.

Then, it hit her, like a million bricks toppling one by one off of a decrepit wall.

She didn’t belong here. And this was most definitely a terrible, just…really awful idea.

“Um…” she spoke aloud, hoping to catch the attention of perhaps someone with excellent night vision. “I think I have to leave-“

“Nonsense!” She heard a sickeningly sweet voice coo from across the room. “You have to stay, it’ll be no fun without you!”

And, if that wasn’t the final nail in her coffin, the fact that that same sickeningly sweet voice belonged to Chloé, the girl she had roasted not even a full ten minutes ago surely did the trick.

“But, I-“

“Is everyone here?” Chloé called commandingly, before swishing her hand out in frnt of a candle, barely visible. “Sabrina, shut the door. This game could take a while…”

The final crack of reddish light from the party was snuffed out by the sound of the door clicking shut. No turning back now. It appeared her only safe way out was winning the party game. And Marinette could safely bet that the odds weren’t exactly going to be stacked in her favor.

“Now. We are going to play a nice, fun game.” Chloé began menacingly. Marinette could hear the sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor and sucked in a breath when the sounds became unbearably close.

Something made a clinking sound and suddenly a candle was placed in the center of the room, revealing the dimly lit circle of costumed kids whom she couldn’t recognize – not very clearly, at least.

Chloé took a step towards the center and was illuminated by the candle, flaunting her perfect skin like a glowing lantern in the night sky. She leaned over, careful to give everyone a view of her lovely long legs, before placing a medium sized brown bottle in the center of the room.

Marinette may have been a newbie to party games – but she’d seen enough Disney movies to know that this wasn’t going to end well.

“I hope you’re all ready to have a little fun….you know, let loose a little bit…” Chloé taunted, as if she had a dirty secret on each and every single person in the room.

“…Now who wants to go first?” Chloé swung around and there was a collective murmuring, the accusatory manicured finger of Chloé like an omen of death.

Marinette quickly ducked her head, not wanting to further herself as public enemy number one. She cursed herself for being so stupid – her naivety had led her down a path of glass shards, and she was dumb enough to wear no shoes.

“What about you, ladybug?” Chloé asked sweetly, the sugary candy-cane tone of voice making Marinette want to instantly throw herself out the nearest window.

“Ummm…I’m not sur-“

Great!” She sang, pointing Marinette in the direction of the bottle (which now seemed as attractive as an island full of saltwater crocodiles) and smiling sinisterly.

“There’s no hard feelings about what happened earlier, right?” Chloé asked with a pout. Marinette blinked. First of all, it was near impossible to take her seriously with her eye makeup so intensely caked on, it made Marinette’s own nearly naked eyes want to break out into a rash. Secondly, Chloé practically made it seem like their argument had been won by herself, which was wrong in every way you looked at it.

“Um…right. No hard feelings.” She repeated tonelessly.

“Excellent.” Chloé seethed. “Now, the first game we’re going to play is Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Oh god. Marinette’s eyes practically popped out of her skull like yo-yo’s.

She knew of the game – it was more of an urban legend than anything. Spend seven minutes locked in a closet with a random person – seven minutes, no consequences, and all suggestive innuendos implied.

Not a  game she was comfortable playing with a roomful of nameless faces.

“I’d actually rather not-

Marinette sensed the uncomfortable atmosphere and knew that everyone else in the room had been roped in by Chloé just as she had been.

“Go ahead ladybug,” Chloé encouraged, using the name mockingly and promptly ignoring her earlier protest.

There were a few unconscious beats of silence as Marinette struggled with her narrow options. Run? No…too embarrassing, and her legs were frozen. Scream for help? Who would even hear her.

No. She’d just have to be brave.

She testily held her hand out to touch the bottle, and wasn’t shocked that it was icy to her fingertips. All in one breath, she leaned out and pushed the bottle so it swung around, like a round of Russian roulette, would she win? Or lose tragically like the failure that she was.

She felt the urge to cover her eyes. This was the last thing she wanted. She desperately wished that Alya or one of her other friends would kick down the door and help her escape, but the bottle still spun, and the door stood silent.

Marinette drew herself backwards, wishing she could simply fade into the shadows and disappear forever. The bottle slowly drew to a stop as it pointed opposite to her, choosing her fate like it had been predestined long before.

“Well, well…” Chloé sang out, like this had been her plan the whole time. “What a perfect match.”

“Wait, what?” Marinette heard herself echo, only to be hauled to her feet by an unknown person from behind and pushed into the corner of the dark room.

“The girl who didn’t know when to shut up, and the boy that doesn’t know how to. A match made in heaven.” Chloé summed up.

…And the last thing Marinette remembered thinking before she was roughly shoved into a closet, was the sound of his laughter as they both tumbled into the locked room where they would remain, under close quarters, for much, much longer than seven minutes.

.

.

.

[[is v upset i forgot to post this on here so ill just queue it for later t-t]]

Damon making Elena feel guilty with saying he would never throw what they had away, even if it destroyed him

That’s really nice from you Damon but her mental and emotional health is way more important than your sappy love story

anonymous asked:

Speaking of blueberries, and my allergies to them, what if Will had a food allergy and only found out until he had some weird dish Hannibal made?

“And for dessert, Cupuaçu Flan.”

Hannibal slides the dish in front of Will, plated as elegantly as all things that come from his kitchen, a fresh cut bloom of yellow ixora resting delicately atop.

Will’s mouth waters.

“This looks delicious,” he says, sliding his dessert spoon into the custard. It sinks in easy and soft, almost sinfully so. Hannibal sits across from him looking remarkably pleased.

They tuck small spoonfuls into their mouths together, and Will lets out a tremulous moan as the warm flavours spill silky over his tongue. It is rich yet light, almost like chocolate, and it floats like water through his mouth.

He smiles around his spoon and lets his tongue linger as he sucks the last of the custard from it.

“Beautiful,” Will says, and Hannibal smiles kindly back at him, his gaze lingering.

“Yes,” he replies, and Will feels his face heat and his throat close up.

He looks away and coughs, distancing himself from the pressing thickness of the moment.

Except.

The pressing thickness isn’t in the air around them, it’s in his tongue, and his throat, which has not opened itself back up. And his face is still flushed, but not with the blush of arousal. Something is wrong.

Hannibal senses it too.

“Will,” he says, a question and a demand all at once. He is on his feet and across the table, tilting his head back. Will sputters a little and claws at Hannibal’s arm.

“Can’t… breathe,” he gasps, but Hannibal has already left his side.

For a fleeting moment he wonders if this has all been Hannibal’s grand plan, to lure him into a life of blood-soaked murder and then suddenly off him with some rare toxin in the middle of South America. There would be something oddly poetic about it.

But the look in Hannibal’s eyes before he fled the room was pure fear, keyed-up adrenaline and a need to fix, to save.

Will finds himself casting his mind back to the dozens of other times Hannibal has looked at him tenderly from across the dinner table - or across a corpse - all the times he has shut that part of himself down harshly, an alarm door slamming shut and locking fast.

What if this is how he dies, accepting all the baser, truer parts of himself but this? The one that was always easily within his reach.

Cold fear suffuses him and he gulps for air, fingers splayed out and seeking the touch of the one person he consistently refuses it to.

As though he had always been there, Hannibal is knelt beside him, something sharp is stabbing into his thigh and a stern voice commands him.

“Breathe, Will.”

Rough hands are on his face, dark eyes searching his, begging, frightened.

Will breathes.

Great shuddering heaves of air run through him, his lungs a great set of bellows that push and pull until the flow is steady, all the while Hannibal’s fingers run over his cheeks, his hair.

As his breathing returns to normal and the tightness leaves his throat, he looks at Hannibal. His eyes are wild and damp. He looks both young and ancient.

“So, I think I’m allergic to… that,” Will laughs, gesturing with a shaky hand at the forgotten flan.

He looks down at his thigh, where Hannibal’s hand still rests gingerly. He pulls his fingers back in a flash, eyes downcast. Will resists the urge to pull his hand back, but he feels strangely empty without the touch.

“Where did you get an Epi-Pen?”

Hannibal puffs up his chest.

“I am still a Doctor, even if the medical board no longer thinks so. It would be prudent to keep a well stocked first aid kit for… emergencies such as these.”

There’s something that he’s hiding, a flicker of embarrassment that ghosts across his cheeks.

Will nudges him with a foot.

“And?”

Hannibal frowns, just a little, but a tiny smile crinkles at his mouth.

“How well you know me, Will,” he sighs. “I may be allergic to nuts.”

Despite himself, Will bursts out laughing. “You… you have a nut allergy? The great and fearful Chesapeake Ripper could have been taken down any time if we’d only thought to bring some

Planter’s

?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ.”

Hannibal chuckles a little, but he smoothes the cheer from his brow and rests a light hand to Will’s cheek.

“You are alright, then?”

There’s a moment, a little one, between breaths, where Will could do what he has always done and pull away. It’s comfortable, it’s what they’re used to. No one would be surprised, and Hannibal’s become very good at hiding the hurt.

Or he could lean. Let Hannibal touch him. Let himself feel it.

Will decides he likes that idea better.

Hannibal inhales sharply at the reciprocated touch, his pupils blow wide and his mouth parts just ever so slightly. He swallows thickly and asks again.

“You’re alright, Will?”

“Yeah,” Will assures, letting Hannibal feel and accept the weight of him. He lets himself be held and doesn’t fear the falling.

It feels nice.

Hannibal stares at him, questions he’s afraid to ask racing just behind his lips.

“Kiss me.” Will says it so quietly it could almost be ignored, but it isn’t.

He feels Hannibal’s pulse quicken through his fingertips, but he doesn’t move.

“Hannibal,” he whispers, “please just fucking k-”

Then Hannibal’s mouth is upon his, violent, desperate, and loving. Hands are sliding through his hair, cupping his neck, drinking him in like an elixir.

It is beautiful and terribly, awfully, perfect. Will isn’t remotely surprised. For the second time that day, he loses the ability to breathe.

This time he is glad.

@mlstaffappreciation ML Week Day 6: Evil!Heroes

 Words: 773, Language: English 

Read on Ao3

This is totally late but hey. I’ve been traveling. I wrote this in a metal tube careening through the air at high speeds and altitudes, and then forgot to post it. Forgive me.


Chat Noir stood paralyzed, watching as Ladybug stalked towards him. Except it wasn’t Ladybug. Not anymore. He didn’t know how it happened, but he could tell. Her eyes were different. Her eyes, which once shone with kindness, wit, and bravery, were now dulled and twisted. They glinted, ice cold and razor sharp, and he found himself shivering and pining for the warmth he so dearly loved.  

“Aw, kitty, don’t be so scared,” she crooned, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from the touch and she immediately pulled back, looking hurt. For a moment he wanted to apologize, but he swallowed it down. 

This is not Ladybug. This is not Ladybug. This is not Ladybug. 

Keep reading

Speaking of obligatory episodes (I do kind of picture the roommate AU as a series of episodes. Why? Noooo idea.) one of the things that got typed was totally The Obligatory Beach Episode. Or. Well. ¼ of it, and I like it because Shiro’s absolute thirst wars with his insecurity and Lance in tiny shorts (If I had dollar for each time I gave into the whim to describe Lance’s ass/legs this story would pay my hulu sub for months). (And Keith, who is a troll.) 

And so I’m gonna share a snippet, to make up for the fact that I doubt anything will be updated today. 

Keep reading

He leaves her behind, but he never stops watching.

S.H.I.E.L.D. never quite rises from the ashes HYDRA burned it down to, but the team does. He suspects she’s a part of that, and there’s a part of him that can’t help but swell with pride at the idea; it is his rookie, after all. But it’s a part of him he swears he buried away the day the lines were drawn and he found them on starkly different sides.

They retreat into the shadows—deep enough and long enough that HYDRA eventually writes them off as disbanded. But there were little things, like the occasional wiped mainframe and weapons he’ll notice are missing while checking inventory at a newly-captured base. Of course, though, he’s the only one who ever knew them well enough to recognize the signs.

Garrett gives him a couple days off, and it isn’t until then that he commences his search. He tells himself that it’s only because there’s no point in informing HYDRA of a threat that might not even exist. But then he eliminates the first person who asks one question too many, and to hell with reason anyway.

***
He doesn’t find them until his last night, cooped up in an ordinary brick building deep in New York. It’s well past midnight, and there’s only one window still with lights on: Coulson and May. They’re gathered around a dining table, discussing something he’s too far away to see. They look strangely domestic, he contemplates to himself, both in a shirt and sweatpants when he’s only ever seen them in suit and gear. Before he even realizes it, the phone is poised in his fingertips, his thumb barely an inch away from hitting ‘call.’

But then another light goes on, and he sees her.

Her face is tear-struck, and he can’t hear anything past the pane of glass and the couple hundred feet, but he can see her screaming. Simmons has her wrapped in her arms; Fitz watching, concerned, from the door. Soon, Coulson and May are there, too—exchanging a look that clues him into the notion that they had all gone through this same song and dance many times before. His stomach drops despite himself, and he can’t help but feel like the same old Agent Grant Ward who found her on the verge of death on a cellar floor. Every fiber of his being is pulling him towards her, desperate to take away her pain, and so he leaves.

With every mile he puts between them, the more he manages to convince himself that it wasn’t his name he saw her screaming.

***
After that, he comes around often enough to know that while it may be Coulson who first gets her to crack a smile, it’s really May who coaxes out genuine laughter. He learns that she celebrates her birthday on Christmas, and that she has something of a weakness for Fitzsimmons’ chocolate cake. When someone he doesn’t recognize walks into their loft, he watches as she picks up a gun and prepares to fire in record speed. For the first time, her form is textbook perfect. It is also, he notes, the first time he sees her with the kind of murderous conviction that could burn down the world.

He’s not sure how he feels about the fact that she didn’t even need the Berserker staff to cultivate that kind of rage. After all, even if she’s angry, at least she’s not broken.

But later that night, she wakes up screaming and screaming and she doesn’t stop. This time it’s Coulson who gets to her first, and he quickly pulls her against his chest, whispering a string of comforting words into her hair.

He swears to himself that when the nightmares stop coming, so will he.

***
As it turns out, the stranger from before soon becomes the resident supervising officer of the team. He spars with May, while Fitz and Simmons observe studiously from the edge of the room. He only has a few seconds to wonder where she is before Coulson walks her in. She takes in the scene around her with confusion. As soon as she realizes what’s going on, however, her expression instantly hardens, and she slams the door behind her.

A few days later, the new SO catches her walking through the living room, and he quickly intercepts her path. He pulls out a board game from behind him—something of an olive branch, if he had to wager a guess—but she only punches him in the face.

Once the room is deserted, he pulls out his binoculars, and he finally sees why—sitting on the coffee table, left unattended, is a game of Battleship.

***
Garrett sends him away for three months, and when she’s his first stop the moment he gets back, he realizes that he’s stopped trying to justify himself long before he ever left. He’s greeted with the image of her working on a punching bag, eyebrows furrowed and eyes fiery and focused. He’s not all that surprised, really; it was only a matter of time before she got back in the game. He’s not even surprised to find that the SO is there, too, calling out corrections and sets and doing everything that he used to once upon a time. What does catch him off-guard, however, is when the SO unknowingly pokes her side—a particularly sensitive spot he knows about all too well—and she erupts into a fit of giggles before encircling her arms affectionately around his neck.

He’s proved himself to be the master of compartmentalization. So why can’t he seem to stop his own heart from breaking?

***
He watches as they train night after night, serious regimens evolving into something distinctly more fun and lighthearted. He still loves watching the mischievous glint that sparkles in her eyes, he realizes, when she throws out a comment full of wit and snark the way only she knows how. She smiles at her new SO; and it’s so much like the one she used to reserve just for him that for a few precious moments, he lets himself pretend that it’s him who’s at the receiving end of it and that nothing ever had to change.

She’s still impossible to beat at Battleship, he learns. As much as she claimed that the game was just stabbing mindlessly in the dark, there’s only so much luck a person can have before it runs out—and he’s never seen her lose.

She’s more alive now than he’s ever seen her in a year and a half. This new SO, he makes her happy. He’s good for her, leagues better than he could’ve ever been. But he knows that if anyone’s to thank, it’s the team. He can see that she knows it, too—in the way that she sits through hours of Call of Duty with Coulson, and in the way she tries to prank May. When a bar opens in the building over, she plays faithful wingman to Fitz; though she somehow always manages to bring Simmons into the mix. He thinks back to her late-night training rants, and the way she used to passionately lament the utter injustice that was a non-romantic FitzSimmons. If they couldn’t make it happen, she yelled as she attempted to land a punch on him, what chance in hell did anyone else stand?

And he can’t help but wonder what chance they would’ve stood. If this was maybe the future that he could’ve had with her in another life. But he had chosen his past with Garrett, and that was a decision he would never have been able to turn his back on.

He downs his drink quickly once he realizes that she and the SO are headed towards the bar. He accidentally brushes against her shoulder, and even the minimal contact sets all his nerve endings on fire. He quickens his pace through the throng of dancing bodies, but once he’s safely outside, he watches through the pane of glass as she carefully turns back around and closer inspects the crowd, as if she somehow sensed he was there, too.

He’s not entirely sure if he wants her to find him. He certainly doesn’t take any more precautions to keep himself hidden. Her eyes pan slowly through the length of the room, and she’s so close, just one more turn of the head—

But the SO pulls back her attention as he hands her a shotglass. And a part of him can be glad that she’s finally getting that drink, even if it isn’t with him.

He leaves her behind, but he never stops watching.

Do not imagine Mikasa often sleeping in/wearing something of Levi’s when they’re alone, and when she dies, despite his cleaning habits, he never washes it. Wearing it is the only way he can sleep, he closes his eyes and lets himself pretend she’s still there sleeping beside him. He also likes to pretend he doesn’t notice that, with time, her scent is fading.

melancholymisha  asked:

could you do "you’ve been sleeping at mine because your house is being renovated and we aren’t even dating, yet every time you wake up to the baby crying and sigh, “i’ll go” i feel like we might as well be married" or "you asked me to the store with you and your child, and now my distant relative we met thinks im married with a baby" please? (love your fics btw<3)

Castiel rolls over, groaning and drags a pillow on top of him, trying to drown out the sound of Claire screaming.

It’s 3am and she wants feeding.

Castiel should get up. He will get up, but he’s so tired. He just wants a few more seconds of sleep, a handful of minutes at the most. Claire never sleeps through the night and she’s awake all day. He just wants to stay in the cosy, warm cocoon of his bed for a little longer and grab some more precious moments of shut-eye. 

The floorboards outside his bedroom door creek.

“Don’t worry, Cas, I got this,” he hears Dean’s voice, rough with sleep, through the muffled protection of his pillow.

Dean has been staying with them now for three days ever since his landlord kicked him out to do some much needed renovations. By the end of it, Dean might finally have an apartment that would pass a fire safety inspection. 

It’s been three days and every time Claire wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, Dean’s been the one to get up and feed her. Castiel would feel guilty if he wasn’t so delighted about staying in bed. He’d never been a morning person, and trying to force himself out of bed at the crack of dawn to tend to his tiny daughter was killing him. Having someone else around who was happy to shoulder the responsibility of caring for Claire was a blessing. 

Dean didn’t mind early mornings. He didn’t mind interrupted sleep. He could nap anywhere and everywhere and seemed just as up and ready to go after forty minutes as he did after a full nights rest. Castiel on the other hand was a wreck without a full eight hours and a large cup of coffee. 

Dean was his best friend, there had never been anything romantic between them, although Castiel had often wanted there to be. Dean had never shown any inclination that way and Castiel had valued their friendship too much to risk asking him out and ruining it. But for the last three days, Castiel had let himself pretend. He’d imagined that this was what being married to Dean would be like. 

There would be family dinners, Dean waking him up with big cups of freshly brewed coffee in the morning, both of them bathing Claire and singing her to sleep before collapsing together in front of the TV to watch whatever was on before they headed to bed.

Of course, Dean was sleeping in Castiel’s office on the pull-out couch, but in Castiel’s imagination, he could dream they went to bed together. 

The floorboards creaked again. Then the bed dipped as Dean settled his weight on it. Castiel pulled the pillow off his head and peeked up at Dean. 

He had Claire in his arms, contentedly suckling away at the bottle he’d warmed up for her. It was such a warm domestic scene. 

“I’ve told this little lady that she needs to let you sleep, but she likes her food too much,” Dean said.

Castiel could have told him that Dean was now the one interrupting his much needed rest, but he was too enchanted by the way Claire looked in Dean’s big arms, so small but held so carefully, like she was a treasure Dean couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch. 

“You’re so good with her,” he said. “She could be yours.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, and even in the dim light Castiel could see his cheeks grow pink. “I wouldn’t mind if she was. Apart from her late night cravings she’s a good kid.”

Castiel licked his lips. This was his chance. This was as good an opening as any to tell Dean how he felt. He didn’t think he was misreading the signals. He hoped he wasn’t.

“I wish she was yours. You’d be a good father, Dean, and a good husband.”

Dean’s in-take of breath was audible. 

“I…Cas…”

“I’m not asking you to marry me, I think that’s moving a bit too fast, but I do like you, Dean, a lot.”

Dean cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’s too fast. We’ve known each other years. I’m living with you, there’s Claire.”

Castiel sat up, wondering if his sleep deprived mind was playing tricks on him.

“Dean Winchester, are you asking me to marry you?”

Dean moved slightly awkwardly, trying not disturb Claire, and kissed him. It was a soft, chaste kiss, just catching the corner of Castiel’s mouth, but it was still a kiss.

“Yes, but I’ll ask you again tomorrow once you’ve had your coffee.”