Kara has been sent to interview Lena (again) and there’s an emergency at the DEO but Alex has left 11 voicemails and Kara is still not picking up
So Alex goes over there because she’s 1. Furious at Kara for not getting back to her and 2. A little bit worried because she knows Lena has shown where her loyalties are but the Luthor thing…
So she pushes past Lena’s receptionist despite the calls for security and she’s ready to pull her gun out but yelling about how Kara better not just have her phone on silent when she barges through into Lena’s office and then she’s a little confused.
Kara is sitting on Lena’s desk, back to the door and leaning backwards, making some strange noises. Apparently she didn’t hear Alex barge in because it’s only when she hears Alex say, “What the-?” that Kara turns around quickly, (swearing in kryptonian) and Lena stands up from between Kara’s legs (wiping her mouth and grin on the back of her hand) and Kara is frantically trying to straighten her skirt when Alex sees Kara’s mobile phone, completely crushed to pieces in her grip.
Alex just turns around and walks right back out saying, “Get a new phone and check your voicemail.”
People go on about how Man of Steel glosses over a lot of deaths, how about Lost Future?
I mean, Clive’s Gigantic Mobile Fortress of Death wiped out like two whole suburbs of London, but no one mentions it. Clive goes ‘I intend to atone for my crimes,’ and all is forgiven, but DAMN, THAT IS A LOT OF DEAD PEOPLE
So life caught up with me and I fell completely
off the tracks for Marichat May;; I’m probably going to miss most of the remaining
prompts too, as I have an interview and an operation next week, so here’s a
longshot that incorporates some of the prompts I’ve missed:
SIN (implied), Age-up Chat Noir, Something Sweet, Flowers, Balcony Visits, Rejection, Identity Reveal, Night on the Town, Akumatized Marinette.
There were a few factors that could turn someone
as pure and sunny as Adrien Agreste into the most notorious playboy in town: neglect, rejection and much more money that sense. Luckily (or unluckily) Adrien
could play out his persona as Chat Noir, and no-one was the wiser. In fact,
people barely cared about the ‘model Adrien’ anymore. At eighteen, he had
broken his contract with Agreste and moved into his own bachelor pad, and never
looked back. He filled his empty life with gadgets, alcohol and women. Unwanted
by his father and the media, he was welcomed with open arms at Chat Noir. And
with every blue-eyed woman he took home to his bed, he wondered if it was her.
‘Alya, I’m still jet-lagged, why are you
dragging me to a club?’ Marinette groaned, holding her head as her best friend
of nearly ten years merely winked in response.
‘Come on girl, I’ve got to cover this opening
tonight for work. We’ve got free passes and a tab at the bar, so stop your
complaining and shimmy into that dress, ‘kay?’
Marinette wrinkled her nose. She thought
longingly of all her creations folded neatly in her suitcase, back at her
apartment. The heap of black silk in the bag didn’t give her much hope.
‘And these,’ Alya said, holding out a pair
of stilettos while her mobile phone was crushed against her ear with her shoulder. ‘Yes
boss, we’re nearly there.’
‘I hate you,’ Marinette grumbled under her
breath, as she tried to maintain her balance. ‘I should have stayed in LA.’
‘Oh, come on, aren’t you bored of all that?’ Alya teased. ‘Don’t lie girl, I know you missed our home boys.’
‘Well…’ Marinette ran her eyes over the
line. Certainly, the guys in LA had been a little…samey. And it was tiring
having to talk in English all the time. She did miss the language of love a
‘The one and only Alya,’ the bouncer
nodded, and allowed them right in ahead of the queue. ‘Try to keep out of
‘You know I’ll try my best, Bobo,’ the
redhead smirked. ‘But no promises.’
It had only been ten minutes but Chat Noir
had already forgotten the name of the young woman that was clutching his arm.
The black cat was usually better than this, but she was just such a freaking
bore, he wasn’t sure he could even be bothered going to the club with her. At
least the music would drown her out, he reflected.
They posed outside for the paparazzi, and Chat
flashed his signature grin. He stopped to sign a few autographs, before the
bouncers had to tug him away from his adoring public. They were ushered to the
VIP area, where silver buckets of iced champagne was slowly melting in the heat
of the club.
‘Ahh, if it isn’t our favourite superhero,’
a familiar voice in his ear said. Chat turned and caught sight of his old
school friend and now high-flying journalist, Alya. Her Ladyblog had evolved
after the spotted heroine had disappeared, and was now called ‘Fly on the Wall.’ It contained all the latest gossip about Paris. Alya usually knew that a celebrity
couple had broken up before the couple realised themselves.
‘Bonsoir,’ Chat grinned, tugging at his
bell collar. His suit wasn’t built with small, sweaty rooms in mind, and if
Alya wanted a photo, he was more than happy to show a little skin.
‘I see you are with Gina tonight,’ Alya
remarked, phone at the ready. ‘Wasn’t it Lotte yesterday?’
‘You keep track better than I do,’ Chat
smirked. ‘And who is your lovely friend there?’
They both watched as the young woman in the
silk black slip navigated the steps into the VIP room, her eyes down at her
‘Aha, back off, tomcat,’ the journalist
clucked. ‘Marinette isn’t interested in strays like you.’
‘Marinette?’ Chat breathed, and at that
moment she looked up, her big blue eyes locking with his. Her glossy hair was
in a neat bob that showcased her collarbone. As she brushed her fringe out of
her eyes, he noticed a light pink cherry blossom tattoo on her inside wrist.
‘Chat Noir?’ she was clearly just as
shocked to see him, and Gina chose that moment to return with their drinks.
‘Do you want a photo of us?’ she preened. ‘The
lighting is better over here.’
Chat felt himself be dragged away, but he
couldn’t take his eyes off Marinette. He could remember clearly, like it was yesterday,
the last time he had tried to visit her. Ladybug had been waiting for him on
‘Come here often, chaton?’ she had asked,
her eyes narrowed. He had swallowed, and tried to explain their relationship. ‘We’re
‘Don’t visit her anymore…’ Ladybug had
warned him. ‘You’ll just get her tangled up in our business.’
At the time, Chat thought his lady had
meant the akumas, and he had followed the heroine’s advice.
Marinette could feel herself shaking. She
followed Alya to the bar, and for once didn’t complain about the tray of shots.
She knocked them back easily, feeling the alcohol diffuse through her blood,
It had brought it all rushing back, seeing
him. All the resentment and hurt. A throw-away line from a silly game with
their old school friends, and the question: ‘Is there anyone you love?’
Marinette could still picture the way
Adrien had blushed and squirmed. The girls had giggled and pressed on. ‘Is she
in this room?’
The young designer had felt her heart
clench with anticipation at the question. The reply of ‘no’ seemed to hang in the
air forever, and while the others had squealed and offered suggestions,
Marinette had felt herself fall down a dark, endless tunnel. Adrien didn’t love
her at all. In fact, he loved someone else.
Alya had left her at the bar to go and
chase some boyband, and Marinette perched on the edge of her stool, slowly
making her way through rum and cokes. Wine took too long to hit her: this
was a much better fix. Marinette drank as she remembered the conversation with
Chat on a rooftop a few days later. He had retold the story of her heartbreak without
flinching, told her that she was the only one he loved. Not realising that she
had been in room. Not realising that what he had said was a lie. Or was it? For
Adrien, aka Chat Noir, loved Ladybug. Not Marinette.
She waited until his usual visit night and
transformed, telling him never to visit Marinette again. Then after the final battle,
she took Chat’s heart as he had taken hers, and crushed it under-foot. She told him that she didn’t
love him. And now Papillion was defeated, he would never see her again.
Marinette peered into her empty glass and
summoned the barman once more. It seemed like Chat’s heartbreak hadn’t lasted
long, however. She had been skeptical of Alya’s updates, that the black cat had
turned into the legendary fuckboi of Paris, but now she had seen it with her
The champagne was barely touching him. He
was so used to it now, he needed something much stronger to even begin to feel
tipsy. Which was why Chat abused his liver, seeking new ways to find that
numbing, black pit. No matter how bad it got, he stayed away from drugs. They
didn’t mix well with the miraculous- he had learned the hard way.
Chat didn’t even need to dig out his
wallet: as soon as he approached the bar, several people tried to buy him
drinks, men and women alike. He engaged with them all until his headache began
to beat at his temples, and soon he slunk away. Just as he was planning to make
his escape from the club, Chat noticed Marinette alone at the bar. He was drawn to her, like
a cat to cream, and pulled up a bar stool.
‘Long-time no see, princess,’ he purred,
resting his arms on the bar. His biceps were nicely defined by the leather, and
the lights in the club did wonders for him, too.
‘Hi,’ Marinette replied shortly, taking a
sip of her drink.
‘Don’t you remember me?’ Chat asked, taken
aback by tone. ‘I used to pop by your balcony for late night conversations. It’s
been a few years though, huh. You were in the US, right?’
Marinette sighed, necked her drink, and
slipped from her stool. ‘Leave me alone, Chat,’ she said flatly, before walking
The black cat had to remember and close his
jaw. This was cute little Mari? His princess, that used to feed him sweet
things and scratch his chin?
‘Hey!’ he caught up with her in the smoking area, a terrace outside the club. ‘I’m sorry I stopped visiting!
I know it probably seemed odd. But, it was actually Ladybug that asked me at
‘Chat,’ Marinette looked him dead in the
eye, and took her mobile phone from her clutch. ‘I don’t care, okay? I’m not
interested in talking to you.’
‘What?’ Chat felt himself move forward and
grab her wrist, the cherry blossom under his fingers. ‘Can you tell me why?’
Smokers were watching them now, so
Marinette glared at him and pulled free. He followed her, feeling confused and
light-headed, and it was nothing to do with the alcohol.
‘Let me make one thing clear,’ Marinette
said, as she fired off a text. ‘I am not going home with you.’
‘What? That’s not what this is!’ Chat could
feel himself blush, something that hadn’t happened in years.
She eyed him coldly, and tried to hail down
a cab, but it sailed by them.
‘I just want to talk! It’s natural, isn’t
it, when you haven’t seen a friend for years?’
‘You’re right…’ Marinette agreed, cocking
her head. ‘So, how’s things been, Adrien? Are you enjoying hiding from the
world under you suit?’
Chat Noir swallowed. Her pose, even in the
black slip, was menacing. Hands were curled on her hips, and her blue eyes were
almost radiating sparks.
‘Ladybug…’ he realised.
Marinette stomped her foot, failing again
to hail a cab.
‘You got it, golden boy,’ she said. ‘How does it feel?’
‘Awful,’ Chat admitted honestly. ‘Oh god…Marinette.
‘Save it, chaton,’ Marinette retorted. ‘I’m
jetlagged and now drunk, and the last thing I want to deal with is your fragile
ego. So can you please get lost, or at least find me a ride home?’
The black cat silently unclipped his baton
and waved it in front of her.
‘Still not trying to take you home,’ he clarified,
before she could scream at him, or worse, become akumatized: there were still a
few stray butterflies around Paris that he had to attend to every now and then.
‘But I would be more than happy to drop you off. It’s the least I could do.’
Marinette bit her lip and looked down at
her sore feet. ‘Fine. But you take me to the door, understood? And that’s the
last I want to see of you.’
The night didn’t quite go according to
tell you about my crush if you tell me about yours?
Ok I’ll go first
So I met this guy a while back in creative writing club so like. he’s a writer which for me is honestly Ideal. Like can u imagine dating the person who was talking about writing sonnets at that meeting? Wow.
As for appearances he’s got really floofy hair (it’s adorable let me tell you), greenish eyes, and is kinda tall (but I’m 5'1" so everybody’s tall to me 😂😂)
And tbh I don’t see him very often because my schedule’s busy so it’s hard for me to go to creative writing club and see him there and I don’t have any classes with him but I see him in the hallway all the time and it is t o r t u r e.
But yeah every time I have talked to him it’s been so lovely. Conversation with him comes so easily, I want more of it. But alas, unless by some off chance I get study hall or something with him next year or he joins theatre it looks like that won’t happen 😢
ok I know I sound like a broken record at this point but I am super sorry for not being overly active orz I promise I’ll try harder tomorrow to get stuff written and maybe actually talk to people ooc again
hey so like i’m taking another break! tumblr has been making me feel really uncomfortable and Bad lately, so i’m deleting the app and also skype! sorry for to the ppl who wanted to write w me and wrote me starts i’m just. not too good rn.
❛ you were … amazing juudai-kun ,… i - in that match ! ❜
—— cause she was really surprised . especially how thriller the match his match was that lead to everyone be on the edge their seats & await the unexpected , final outcome . yet he triumphed without a single sweat .
send me ‘✌’ for something that my muse thinks is cool about yours.
“Like literally all his quads get positive GOEs from me, he can be a great listener, Viktor really takes the time to take care of Yuuri, his hair deserves insurance it flips so well…” He can go on for a while.
Du hast Slavistik studiert und wolltest nach Russland ziehen, mehr weiß ich nicht, bis heute nicht, aber was sagt man nicht alles, wenn die Sonne aufgeht. Ich kenne dich von dem Tag, als Deutschland Weltmeister wurde. Du meintest, du würdest vor dem Schlafen noch Flaggen zerschneiden, no Border, no Nation und so, ich solle doch mitkommen. Ich nickte und lachte und verschwieg, dass ich später selbst in Kreuzberg das Finale gucken würde, blinzelte schweigend in die Sonne, war ohnehin zu high um mich zu artikulieren, wusste nichts, außer dass ich hier sein wollte, bei dir, umhüllt von deiner Aufmerksamkeit und der bebenden Mechanik Frau Meissners.
Es war der letzte Tag am See. Wir saßen am Ufer und gruben unsere Zehen in den kühlen Sand. Ich rauchte eine Zigarette nach der anderen, ging tanzen, setzte mich wieder, konnte nicht fassen, dass du in meiner Nähe bliebst, haderte, sprach mit dir über Belanglosigkeiten, anstatt deine Berührungen zu erwidern, anstatt die Kontrolle abzugeben. Ich weiß noch, wie versteinert ich war, von deiner Arroganz, deinen Visionen, wie sehr mich dein Körper einschüchterte. Du sagtest die Sonne sei deine Schwester, sagtest das mit kastanienbraunen Augen und ich glaubte dir, war überfordert, strampelte mich von Wort zu Wort, um das Richtige zu erwidern, ein kleines Kind im Körper eines Mannes. Das Ende der Geschichte: Wir blieben uns fern. Ich ging mit meinen Freunden schwimmen und habe dich am Ufer gelassen. Cut.
Ich kann über die Geschichte lachen, hatte dich eigentlich schon vergessen. Die Welt ist bunt und groß, jeder Tag ertrinkt in seinen Farben, Berlin ist ein Meer an Reklame und ich liebe das Wasser. Und dennoch, letzte Nacht habe ich von dir geträumt. Beim Aufwachen wurde mir klar, dass ich kein Bild mehr von dir habe, dass meine Erinnerungen an dich verschwimmen. Du bist in meinem Kopf, bleibst dort sicher noch eine ganze Weile, aber dein Gesicht habe ich verloren. Mir bleibt das Gefühl jenen Morgens, der Nachhall des Glücks, dich in meiner Nähe zu wissen.
Ich weiß nicht, was passiert wäre, wenn ich mehr Mut gehabt hätte, aber eines weiß ich: Diese winzige Berührung im überlaufenden Kosmos unseres Planeten hätte mein Leben verändert. Zumindest ein wenig. Wenn ich mir bewusst mache, dass es uns jeden Tag so ergeht, dass wir mit jedem Wort, mit jeder Geste unsere Zukunft auf eine neue Bahn lenken, gerade so, als säßen wir in einem Perpetuum Mobile und würden sekündlich Weichen passieren, müssten sekündlich entscheiden, ob rechts oder links, ob hoch oder runter. Butterfly Effect. Wir wissen nicht wie wir ankommen, aber wir wissen, dass am Ende unserer Fahrt ein Prellbock steht, an seiner Seite eine weiße Fahne. Vielleicht werden wir sie zerschneiden, vielleicht werden wir lachen, aber kämpfen werden wir nicht. Nur aussteigen. Mit dem Prellbock wird unsere Fahrt zu Ende sein, das Mobile wird zur Ruhe kommen, egal, welchen Weg wir gewählt haben. All die Sonnenaufgänge, all die Farben. Der ganze Rausch an Sinnlichkeit, alles wird vorbei sein. No Border, no Nation.
Vielleicht hätte sich aber auch nichts geändert, wahrscheinlich nicht. Du wärst nach Russland gezogen und unser Kontakt wäre abgebrochen, du hättest dich als nichts Anderes herausgestellt, als eine Extasyliebe. Wahrscheinlich. Vielleicht hättest du mich aber auch nach Russland mitgenommen und ich wäre als Astronaut zum Mars geflogen, wer weiß das schon. Alles ist gut, wie es ist, die Sache ist nur - ich hätte es gern darauf ankommen lassen, ich würde gerne wissen, wie die Geschichte ausgegangen wär. Ich danke dir, dass du für ein paar Stunden in mein Leben getreten bist. Das war im Grunde alles, was ich dir schreiben wollte. Ist ein bisschen länger geworden, egal. Over and out.