(BE WARNED OF NSFW-ISH IMPLICATIONS see, the prompt)
It was kind of funny how one little fact could change your entire worldview.
Adrien liked Ladybug.
Adrien liked Ladybug, and liked her enough that there was a red and black charm on his keychain and doodles of her initials in hearts in his notebook — enough that he went red and starry-eyed and a little bit breathless when he talked about her, his silly, almost sheepish smile joined by heartfelt praises on his lips.
Marinette thought about this as she stared at the back of his head, her face half-buried in her arms and the toll of the past few days of almost non-stop fighting making itself known even through her euphoric excitement.
He liked her.
Well, okay, he liked the brave, strong, perfect version of herself that the mask allowed her to be, but it was still her.
Adrien Agreste liked her.
Marinette squeezed her eyes shut and bit her tongue against the squeal that wanted to escape, muffling the not-noise in her forearms.
After getting not exactly nice anon messages about what I’ve written (and I’m the first to admit it’s not great), I haven’t exactly felt like writing, and I feel like i should apologise that I have. I don’t exactlyhave great self-confidence anyway, so I’m sorry for being a loser.
This isn’t exactly brilliant, AND it’s too long, so I’m sorry. But here it is anyway.
And thank you people who’ve sent me nice messages, I’m going to try and reply to them all tonight, or as many as I can xxx
Waking up with a hangover is never fun. Waking up with a hangover on the couch, the
morning sun burning your eyes, is less fun. Waking up hungover on a couch to
the sound of the cat licking leftover takeaway from a plate, really not fun at
all. But waking up, hungover, sun in
your eyes, neck stiff, to the memory that the person you’ve fallen for is
marrying someone else – someone they don’t love – and that there’s nothing you
can do about it? That’s the worst.
In fact, I am in the midst of compiling the world’s first complete account of one day in the life of a town, as experienced by everyone in it. Every action, every conversation, every sound made by each of the one hundred fifty-nine human and three hundred thirty-two animal residents of Cairnholm, minute by minute, sunup to sundown.
milk tea, whispering to plants, honey bees, reading in a window seat, soft fur, finding a feather, succulents planted in tea tins, the high piano notes played softly, fluffy clouds in a striking blue sky, pastel gel pens, hands covered in dirt, clear quartz, yellow violets, the smell of peaches, colored pencil shavings, a letter from a friend in the mail, bubble baths, white fairy lights, lavender buds, toes in the grass, keeping a journal, waking up early by choice refreshed
bucky writing to his ma during the war and rambling about steve in his letters, answering her arsenal of questions about the two of them like “nah he can keep himself warm now,” “yes we could use more socks” “I’m fine, yes I’m getting enough rest” and “you should see steve, he’s massive.”
also getting steve to do a quick sketch to send so she’ll know they’re ok and together bc of the odds of that were slim and everything bucky is saying sounds so outrageous (tho he makes sure to hold back the grimy stuff like almost dying with steve on purpose)