Angrysoftsummer - The BookNook Hideout

This is so sad! Chat Blanc already broke me, but this...

it’s been months and I still can’t stop thinking about what Chat Blanc did with himself all those months he was alone as the world gradually flooded

ok but if bruce wayne somehow came upon zuko fresh out of banishment he would lose his mind.

black hair? check. bad parent(s)? check. trauma? double check.

bruce: how’d you get your scar?

zuko: my dad got mad at me for saying that killing people is wrong so he lit my face on fire and banished me.

bruce, vibrating with excitement, already pulling adoption papers from his utilility: that’s terrible. how do you feel about capes.

This was already a perfect analisys to me, but the fact that Neil liked this post makes it

Certified

So, I feel like I’m losing my mind. I keep seeing metas about how Aziraphale wants Crowley to return to Heaven and be an angel again because he wants them to be on the same side/be good/change/etc., etc., etc. but I don’t see that at all. I actually see it as the very opposite.

Aziraphale loves Crowley just as he is. But there’s something more. Something huge.

Aziraphale loves Crowley and because he is an angel who is stuck in seeing things as black and white, he constantly praises Crowley for being nice. For being good. For being kind.

Aziraphale has watched Crowley on and off for 6,000 years. He watched him thwart the plans of Heaven and Hell because it was unjust. He spared the lives of innocents. He did small things that made Aziraphale happy just because (like making Hamlet successful and saving valuable books). And because Aziraphale sees things in black and white, he sees all the things Crowley has done as nice, as good, as kind.

Crowley vehemently attests he’s not nice or good or kind.

He’s not exactly wrong nor is he lying when he says this. When Crowley spares goats during a cruel bet over a righteous man and swallowing laudanum to prevent a suicide, when he prevents Armageddon by working with Aziraphale and stopping the Anti-Christ from being the Anti-Christ, he’s not doing the nice/good/kind thing.

He’s doing the right thing.

Crowley chooses to do the right thing without hesitation. He is better than all of Heaven and Hell who have callous and dispassionate view of all existence because he questions, because he makes choices. Crowley sees the world for all its messiness and he sees himself. He sees a place where he fits in. He sees the blurred edges.

And Aziraphale sees that, even if seeing the blurred edges is hard for him.

But here’s the thing that Aziraphale can’t voice.

It’s the reason why he told Crowley about being allowed to return to Heaven and become an angel again. He doesn’t want Crowley to change. He doesn’t think Crowley is flawed. Or not enough.

It’s something that is so monumental that it cannot be put into words. Because to put it into words would be more than blasphemy. It’s down right unthinkable for anyone in Heaven, Hell, or Earth to say what Aziraphale knows deep in his soul.

God was wrong to cast out Crowley.

Aziraphale believes Crowley can/should return to Heaven because he knows that Crowley should never have fallen in the first place. He wants him to be forgiven because when Crowley fell it was unjust. Aziraphale is trying to correct a mistake. He’s trying to do the right thing.

Yes, Crowley would never accept returning to Heaven. And Aziraphale was wrong to even suggest it (although that conversation is another can of worms to unpack).

Aziraphale loves Crowley. He loves him exactly as he is. He doesn’t want him to change. Aziraphale knows that Crowley the best of all of them. He wants to change Heaven because of it. Because God was wrong and Aziraphale knows it.

Aziraphale may have difficulty seeing beyond black and white, but when it comes to Crowley he sees everything crystal clear and in vivid color.

I love this fic so much 😭

Fan art of @skaylanphear ‘s Miraculous Ladybug fic, Serendipitous Fate (chapter 5).  I loved the idea of the matching pajamas in the story XD

This ended up a lot longer than I originally intended, but once I got started I just couldn’t stop.  XD

When I think MLB can't get any more confusing

Ladies an Gentlemen, finally, the Love Cube!

Previous version

First attempt

Fun fact, I had to comeout to tell my mom I like boys. She always thought I was a lesbian. Turns out I'm bisexual, but the fact that she never assumed I was straight is awsome and also very funny.

I like how teens are too young to figure out their sexuality unless its heterosexual

I unserstand why seems pointless for some people me figuring out I have Asperger's Syndrome as a young adult, but for me feels like getting rid of a backpack that's been filled for 22 years of words like "freak", "shy", "weird", "nerd", "genius" (yes, beeing the "smart kid" sounds cool, but it's lonely), etc. It's about self acceptance and peace of mind.

Omg I'm screaming!!!!

REALLY BLOODY EXCELLENT OMENS...

Many, many years ago (it was Hallowe'en 1989, for the curious, the year before Good Omens was published) Terry Pratchett and I were sharing a room at the World Fantasy Convention in Seattle, to keep the costs down, because we were both young authors, and taking ourselves to America and conventions were expensive. It was a wonderful convention. I remember a huge Seattle second-hand bookstore in which I found a dozen or so green-bound Storisende Edition James Branch Cabell books, each signed so neatly by the author that the bookshop people assured me that the signatures were printed, and really ten dollars a book was the correct price.

I could afford books. Good Omens had just been sold to UK publishers and then to US publishers for more money than Terry or I had ever received for anything. (Terry had been incredibly worried about this, certain that receiving a healthy advance would mean the end of his career. When his career didn't end, Terry suggested to his agent that perhaps he ought to be getting that kind of advance for every book from now on, and his life changed, and he stopped having to share a hotel room to save money. But I digress.) Advance reading copies of Good Omens had not yet gone out, but a few editors had read it (ones who had bid for it but failed to buy it) and they all seemed very excited about it, and thrilled for us.

On the Saturday evening Terry left the bar quite early and headed off to bed. I stayed up talking to people and having a marvelous time, hung in there until the small hours of the morning when they closed the hotel bar and all the people went away, and then headed up to the hotel room room.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed in the dark across the room to where my bed was located.

I'd just reached the bed when, from the far side of the room, a voice said, “What time of the night do you call this then? Your mother and I have been worried sick about you.”

Terry was wide awake. Jet lag had taken its toll.

And I was wide awake too. So we lay in our respective beds and having nothing else to do, we plotted the sequel to Good Omens. It was a good one, too. We fully intended to write it, whenever we next had three or four months free. Only I went to live in America and Terry stayed in the UK, and after Good Omens was published Sandman became SANDMAN and Discworld became DISCWORLD™ and there wasn't ever a good time.

But we never forgot it.

It's been thirty-one years since Good Omens was published, which means it's thirty-two years since Terry Pratchett and I lay in our respective beds in a Seattle hotel room at a World Fantasy Convention, and plotted the sequel. (I got to use bits of the sequel in the TV series version of Good Omens -- that's where our angels came from.)

Terry and I, in Cardiff in 2010, on the night we decided that Good Omens should become a television series.

Terry was clear on what he wanted from Good Omens on the telly. He wanted the story told, and if that worked, he wanted the rest of the story told.

So in September 2017 I sat down in St James' Park, beside the director, Douglas Mackinnon, on a chair with my name on it, as Showrunner of Good Omens. The chair slowly and elegantly lowered itself to the ground underneath me and fell apart, and I thought, that's not really a good omen. Fortunately, under Douglas's leadership, that chair was the only thing that collapsed.

The crumbled chair.

So, once Good Omens the TV series had been released by Amazon and the BBC, to global acclaim, many awards and joy, Rob Wilkins (Terry's representative on Earth) and I had the conversation with the BBC and Amazon about doing some more. And they got very excited. We talked to Michael Sheen and David Tennant about doing some more. They also got very excited. We told them a little about the plot. They got even more excited.

Rob Wilkins and David Tennant on the second day of shooting.

Me and Michael and Ash aged nearly 2.

What it was mostly like shooting Good Omens: peering into screens while something happened round the corner.

I'd been a fan of John Finnemore's for years, and had had the joy of working with him on a radio show called With Great Pleasure, where I picked passages I loved, had amazing readers read them aloud and talked about them.

(Here's a clip from that show of me talking about working with Terry Pratchett, and reading a poem by Terry: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p06x3syv. Here's the whole show from YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7OsS_JWbzQ with John Finnemore's bits too.)

L to R: With Great Pleasure. John Finnemore, me all beardy, Nina Sosanya (Sister Mary in Good Omens) Peter Capaldi (he played Islington in the original BBC series of Neverwhere).

I asked John if he'd be willing to work with me on writing the next round of Good Omens, and was overjoyed when he said yes. We have some surprise guest collaborators too. And Douglas Mackinnon is returning to oversee the whole thing with me.

So that's the plan. We've been keeping it secret for a long time (mostly because otherwise my mail and Twitter feeds would have turned into gushing torrents of What Can You Tell Us About It? long ago) but we are now at the point where sets are being built in Scotland (which is where we're shooting, and more about filming things in Scotland soon), and we can't really keep it secret any longer.

There are so many questions people have asked about what happened next (and also, what happened before) to our favourite Angel and Demon. Here are, perhaps, some of the answers you've been hoping for.

As Good Omens continues, we will be back in Soho, and all through time and space, solving a mystery which starts with one of the angels wandering through a Soho street market with no memory of who they might be, on their way to Aziraphale's bookshop.

(Although our story actually begins about five minutes before anyone had got around to saying “Let there be Light”.)

from https://journal.neilgaiman.com/2021/06/really-bloody-excellent-omens.html

I was having a crappy day until now. Thank you so much for your dedication for this weird prompt djsjdbjsks

Hey. May I suggest "I'd kill for a cookie... literally" or "it's six o'clock in the morning. You're not having cheese". The world needs more kwami fics

Good suggestion @bananaplag!

This (as to be expected haha) turned out way longer than I intended, but I fullfilled two prompts with it so it’s fine right? RIGHT?

It’s more of an Adrienette fic if I’m honest, but there is some Kwami action in it and honestly just a bunch of crack. I had a lot of fun with it and I hope you like it too. It’s not perfect, but honestly I just wanted to get it out there, the time felt right. (I really need to look into google docks so I can pick people up opn their beta offers haha)

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Prompt taken from the [Writing Pro3mpt List]

Find my [Prompt Request Series] on a03

Prompt 4/?

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Random Prompts: "I'd kill for a cookie... literally" "it's six o'clock in the morning. You're not having cheese"

5.000 words [ao3 link to follow]

o0O0o

Marinette opens her eyes to a tiny face floating mere centimetres from hers.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Tikki whispers, unflinching as Marinette jerks back, barely suppressing a surprised yelp.

“What’s wrong? Is there an attack?”, Marinette can feel her pulse pick up as she fully comes to her senses, half expecting to hear screams and crashes from outside. Now of all times? Really? She pushes herself to sit up, but everything is quiet, safe for Alya’s soft snores fluttering up through the dark. Marinette risks a glance past Tikki. On the sleeping pad next to hers Alya’s shoulders rise and fall in a steady rhythm, just visible in the dark of Nino’s small bedroom.

“I’m hungry.”

Her eyes snap back to Tikki’s, which are still a little too close to her own.

“What?”

“I’m hungry”, her Kwami repeats matter of factly.

“Tikki, what are you doing? You could have woken the others.” Technically, the boys are sleeping across the hall and wouldn’t have woken up if Tikki had lucky-charmed a siren, but that’s not the point. Marinette runs her hand over her face. “You know there’s some Macarons in my purse.”

Instead of an answer, Tikki just slowly shakes her head, her blue eyes widening as she zooms even closer. Marinette leans back instinctively, registering the pink and white crumbs on the Kwami’s chin.

“I would kill for a cookie right now,” Tikki whispers, a strange twinkle in her eyes. “Literally.”

Marinette swallows.

[[READ MORE]]

“Alright, you stay here. I think I saw a cookie jaw in the kitchen when we made dinner.”

She gets up carefully, wary to not disturb Alya who is still lying peacefully next to her. Her face looks strangely younger without the glasses, half buried in the mop of red curls spilling over her pillow. With every exhale her nose crunches up slightly, lips fluttering with soft snores. As Marinette’s sleeping bag slides back onto her mattress, she can see a frown scurry over her friend’s face. It’s enough to make her still mid motion, almost holding her breath as she waits for Alya’s eyelids to relax again.

Tikki, who is staring up at her from her self sewn pillowcase clears her throat.

Shooting a warning look at the Kwami, Marinette lets out a shaky exhale and slowly, ever so slowly raises one foot to step over Alyas legs. The two mattresses almost take up the entire floor space of the room and Marinette has to be very careful not to trip in the dark as she climbs over to the desk crammed next to the door. She more feels than looks around for her phone on the cluttered surface, biting back a string of curses at the mess Nino calls a working space. It’s as if the chaos that isn’t allowed on his floor simply took refuge on all other horizontal surfaces. Finally, half buried under the essay that was due last Thursday, she catches a glimpse of the familiar polka dotted case. Anxious not to cause a landslide of semi finished school work, CD cases and something that looks eerily like an half eaten banana she inches her phone out from underneath the papers and unplugs the charger as quietly as possible. Her other hand finds the door handle in the dark and she pulls, straining to push aside Alya’s backpack which blocks the doors movement. Behind her, Alya turns in her sleep, her arms tightening around her ladybug plushie. On the air mattress next to her, Tikki’s eyes almost seem to glow in the dark as she stares urgently towards the door.

“Hide”, Marinette mouthes.

“Hurry,” Tikki mouthes back before she slips into the pillow case, maintaining eye contact until the last possible moment. With a quiet huff, Marinette gives the door a final pull and squeezes through the crack, stepping into quiet dark of the hallway. The floorboards creak slightly under her her naked soles as she steps from one foot to the other, rubbing her bare arms. The noise seems eerily loud, as if her hearing is enhanced by the darkness and Marinette for the first time realises just how quiet the flat is. The Lahiffes are out of town over the weekend, Chris safely stored away at his grand mother’s, while Nino insistently called teenage privilege of having the flat to himself and his friends. His parents were quick to agree, even helping them set up the pull out couch for Nino and Adrien to share. Still, she can’t help feeling like an intruder.

“This is fine,” she tries to assure herself, fumbling to turn on the flashlight on her phone “Mme Lahiffe told us to consider ourselves at home. It’s not like I am stealing their cookies.”

Her fingers slide over the screen and a pale cone of light spills from her phone along the hall. Marinette raises her hand so that the kitchen door at the other end comes into view, its light wood stained ominously by the shadow of the mirrored wardrobe that marks the middle of the hall. It’s the only piece of furniture here, the floor of the hall like of all rooms carefully kept clear of obstacles. The room seems strangely wide and empty and suddenly she almost feels lost within it. In the living room to her right, Nino mumbles in his sleep. Somewhere, probably in the studio, an old clock ticks loudly. There’s a series of those weird noises flats only seem to make when it’s the middle of the night and everyone is asleep safe for you, ideally without a light switch nearby. Marinette huffs. She’s the masked heroine of Paris, a friend’s dark hallway isn’t going to intimidate her. But the feeling of being where she shouldn’t, of doing something almost illegal stays with her as she hesitantly begins to tip toe down the hall.

Tikki is going to have some explaining to do, making her sneak around like that at who knows what hour. With every step she takes, the shadow of the wardrobe grows in size, swaying in sync with the phone in her hand. The many picture frames on the walls glitter softly and the whole situation has something strangely surreal to it.Time seems to stretch, the ticks of clock further apart at this late, or early hour. Marinette is hyper aware of the soft pat of her bare feet on the hardwood floor, straining her ears for any stirring in the rooms behind her. The last thing she wants is waking her friends. After what feels like an eternity she finally reaches middle of the hallway with the wardrobe, passing by its mirrored doors. It’s just as her reflection appears on the dark surface when suddenly a muffled voice makes her jump.

“For the last time. It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having cheese.”

Marinette has just enough time to exchange a panicked look with her reflection before a door to her left flies open just ahead of her, a sudden burst of brightness making her freeze like a deer in headlights. There, surrounded by the blinding golden flare of the door frame, stands a slightly tousled, very wide-eyed Adrien Agreste.

“Marinette?”

The surprise in his voice breaks her out of her stupor and Marinette lets out a yelp, dropping her phone with a thud. It’s light flickers and goes out, just as Adrien by reflex makes a step forward to catch it, the bathroom door swinging shut behind him and submerging them both in pitch blackness.

There’s a moment of silence in which neither dares as much to move a muscle or say a word, completely blinded by the darkness covering their eyes like a pieces of cloth. Finally Marinette snaps back into action, crouching down to feel for her phone on the floor, only that Adrien must have done the same because her head collides with something hard and he lets out a muffled groan close to her left ear and oh shoot she just head-butted her crush in a dark hallway.

“Sorry,” she squeaks, straining to keep her voice down as her hands swipe the parquet  more and more franticly.

“Wait, let me-” something bumps against her left knee, “Ugh, sorry I- ouch,” his voice is coming from the right now and Marinette jerks back the hand she just scratched him with, only for her elbow to poke into something soft and squishy

“Ow, Stop.” There’s fingers grasping for her wrist while something - a knee? - squeezes down on her outstretched foot for a second. It’s hastily retreated and Adrien mutters something that sounds dangerously like a curse. “Sorry. Hold on.”

He lets go of her wrist, leaving her skin tingling where he touched her as she hears him scramble in the dark. Finally, the hall light flickers on above her and Marinette squints at the sudden brightness, blinking up at Adrien who stands awkwardly hunched over the light switch. His hair is positively messy by now, blond strands sticking out from his head in every direction. They subtly shimmer in the dim light, framing his face like a halo. Marinette can feel her knees wobble and is suddenly very grateful for the fact that she is still crouching on the floor. She’s unsure if she can trust her legs to carry her right now, not with him looking like that. Her eyes seem tangled to his hair. She’s never seen it anything than perfectly combed and styled and still – Still the sight is strangely familiar. Marinette squints, struggling to solidify her brain enough to form a coherent thought. She can feel something itch at the very back of her mind, a thought straining to reach her through the pile of goo her consciousness is rapidly turning into. Her gaze slowly wanders from his hair to the glistening green of his eyes. What a pretty shade. But there’s more to them. They’re … um … like … are… something. Uh. Words. How does one words again? Wait, what was she thinking about? Could this boy not be distracting for like five minutes?

The silent plead that he would look somewhere – anywhere -  else than directly into her eyes crashes into her burning hope that he will never do so for the rest of her life. She drinks up the sight of him as if she has been parching, every perfect detail of his face over flooding her mind. Like a firefly in a hurricane her attention flickers from one feature to the other, brushes the gentle slope of his lashes before being pulled down to the  little dent in his lower lip, the cute dimples that are slightly more prominent on his left cheek. They probably photoshop that for the magazines. What a sad thought, she’s never seen anything more beautiful in her life. Her fingers and lips and back, her entire body tingles, how desperately she would like to –

Adrien clears his throat, snapping her out of her thoughts so violently that she almost gets whiplash.

“I – err – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you back there”, he says awkwardly and Marinette feels her cheeks burst into flames.

“I hope it’s not broken?”, he adds, gesturing to the small square next to her foot. It takes a second before her mind is able to identify it as her phone, her brain still too occupied by the task of remembering her own name.

“You’re fine,” she blurts out, eyes snapping back to his face. Her cheeks must have the colour of Tikki’s by now. “I mean, it’s fine. Not that you’re not -  I mean, all good, nothing broken. I’m used to droppings – things! I’m used to dropping things.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive”, Marinette squeaks, snatching her phone and bolting up, fumbling as the device almost slips through her suddenly very sweaty fingers.

“See, I got a just in case – a case! A case for my phone. In case I drop it. Because I have a bad case of clumsiness.”

Her laugh is a tad to shrill to be natural and her eyes flicker around looking for an escape or, perhaps preferably, a hole to crawl into and die. What a disaster.

Adrien chuckles and Marinette almost cranks her neck by how fast she snaps back to face him. Both their eyes widen, hers in awe, his in something that looks a bit like concern.

Can’t she just be normal in front of him for once? Just this once?

Adrien is not really making it easy for her either, looking all dreamy and stuff. He has straightened along with her and is now leaning against the door frame, ever the model. His grey dressing robe effortlessly falls closed over his pyjamas and the twinkle the laughter has brought to his eyes renders any other light source superficial.

Why is it that she can run into him at the crack of dawn and he still looks like he just stepped out of a magazine? In what universe is this fair?

Marinette suddenly becomes very aware of her own appearance, from the dishevelled pigtails, that pretty much resemble a rats nets by now, to the fact that she is wearing the oldest, baggiest shirt she owns. She’s been meaning to throw that thing out for months. It isn’t even a cool shirt, there are kittens printed all over it. Kittens in ribbons. Playing with yarn. How lame can you get?

A groan escapes her. Why is this happening? She didn’t plan for this. The opposite! She’s actually washed her new Jagged stone shirt specifically for this occasion. Well, not exactly this occasion but- She meant to wear it, why on earth isn’t she wearing it? Oh right, she drenched that one in orange juice when she crammed her stuff into her bag pack last minute.

Stupid akuma. Now Adrien won’t see that they both share their favourite singer, so there's no way he’ll ever realise they’re soulmates and go on a date with her to that little coffee shop in Mont Matre that she has picked out for them specifically because it serves the best -

“Smart move,” Adrien interrupts both the awkward silence and her train of thought which rattles on without her, probably to crash and burn somewhere, just like her dignity.

“Huh?” she asks intelligently, crossing her arms in a feeble attempt to hide that abomination of a shirt so gloriously clashing with her pyjama pants. It bulks up at her shoulders, leaving her looking like a very flustered, very shapeless pillow.

“To get a phone case. Glad to know you’ve got that covered.”

Marinette blinks. Is he -  Was that – A pun? Is Adrien Agreste really standing in front of her, at the crack of dawn, in another persons hallway punning? How on earth is she supposed to respond to that? Should she laugh? He didn’t. Wait, did he even mean to pun? Is that Chat Noir’s influence on her? It was kind of funny. Oh no, that darn Cat has ruined her sense of humour. He is so going to get it at next patrol, as soon as she – No, stop thinking about Chat Noir, you doofus! Even if Adrien is still looking at her with that smirk and his sparkling green eyes. What is she talking about? Especially when Adrien is looking at her. Hold up. Adrien is still looking at her. Why is he still looking? Does he expect her to say something? His expression seems to imply that. What should she say? Make a joke too? But what if he didn’t mean to joke? Can she even think of a joke right now? Perhaps she should just play it safe and - Ah, he’s scratching the back of his head now, he’s super uncomfortable. You’re making him uncomfortable! This is the second awkward silence within a minute and it’s only getting longer. Just say something for crying out loud. Doesn’t matter what. Just be cool and say something. Anything.

Marinette lets her arms drop to her sides.“So what are you doing here?”

Not that!

Adrien blushes slightly, hand still at the back of his head.

“Er. Bathroom.”

“Right.”

“Uh huh.”

Great. Where is that hole when you need one.

“And you?”

“What?”

“What are you doing here?”

He looks about as uncomfortable as she feels. Tikki better be starving back there.

“Kitchen.”

“Kitchen?” Adrien’s eyebrows twitch up and Marinette kicks herself on the inside. Why, oh why, didn’t she just say bathroom?

“Yes. I – I woke up and I suddenly felt like having a cookie. Alone. In the kitchen. At six o’clock in the morning. For myself. I mean, who else right?” She fiddles with her left pigtail, turning it into even more of a mess. By now rats have not only lived but also died in it. “Just good ol’ me having a cookie. What else should I even want in the kitchen?”

Oh, I don’t know, Marinette, maybe a glass of water like a sane person?

“Force of habit I take it?” There’s that smirk again, even lovelier with that soft blush still shimmering on his cheeks. Huh maybe she does need a glass of water, she is feeling kind of light-headed all of the sudden. “Must have its perks to live above a bakery. If I lived at you place, I’d probably sneak downstairs every night. Eat all the cookies I could get.”

“You could have one now,” Marinette hears herself say, forcing down the images rapidly spawning in her mind at his words. Do not talk about living with him, do not talk about living with him, do not talk ab- “We can also see if we are able to find some cheese, if you like.”

Yeah, like that’s any better.

His eyes widen and his smirk freezes on his face. Did she really just say that to him? Did she really, actually ask this boy if he wanted to go raid his best friend’s fridge for fermented dairy with her? Ba cause she overheard him say that in the bathroom? Oh no he didn’t even know she heard that, he must be thinking she was evesdropping on him in there like some sort of crazy-

“You heard that?” he pulls up his shoulders and Marinette can’t do anything but nod awkwardly. Forget the hole. She’s fine just dying here on the spot.

“Funny thing you know,” Adrien says, “It’s – uh – a model thing. We talk to stop ourselves when we get weird food cravings. Because it is definitely weird to eat cheese at six in the morning.” His voice seems a little too loud in that last sentence.

“But – you have a craving for cheese right now?”

He looks at her, his eyes speaking of a suffering she can not fully comprehend.

“Yes,” he finally says, dragging the word out awkwardly, “I am having a cheese craving. I am hungry for cheese. Because it’s just. so. Tasty.”

A strange rumble emerges from the depths of his dressing robe and he slams his hand onto stomach with a strained laugh.

“Stomach growls. Food cravings, am I right?”

Marinette nods again, eyes fixed on his hand. His knuckles are white against the dark fabric of his robe and that ring he is always wearing glitters in the dim light. His fingers tremble slightly. Poor Adrien, it must be awful getting cravings like that. He’s probably on a very strict diet. Not to mention the work-out schedule he must have to maintain that utterly– No, focus, Adrien needs you.

“Yeah. Food cravings. I can relate,” Marinette lies feeling terrible instantly. He thinks he’s finally found someone to confide in and here she is, lying to his face. Dang Tikki and her stupid cookies. It’s not like she can tell him what she’s really up to. Hey, I’m actually just out here to feed that little creature which grants me magic powers to save Paris. Relatable, right? Please don’t call the asylum!

“Anyway.” Adrien lets go of his stomach, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I should probably go back to bed now.”

“Sure. Absolutely. Goof night, Adrien. Good night, I mean. Adrien.”

“Good night, Marinette.”

Neither of them moves. Adrien still blocks her way to the kitchen, looking positively miserable by now.

“Umm,” Marinette manages, “I’ll still get that cookie I think.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” He steps aside, allowing her to pass. His jaw clenches as his eyes follow her to the kitchen door, a look of desperation on his face. He really, really must be wanting that cheese.

Marinette pauses, her hand stilling on the door handle.

“Listen, Adrien. If you really cheese - I mean, you can get some. uh. Have some. Cheese. Now. If you really want it.”

“You think I should?” his brilliant green eyes  widen like those of a kitten.

“You can keep me. I mean, company. You could. Keep me company. So I don’t feel craving weird – only – Like the only one. With weird cravings.” How is she getting worse at this somehow?

Something in his face softens and Marinette holds onto the door for support as the warmth of his smile threatens to melt her on the spot.

“I’d love to. You’re so considerate, Marinette.”

Marinette sputters something incoherent and almost trips as she leans onto the handle even heavier, causing the door to swing open.

She anything but falls into the kitchen, just catching herself before tripping over her own feet. Arms slightly spread and heart hammering in her ears she stands. Her gaze slides over the height adjustable cupboards that are flanking the walls left and right to the dark window opposite the door. The room is rather large for a Parisian kitchen, but still just a little narrow for a wheelchair, more like a second hallway than an actual room. In the dark glass of the window, she can see Adrien stepping in and closing the door behind them, the air in the room stirring and surprising her with a sudden burst of his scent. Marinette suppresses a sigh. He smells heavenly, although she does recognise a slight note of cheese in the mix now. Seems like he likes it more than she thought. Making a mental note to adjust the gift for his 28th birthday accordingly she quickly scans the counter tops for the cookie jar. She spots it on her right, just a few steps ahead and quickly zones in on it, reaching to grab a plate from one of the cupboards on the way.

“I think I’ll take some with me. In case I want some more. Or maybe to soothe Alya’s wrath if I wake her when I come back”, she explains, eyes purposefully fixed on the cookies as she places them on the plate. It seems easier to talk to him when he can’t distract her with his sparkling eyes of his dashing smile. Adrien’s soft laughter prickles down her neck like a string of pearls.

“That’s probably a good idea, yeah.”

Marinette carefully picks up her plate and turns to find him still hovering awkwardly by the door.

“I – I figure the cheese would be in the fridge”, she manages, silently congratulating herself on the completeness of that sentence despite the direct line of sight.

“Of course,” he says and steps past her, opening the fridge that is just left to the window. The brightly lit door covers the sight of the sleeping streets behind the dark glass and Adrien leans forward, rummaging through the contents of the fridge. “Man, there’s so many kinds I don’t even know which-” He stops himself and peeks over his left shoulder, stealing a glance back at her and Marinette can just stop the plate from suffering the same fate as her phone did.

“Just set them out,” she squeals, cheeks heating yet again.

“That – that is probably the logical thing to do,” he murmurs and emerges with the glass platter. Pushing the door closed with his elbow he turns to set down the platter on the counter opposite of the fridge before taking a step back. Without the light of the fridge, Adrien’s face is once more in the dark, only sparsely illuminated by the streetlights seeping in through the window to behind him. His eyes stay fixed on the cheese and his brows furrow. He looks at the platter like it’s a math problem. An offensive math problem. Marinette watches him expectantly. Adrien watches the cheese. Neither moves. If they wait much longer, Tikki will probably eat her pillow.

“Aren’t you going to take a bite?”

Adrien’s head jerks round and he stares at her with wide eyes looking almost – caught? Guilty?

“What?”

“The cheese,” Marinette continues, already regretting she said anything at all, “don’t you want some?”

He swallows, a strange expression on his face.

“Of course I do,” he croaks, still unmoving.

So so awkward.

Marinette feels the strong urge to wrap her arms around herself, only in the last moment remembering the delicate porcelain between her fingers. This is so weird. Why is this so weird? Wait, is she making this weird? Should she leave? But then he only came here because she asked him too, she can’t abandon him now. Not when he still not has eaten anything. At this pace he’ll still be standing here when Alya and Nino wake up.

“Well, go ahead then,” she tries her best to sound encouraging, “I won’t judge.”With an awkward shrug she raises the pile of cookies.

Adrien winces.

“Right.”

He reaches for the platter, hand hovering over the different kinds of cheese for a second before he grabs one, seemingly at random. His nose wrinkles for the fraction just before he shoves the piece into his mouth, chewing quickly but slowing down more and more until his jaw stills entirely. His eyes cling to hers, watering slightly. He swallows audibly. For a moment his cheeks seem to swell and his eyes bulge, about twenty expressions flashing over his face to quickly for her to decipher.

“Mmmh, so. Good,” he presses through the bared teeth of a strained smile.

Marinette stares, unsure what to say or feel. The awkward silence threatens to once again take hold of them when suddenly Adrien’s shoulders straighten, a determined look entering his face. With a deep breath he makes a step towards her, as if he has just come to a decision. A squeal escapes Marinette, her instincts fighting a vicious battle over whether to run or combust. Neither side wins so she stays glued to the spot while leans onto the counter, propping himself up on his left elbow. It’s far to low to be comfortable, he looks like he is about to snap in half. Under his arm, his dressing robe falls open, obscuring the platter of cheese from her view. Adrien clears his throat and Marinette’s eyes snap to his, immediately captured by his gaze. “Soo-”

Inside her chest, her heart picks up speed. A soft shiver runs down her spine. She hazily remembers that she should probably remind him to put the cheese back, but her tongue has stopped obeying her. Her eyes flicker from his mesmerising gaze down to his body, pulled in by the vibrant colour of his shirt and pants revealed by the dressing robe. Wait are those - ?

“Nice pyjamas”, she squeaks before she can stop herself, her face quickly turning the same red as his clothes.

Adrien blinks, looking down his body as if he’s just surprised by his choice of clothing as she is. A soft shade of pink dusts his cheeks. “Thanks. They're my favourite. I love Ladybug.”

Marinette almost chokes, the black polka dots blurring a little before her eyes. “You – do?”

An enthusiastic nod.

“Totally. I mean who wouldn’t right? She’s absolutely amazing.” His face lights up in a way that is almost blinding and the sound of his voice rings in her ears. Marinette feels light-headed, pretty sure her feet have left the floor by now. Adrien Agreste likes Ladybug. She’s Ladybug. Whom he likes. Not only likes. He finds her absolutely amazing.

“I knew what I meant when I said you were our everyday Ladybug.”

Okay that’s it. He can’t say stuff like that and with that soft smile and that cute blush. Is he trying to kill her?

You’ve got this. Breath, Marinette. He’s just being nice. He is nice. And dreamy. Absolutely dreamy and – Sop it. She can’t melt into a puddle right now, not when she’s got important things to do. Like – uh. Marinette shakes her head in an effort to get her thoughts back in order. Adrien is still looking at her with that expression of utter adoration and she can feel her heart skip several beats. Yeah, not helping. She better do something before she explodes or begins blabbering or kisses him right here on the spot. Her hands clutch the plate of cookies and Marinette bites her lip. That would be a disaster. With immense effort she manages to tear her eyes away from his, immediately feeling a little more oxygen reaching her brain. Stay cool, Marinette. Everything's cool. Focused on steadying her breathing, she lets her gaze wander through the room, carefully avoiding the zone of absolute termination marked by his face and body. Come on, Marinette. Simple sentences. You can do it.

“Adrien, I – “ the rest of the sentence, whatever it was supposed to be, gets stuck in her throat, the remaining words crashing into each other and tumbling over her lips in a wretched gasp. Her eyes have stilled on the window, just above his shoulder. They bulge in their sockets while her suddenly completely blanked brain tries to understand what it’s seeing. Because there, right in front of her, the reflection shows not only Adrien’s back but also the platter behind it. And on that platter, lounging comfortably between the chunks of cheese there is a- sits a-

“I– Is that a Kwami?”

Just saw this post on facebook lol