#lb writes

It was strange sensation, knowing that no one knew who she truly was and she only turned heads as a result of the beautiful gown not her title.

Just then, a man with a charming smile approached her. He was dressed in a completely black suit and has a black mask over his eyes. The most peculiar part of his attire were the ears that were nestled in his hair.

His startlingly green eyes glittered and he bowed and simultaneously extended his hand, “May I have this dance, My Lady?”

A small smile crossed her face as she curtsied and took his hand, “You may, Monsieur..”

He straightened with a flourish, “Noir.” He grinned, “Well, for today it’s just Chat Noir. Unless... it could also be Meowsiur Noir.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped as he twirled her around.

“Was that... a Cat Pun?” She asked once they were facing each other again.

Chat Noir chuckled, “Of course, I’ve gotta keep up appearances after all.”

She rolled her eyes which only caused Chat to chuckle harder. 

After a moment,  Chat asked, “And you, my Lady? What is your name?”

Marinette smiled confidently, “Ladybug.”

“Well isn’t that a lucky charm,”

“Yes well, good luck does need to balance out bad luck.”

He dipped her down before saying, “True.”

Their eyes locked, bluebell orbs meeting electric green ones. Neither looked away, seeming to be in some kind of trance until suddenly-

BOOM

Marinette abruptly blinked as she was set on her feet again, disoriented from the near-sounding explosion.

Amidst the chaos that had quickly descended upon the ballroom the call of “Princess Marinette!” was heard.

Guards abruptly appeared out the nowhere all charging towards her, “Princess Marinette! The Palace is under attack!”

Beside her, Chat stiffened. “Princess?” he muttered under his breath.

Then his grip on her hand all of a sudden tightened and he was yanking her away in the opposite direction from the guards.

“Chat! CHAT! Let go!” When she tried to pull her hand away, he simply scooped her up bridal style and sprinted harder.

“Those aren’t your guards, Princess. They’re invaders disguised as guards.”

“But-” Marinette made herself think past the craziness that had become her night, “But how do you know?!”

“Because I recognized one of them from an enemy kingdom that tried to form an alliance with us.”

“Us?” Marinette echoed.

Chat grimaced, “Nice to meet you, Princess, I’m Prince Adrien Agreste.”

*

Erm. Okay. That happened. Why do I keep on forming full blown plot stories in my head (because I soooo wanna write this story now) when I’m supposed to be doing drabbles?

Ugh. Literally I started writing with no plan and now I have a plan.

So basically Adrien would take Marinette to his Kingdom to keep her safe and you know they would grow closer and meet the rest of the gang. And in the current game plan I have, Adrien’s mom is still alive and Marinette gets to meet her and stuff and interact with Adrien’s kingdom. 

And her parents are also somehow okay but like in hiding.

That’s the happy version.

Then there’s PLOT TWIST MY MUSE IS EVIL, those were actually Marinette’s guards and Adrien’s kingdom is the one attacking and like he’s betraying her.

SUMMARY: Sometimes, Dick forgets how much he has to be grateful for and how lucky he is to have Bruce. But sometimes, he also remembers.

Rolling down memory lane yay! This is an old one-shot of mine, hope you all enjoy!

--

After five years of living with the man, Dick sometimes forgets how truly lucky he is to have Bruce.

It isn't that there are times when he stops being appreciative, because Dick will always—always—remember the man who had been there for him when no one else had.

It's just that sometimes, Dick forgets the little things. The little things that so often become so normal that eventually they’re easy to take for granted.

--

Things like Bruce helping with a school project.

The scene: One of the many living rooms in the manor, the floor is littered with paper, popsicle sticks, pipe cleaners, puffy balls and of course, glitter.

Beside Dick, paint containers are spread out before him. Bruce in all his artistic vision holds a paintbrush (he’s the only person Dick has ever met who can make a paintbrush look intimidating)

“So I’m painting the words “Kinetic Motion” in blue, right?” Bruce asks.

12 year old Dick nods enthusiastically “Yes! Aaand…” There's a theatrical dramatic pause “I’LL SPRINKLE THE GLITTER!”

Bruce gives him an exasperated look before muttering something under his breath. Catching something about “glitter” and “death wish” Dick just grins as Bruce begins to paint.

“You have a very steady hand you know” Dick observes.

“Mhm” Bruce answers automatically, most of his attention focused on the poster board in front of him.

As he finishes up, Dick—as promised—happily sprinkles glitter with more joy than even a fascinated two year old would have.

Bruce is just glad Alfred put covered the entire wooden floor with layers upon layers of plastic.

After writing down the definition of Kinetic Energy in a sparkly green pen, Dick begins the fun of the party.

His assignment is to make a model that represents Kinetic Energy. So he decides it's a good excuse as any to make a roller coaster.

A roller coaster made out of an assortment of pipe cleaners, colorful popsicle sticks, fluffy puffy balls, and a whole lot of glue.

The rest of the night goes something like this:

“You just glued my fingers. YOU JUST GLUED MY FINGERS!! I’M GONNA DIE, I’M GONNA DIE. WHAT IF THIS GLUE HAS LIKE, WEIRD CHEMICAL PROPERTIES AND I GET A WEIRD BACTERIA AND OH MY GOD, MY WHELMED FINGERS! THEY WERE TOO YOUNG TO BECOME OVERWHELMED!! WHY DEAR FINGERS, —WHY??”

*Amused look from source of great panic* “You done?”

*Dick stares at panic source incredulously* “Am I done? AM I DONE! I WILL SHOW YOU DONE—”

Bruce cuts him off by calmly unsticking Dick’s fingers.

*gape* “You couldn't have done that before I went ballistic?!”

*Stare*

-

“Pipe cleaners hate me. This is a fact.” This is what Dick says as he stubbornly gives an innocent pipe cleaner the death glare.

“Really?” Bruce wryly asks.

Once again we’re looking at a fic I may or may not write just that this time I reeeeaaally want to write it... and I kinda did already, lol.

Here’s Chapter 1, I’m still debating on whether I should continue writing it or just post the outline here. 

SUMMARY: Princess Annabeth Chase of Athens is promised to Heir Apparent Theseus Jackson of Atlantis but when tragedy strikes and Theseus is murdered, it falls on Prince Perseus Jackson - the second born - to marry Princess Annabeth. 

Except the stakes are higher than anyone could ever know and the marriage is not the only thing at risk - an entire kingdom lies in the balance.

OR that modern kingdom/arranged marriage/sinister plots AU that no one asked for but I am giving anyway.

Anyhow, enjoy!

---

“Never forget,” My dad’s eyes bore fiercely into my own, completely serious as he spoke to me. “That the people gave us our power and that they can take it away. But there is also evil in this world… evil people who know how to talk to their way into the hearts of the kingdom and will do anything to obtain power. If it ever seems like they will get that opportunity, you must do everything in your power to ensure they don’t – no matter the cost. Do you understand?”

I was only 11 at the time. I didn’t really understand what he was saying. I thought I did but it wasn’t until four years later that I would come to know the true weight behind his words.

My brother was 18. I was 15. He’d tried all his life to be the perfect kid because hey, having the pressure of a kingdom’s future kind of does that to you.

And I remember him vividly saying he wanted a night where he could just let it all go… just one night. So he went. He partied. In disguise, no one ever aware that he was their crown prince. He was tired of being Mr. Golden Boy and I got that.

Or at least I thought I did until one night became two nights and two nights three and then it became a usual thing. From the start I knew he was bound to get caught but I couldn’t tell him what to do… what did I, his brother who had never felt the doom of the crown, know?

All I remember is Grover running into my room late at night one day, his eyes wide and his face ashen. Him saying, “It’s your brother, he-”

And then I didn’t hear anymore. I began pulling on my jeans, a shirt, a green hoodie.

“Where?” I barked.

“Over at Andie’s. Percy, what-”

I ignored him and continued to grab my things. It was only after I was ready to set foot outside my room and looked him in the eye and spoke, “Don’t believe whatever shows up in tomorrow’s news, okay?”

Grover shook his head in confusion “What are you talking about?”

“Just don’t believe it.” I got about two steps away from the door before I felt a hand on my arm. I looked over to see Grover’s worried eyes.

“You aren’t- you aren't going to do anything stupid… Are you?”

I smiled sadly, “When have I ever?” And before Grover could try and stop me, I sprinted away.

Bruce’s head was swimming and he felt like he was going through the motions as he called Alfred and informed him of the situation after Dick had cried himself to sleep.

Alfred—as always—was the calm voice of reason and quiet encouragement even as Bruce inwardly lost himself to a sea of panic as he thought about all the ways he was going to mess up his kid… his son. Because Dick was barely 10 and speaking solely on legal terms, he had 8 more years with Bruce—8 years for Bruce to hurt him further.  

But Alfred anchored him, encouraged him to take things one at a time and firmly told him to rein in his panic and not hide away from his responsibilities, to just push forward because ‘things will work out, Master Bruce. You must simply carry on’

So Bruce had. He’d sat in the hospital chair beside Dick’s beside for the past two hours reading up on what exactly his guardianship entailed as well as what Dick’s injuries were (concussion, whiplash, bandaged head injury, and various cuts and bruises). The nurses had entered every now and then, checking vitals and monitoring Dick’s concussion.

The Dick’s fingers twitched and Bruce anxiously leaned forward. The movement behind the boy’s eyelids became more erratic and then those brilliant blue eyes opened and Dick was blinking blearily up at the ceiling. 

Dick squinted and threw a hand over his eyes which Bruce took as his cue to dim the lights (which he should have done earlier, knowing light-sensitivity was a common concussion system). 

The change in lighting caused Dick’s head to whip around though and notice Bruce  Surprise, apprehension, and finally anger, flashed across Dick’s face.

The boy sat up, wincing slightly (and Bruce inwardly wincing with him), before rubbing his eyes only to realize there was an IV in one of his arms.

Dick blinked at it in confusion before placing his arm back down and returning his attention to glaring at Bruce.

Simply Carry On (even when you don’t want to…. Especially when you don’t want to). Bruce did his best to keep a relatively friendly expression on his face but Dick’s scowl didn’t budge.

Then Dick opened his mouth and he might as well have taken the chair out from under Bruce’s body, “What are you doing here—What happened?”

And no. Not this. How was Bruce supposed to carry on from this? 

“Bruce?” Dick prodded.

Swallowing the cold truth that was reality—that was Dick’s concussion and the fact that one of the symptoms of concussions could be short-term memory loss because of course it was—Bruce said in the most careful way he could, “Dick… you were in a car accident.”

Dick’s eyes widened in alarm, “Is Aunt Becca, okay?

And Bruce didn’t want to do this. He couldn’t do this.

“Bruce? Is Aunt Becca, okay?!”

Dick’s expression fell more and more with each passing second and Bruce wished the boy were glaring at him instead, wished the boy had gone on being angry with Bruce if it only meant he got his Aunt back-

“...Bruce?” Dick’s voice was broken and it shook and wavered and Bruce needed to give him an answer. He needed to-

“Dick- your Aunt-” say it Wayne, “She- she passed away.”

Dick’s face completely crumpled as he whispered, “No.” And then more loudly, “No, no no no! She told me, she told me- after mom- she told me-” His gaze pled with Bruce, desperately begging him to understand a promise his aunt had made—a promise she hadn’t been able to keep. 

“She told me she wouldn’t leave.”

And something inside Bruce broke with those words, his heart ached for the broken boy in front of him. “Dick, I’m so sorry.” And Bruce knew his words rang hollow, that they were utterly useless but what else was he supposed to say? 

Dick curled in on himself, the arm with IV in it clenching the sheets tightly and the other wrapped around him.

So these are gonna be drabbles to help get the creative juices flowing and help me finish a three-shot that I haven’t updated in months... It’s sad.

Mostly it’s because I encountered a technical difficulty in the plot but that’s why I need to get creative. 

So yeah, drabbles will be based on random ideas and drabble lists. This particular one is #55 from this list.

My aim is to do a drabble a day so here goes!

---

His dad was Hawkmoth.

His dad was Hawkmoth. And he’d found out who Ladybug was.

I’m so sorry Marinette.

Chat Noir’s hand trembled as he raised it to knock on Marinette’s window.

A few second later the hatch swung open and there stood Marinette, his lady, his princess, his longtime partner in their crusade against Hawkmoth.

I’m sorry.

She frowned as she took him in and no, don’t frown.

“Chat Noir, what happened? Is there an akuma?” Even as she asked this, steely resolve entered her eyes and how had he missed his lady standing in front of him the whole time.

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug and said, “Nah, just had bad day.”

“Oh.” A shadow crossed her face but was swiftly replaced with an encouraging smile, “In that case would you be down for some cookies?”

“I’d love some, princess.” And he had to fight to not flinch at the nickname that came so naturally to his lips. He didn’t deserve-

I’m so sorry.

She ushered him into her room before leaving to get the promised cookies. Meanwhile, Adrien was left to face his internal struggle.

Well, what do you say, son?

If I do this... you promise you won’t hurt her?

You have my word.

Alright.

With a silent cry, Adrien curled in on himself and squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until suddenly,

“-at? Chat!”

He blearily opened his eyes and was met with the sight of a worried Marinette, scrunched up eyebrows and everything. 

“Kitty, what’s wrong?” She asked desperately.

Adrien shakily tried to smile, “Nothing. I’m peachy.”

He straightened up and slowly took Marinette’s face in his gloved hands. Her eyes went wide but she didn’t resist.

“Could you do something for me though? Just smile. I really need you to smile right now.”

His thumbs softly rubbed her cheeks and his eyes watered and he just. He just wanted to see her smile. Before-

The corners of her mouth lifted and Marinette smiled, a smile that wavered as it pushed past pain but remained firm nonetheless.

Chat smiled back for a second... and then, “I’m sorry, my lady.” he said before taking her earrings.

“Chat?!”

A tear slipped down his cheek as he ran out the window.

I’m so sorry.

---

Oh shoot. That got angsty fast. I swear I didn’t mean to but then it was just like bam. 

So yeah, anywho I hope you enjoyed...?

I look up at the

Full moon

And everything else

Fades away.

Like an

Eclipse,

I am covered

In black.

Crimson stories

Surrounding me,

Pretending

To be

The sun.

I forget about you,

And the pain:

Drinking in the

Clear air,

As if

My lungs

Weren’t already filled

With old smoke,

And as if

I hadn’t already

Drunk

A bottle of

Champagne

In your name.

And yet the stars

Still point

To the Southern Cross,

And I see Venus burning:

Red hot.

And it is all

Real,

And

Visceral.

And I still can’t get

The taste of you

Out

Of my mouth.