#did i log onto here exclusively for his birthday coming up? maybe so. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zebrabaker · 5 years

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Might be farfetched but maybe a former fan of the Ladyblog leaves after certain things ruins it for them(either it be oblivio kiss pic or lilas bullshit) when they notice marinette and her awesomeness(like making cool shit for jagged and having a soup named after her), dedicates a blog to her, showing everyone in paris(and globally) how awesome she truly is. Can be salt or pure fluff(if you're still salty cause we all are) Person could be close friend who admires her or anonymous person idk.

Oh, I ran with this. There's going to be a couple chapters. I hope you’re happy.

Allegra Clark was a huge fan of Ladybug. She adored the LadyBlog, solely for the fact that it reported the unbiased truth, and was run by a girl at her school. So, when the log had become no more than some petty shipping site for LadyNoir, she had bailed. There were plenty of other news sources, and with how many there were, at least one had to have an exclusive with Ladybug, right?

X0X0X

Wrong. After several hours, she had realized that no one else in all of Paris had an exclusive. So, she was stuck. How did Alya get the interview anyway? Maybe it was mentioned in the video…She scrolled through the blogs archives, until she found the video. It opened on a dark room, before Alya appeared on screen.

“Hey there peeps! Alya here, with the best gift anyone has ever given me! My best friend, Marinette, got me- “Huh. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was in Bustier’s class, too. Now that she thought about it, the girl had regressed over the last month or so. Last year, she had been a shy girl, with no friends and no backbone to speak of. At the start of this school year, she had made friends with most of her class, or so it had seemed. The girl had really come out of her shell, and even became class rep. Lately, she had slid back into said shell, speaking less, wearing plainer clothes, less makeup, spending more time on her phone or sketching. Allegra had been in Marinette’s class last year, and the girl had been sweeter than all the baked goodies she brought in. Be it on a random Friday, or someone’s birthday, Marinette brought in something from her family’s patisserie. Allegra had an idea. She was a girl guide, and helping people was part of the code…. She had work to do.

X0X0X

It had taken a few hours, but she had put together a full blog. She had found recordings of Marinette being mentioned by Jagged Stone and her Uncle, who was apparently a world-famous chef. The blog held a link to Marinette’s commission site (Allegra had submitted her measurements for a new dress. The girl’s designs were fantastic.) The title of the blog was ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng is amazing ‘. The background was a cherry blossom pink, and the header was the same Cherry Blossoms that Marinette used on all her designs, taken from her site. Her first post was an introduction to the blog, and an explanation of why it was built.

Hey guys! I’m mod Allegra, (I’ll introduce the others later.) and you’re likely confused as to why I made another page for some random girl. It’s a little complicated, but I’ll give you the short version. There’s this AMAZING girl at my school, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and lately she’s been really down. I was in her class last year, and she’s such a nice person that I can’t just watch her wither. So, this blog is dedicated to all things Marinette. She’s done so much cool stuff that I can’t possibly begin to list it all here. As such, I’ll be making one post of a cool thing she’s done once a week, every Wednesday after school. If you know of anything cool Marinette has done, send me an ask! I’ll verify the story (we’re not the LadyBlog, lol) and post it on here! Until then, spread this blog around! recommend it to friends, mention it in posts, just try to spread the word. See you Wednesday!

X0X0X

“Allegra, Allain and Claude are here!” Her mom called down the hall. Allegra set aside her laptop, open to Marinette’s Facebook, Twitter, and Insta. Some may call it creepy, but she was determined to help the girl.

“Send them in!” She yelled back, stretching her back. There were two sets of footsteps in the hall, one light and quick, where the other was slow and steady.

“Sup?” Allain asked, strolling into the room. He was her oldest friend, having met at five in her mother’s beginners’ piano class. Allain was an African-French boy, his mother’s family immigrants from Morocco. He was dressed in his usual, a hoodie, jeans, a hat and headphones.

“Working on a project.” She sighed, snagging her water from her desk.

“Oooh! Can we see?” Claude asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. She had meet Claude in third grade. He had found her, hiding in the coat closet, scared of Chloe, who had insulted her and almost made her cry. He had made a few dumb jokes, and the two had become fast friends. He was a giant, pushing five ten at age fifteen. He wore a shirt from his soccer team and a pair of jeans and converse. His brown hair flopped into his eyes, making him look like an excitable puppy.

“Sure. Remember Marinette Dupain-Cheng, that girl in our class last year?” Both boys nodded, Allain blushing. He had had a bit of a crush on Marinette. “Well, I noticed yesterday that she’s kinda regressed. Just a few weeks ago, she was vibrant and happy. Now she’s like she was last year, quiet and withdrawn. I figured that I may as well help her. I was actually gonna ask, did either of you want to help me run it? I plan to upload some cool thing she’s done once a week.” Allain nodded, busy jotting something down in the pocket notebook he carried everywhere. Probably a story idea. Allain was a prolific writer, and always had some new idea. As a kid, he rocked at make-believe games.

“Why not! I remember Marinette, she brought in blue-velvet cupcakes on my birthday, because she heard me say I love the taste but hate red.” Claude flopped onto her bed so that he was splayed across it sideways. “And she brought in Hummingbird cake for Monsieur Darcy’s birthday. That was cool.” Allain looked up from his notes.

“Oh, yeah. Whenever any of us came into the bakery, her mom would give us something for free. Madam Cheng was so cool.” He licked his lips, as if recalling a particularly tasty treat.

“So, it’s settled, then? We’ll use the blog to help Marinette?” Allegra glanced between her friends, giddy.

“Sure.” Allain shrugged.

“Why not.” Claude bounced on the bed a little.

Looks like they were in business.

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marriedfics · 6 years

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MD Fic - Memory

When Dean and Sam are on a hunt, getting a call from the younger brother always unnerves you a little. In the past, the majority of calls have been about an injury, a question regarding how to fix a wound, or the occasional ‘Is it alright if I crash in your guest room tonight?’. But even before taking the phone off its base today, you know something is wrong.

“Hello?”

Sam’s voice immediately confirms your suspicion. “Hey,” he says, adding your name with what sounds like a forced smile.

“What’s wrong?”

He chuckles a bit, rather humorlessly. “How’d you know?”

You give a small smile of your own. “Call it a superpower.”

Sam sighs before quietly saying, “Dean’s, uh... well...”

“Just say it, Sam.” You lean against the kitchen island, bracing yourself just in case. You don’t sense that it’s a life or death kind of call—the fact that Sam is hesitating means that something is definitely wrong, but it’s not as bad as it could be.

“Well, Dean’s lost his memory.”

You blink. “Um.”

He gives another exhaled chuckle. “Yeah, exactly.”

“What happened? How?”

“It was an angel, I guess. I-I wasn’t with him but I heard him call for me and by the time I got to the room he was in, he didn’t even know who I was. He just kept saying ‘an angel did it, an angel did it’ but he didn’t even know what it did. He doesn’t remember anything.”

Sam’s emphasis on that word sends a chill down your spine. He may as well have said ‘he doesn’t remember you.’ You inhale deeply and close your eyes. “Okay, so what now?”

“You didn’t let me tell you the worst part.”

“Oh, I just figured you’d gone straight there,” you reply quietly, almost jokingly.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know. He took the car and he’s gone. I’ve been looking for him for the past two hours and I can’t find him anywhere.”

You open your mouth but no words come out. You don’t blame Sam, although if anyone was their brother’s keeper, it was the Winchester boys, but your concern leaves you speechless. Where would Dean go with no memory? Would muscle memory kick in and take him somewhere? Maybe Bobby’s old place? Or perhaps Lawrence? Or—

The familiar sound of the Impala pulling into the driveway draws your feet to the front window. You blink hard, making sure you’re not imagining it. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s here.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, he just pulled in.”

Sam was noticeably relieved when he said, “Oh good. I was hoping he’d remember you somehow.”

Dean was barely visible in the porchlight’s glow and you can make out his confused expression. His brow is furrowed tightly and he stares blankly at the house. He’s lost and doesn’t seem to know what to do next.

“What do I do?” you ask, careful to stay hidden behind the curtain. It’s been two weeks since you last saw your husband so everything in you wants to throw the door open and welcome him, but you’re unsure how he would react. “Should I pretend I don’t know him or would that just makes things worse?”

“I’m not sure,” Sam admits. “Maybe just follow his lead. The memories are still there... I hope. He just has to find a way to access them again. And apparently, subconsciously, he thinks you’re the key.”

The driver’s side door opens and Dean steps out gingerly, like he’s afraid neighbors will see him and call the cops because he doesn’t belong here.

You straighten. “He’s coming, I’ve gotta go.”

You can almost hear Sam’s nod. “Okay, yeah. Good luck. Call me later and let me know how he is.”

“I will. Oh, wait, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think he’s... violent?” It sounds absurd when you see how much of a frightened child he looks like as he slowly rounds the car towards the house’s front door, but you just want to be sure.

“I... I don’t know.”

You lose sight of Dean as he walks onto the front step. “Okay, thanks, Sam. Bye.”

“Good luck,” he repeats before hanging up. You feel a bit lost yourself as you walk to the door and wait for Dean to knock. You’ve seen memory loss patients in the hospital before but, as far as you know, their loss had never been caused by a supernatural being. There was always an explanation for it and some sort of plan. But you don’t have a plan right now. Not even half a plan.

You wait, expecting Dean to knock, but after a minute of silence, you unlock the door and open it. Dean’s eyes meet yours and he stares. There’s not even a flicker of recognition. “Hi,” he offers politely.

You smile softly, disappointed. You had hoped that the sight of you would jog his memory. You’ve never seen him look so innocent. He barely resembles the confident man you normally greet. “Hi,” you reply.

“I-I don’t...” He frowns and shifts his weight, glancing away. “I don’t know if you know me, but...” His mouth stays open but the words he forms come out silent. He’s struggling.

“I do know you,” you state with a nod. “You’re Dean Winchester.”

He flicks his tongue over his lips and swallows. “Uh... well that’s good, I guess.”

Your smile fades a bit. “Do you know me?”

Dean looks down, shrugging. “Not really.” Looking back up, he shakes his head. “No. But I think we’re friends.”

You nod. “Yeah, we are. Here, come in.” You step back, allowing him room to enter. He hesitates before stepping in. As you close the door, he looks back the way a caged animal would. You leave the door unlocked, in case he wants to bolt. “Sam called.”

His expression changes again. “You know Sam?” You’re not really sure how much he knows Sam himself, but he seems relieved by this.

“Yeah, I’ve known both of you for about five years.”

His jaw tightens. “Well, then this must be really awkward.”

You take a chance and be blunt, “A little, yeah.”

Dean’s eyes smile along with his mouth. It’s genuine. Good, you think, at least he’s still in there.

“I’m sorry for comin’ so late, but I saw your picture on my phone.” You know exactly what picture he’s talking about even before he pulls out the device and shows you the last thing he had open. It’s from your Birthday two months ago when he surprised you with a trip to the drive-in movie theater where he had arranged for exclusive access for the two of you to watch your favorite movie. He’d snapped the image right as you realized what he’d done and you were in the middle of a laugh. You’d asked him to delete it because you thought you looked silly, but he’d disagreed and instead made it his background image.

Right now you’re very thankful he kept it since it brought him back to you.

“How did you know where I lived?” you ask, careful not to say ‘where we live’. He doesn’t seem to know that you’re more than a friend yet.

He quietly pulls his phone back and taps something before aiming it back for you to see. It’s his ‘Recents’ list on his call log. Your number is the last five. “I checked out your contact info and found your address, so...” He smiles sheepishly.

You find it impossibly hard to stand so close to him, though he is intentionally keeping a fair bit of distance between you, presumably because he doesn’t feel comfortable with you, and not hug him. It has been two weeks, after all, and you’ve missed him like crazy. And, you must admit, you feel even more disappointed that it wasn’t muscle memory that brought him home. It was just your address. But you’ll take anything you can get.

“Well, I’m glad you found your way here. Do you want to sit down?” you ask, gesturing into the living room as you move in that direction. You sit on one side of the couch, make sure to leave a comfortable amount of space for Dean on the opposite side instead of sitting in the middle as you normally do. Your training and instincts are kicking in. People with memory loss are unstable and can be easily unnerved, so you know to give Dean lots of space and time, but those instincts are constantly being pushed around by your desperation to comfort him.

Dean removes his boots and places them on the waterproof mat by the door. You smile to yourself. That’s definitely not like him, but would it be wrong to hope that maybe he doesn’t recover every single thing, like that bad habit of kicking off his boots and leaving them in the way?

He slowly, very slowly, walks to the couch, his eyes darting around the room and taking it all in like it was the first time he’d been there. You pick up the pile of mail that you’d dropped on the coffee table when you came in from work earlier and rearrange it so that Dean’s name isn’t visible, but casually so he just thinks you’re not rushing him.

But when he doesn’t sit down, you look up. “Something wrong?” You follow where he’s looking and sigh. Your wedding photo. You chance a look back at him and gauge his reaction. He doesn’t necessarily look confused. In fact, he seems relieved.

Dean’s lips curve into a barely-there smile. He lifts his left hand and points to his ring. “I was wondering about this.”

You hope it’s not too much for him. “Well... okay, maybe we’re more than friends.”

His smile grows. “Friends with benefits, eh?”

You don’t quite know how to react. He seems proud of himself for leaving you speechless and you laugh. “Well, you’re definitely still Dean.”

“Yeah,” he replies, a bit sadly, as he sits. Far on the opposite side. “It’s weird,” he continues. “It’s like when a word is on the tip of your tongue. I think I know something, but I can’t find the memory. It’s just... blank.” He drapes his left arm on the armrest and the other on the back of the couch, just like normal.

Sighing, you adjust so your legs are under you. “I don’t know how to help you.”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure if you can.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m a nurse, I don’t like that answer.”

He looks at you, surprised. “You’re a nurse?” At your nod, he smiles. “Wow, I’m really domestic, huh?”

“I guess so,” you say with a chuckle.

At least the conversation is easy, even if he doesn’t remember you. He reminds you of the Dean you’d first met in that hospital room; not 100% but trying to prove that he’s better than he was and polite, but unabashedly flirty. Something occurs to you and you voice it: “Do you want to see our bedroom?”

One brow rises and he smiles. “I can see why I married you.”

You snort. “No, you idiot. Pretty much every time you come home, you say that as soon as you walk in there, you feel like you’re really home. Maybe it’ll help?”

He gives an almost apologetic smile for his jokes and nods, standing. “Yeah, let’s try that.”

You get up and walk past him when you realize he doesn’t know the way. It feels strange to you, leading a man who is essentially a stranger to your bedroom, but you’re pretty well convinced by now that this version of Dean is still very much Dean and you don’t have to worry about anything. Except how in the world to recover his memories.

At the doorway to your room, you step back, allowing him to enter first. He does, and his concentrated frown returns. He looks around, first to the bed, then the tables on either side of it, then the closed door leading to the bathroom. He looks back at you and points to it. “Bathroom?”

“Do you know that or are you asking?” You’re hopeful.

He smirks. “It seems logical.”

You purse your lips. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Oh, soon enough I’ll be back to normal and you’ll miss me.”

The easy way he talks, his laugh, the way he looks at you, it all seems right, but it doesn’t bring you comfort. Instead, you find your vision blurring. You just miss him.

His smile dissipates and he looks down. “I’m sorry, I know this must be hard.”

You wipe a tear that falls against your will. “No, I’m fine,” you lie.

But it’s Dean and even if he’s not all there, he still seems to know exactly what to do. When you see him moving closer to you, you shake your head, not wanting to make him uncomfortable or feel like he has to worry about you, but he ignores you and pulls you close to him. You instinctively rest your head against his shoulder as your arms slip under his jacket and around his waist. His right hand cradles your head while the other rubs your back. Just like normal.

When Sam said what had happened to Dean, you’d expected to feel panicked and scared when you talked to him, but you instead feel a deep sense of loss. And as he consoles you, even without really knowing you, that grief grows. You just want Dean back. All of him.

“Maybe I should go,” he whispers. “At least until—”

“No.” You pull back and rub your wet cheeks with both hands. “No, this is your home. If you’re going to get your memory back anywhere, it’ll be here.”

He looks at you, pure concern in his eyes. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You manage a small smile. “I’m sure.”

“Alright.” He glances around the room again. “But, I’m sorry to say, this room isn’t helping.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. If you wanna just walk around, go ahead.”

He nods but hesitates. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, you walk to the bed and sit down. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

Dean gives a reassuring smile before walking back down the hallway and entering the kitchen. You watch him until he’s out of view and then lay down. It’s almost midnight and you’re exhausted, but you doubt you’ll sleep well tonight. Your mind is racing. Should you be looking up other incidents of hunters losing their memories to angels? Would there even be a single result if you did? Has Sam learned something? You said you’d call him, but you don’t want to do that while Dean can hear.

You hear Dean open the fridge and, a moment later, pull out a beer. Whether he thinks the taste will induce a memory of being home or he just wanted one, you’re not sure, but you’re able to convince yourself that nothing is out of the ordinary. That familiar ‘fsst’ sound as he flicks off the cap, the way he shuffles into the living room, and the TV turning on all sounds so normal. It’s like he’s going on autopilot and his body knows what he would be doing on any average night.

And, to your own surprise, the convincing sounds soothe you so much that you feel yourself falling asleep.

Next thing you know, you hear birds outside your window and you stretch, your mind still foggy from the dreams. Dean had been acting weird in the dream. He didn’t seem to remember you and... Your eyes snap open. That wasn’t a dream.

“Hey, you.”

Your attention jerks to the doorway. Dean’s smiling fondly. It’s a different smile than last night. “Hey,” you whisper. You’re too afraid to ask if there’s any change so you don’t. “How did you sleep?”

He walks in and sits on the edge of the bed, close to you. Much closer than he had seemed comfortable last night. “That’s all you want to know?” He brushes a wayward strand of hair from your face.

The gentle touch causes your eyes to close involuntarily. “Well, no, but...”

Dean’s lips settle on yours and it feels so right. Your hands blindly find the back of his head and your fingers comb through the short hairs. By the time he pulls back and you focus on him again, you’re convinced that something happened overnight. “Is it really you?” you ask, steeling yourself just in case.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

You push yourself into a seated position and kiss him again, cupping his face with your hands, and you feel him smile against you.

“How?” you finally ask.

Dean drags a hand over his face as he shrugs. “I don’t really know. It was a dream, but I saw Cas and he said he was going to fix things, and then I woke up and I remembered everything.”

“Prove it,” you challenge.

He smiles, approving of your game. “Try me.”

“What’s my birthday?”

“December 1st.”

“When did we get married?”

“August 6th.”

"Why did you marry me?” you add, now certain that Dean really is himself again.

His eyes narrow and he’s silent for a moment. “Because—” He abruptly stands and pulls out his phone. “I just remembered, I forgot to call Sam.”

You grab the front of his shirt and pull him back down. He’s laughing as he carefully falls over you, arms supporting him on either side of you. You move your hand to his collar, attempting to hide your amusement. “Answer the question.”

He leans close, barely brushing his lips to yours. Shivers flood down your neck at the soft touch and his hot breath as he whispers, “Because you were crazy enough to say ‘yes’.”

It was good enough for you.

#MD Fic #Supernatural #Dean Winchester #IT'S BEEN 3 YEARS WHAT HOW DID THAT HAPPEN #So hi guys I'm watching Supernatural again and obviously as soon as I do Married!Dean fics start coming to mind #I knew this would be a bit lengthy but whoops this got kinda long #Ah well #I wanted to try this idea and I'm not at all unhappy with how it turned out #Makes my heart ache because I've so missed writing him

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zebrabaker · 5 years

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Allegra, Claude, and Alain’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng Appreciation Blog; Part 1

Here’s part one, for those who missed it!

X0X0X

“Send them in!” She yelled back, stretching her back. There were two sets of footsteps in the hall, one light and quick, where the other was slow and steady.

“Working on a project.” She sighed, snagging her water from her desk.

“Oh, yeah. Whenever any of us came into the bakery, her mom would give us something for free. Madam Cheng was so cool.” He licked his lips, as if recalling a particularly tasty treat.

“So, it’s settled, then? We’ll use the blog to help Marinette?” Allegra glanced between her friends, giddy.

“Sure.” Allain shrugged.

“Why not.” Claude bounced on the bed a little.

#acamdcab #quantic kids

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