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#hws fruk
pixie-frog · 7 months
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Autumn vibesss😌😚😚🍂🍁🍁☕️
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daydenmax-drawings · 8 months
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Two guys chilling in a magic forest cuz they're not gay
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first-of-july · 30 days
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😳
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sunnylolli · 2 months
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Canon fruk would throw up if they saw this- I am so deep
Set in the Punk Dad Au, after a handful of years of Fruk reuniting after some time apart from school. Alfred and Matthew are around 11/12 and Alfred's gotten his first film camera!
1980s Paris. Frenchman who thought he'd never find true love, happily married with kids. (Alfred cried more than Francis did, he's in a soap opera/sappy romance movies obsession phase, that he only falls out of when he's pushing 15- Cried that 'it was like real life movie moment'- He does in this au grow up to be a film director and cinematographer, so there IS a red lining!)
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senditothemoonn · 9 months
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This started as me wanting to draw them as old men and kind of spiralled from there…
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jaynuu · 7 months
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🚬🍻
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tournesoleil13 · 5 months
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Lovers
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artemiswolfheart · 18 days
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I was inspired I'm so sorry
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maleinmari · 21 days
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The headcanon that France likes to draw is very popular. I think England sees it this way:
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"Mon Amour, look what I did"
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apotrelavrius · 2 months
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don’t ever tell me that beneath the silky sheen there isn’t dirt and filth and grime
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arina-nov · 2 months
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it was supposed to be a post on February 14th, but I couldn't resist. I love this trend and thought it would be nice to make it with my beloved family 🌟
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pixie-frog · 17 days
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Hiiii It´s been a while, hope you’re doing okayy ily🥹💘💚 I’m alive and I hope that I can upload some more content soon hehe 🌟
Here you have a little sketchy Fruk fanart 💗
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sunnixsunshine · 5 months
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Why did I draw this….
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first-of-july · 3 months
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Wip
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sunnylolli · 1 year
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I’ve written a little drabble along with this below, because I just- I just needed this
(”Marry me, Archie” by Flyte, sets the scene)
Arthur wakes to a crackling sound followed by a baby fussing and blinks himself awake.
He takes a deep inhale through his nose, turning his head towards the baby monitor then further to the alarm clock.
He sighs, lifting both hands to rub at his face, the skin of his palms dry and his face even more so.
4 hours.
Definitely a step forward, a new record.
"Qu’l heure…"
The fussing from the monitor continues, small cries taking on in volume. He’ll have to go in before Matthew wakes up as well.
“I’ve got it. Go back to sleep.”
Arthur mumbles groggily, pushing himself up reluctantly and pulling the duvet aside.
A warm hand brushes at his back and he pauses to sit at the edge of the bed. He eyes the monitor, then the open door ahead of him.
The house is cold and he shivers, counting to three then reaches behind him to give Francis’ hand a squeeze and a lazy kiss, before heaving himself to stand with a grunt.
The shirt he wore yesterday is the closest at hand and he pulls it on to ward off the chills until he can get back to bed and steps into the pair of slippers that stand by the door when he finally drags himself out of the bedroom and down along the corridor.
He runs a flat hand across his hair, brushing it out of his face and closing his eyes while he walks.
He refuses to turn the lights on, the house isn’t that dark and it’s maneuverable. The light always seems to disturb Alfred more than help him anyway, especially sick, he seems particularly light sensitive after waking.
His slippers drag against the wooden flooring and leads him to the room next door.
The door is ajar, a point they make to keep everything open and easy to access. He steps into the doorway, giving the door a gentle push.
He’s greeted by the softest of light from a winnie-the-pooh night light sitting in the outlet at the end of the room and Arthur thanks the heavens it’s as dull and old as it is, to shine so softly.
The first crib he sees is with Matthew. It’s silent, and he can glimpse him still sleeping, while a step further in allows him to spot Alfred.
Arthur looks at him squirming and making a rocus. He huffs exasperatedly.
“Hello.” He sighs, as he drags himself to the crib’s edge.
Alfred’s managed to wrap himself up in his blankets, lying on his back, he looks at the verge of a fit.
Upon seeing him approach, the fussing becomes the beginnings of sobbing and Arthur leans down. Outstretching his arms to begin freeing him from the blanket-prison he’s gotten himself trapped in. 
“Oh, I know. I know. You make some compelling arguments, sire.”
Alfred hiccups at that, binky lying abandoned in the array of teddies Francis’ showered him with after his last recovery and he seems like he’s missed it when Arthur places it back into his greedy little hands.
He probably couldn’t find it in his frantic attempt to unwind himself.
Arthur places both hands under his arms, lifting him up with a playful heave and a ho and places the lad on his hip.
He gives him a once over, checking his face and skin for anything out of the ordinary, but he’s just teary eyed and snot faced and really that’s not so bad, is it.
He gets a hitched breath and decides to get moving to warm up a bottle. A babbling of discontentment following him as he begins to walk.
“That right? Surely not, love, surely not. I bet you’re as tired as I am.”
Alfred babbles some more and Arthur nods in agreement, directing his gaze at his feet, to watch his step down the stairs. 
“Yes, yes, I don’t like sleeping hungry either. Here we go, downstairs.”
The last step creaks obnoxiously and Arthur reminds himself for the hundredth time that he should probably take a look at that.
Alfred continues to fuss and Arthur continues to humor him, jumping him up and down a few times, he goes to turn on the radiators in the living room before making the journey to the kitchen.
He turns on the light from the air vent, the yellow bulb flickers a few times before it comes on and he starts his nightly Alfred-routine.
He finds a pot, fills it with water and sets it to heat up.
Francis already prepared a bottle a few hours ago, ready to heat up and all Arthur has to do now is wait, as he places it carefully into the water to warm it.
The steam rises and begins to melt in with the air around it, and Arthur absentmindedly turns on the vent. It whirrs to life in a gradual ascent and Arthur sits Alfred down onto the counter and crouches down to be at face level with him.
Alfred’s stopped crying, but is still hiccupping and fussy, and he stares teary eyed into Arthur’s own, small scars from the pox still left over near his hairline.
“You must be nocturnal.” Arthur says, reaching his hands up to grab Alfred’s smaller ones and drive them around in circles playfully. 
“You sleep more during the day than you do during the night. What’s that about, ay?” 
He says, smiling in an attempt to get Alfred to as well.
“Are you sneaking out to dance in the moonlight while your pa and I are sleeping?”
Alfred continues to suck at his binky, but he does briefly smile and Arthur continues off of that.
“You do?” He makes an exaggeratedly surprised expression, and Alfred laughs through a hiccup.
“I didn’t take you much for a dancer, but I stand corrected. But as your father, I have to say you’re rather young for such nightly escapades, young man.”
Alfred does laugh for real this time and Arthur grins at him. About to say something else when a sizzling from the pot boiling over catches his attention and he springs up to turn the heat off. 
He keeps one hand supporting Alfred, the other mindlessly grabbing the hot part of the pot and eliciting a yelp at the burn. 
Alfred seems to find his distress funny, because he laughs at the way Arthur flaps his hand then fumbles to pull the pot away by the handle.
A little sadist, the lad.
“You little devil.” He says incredulously. “Laughing at your own dad being an idiot, I’m perfectly capable of laughing at myself, thank you.”
Alfred laughs, ironically, at that as well and Arthur figures it can’t be helped.
He’s just happy the boy isn’t crying anymore - God knows, he’s done too much of that.
Arthur picks him back up and grabs a tea towel for the bottle to dry it off and to hold it without dropping it.
He’s going to let it sit for a minute or two, to cool to bearable temperatures, so he can test it and finally let Alfred have it.
He’s being surprisingly cooperative, looking down at the pot, with his hand fiddling with his binky.
“Are you excited to eat something?” Arthur asks, resettling him to hold him with both arms.
Alfred keeps staring at the pot, but does move his hand and slaps it against Arthur’s mouth.
He closes an eye at it, leaning his head back and sideways, but it’s such commonplace it’s barely surprising.
“Alright! Alright, cheers, I’m done talking.”
They wait for the bottle with Arthur jumping Alfred and Alfred eventually abandoning the pot in favor of leaning his head to rest under Arthur’s chin.
He begins to fuss again when Arthur tests the temperature of the milk on his arm and when he brings them out of the kitchen to sit down by the dinner table.
The light from the kitchen mixes with the blue hue of the night and Arthur situates Alfred to lie down in one arm and positions the bottle with the other.
Alfred spits the binky out himself, reaching greedily for his nighttime meal.
Arthur leans back in the chair for the following minutes, moving his head side to side in an attempt to loosen out a knick and closes his eyes tiredly for just a few moments.
He doesn’t know how he’s gotten through the past 6 months.
First it was a lung infection, then the pox, then right back to another lung infection.
The doctors said he’s predisposed to illness, something about being too small at birth, they don’t anticipate he’ll make it much more than a year.
‘It just is that way at times with twins.’
Arthur opens his eyes and looks down at his son tiredly and misty eyed.
He is small, lying there in the crook of his arm with his eyes closed, falling asleep while eating.
All babies are small. They’re supposed to be small, that’s the whole point of growing. And Alfred’s been growing fine, he’s smaller than Matthew is, but he’s only half a year, he has plenty of time to catch up.
Arthur sniffs, turning his head towards his shoulder to wipe his face in it. 
He’ll catch up.
To hell with what the doctors say, he’ll catch up and he’ll make it past a year. Of course he will. 
A child doesn’t go out on nightly moonlight-raves at 6 months old, if they aren’t going to make it past one year.
Alfred will make it, and he’ll get to grow up and go to actual raves and Arthur’s going to support the hell out of it, because if Alfred wants to, then that’s reason enough to support it.
Alfred stops drinking with the tiniest bit left over and spits it out and Arthur sets it on the table quietly.
Alfred’s eyes are closed, and he’s breathing audibly, clearly half-asleep.
“Alrighty-o, lad.” He says, sniffing and wiping at his nose briefly to situate Alfred upwards. “Sorry to interrupt you, but you’re going to regret falling asleep without trying to throw up on me first, so let’s get that over with, shall we?”
Alfred stares at him sleepily in response and Arthur brings them back to the kitchen to get a small towel to put over his shoulder.
He sets the bottle to soak for the night and pats Alfred’s back.
He does burp a few times, but to Arthur’s relief, there is no reflux along with it.
He just lies there, and Arthur stands with him until he falls asleep, falling heavy and limp against his shoulder and that’s that for tonight then.
He turns the vent and the light off and stands for a moment to adjust to the dark.
He skips the creaky step on the stairs as he goes up and returns as quietly as he can to the nursery to set Alfred down.
The lad fusses briefly as he’s laid down, but settles just as quickly and Arthur watches him with the light from the nightlight for a time. Perhaps too long.
They should’ve waited with giving them their own room, it would’ve been easier to hear them from their own and Arthur wouldn’t have to feel so on edge he barely even sleeps anymore.
He runs his fingers softly across Alfred’s cheek. Stroking across the babyfuss and the drool and the stray streaks of milk that he wipes away, unbothered.
He begins to hum, ever so quietly.
“Close your eyes,” He mutters, voice terrible and definitely not made for singing. “Have no fear.”
He tries to think about the future where Alfred is bigger. Where he’s walking and running and biking, where he’s using the swingset right alongside Matthew out in their backyard, and tumbling and getting scrapes and bruises that won’t have the looming fear of being fatal.
“The monster’s gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here.”
He begins to tear up, stroking Alfred’s hair back, he pulls the blanket over him to tug him in properly.
“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,”
Alfred stirs and Arthur retracts his hands. “Beautiful boy.” 
He hums the remaining tunes, letting them trail off to hear both boys breathing into the early morning.
He doesn’t bother drying his eyes this time, he doesn’t even know if he wants to go back to bed. He’s tired, exhausted, but he can’t stop worrying.
He wants to stop, but he can’t.
He crosses the room to check Matthew, finding him equally as asleep as Alfred, although instead of being wrapped in his blanket, he’s kicked it off entirely.
Arthur replaces it over him and runs his hand across his hair the same way, before standing back and rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and deciding he’s really going to be no help if he doesn’t sleep at all.
He casts a final look down at Matthew, lingering by both boys, before fighting himself back out into the hallway and creeping himself back into bed.
It dips softly and he falls onto the pillow with a sigh. He doesn’t bother taking the shirt off again and his side of the bed isn’t warm anymore either, so it’s just as well.
Francis moves beside him as he’s settled in, turning to face him and scooting closer to envelope him with the duvet.
It crinkles and warms him, Francis’ arm snakes over and around and he’s pressing a lazy, prickly kiss to his mouth that he doesn’t have the energy to return at all.
“I'll take the next one.” Francis whispers.
“You have not slept in days.”
“Nonsense.” Arthur mutters.
Francis half-heartedly slaps his back. 
“It’s like I’m taking care of three children, instead of 2.”
Arthur scoffs. “O, ye of little faith.”
Francis presses in for another kiss and Arthur returns it this time, albeit barely.
They settle down; At the verge of sleep.
The monitor goes off, and Francis groans. 
Arthur laughs.
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senditothemoonn · 9 months
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@ashafox drew an amecan ponyo au and I have been thinking about these two ever since ✨
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