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brisquad-unit-4402 · 10 months

Note

Hey! I love your headcannons and stuff for njsj! Idk if i will do this request thing right but can i add like some numbers for 1 headcannon/drabble?

If i can i would like 20+23 with maybe a 18+ 12 ;) for shu and alban, idk if you want to add anyone else but i love those 2 sm so anyone with them!

Also congrats on 100 followers!!! Here's to many more to come!! You definitely deserve it !

thank you for the encouragement, i’m flattered. and yes, i’m alright with adding prompts into one entry! i couldn’t tell if 12 ;) was implying you wanted form the mature list or not, so i just went with 12 from the basic list. if you meant that you wanted mature prompt 12 let me know! kind of my fault for making both lists have numbers instead of a better way to specify mature from basic. regardless i hope you enjoy

ah... i feel like i took too long of a break from writing after stars above your skin and now i'm out of it... maybe i'll take some of my own ideas in my notes and write them in 3rd pov instead of 2nd, because i feel like my 3rd pov is getting stunted... you get that feeling after not practicing a skill for a while, right? i need to get better! i always want to get better!!

tags: established relationship, gender-neutral reader, fluff, off-collab, cuddling, sleepy kisses

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🎭 Alban Knox

20. secret relationship + 23. off-collab

The thief leans over your shoulder as you cut, and the knife drips. Residue sticks to your hands as you draw gashes along the flesh. The smell is pungent, and the chat frenzies at the revolving massacre even though you have yet to notice your witnesses.

Alban crinkles his nose. “You seriously cut garlic like that?”

You pouted and continue to fumble over the clove of garlic. “You said you wanted to see me cut it!”

“Okay, but I didn’t expect it to be that bad.”

“It’s going to get minced anyways, I’m just, um, preparing it!”

“Mincing is preparing it. Gimme some of that.” You pause so Alban could pick out two pieces and hold them up to the handcam. One chunk was so big that the camera could pick up the details of the center of the clove where it had been cut, and the other was miniscule in comparison. “You see this, chat? Reader’s cutting it like it’s supposed to get diced, but it’s not even in cubes. Just weird shapes.”

“Don’t shame my garlic! They can be whatever they want to be.”

“They look like they want to die. Here, let me try.”

Alban takes the knife away and chops the remaining garlic. He’s no Michelin star chef, sure, but he’s much faster than you, and with much better technique. In just a few blinks, the clove is nothing more than tiny, evenly minced pieces.

“You’re so cool, Alban.” Your eyes practically sparkled as you focused on his work. For a moment he’s glad there isn’t a good way for your models to track on stream, because with you distracted and the chat unaware, there’s no one to see him turn his head away bashfully at the sudden praise.

You take the knife and get started on the next clove. You still have a couple more to go. Unsteady hands try to replicate Alban as much as you can. “Is it like this?”

“It’s more like…”

Alban grasps your hand, still over the knife, and guides you along with slow motions. The clove slices apart into coins, then the knife turns and cuts into strips. Afterwards, he places one of your hands along the blunt edge while the dominant remains in the handle, and chops through the pile of garlic until there’s nothing but small, even bits.

He retracts one of his hands, but his grip is still firm on top of the handle, above yours. You realize that even though the chat is likely freaking out over the hand holding, his arm is still bent out as if it came from beside you, and not from where he stands flush against your body.

Then he plants his free hand along the side of your hip, drawing you closer, and your face goes hot. Even if there’s no way the camera could pick it up, you can’t help but feel exposed. You lost count of how many live viewers you have, but you can only imagine thousands of people watching your every move, and how if that camera moves even an inch, you and your boyfriend would be in danger of getting caught.

Alban perches his head on your shoulder, coy as ever. “How’s that?”

“It’s…” You smack your lips and say the first thing on your mind before anyone can get suspicious. “Garlic.”

“Evenly cut garlic that won’t have weird cooking times,” he boasts. “Do you remember how to do it?”

Though you do have to admit, smugness is a good look on Alban, especially when he can embrace you like this.

“Nope,” you lie. “Show me again?”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

18. wearing their clothes + 12. kissing before leaving for the day

Alban takes his coat off and on so often that there’s no real need for a coat hanger, even when he’s not wearing it. He tends to leave it draped in whichever room he took it off, and leaves it there until he wants it next.

This morning, it’s placed along the back of a chair in your room. It’s more of a nuisance moving it than leaving it where it is, so you continue about your morning routine as you get ready for the day ahead. You walk past it time and time again as you pace around and get yourself together.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It’s an off-day, so you plan on getting some errands done before the afternoon rush. You’ve finished everything in your routine, but you look down at your outfit. Something feels… incomplete.

Your eyes slide over to the coat hanging off the chair.

On Alban, the coat covers almost his entire frame, and on you it’s no different. It works really well with your clothes, though, and you can understand why Alban wears it religiously. The fabric doesn’t impede your movement, but weighs down on your shoulders like a heavy blanket, and feels just as comfortable and soft as one. You bury your nose into the baggy hood. Smells ambery, just like him.

You step out of your room, still buried in the hood of his coat, and prepare the last of your things before you leave the house. As you grab your keys, you see a figure enter the room, with a fluffy bedhead and oversized sleepwear.

Alban yawns like a housecat. One eye cracks open as he does, a chocolatey brown that droops a little with drowsiness. “Good morning, Reader.”

“Good morning, Alban.” You swipe your keys into one of the coat’s many pockets with one hand, and pat Alban’s head with the other. The sleeve slides down as you reach for his messy hair. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm, really well. I didn’t want to get up at all—” He stops himself. He blinks the sleep away, then focuses on your sleeve as it rolls back down your arm, one chocolate eye and one neon taking in your appearance. “Is that my…?”

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, why would I?”

He makes grabby hands at you, and when you get close enough for him to touch, he fiddles with how the coat lays on your body, an affectionate look on his face. He finally decides on zipping it up most of the way and flips the hood over your head. It flops over your eyes.

You reach up to readjust it, and when you regain your eyesight, you’re greeted by Alban rocking on his feet with a sweet smile. His voice is still sleepy and low, but excited. “Aww, Reader, you look so cute!”

“It’s so comfy.” You hug your sleeves and nestle into the coat, proving both your and Alban’s points. The hood flops over again, so you brush it up with one hand, resembling a cat pawing at its ear. Alban coos. “All set? I’m about to go do some errands.”

“Wait, before you go! Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He cocks his head, waiting for you to answer. Instead, you rest a hand on his shoulder and lean to meet your lips along his own. The taste is crisp and fresh, and even though you can tell he started his morning routine, Alban’s lips are slow, sleepy, and savory.

When you part, Alban playfully bats at your hood and knocks it back over your eyes. He chuckles. “Be safe, okay? I’ll see you later today.”

With a huff and clumsy hands, you push it back up while Alban’s sleepy smile turns into a smirk. In his hands is something you didn’t notice before: an old but cared-for leather wallet folded up in his grasp. Alban’s wallet.

“When did you get that?” You ask. You could’ve sworn he was empty-handed when he greeted you. Realization strikes you. You pat down the pockets on the bottom of the coat, where you last remember the wallet, and when those turn out empty, you search all the other small pockets along the coat. “Wait, don’t tell me.”

“Did you think you could pull a fast one on me?” He teases.

“No, I just—didn’t realize! Did you grab it while we were kissing? I didn’t even notice!”

“Heh, you know me! I’m an elusive, badass phantom…” Alban trails off into a massive yawn. ”…Thief. I’m a phantom thief.”

“Sure are.” You ruffle his hair. “Cutest elusive badass out there. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Come back faster. I’ll miss you.”

“Before you know it,” you repeat. “Besides, I’m wearing your coat. I’ve got a little bit of you with me today.”

He kisses you again, this time on your forehead where the hoodie rests. You can still sense the faded toothpaste smell. “Okay. Now get out, I need to make some coffee.”

“Screw you too.” You have a hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be home soon!”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

20. secret relationship + 23. off-collab

“Okay, they should be able to hear you now.”

“Eyyyy, guys. How’s my volume?”

“Chat says you’re good, Shu. What about me?”

Shu’s streaming laptop is gingerly placed in the center of your impromptu studio. This off-collab was rather impulsive, and the only place in the vacation home with enough outlets for all the stream equipment was on the floor, so you dumped a bunch of blankets and pillows over the floor for both sound preservation and comfort.

At first the setup on the floor was scuffed. It took nearly an hour before stream to get things organized with PNGs instead of your models, and the first ten minutes were full of chat mentioning someone was too far away to hear.

“Too quiet,” Shu says. “I think you need to get closer to the mic.”

You shuffle forward. “How about now?”

Still, the chat can’t quite understand you. Ready to readjust, you get to your feet but Shu tugs on your pant leg before you can fully rise.

You cock your head, trying to figure out his game, but it falls into place when he lightly pats his leg. He’s sitting on a pillow with his legs folded underneath themselves, the picture of elegance without even trying. His sorcerous nature tends to make him graceful even when he’s casual, including the relaxed position during the stream.

“I think I have an idea on how to fix it, Reader.” One pointed fingernail beckons you. “Come here.”

Curious, you scooch over inch-by-inch, closing the gap between you and Shu. That is, until Shu reaches out, scoops his hand by your shoulder, and brings you down in one fell swoop. Your body is placed along his lap, with your head resting along his thighs.

Shu reaches for the mic across your head while you’re too caught off-guard to react, and fiddles with it while you watch his focused face and elongated muscle above you. The mic stand lowers. “Say something now, Reader?”

“Um…”

Does he seriously expect you to stream like this? You may be dating, but this has to be unprofessional on so many levels, especially since there’s no way chat could know your position with those PNGs on screen. Is the audio okay? What happens if you bump the mic or it picks up a weird sound that clues your audience into the secret streamer relationship scandal of the year?

The paranoia is getting to you, but you can’t deny it; Shu’s lap is really comfortable. His calves fold at just the right place so that it serves as an incline for your body.

Shu's fingers rest on your hair, and it rustles as he begins to comb through. Your heart soars.

“What was that?” He says out loud in response to nothing. He’s obviously bluffing, but he looks so at peace with his hands in your hair and the stream online. This might be his perfect element. “Reader, can you repeat that again?”

“…Right.” Screw it. If Shu is this calm, then maybe there’s nothing to fear after all. You close your eyes as Shu strokes you, and you launch into your default greeting as your role in the company.

When Shu smiles, you can hear how his voice lifts. “Chat says it’s all good. Welcome to the stream, everybody.” His nails travel to your jawline. One finger lightly scratches along while the others prop along your face, and the action is so tender it almost feels religious. Shu watches you exhale, appreciating the moment to relax even while the stream is running, and when he continues, only one person listening can recognize how his voice clouds into cotton candy. “I have Reader with me today.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

18. wearing their clothes + 12. kissing before leaving for the day

Shu’s sleep schedule is, as you know, a mess, but last night was probably one of his… messier moments. He scheduled a late-night membership stream, and only hours before he went live, he made a members-only post for the waiting room. The thumbnail and title both had soju in it.

Long story short, the stream ended in the wee hours of the morning with the Yaminions happily fed and Shu satisfied, but barely able to keep his eyes open until he raided another stream. You were asleep for the majority of the stream but woke up just as his head hit the pillow, still in his daytime clothes and not a single step of his nightly routine done. You gently jostled Shu to get himself ready for bed, but the sun was rising in the sky by the time he fell asleep properly.

The day doesn’t stop for anyone. A few hours later, you wake up well-rested and in time for your plans for the day. Shu is still sound asleep, however. He stole the covers and nestled up in the warmth while he was asleep, and you could barely see his face through untamed dark hair. Even in deep sleep and all covered up like this, he’s adorable. He doesn’t stir a bit even as you climb out of bed and get ready.

After brushing your teeth, you pass from the bathroom to the bedroom again and think on your outfit, before you see a plume of fur out of the corner of your eye.

The memories of last night—this morning?—Return as you examine the dresser, and the fur on top of it. It’s the loose black sleeves from Shu’s newer outfits, and on top of it is a large bat wing wrapped in a black-and-white fur pelt.

You take the sleeves and pelt in your hands, intending to put them away where they belong, but the fur is so inviting and cozy you don’t want to let go. You bury your face in it. It’s so fluffy! And it smells just like his everyday fragrance, subtly sweet while undeniably human.

The sleeves are adjustable, and slide in place on your arms easily. You think to yourself. His accessories are pretty wild, but you could tone these down into something a lot more casual streetwear with your outfit today. Besides, it’s your day off and you’ll be meeting up with some friends to hang out. It wouldn’t be inappropriate.

Shu probably wouldn’t mind, either.

You slip the pelt over your shoulder and fasten the sleeves as you finish up your breakfast, just about ready to leave the house. The pelt is surprisingly light, and the bat wing conserves your heat without getting sweaty.

The last thing left to do is to grab your keys. You head over to the bedroom and find them on your nightstand. Shu is exactly where you left him, the hair in front of his face swishing along to his gentle breathing.

It parts out of his face as you reach out. Your hands stroke his hair as you examine his sleeping face. His lips are slightly open, and whenever he exhales, you can see a flash of teeth between his blanket nest. His banana rests between his ear and the pillow.

The closer you get to him, the more your smile grows. He’s… really adorable. Everything about him right now seems soft, almost cherubic. He looks like a stuffed animal. A plush cat! You have to fight the urge to squeeze him like one.

Instead, you brush some of his hair out of the way, and press a kiss to his temple.

Shu doesn’t move. He’s still as plush as ever. Even as the kiss ends, he’s so warm that you want to stay nearby.

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” you whisper, close to his ear. “I’ll be back.”

A lock of pink hair curls under your fingers as you tuck it behind the ear. Shu’s eyes are closed, but you hear him drowsily grunt. Is he awake? “Mm-mm.”

You stifle a giggle. “You want me to stay?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But I have things to do.”

“Mm-mm.”

“I’ll stay a little longer if you wake up. Are you awake?”

Shu finally opens his mouth. “Noooo.”

“Then I’ll let you rest while I’m out.” You kiss him again. “Goodnight. Bye-bye, Shu.”

“Wait.” Shu blindly feels around with his free hand, and finds yours. He takes it, groggily but gently, guiding you closer to him even though his eyes are shut. The back of your palm goes velvet pink, and you hear a small chu as he parts.

Then he tucks your hand in his grasp like a stuffed animal. You’re trapped.

“Shu,” you whine. You try to wriggle out, careful not to disturb him. No avail, however. You’re stuck, and the sleeves drape along his body like even more blankets. “I have somewhere to be!”

He cuddles up to your forearm, and his head meets the fur of his pelt. “Soft.” He nuzzles closer, considering your shoulder as a suitable pillow, before fully resting his head on you.

You call his name again. It’s a really strange position for you, and besides, you have plans!

But then you look down. You don’t remember seeing that light smile on his face when you first kissed him goodbye.

You can make five minutes for that smile.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ event post ✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#alban knox #alban knox x reader #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #alban knox fluff #shu yamino fluff #nijisanji en #luxiem #noctyx #nijisanji x reader #luxiem x reader #noctyx x reader #4402 writes #100 followers for 4402 #writing this while wearing a new oversized orange and black hoodie. the longing. man #hiqhkey

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supernovadragoncat · 3 years

Note

Hello! Do you have any tips on starting to write fan fiction?? Like any advice for beginners or maybe some prompts (or places to find prompts)? I, of course, was thinking of venturing into Sansan ff but the idea of writing even a fully fledged small one shot seems quite daunting so I was thinking of just writing small scenes to begin with.. like idk a paragraph about their first kiss or the first time they meet or a scene describing something about them that could some day belong in a larger piece, maybe..

I wrote some fanfic when I was like 14 and now I’m 22 and recently rediscovered my love for it so honestly I really feel like I want/need to write but I’m also scared I’ll hate anything I’ll jot down :( When I was a pre-teen/early teen I was really into writing (even if it was bad, I deeply enjoyed it) but then I kinda stopped (bc life, teen angst, then depression etc) so now I feel like I have to make up for lost time.

I would gladly appreciate any advice. And I’m sorry for the confession, I’m writing to you because I really admire your writing, both in general and in the context of our lovely fandom, and I suppose because you had that break from posting fan fiction I am genuinely curious how you managed it and how you got back into writing?

Thank you!

Hi Sweet Nonny! ❤️

Thank you so much for reaching out. I’m so happy that you did and no need to apologize for the confession! My ask box is always open.

Congrats on getting back into writing! It’s always both scary and exciting, but the SanSan fandom is filled with wonderful souls who are forever gracious and welcoming!

In terms of writing prompts:

There are great SanSan-specific prompts here.

Also this blog is a treasure trove as well

The SanSan Writers Guild (SWG) also does one-word prompts on Sundays and Wednesdays (Six Sentence Scribbles). Folks share in the SWG Discord server (you can join here!), tumblr, and Twitter.

Below are some things that I’ve found helpful in my own writing. Ultimately, you’ll know what works best for you, so if some of this is helpful, that’s fantastic. If some of it doesn’t resonate with you, that is completely fine too! Take what works and leave the rest!

Most of what I’ve discovered about writing comes down to this:

Self-imposed restrictions kill motivation. Writing on a strict schedule, trying to update with a certain frequency, aiming for perfection on the first draft, writing towards an audience’s expectation, not your own vision. I’ve done all of these things and it zapped a lot of the joy out of writing.

So here’s what I try to keep in mind to avoid those things...

Your contribution is always worthy

The wonderful thing about fanfic is that it can be anything you want it to be. Drabbles, snippets, text fics, pic sets, long fics…all of it is worthy and fandom needs diversity. We all bring something different to the table and that's what keeps fandom interesting and alive.

For my first fanfic, it started as just two sentences. That’s it! Once I wrote those two, I wrote a couple more. Then I got an idea for a scene, so I wrote that out. Then the next one. Before I knew it, I had a chapter, then an idea for another. It just snowballed.

The things is—it doesn’t have to snowball. I could’ve written just those two lines and it was still something worth being proud of. If you ever doubt yourself, just remember anything you create is worthy. No one else could've made it because they’re not you. Every single writer has a unique voice and something to contribute.

Write what you’re motivated to write.

If it’s just a short bit of dialogue, then start with that. If it’s a small scene, then write that. If it’s a small bit of imagery, write that. Write out of order if that helps too. If the muse wants you to write something that’s a sharp left turn from what you planned or had envisioned, follow that muse!

And if you find yourself with a handful of WIPS or ideas and you’re feeling one more than the other, write whichever one rocks your socks off. There’s no shame in following the inspiration!

You will probably hate your first draft. Embrace the mess.

I always hate my first draft. Always. I honestly believe it’s part of the process. I think of writing/editing like sculpting. The blank page is a hunk of marble and the first draft is just the first pass. It’s probably going to be rough and a squint-and-you’ll-see-it shape of a story. It’s not meant to be David on the first go.

Once I got comfortable knowing I’d nit-pick a lot of what first goes on the page, writing became easier. I stopped trying to create magic on that first draft and I focused on just letting go. You can’t edit a blank page, so anything you write down is progress, even if you hate it. You can fix it later, but the process of creating isn’t meant to be neat and seamless. It’s messy and hard, but therapeutic, fun, and so very worth it!

Delete whatever you want.

I’ve written thousands of words that just. weren’t. working, but I couldn’t bear the thought of deleting them, so I banged my head against the wall trying to make it work. Finally, I took the unworkable text, put it in a separate document, and started fresh.

This is where self-evaluation comes in handy—knowing the difference between writing that just needs a little more time and some sculpting and writing that I’m stubbornly holding onto and needs to be put out of its misery so the idea can be reborn again.

Have a routine.

A lot of writing advice I’ve read on the internet talks about writing every single day. I think what these people are really getting at is to establish a routine, but no one says your routine has to be writing every day or at a certain time or writing a certain amount.

I used to try to write after work, but it took too long to get into the right headspace or I was too mentally zapped. If I didn’t write, I felt like I was missing opportunities to get words on the page, so guilt crept in. I was trying to write on a schedule, not a routine.

Now, I write to a routine—write on the weekends and edit during the week (if I feel up to it). I don’t hold myself to a schedule, but I embrace a pattern that is conducive to the rhythm of my life and outside responsibilities. Do whatever works for you and, if guilt creeps in, just remember—you are on no one’s timeline but your own!

Take breaks and prioritize self-care.

We all love to write and taking a break can sometimes feel like procrastinating, letting people down who are waiting for updates, etc. I think it’s important to take breaks as needed and to prioritize self-care; to be gentle and patient with ourselves and to enjoy the creative process, not just the final output.

As you mentioned, I took a four-year break from fandom that was unplanned. I didn't write or read fanfic at all during this time. I got back into writing the same way I got into it in the first place. It started with a small idea that I wrote one sentence at a time.

I also didn’t post what I wrote for a long time. There was a joy in writing just for myself. There’s absolutely no shame in that at all, so if you find yourself enjoying the writing experience, but aren’t ready to post or share, that’s completely okay! You share when you're ready.

One last thing...

Someone once said that we need to take breaks from writing if nothing more than to collect experiences in life because it’s those experiences—the people we connect with, the places we visit, the things we endure—that we take to the page with us.

When I came back to writing, I too felt like I needed to make up for lost time or that I’d wasted years of my life not doing what I loved. But I hadn’t wasted anything. I’d spent years collecting experiences and the me of 2016 could never have written the stories that the me in 2021 writes simply because I lived through a lot in that time.

You too now have experiences you’ve collected and that you’ll bring to the page and, if you ever need to take a break and collect more experiences, that is completely valid and just as important.

Now that I’ve written you a novel, I wish you all the best in writing and in fandom! Again, my ask box and messages are always open if you ever need anything! Thank you so much for the ask! I hope this helps!

Happy writing and much love! ❤️ ✍️

#on writing #sansan #ask away!

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tickle-bugs · 3 years

Text

I had two people ask for some advice on starting up/running a blog, so I thought I’d make a little post for anyone else looking for advice! There’s no one right way to run a blog and I am by no means an expert. This is just a compilation of some of the things I’ve learned :)

Feel free to add advice to this!

- The first thing is something I cannot stress enough. Write for yourself first. You will be absolutely miserable if you’re only writing for attention. I’m not saying it’s easy, but it’s so incredibly important. If you don’t like a prompt, fandom, or scenario? You don’t have to write for it! A personal example: I’m a theatre kid and total musical nerd. I could probably write some compelling Dear Evan Hansen or Hamilton headcanons if I wanted to, but I don’t. That’s fine! I’m allowed to say I won’t write for it and deny prompts/requests for those fandoms.

- Set boundaries. This is a very mixed community with all sorts of creators and participants with hands in different baskets. Don’t want minors to interact? Put minors DNI in your bio. SFW only? Put it in the bio. No RP? Bio. This goes for private conversations/askbox/other interactions as well. If someone comes into your askbox/dms and says something that makes you uncomfy, shut it down.

- My advice is more geared towards writing than art or video, but I suppose you could apply this advice as well. Make what makes you happy! If you’re only in one fandom, feel free to stay there and make content for it. Multi-fandom? Excellent! Completely non-fandom? Epic! Make the content that you want to see and the content that makes you happy to create, especially if you’re in a more niche fandom/area.

- Organization. ...I’ll admit this one is more of a personal pet peeve than something urgent, but it is something that people positively respond to. If you have some sort of consistency/organization to your blog, it’ll make it easier and more enjoyable for people to navigate. Make a fandom list/indicate your fandoms somehow (mostly for prompt purposes. people can’t read your mind, so it’s important to tell them what you will write for and what you won’t, however you want to do that)!

Make a masterpost/link your fic tag! Use a fic tag of some kind. Give your fics summaries and leave a little bit of the fic above the ‘read more’ to intrigue folks (look at #my fics and my masterpost for basic examples of how I do this, if you need!). Use read mores. Please use read mores (if you can, idk if they’re on mobile. regardless no one wants to encounter a three thousand word block of text on their dash). (No seriously though, organize your blog, even if it’s super simple. literally just a ‘mine’ or ‘my fics’ or ‘[pseud] writes’ and a fandom tag. It’ll make it easier for people to find your stuff and support you)

- Practice general internetiquette. Please remember that the people in this community are real people with feelings, boundaries, and lives outside of the blog that they run. Be genuine and people will respond to you! Don’t manipulate people into likes/reblogs/attention. No one wants to be on the other end of that. Being in this community isn’t a transaction or a mosh pit, it’s an experience.

- Be ever-so-liberal with the block button. Someone’s user makes you uncomfortable? They give you bad vibes? They’re a minor/older than you and you don’t want them interacting with your content? You don’t wanna see their blog for some reason? Block em. This goes for anons too. That’s what the button is for. Don’t feel guilty for using it. Use it.

- How you write is 100% a personal choice and not really something that I can give advice on, but embrace your style! take prompts if you want, or don’t. Write oneshots, series, drabbles, or novels. Write romantic, or don’t. Etc. Change things up if you feel like it. Do what you want. Your blog, your style, your rules.

- Numbers matter. Don’t let them define you. This is a bit of a harder one to explain, but I will try. I often say that I don’t care about numbers, and I really don’t, but that’s not to say that I don’t see them and they have zero effect on me. I absolutely notice and am bummed if a fic doesn’t get notes, or at least the notes that I was expecting. That is entirely normal and okay to experience. What isn’t okay, though, is creating for the sake of getting notes/numbers/attention (re: write for yourself first, internetiquette). If you find yourself relying on tumblr for gratification and a reward, I implore you to take a break. I’m not your therapist or your parent, I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but when you make things only for the sake of notes, people notice. Celebrate your milestones. Know that it’s okay to be bummed about low notes/celebrate getting plenty. Just make sure that you don’t depend on the numbers for your happiness, or you will be miserable.

- You’re (probably) doing this for free. You are providing people content: a service. Produce as much or as little as you’re comfy with, but always remember that. No one is entitled to what you make. If someone asks you for headcanons, sends a prompt when prompts are closed, etc, and you don’t feel like fulfilling it? You have no obligation to do that. Getting commissioned is another story entirely, but as long as you’re making free content, you have zero obligation to do anything for anyone and certainly no time constraints. It can take me months to finish prompts, and that’s okay. I do them when I do them and I fill them how I want to. If my prompts are closed, I deny new ones until I’m ready to accept them. Make yourself happy first.

- How you interact with others is up to you! It’s generally considered good practice to like/reblog your mutuals fics/art, but this is not necessarily a hard and fast rule. I veeeeeery rarely reblog fics for fandoms that I’m not in, even from my mutuals. What you can do to show your support (and you should try and show support somehow. No one is in competition. Everyone’s in your boat, whether they have no followers or 1k) is send an ask/reply to the post/leave tags to let the author know you liked it. Like the fic and don’t reblog it, if you don’t want to. Just make sure you show your mutuals (and others in general!) roughly the same support they show you, however you decide to do that. Treat others how you want to be treated, as cheesy as it sounds :)

- Don’t repost content that isn’t yours without express permission from the original creator, and credit them appropriately. If you see a cute piece of tickle art and the artist doesn’t want it reposted? Don’t repost it. Don’t post fics/videos/gifs that aren’t yours (obviously if it’s like a scene from a movie/a clip on youtube that’s different, but don’t take credit for things you didn’t make, including ideas). Can’t tell you how frustrating it is to have work stolen from you. Don’t be that person. ‘Credit to original artist’ and ‘credit unknown’ is total bullshit btw. Link/tag the creator in the original post and make it clear you don’t own the content. Best practice is to ask the original creator if they’re okay with reposting, work inspired by or connected to theirs, etc. This goes doubly for saving/downloading someone’s fics.

- It is not illegal for a minor to have normal, nonsexual, healthy friendships with people older than them. There’s a weird attitude that minors have nothing of value to offer adults besides a relationship/sex, which is...not true? Minors are thinking, living human beings with feelings, thoughts, and opinions. You can talk to them like normal people, because they are. Just obviously don’t talk about/introduce sex or endanger them. Minors don’t bring up sex/activities you’re underage for with an adult. IDK this isn’t a seminar just...don’t be weird. Adults can offer great life experience, support systems, and the basic joys and needs of human connection. Minors can too. Mind your business unless someone’s actually in danger. The next point is a caveat, though:

- If you’re a minor, don’t interact with NSFW blogs/blogs with ‘Minors DNI’, NSFW blogs don’t interact with minors, etc etc. Not your parent or whatever but this is pretty common sense and it’s for everyone’s safety, but especially the NSFW person. internettiquette!

- If you use your TK blog as a side blog (meaning you have another blog as your main blog, not two separate accounts) and don’t want your main exposed, that is up to you. I recommend not liking posts. Also, follow people that you trust. These actions route through your main blog and your main will show up in the notes. You can reblog from a sideblog. If you want to send an ask “as your tk blog”, send an anon and sign it somehow, like ‘hey :) // @/tickle-bugs’. It should tag you in the post so you get a notification when it’s answered!

- Find your people! As an anxious person this one has been hard for me, so I know it’s hard for a lot of people. Fandom is literally a community of shared interest. Peachy and I have an iron bond almost two years later and we met talking over shared interests. You can absolutely find your people here. If someone makes you happy, strike up a conversation! Send an ask! You never know what doors it might open or whose day you might improve :)

- If you were an anon/lurker on someone’s blog and they inspired you to write/submit/start your own, sign your messages!! the common form that I see is either an emoji or [noun/context of the ask]!anon (prodigal!anon (i miss u every day), butterfly!anon, etc.) Let us know how to find and support you!! Those messages produce good brain juice.

- The big finale: Have fun. If you’re not having fun here, maybe you could tweak something to make things enjoyable. Running a blog is like driving a car. Keep your hands on the wheel, respectfully indicate your intentions (flashing lights optional), and be safe. Poebody’s nerfect, y’know. If you make a mistake, course correct. I’m by no means perfect. Your favs aren’t either. Just do your best and have a good time :)

@rosytickles and the anon in my inbox, I hope this helps! Thank you for asking me, I’m very honored that you value my opinon/experience/advice. I apologize if I come off as preachy or aggressive, I envisioned grabbing my younger self by the lapels and shaking me vigorously while I wrote this. Probably a bad idea.

Anywho, hope it helps. Anyone with questions, additions, or comments, my askbox is open! Just be constructive, is all I ask.

#bug speaks #advice tag #sorry again if this sounds preachy or aggressive at any point i literally wrote it like i was grabbing younger me by the lapels #these are all things i learned through experience/observation i promise im not talking out of my ass here #the largest obstacle to maintaining a blog is how you view your happiness in relation to it. talked about it above but yeah.#also like i said: not a professional and not your parent. just giving friendly advice sine i was directly asked for it.#might add more to this if I think of more #my askbox and dms are open for questions/comments/additions just pls be respectful and constructive #other tfb community members feel free to add to this!

18 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Note

okay so in one of your quarantine drabbles you write about peter having a sensory overload i think and nat asks "how long?" and then she finds out it isnt long for peter and basically im saying id love to see the aftermath of peter's long episodes- maybe he like walks into a movie night where the other avengers are hanging and didnt tell him to try and let him sleep or something? idk it may be stupid i just thought it might be cute

Thanks for the prompt, babe! It’s been a while since I looked at that one ^-^ I hope you like it!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: Momma and Baby Spider. We love us some platonic Avengers.

Warnings: aftermath of sensory overload episode, other than that, hella fluffy

Word Count: 1869

Pretty much every time FRIDAY pops up a panel in her room, Natasha doesn’t pay a lot of attention because typically it’s something she knows already.

Not this time.

The window pops up as Natasha comes out of the bathroom, twisting her hair into a braid. It shows Peter sitting quietly by himself on the couch in the common room.

“FRIDAY, is Natasha in her room?”

“Yes.”

She expects Peter to get up and start walking towards the elevator but instead, he stays on the couch, twisting his hands together.

“…do you think she’d be okay with me going over?”

“Yes.”

He still doesn’t get up. Oh, Peter.

Natasha sighs and tosses the comb back onto the sink. Once arriving at the Complex, she’d had a feeling that this might happen. Considering how Peter had vanished into the lab within five minutes of arriving and only now, three hours later, has he emerged, it’s less of a feeling now.

“Do you—“

“Stop stalling, Peter, and go.”

Thank god for FRIDAY, hmm? She’s pretty certain if anyone else had tried to say that to him it wouldn’t’ve worked. The screen closes as Peter gets up with an: “okay, okay, I’m going.”

Natasha sits down on the bed and presses her hands together under her chin. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” the AI summarizes helpfully.

“Okay,” she breathes, getting up and going to the closet.

She opens the doors and reaches up, looking for the thick comforter. She pulls it down. Perfect. It’s nice and soft and thanks to being up on the top shelf it’s nice and cool. Spreading it over the bed, she straightens up just in time for the soft chime of the door.

Natasha pulls on the fluffy grey cardigan and goes to answer. Peter looks so much smaller standing swamped in his pink sweater than he did on the cameras.

“Ms. Romanoff?” Oh, dear. “Are — are you busy?”

“Come in, Солнышко,” she says instead, stepping aside.

Peter smiles — or at least the corners of his mouth quirk up a little bit — and walks through the door, glancing around the room. There isn’t anything Natasha can see, which means Peter’s not alright.

Obviously, we knew that, and we didn’t need the confirmation.

“Of course,” Natasha said. She closed the door. “What’s going on, Peter?”

'I just, um, wanted to see how you were settling in for the night—“

“Peter.”

Peter freezes. Then he looks over at Natasha, and swallows hard. “…sorry, habit.”

“I know.” Peter hides very well behind civility and the service mask. It’s the hardest one to take off, especially when it works so well.

“…are you settling in okay?” Case in point. Natasha’s about to chide him when she catches sight of Peter’s face. “Please?”

Natasha’s known Peter long enough to know what he’s really asking. “I’m just here relaxing, Peter, you’re not interrupting anything. I just got out of the shower when you arrived.”

“…thanks.”

She reaches out, offering her hand. Peter nods. She takes him lightly by the arm and tugs him toward the bed. “Now, what’s wrong, Солнышко?”

Poor Peter looks like he’s about ten seconds from falling over. He tries to stand up and Natasha’s chest clenches when he wobbles terribly.

“Easy,” she murmurs, catching him by the shoulders and sitting him back down, “talk to me.”

“…it’s…it’s been a really long day,” Peter mumbles, “and I, um…it started at school.”

“I see.” So more than three hours.

“And, um…” Peter hesitates. Then his arms go tightly around his waist. He laughs. For one second. Then it turns into a hitched gasp. It settles like a dead weight in Natasha’s chest.

“Obviously it didn’t go as well as I would’ve liked.”

“…oh, Peter, come here.”

Every single ounce of Natasha’s body is screaming at her to cuddle the poor kid until he can’t cry anymore. She tucks Peter’s head under her chin and works her hand under the iron grip the kid’s got on his own waist to rest on his lower stomach, rubbing softly to ground him.

It starts tensing under her hand and the hitching of his breaths makes Natasha curl her arms around him. Damn, she wishes she were better at this. All she does is clutch Peter closer as he begins to shake, making soothing noises.

“I didn’t know it was gonna be that bad, I wanted—I wanted to get work done today but I couldn’t and I just wanted to—“

“Shh, shh, you don’t have to explain, shh, I’ve got you.”

It takes a while, to neither of their surprises, but eventually, Peter stills and buries his face in Natasha’s neck, nuzzling into the collar of her sweater.

“…thank you for understanding, Nat,” he mumbles.

“Of course,” Natasha replies automatically, running her hand through Peter’s hair. As she feels Peter start to slump, an idea comes to her head. Something to help him fall asleep.

“Hey, listen,” she says softly, giving Peter’s head a little shake, “sometimes when it gets bad for me, I have this ritual of sorts. Can we try it?”

“Um, what is it?”

“Will you lie down on the bed for me?”

It takes a second, which she doesn’t mind at all, for Peter to move out of her arms and crawl to the middle of the bed. He tugs his sweater around him and lays down on his back.

“Here?”

“Perfect.” Natasha smiles and moves closer, swinging a leg to lie over Peter’s calves, still checking that it’s okay. She reaches forward to tug at the edge of Peter’s sweater. “Can I take your sweater off?”

“What are we doing?” Peter blurts out, tugging the sweater closer around himself.

Natasha smiles sadly. Sometimes she forgets that Peter’s still in so many ways just a kid. Even though he’s in so many ways the exact opposite. And right now, he looks every bit the scared kid who just needs a hug.

“I know that you said there’s a bit after one of your attacks, especially a long one,” she murmurs, “where it’s hard for you to remember where your body is.”

“Yeah.”

Natasha leans forward and runs her hand over Peter’s cheek. “In my experience, being close to someone afterward and knowing they care about you, after everything, makes me feel a little more human, a little more like I know I..have a body.”

“Is that why you help Steve with the whole once a week thing?”

“You mean having someone take care of you and make you feel safe and loved which is very important?” Natasha smirks as Peter starts to fumble with his hands and averts his gaze. “Hmm? Is that what you’re asking me?”

“…yes.”

“Yes. Also why I help Steve with it. Apart from the fact that he’s a big blond puppy dog with you, he’s very good at being very pure in his affections and he loves you. So much. We all do.”

And she does have to smile again with Peter giving Steve a run for his money with his puppy dog eyes.

“…what am I supposed to say to that?”

“That you love us too?”

Peter’s face changes to scared almost immediately and he scrambles upwards. “Of course I do, did I — “

“Shh, Солнышко, I’m teasing. Of course, we know.” Peter relaxes and lets Natasha lie him back down. “You don’t have to say anything.”

She can see how hard it is for him to feel like he’s okay to relax if he keeps talking.

“Or talk, if you don’t want to,” she amends.

“Okay.”

The room feels warmer with Peter here, like it’s trying to make itself into a nest. She takes the edge of the comforter and fluffs it, making it look like Peter’s sinking into the blanket. As she works, she starts murmuring softly.

“My ritual is to have someone else just stay with me for a little bit. Just to feel a little more human. So I just want to touch you. That’s it. Physical contact, safe, soft, from someone who loves you. Is that okay?”

She gets a nod, so she takes her hands and gently places them on the sides of his ribcage.

“…I want to touch your skin directly. It’ll help ground you. You can keep your stuff on if it helps. Is that okay?”

Another nod.

“Alright.”

She starts peeling the sweater slowly away from Peter’s body, running her hands over the material, and placing one hand on the little bit of Peter’s waist that she can see under his shirt.

“I think I know where to avoid but if at any time I hurt you or make you uncomfortable you tell me,” she says sternly, “don’t just lie there and take it, alright?” Peter nods. “I’m afraid I’m gonna need a verbal agreement for this one.”

“Yes,” Peter says, “I promise.”

“Good job, Baby Spider.”

“Please don’t touch my wrists.”

“I won’t.” Peter takes the hem of his sweater and balls it up in his fist as Natasha’s hand starts rubbing small circles on his tummy. “You let me know if it gets bad again, okay?”

“I will.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs as she stretches to put Peter’s phone on the nightstand. “Do you want me to talk or stay quiet?”

“…don’t know.”

“Why don’t I start talking,” she says as she resumes rubbing little circles on Peter’s tummy, “and then if you want me to stop, you let me know.”

He nods.

So Natasha starts talking. If she’s being perfectly honest, she can’t really tell what she’s saying, she’s just kind of rambling. She’s much more focused on how her hands run softly over the scars and the marks left on Peter’s skin, and how Peter’s many masks slowly start to slip off, dozing under the warm light.

It’s somewhere in the middle of a story about something Clint did in the middle of their mission to Bucharest — not Budapest — that she notices Peter’s eyes are closed. She smiles softly and lets her voice trail off, only to frown when Peter blinks his eyes open and shifts.

“It’s okay, you can sleep. That’s part of it,” Natasha reassures, giving the upper part of his chest a little pat. Peter shifts back and his eyes close again, a sleepy little murmur quickly muffled by the comforter as Natasha tucks him in. “We love you, Солнышко. Sleep, now.”

“Good night, Natasha,” comes Peter’s little voice from the pile of blanket.

“Good night, Baby Spider. Sleep.”

Natasha continues to rub Peter’s arms softly and murmuring quiet words into the hushed room until Peter’s breathing evens out. She trails off again and this time, Peter doesn’t wake up.

36 notes · View notes

theprodigypenguin · 4 years

Note

4 and or 7 with Jeddy

I don’t think this turned out very well, my writing is less than ideal when I’m as stressed out and anxious as I’ve been, but I really got excited when I read the fourth prompt. I actually want to write this into a full fic, but idk. Writing quick drabbles like this helps, and it was fun to explore single dad Teddy with his babies. And I really, really love his babies QwQ so writing about them always makes me really happy. I hope you enjoy this, even if it’s not super perfect.

4. teacher/single parent au

He was shy, sat in the back of the class, and seemed to do everything he could to avoid attention. At recess he sat on a bench and watched the other children play, kicking his feet and hugging a book to his chest that seemed years above his reading level.

After years of studying child psychology while working towards becoming a teacher, James had prepared himself to deal with the shy kids. The five year old wasn’t as shy when James talked to him alone. In fact he had an advanced vocabulary and incredible comprehension for what was happening around him. He excelled at schoolwork and could hold long conversations with James. Around other children, however, he became incredibly shy and withdrawn, and shyness around children his own age was a concern.

“Do you know anything about the Lupin family?” James was pouring sugar into a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

The school nurse, Scorpius Malfoy, was standing beside him with his own cup of coffee. “Not much,” he answered. “The youngest is in your class, right?”

“Dorian,” James gave a slow nod. “He’s shy.”

“His older brother isn’t,” Scorpius chuckled. “Remus. He’s two years older, always getting dragged to my office after falling off a swing or jumping off the monkey bars. He’s very vocal, very cheerful. Their father is a single parent.”

“Single parent household, that explains a bit,” James leaned against the counter. “Did their mother die?”

“I forgot you only started working here last year,” Scorpius hummed. “No, they divorced a few years ago. Remy didn’t seem very affected by it. I got the sense the mother wasn’t very present in their lives, but you’d have to ask their father.”

“Maybe I should,” James murmured. “I’ll try and stop him when he comes to pick the boys up. What does he do for a living again?”

“He’s a cop, actually,” Scorpius revealed, “but I don’t know much about him.”

“Guess I’ll figure that out, too. I’ve never met him before, so this should be interesting.”

Scorpius took a quiet sip of his coffee, reaching out to pat James on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “He’s a nice guy, I think you’re gonna like him. Knowing you.”

“What’s that mean?” James inquired, but Scorpius just smiled as he left the room.

James kept an eye on Dorian throughout the day. He was as quiet as usual, and unlike the rest of his class, he didn’t appear troubled by the fact the pouring rain was keeping them from going outside for recess. He stayed sitting in his seat coloring something as the rest of the class played with blocks and tucked themselves into their individual groups.

After ensuring the children weren’t getting into anything, James walked over to Dorian and looked down at what he was coloring. It was quite good for a five year old, and had a lot of color. James crouched down, keeping one hand on the back of Dorian’s seat and smiling at him.

“What are you coloring?”

“My daddy,” Dorian answered, and James tilted his head curiously as the five year old colored in the man’s hair with a blue crayon.

“Does your daddy have blue hair?”

“Sometimes. Other times it’s brown.”

“Brown like yours?” James asked. He took a moment to look at Dorian’s hair. It was light, pale and ashy brown. The highlight in his hair was almost golden blonde.

Dorian gave a jerky nod. “But more brown like Remy’s.”

“Remy is your brother?” James smiled. Dorian nodded again.

“He’s old.”

James laughed, looking at Dorian’s drawing. There were a few sheets of paper with drawings. Some of his father, some of his brother, drawings of houses, cars, even dragons. James couldn’t help but notice there were no women in his drawings. There were no pictures of his mother.

“Can I ask you something, Dorian?” James asked, and Dorian gave a nod without looking up. “Do you remember your mum?”

Dorian nodded again. “She was pretty,” he said, and James furrowed his brow.

“Do you see your mum often?”

Dorian picked up an orange crayon and started coloring a flower. “Mum works.”

“Your daddy works too, doesn’t he?” James asked, and Dorian shrugged.

“The man in the black cloak said she can only see us sometimes.”

James frowned. So during the divorce a judge ruled that Dorian’s father had full custody and his mother only had visiting rights. Something must have happened to warrant that.

“Dorian, would it be alright if I talked to your daddy?”

Dorian nodded. “Daddy is nice. He picks Remy and me up after school every day.”

“That’s very attentive of him. He must be a great father.”

“Mhm.”

“Will I be able to meet him today?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you very much,” James said, getting to his feet. “I’ll let you finish your picture.”

“Thank you.”

James smiled down at the polite boy before walking back to his desk. It was still pouring outside when the final bell rang, so the children waited in the classroom for their parents. An older boy with dark brown hair barreled into the room, and somehow James knew this was Dorian’s brother, Remus.

He ran right over to where Dorian was sitting, dragging a chair over to sit with him and taking one of the crayons and a blank piece of paper. James smiled. It was always heartwarming to see siblings so close. It wasn’t surprising if the brothers came from a single parent household. Remus must have come in to wait with Dorian until their father came to pick him up.

If he was a cop, it wasn’t a surprise that he was the last parent to pick his kids up, forty minutes after the bell. James had never met him before, but Edward Lupin was not what he’d expected. Tall, over six feet, with brown hair similar to Dorian’s nix the blonde highlights. His eyes were a unique coloring, blue-green and violet. He wore stylish street clothing, black jeans with boots, and a white button down dress shirt with a black trench coat that fell down to his knees. There were piercings in his ears and a tattoo on his neck. He was stupidly attractive, and James forgot how to speak for a moment.

He continued to stare at him as a smile broke over his face, looking at the back of the classroom towards his sons.

Remus was the first to notice him, jumping up and running to the front. “Daddy!”

“Hey Rem,” he crouched down to meet the boy, scooping him into his arms before raising back up. “Have a good day?”

“Uh-huh! We got a new book, and we’re supposed to write about it after reading it! Also we got to stay inside, and I almost broke a window!”

James turned his head to stifle his laughter as Mr. Lupin hummed. “Well, that sure is something. Did you break it?”

“No, the ball was made of foam.”

“Ah. You weren’t trying to break the window on purpose by any chance, were you?”

Remus whispered his response. “We wanted to play in the puddles but Miss Abbott wouldn’t let us so the boys in my class elected me president and we tried to escape.”

“Well, that’s interesting.”

James cleared his throat as he stood up, smiling when the other man looked over at him. “Sorry, we haven’t met yet. I’m James Potter, I’m Dorian’s teacher.”

“Right.” The man set Remus back down and walked over to the desk, reaching out to shake James’ hand. “Edward Lupin, call me Teddy.”

“Teddy,” James smiled, nodding. “Um, would it be alright if we talked?”

Teddy looked startled for a moment. “Yeah, of course.” He sat down in the chair in front of James’ desk. “This is about Dorian?”

“Yes,” James said with a sigh, looking towards the back of the room where the brothers were sitting. “Dorian is an incredibly bright child. He’s smart, but he isn’t very social around the other kids.”

Teddy folded his arms with a nod. “He’s shy around people he doesn’t know.”

“Which is normal for children,” James quickly agreed. “I’m sorry if this is out of line, I’m just concerned for my students.”

“It’s fine, I understand,” Teddy rubbed his shoulder.

“Has Dorian always been shy?”

“Yeah,” Teddy answered. “I encourage him to talk to kids his own age, and his brother helps, but Dorian is an anxious kid.”

“One of my coworkers mentioned you divorced a few years ago?” Teddy nodded, staring down. “How old was Dorian?”

“Two.” Teddy lifted his head. “I don’t think he remembers it. I don’t know, maybe that’s why he’s so shy; because he didn’t get the maternal love he needed.”

“A child can grow perfectly fine without a mother if they get the right attention from family and friends,” James argued. “Remus seems to be your average energetic eight year old. Some people are introverts, some are extroverts. Dorian is just an introvert.”

“I know, but I can’t imagine her not being there helps.”

James couldn’t help feeling empathetic. “Why did you divorce? If I can ask?”

Teddy cleared his throat, looking at the window. “My ex wife didn’t seem to care much about our sons,” he explained, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Or our marriage. Don’t get the wrong idea, I think at one time she did want to marry me. She said yes when I asked after all. She never said she didn’t want kids, never said she was unhappy.”

“But?”

“After Dorian was born she started spending a lot of time out of the house,” Teddy said. “Came home late every night, claimed it was for work. I’m a detective, I know when someone’s being unfaithful. The fact she thought she could lie to me,” he laughed, shaking his head.

James pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry.”

“Tried to keep us together, but a man can only take so much. I was a single father long before we got divorced.”

“So she wasn’t around at all for Dorian, from the day he was born onward.”

“Pretty much.”

“I’m sorry,” James said softly. “If it means anything, you’ve done an incredible job without her. Your children seem very well rounded, and like I said before Dorian is incredibly bright.”

Teddy nodded. “I’ve tried to be as present and involved in their lives as possible. Being a father and a mother.”

“Does your ex wife have visiting rights?”

Teddy scoffed. “Yes, but she rarely uses them. The kids see her once every few months, maybe. She lives in town, but god knows she’s too busy to spend time with her children.”

James could see the strain Teddy was under, how frustrated and angry he was. “Well, she’s not the one who raised them, is she? They’re your children first. She can’t pick and choose when to be a mother. She forfeited those rights when she didn’t fight you for custody.”

Teddy looked surprised. “How did you know she didn’t fight for them?”

“She has visiting rights but never shows up. Doesn’t take a detective to figure it out.”

“That’s fair.”

“I wanted to talk to you because I was concerned about Dorian. I wondered if his homelife was affecting his lack of social interaction, but you seem like a good dad. He’s just introverted and shy, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“He’s not that introverted around people he knows well,” Teddy said. “He’s quiet, but that just means he’s thoughtful.”

“He’s a good kid.”

Teddy was smiling at James. “He talks about you,” he said. “His new teacher. He says you spend a lot of time with him.”

James blushed. “Well every child is different,” he argued. “Since he’s so quiet I just got the feeling he would do well with some extra attention. The other kids do well on their own, but Dorian never speaks up if he has questions, so I ask him one on one just so I know he understands the lesson.”

“Not a lot of teachers take the time to do that,” Teddy said, watching James thoughtfully, and James shrugged.

“I’m just trying to make a difference.”

Teddy smiled. “You’re certainly making a difference in my son’s life.” James was too flustered to reply until Teddy spoke again. “How long have you been teaching?”

“This is my second year,” James answered. “I spent a few extra years in Uni studying psychology, took this job right when I graduated.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” James answered, arching an eyebrow. “You?”

“Thirty-one.”

“You had Remus early then.”

“I married their mother when I was twenty. She was my childhood sweetheart, we dated through school. Relationships like that statistically don’t last long.”

“What did she do?”

“Beautician,” Teddy answered. James furrowed his brow, wrinkling his nose.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“No kidding.”

“And you’re a detective?”

“Yeah,” Teddy smiled wistfully. “I’m more of a nine to five desk worker now, though. The hours are better for the kids. I get to work after school starts and get off when the day here ends. It gives me more time to be a father.”

“You prioritized your children above your career,” James smiled, and Teddy gave a tight smile, nodding.

“They needed me.”

“You’re a good dad,” James said, and Teddy smiled at him.

“You’ve said that about four times,” he revealed, and James’ face started to burn.

“Did I?”

Teddy laughed, “It’s fine. I worry sometimes, so it’s nice to hear I’m doing okay. Especially since I’m on my own.”

“You’d never know it,” James said. He smiled when Remus came up to the desk, clinging to Teddy’s coat.

“Daddy I’m hungry.”

“It is snack time, isn’t it?” Teddy asked, smiling at James. “Unless there’s anything else you needed to talk to me about?”

“No, I’m done.” James waved his hands. “The children are hungry.”

“Thank you.” Teddy stood up, stroking a hand through Remy’s hair and looking towards the back of the classroom. “Dori, ready to go?”

Dorian opened his bag and stuffed all his paper and crayons into it before closing it and scurrying over to the front of the room, barreling into Remy. Remus took his bag, but Dorian kept a firm grip on a piece of paper. It was partly crumpled in his fist, and he kept it close as Teddy picked him up to prop against his hip.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dorian,” James said with a smile. Dorian held out the paper, and James curiously took it from him. “Is this for me?”

Dorian nodded, lying his head on Teddy’s shoulder, snuggling against him. Teddy rubbed a hand up and down Dorian’s back, looking down at Teddy.

“It’s raining, put your coat on.”

Remus pulled his coat out of his backpack with a dramatic flair before yanking it on. He then pulled out Dorian’s coat, handing it up to Teddy so he could coax the five year old into it. James smiled as Teddy pulled the hood onto Dorian’s head so all James could see was one of his dark blue eyes.

“It was nice to speak with you; nice to meet you.” Teddy reached out with his left hand, and James shook it.

He smiled more when Dorian held his hand out next, reaching up to shake his hand too. “Yeah, anytime. You’ve got a brilliant boy here.”

“Yes I do,” Teddy grinned. He started for the door but paused, looking back at James. “Hey, uh… maybe we can talk again later.”

James was startled, but nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.” He looked down at his desk and sifted through his papers. “If you want to schedule a parent-teacher conference, I can find my schedule-”

“Actually,” James looked back at Teddy, who had a smile on his face. “I was thinking something… less official. Do you drink coffee?”

James felt like he might pass out, blushing and flustered. “Coffee, yeah, I drink coffee. Do you drink coffee?”

“I prefer tea, but I’ll drink coffee if it’s made right,” Teddy answered. “I know a good place, a few blocks from my place. We could meet there.”

“Absolutely.” James waved at Teddy. “My cell number should be on the syllabus I sent home with Dorian on the first day of school. You can text me the name of the cafe and a time to meet.”

“Great. It’s a date then.” Teddy grinned, and James nodded jerkily as Teddy reached out to take Remy’s hand and they left the room.

It took James a drawn moment to fully comprehend the man had asked him out on a date, and his face burned hotter as he sat down. He felt a little taken aback, very embarrassed, and a little suspicious. He certainly hoped there was a chance Teddy was bisexual when he walked in, because he was insanely hot; and a cop, which was even hotter. Plus he was single, and the kids were just a bonus. James loved kids.

Teddy asked him out first, which meant he was interested in James like James was interested in him. How lucky could he get?

He uncrumpled the picture Dorian had given him, and his heart seized in his chest. It was a colored picture of four people. Scribbled above each of them was a name. Daddy, Remy, Me, Mr. Potter.

James figured that was a silent sign that Dorian already accepted James. That would make things a lot easier if James ended up dating Teddy. Which was a silly thought considering they’d just met. Still, James wouldn’t be against dating Teddy.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on the desk in front of him, eagerly anticipating Teddy’s text. His head lifted when he heard a knock on the door. Scorpius was standing there, holding a file under his arm and smiling at James.

“So you met Teddy?”

“Yes,” James answered, staring at Scorpius, who offered him a knowing smile.

“Did you ask him out?”

James blushed furiously, bristling. “No, I did not!”

“Well, did he ask you out?”

“What makes you think either of us asked the other out?!”

“Well at the very least he asked you out. He’s had his eyes on you since Dorian started school here.”

“He what?” James felt more flustered than before.

Scorpius snorted. “He saw you on the first day of class when he came to pick the boys up. Wouldn’t stop asking me about you. For the past few months he’s been asking me about you.”

“Wait, do you know him?” James asked, and Scorpius gave him a crooked smile.

“Ted’s my cousin.”

James gaped at him. “You left that out intentionally?”

“Well, I thought it’d be more entertaining this way.” He backed out of the room. “Have a good night, James. I’ll be looking forward to my cousin calling me tonight all flustered asking me how to text you.”

James waited for him to shut the door before dropping his face onto the desk with a groan. He’d been single for way too long. The schoolboy excitement was absurd, but could he be blamed? Teddy was hot and his kids were precious. One meeting and James was lost already.

send me a ship and a number and i’ll write a short fic

#jeddy #james sirius potter #teddy lupin #edward remus lupin #nico writes jeddy #nico writes fanfic #nico writes mini fics #nico writes jeddy fic #nico writes #teacher/single parent au

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ruensroad · 5 years

Note

could you do 41 from the drabble prompt list? idk if i’m supposed to include a ship or anything... um, xicheng if so?

Bless you, oh my god, YES.

/shamelessly throws this into my current wip au

Prompt is from this list here.

Prompt 41 | “Take notes, sweetheart.” | Xicheng

Nearly six months of marriage and countless weeks spent among the YunmengJiang disciples, coupled with the growing number of nights spent with Jiang Cheng in the sect leader’s rooms and bed, had somehow not prepared him for any of this.

The training grounds at the heart of Lotus Pier were always busy, full of laughter and sounds of constant drilling. Lan Xichen had spent more than a handful of mornings just watching Jiang Cheng train his disciples, taking note of how different they were in terms of swordsmanship, fighting, and dress from what Lan Xichen was used to. It was always a thrill, too, seeing Jiang Cheng in his element, surrounded by his loyal men and not having to worry about court manners, fancy dress, or overbearing Elders. In the moments Jiang Cheng was amidst the disciples, just one violet robe among a sea of violet robes, he was most himself, one of them, at ease in his strength and his place in the world.

But even that too fell short of preparing Lan Xichen for the sight he was greeted with just past lunch. His small plate of tofu had gone sadly cold, forgotten, and he couldn’t even be sorry for it.

Because there was Jiang Cheng without his shirt, without weapon or shoes, glistening and grinning like a wild thing. His hair was pulled back in long braid, no adornments, and Lan Xichen noted that those disciples forming a circle around him looked just the same, from their lack of shirts and shoes to the braids swinging at their backs.

Battle braids, Lan Xichen remembered distantly from an old history manuscript on Lotus Pier Jiang Cheng kept in his - their? - rooms. He’d thought them a bygone product of a bygone age. Not so, apparently.

“Come on, I know my men are more capable than this!” Jiang Cheng goaded, which seemed to be more a part of a tradition than an actual statement. Lan Xichen wished he knew just which tradition it was, especially if it meant seeing Jiang Cheng like this more often, alive with the culture of his home. “Show me what the YunmengJiang are made of.”

A battle cry went up in answer, then two men lunged for their sect leader as ferociously as if he were a walking corpse. Jiang Cheng barked a laugh and dodged them, throwing one, then the other, off his body in calculated, nearly dance-like moves. Those deflected rolled to their feet and rejoined the circle without missing a beat, stomping out a pattern while clapping and laughing, and it quickly caught on around the circle.

A chant started then and Lan Xichen realized he was catching the beginning of some sort of… wrestling ritual? Training exercise? Honestly, he had no idea what to call it, but it was fascinating. Jiang Cheng seemed more animated than he’d ever seen him, eyes bright and fierce. He was grinning even wider now, a wicked, sly thing, and moved between each lunging disciple with the fluidity of the river he was named for, exotic and dangerous and utterly, devastatingly exquisite.

Lan Xichen barely registered that he’d managed to sit on the steps below him, almost missing it altogether as transfixed as he was, and that meant he had an unimpeded view of the training grounds and his grinning, marvelous husband. It also meant he had given Jin Ling permission to use him as a seat, but he had never minded the five year old climbing on him, even without the allure of Jiang Cheng to distract him.

Jin Ling’s hair sported the same braid Jiang Cheng wore, but woven with far more care. Lan Xichen touched the weaves as Jin Ling made himself comfortable in his lap, his plate set aside and immediately licked up by the ever wiggling Little Fairy.

If Jiang Cheng hadn’t laughed right then, brazen and lovely and loud, Lan Xichen would’ve remembered to care about that.

The chant and stomping pattern were far more prominent now, a beat Jin Ling echoed by clapping his hands together. “A warrior sings in the soul of the river,” he crowed with the rest of them, little feet kicking in glee, and when he looked up at Lan Xichen, his eyes were just as bright and gleaming as his uncle’s. “Jiu-mu, chant louder! I can’t hear you.”

“I don’t know the words, I fear,” Lan Xichen admitted with a soft laugh, but soothed the boy’s imminent pout by stomping his feet to the beat, bouncing him. “I’ll need Young Master Jin to chant loud enough for the both of us, if you would?”

“I can be loud!” Jin Ling agreed readily, proving that statement perfectly. Lan Xichen laughed and simply held onto the wiggling boy, eyes once more locked on golden skin, a dancing braid, and laughing eyes.

He’d always found Jiang Cheng to be a beautiful man. Even if he hadn’t looked like his mother, which seemed to be the usual comparison, his sharp features and strong jaw where enough to make any artist cry, or any bard wish to dedicate a song. Lan Xichen himself was guilty of that want, having more than once fond his fingertips caressing his guqin as his mind traced the edges of Jiang Cheng’s face, the slight curve in his nose, the hidden smiles in his lips. Thank the gods they’d found their way to intimacy - new as it was, and still terrifying on all levels - before Lan Xichen could fade away from pining.

Knowing such a gorgeous, complicated, difficult man was his husband and was pleased to be so was a whole new situation for his heart to deal with. This assault to his senses now was not helping in the slightest.

“The song of the river flows in my warrior’s heart,” Jin Ling shouted with the rest and the chants seemed to come to a head. A new contender moved to the edge of the circle, a woman with her chin held high and bells woven in the coils of her braid. A thick purple cloth was wrapped around her breasts, but otherwise she looked no different from her chanting comrades, though her skin had been painted with black inks up and down her arms, showcasing her importance.

“Do you hear the river call?” Jiang Cheng demanded of her and Lan Xichen realized that this was probably the point of the whole strange ritual. He squinted at the woman’s face, trying to recall her, and was surprised to note she had been a guest disciple Jiang Cheng had welcomed into Lotus Pier a few months prior, a wanderer, and had traveled in black.

Now, the robes on her legs were Yunmeng violet. Was this how Lotus Pier welcomed new members?

Lan Xichen leaned forward best he could with a bouncing child, enraptured. The woman lifted her chin even higher, all pride and confidence, and gave the reply, voice thick in her home dialect. “The river has called me home.”

Jiang Cheng nodded once and slid back into a fighting stance. Immediately, the woman charged. As before, Jiang Cheng dodged and tossed her over his shoulder, ducking under a kick, and she landed on her feet, perfectly on the edge of the circle. A cheer went up at the landing and she bowed, low and thankful, smile wide and guileless. Jiang Cheng bowed back. Lan Xichen could read the pride in his stance even without a clear view of his face.

“The river welcomes you home,” Jiang Cheng said and there was more stomping, clapping, cheering, but it was a mess now as all the disciples swarmed their newest member, lifting her onto their shoulders to carry her off. Jiang Cheng was left behind, a satisfied grin on his face, and Jin Ling took that as his cue to leap from Lan Xichen’s lap and latch onto Jiang Cheng’s hip, Little Fairy yipping in excitement behind him.

Lan Xichen realized belatedly he should probably follow, but he didn’t even manage trying. Jiang Cheng’s eyes met his and then the man was moving over, because he clearly had no idea what that smile was doing to Lan Xichen’s heart. Or perhaps he did and that’s why he reveled in it.

“You look a little lost there, Lan Huan,” Jiang Cheng said, breathless and gleaming, and it was cruel, truly, that his husband expected him to be able to form coherent words at the sight of him. Goodness. “I take it GusuLan doesn’t celebrate new disciples with wrestling matches?”

He knew they didn’t and the mental image that conjured was enough to break some of the hold Jiang Cheng had on him, but only just. Lan Xichen managed a soft chuckle and not much else, given Jiang Cheng’s smile only widened at his efforts.

“We should,” he managed after a moment, only because Jiang Cheng was clearly waiting for him to say something, and he was proud his voice didn’t waver.

“The world’s most beautiful men and women, shirtless and wrestling in the dirt…” Jiang Cheng trailed off, considering that with a tilt of his head, and it was disarming how easily this man had captured his heart.

“You promised to teach us the ways of YunmengJiang, Wanyin,” Lan Xichen licked his lips, fighting down a wide, flustered smile as he indulged the joke - the flirting? - even at the expense of his usual composure. His ears still burned brightly despite his efforts.

Jiang Cheng smirked at that and leaned down, as though to brazenly steal a kiss, but stopped far short to be anything but too painful for his foolish heart to take.

“Then I suggest you start taking notes, husband,” Jiang Cheng said, a bit of a dare in that, and a lot of promise. Lan Xichen could only nod dumbly in response and promised himself to find any and all ways that it was possible to make Jiang Cheng smile like that everyday, just for him, for the rest of his life.

#ruenwrites #writing prompts #ahhHHHH #thank you so much for the ask!#this was way too much fun to write #and a perfect break from all my cleaning!#thank you thank you thank you!#xicheng #the untamed #jiang cheng #lan xichen #jin ling #little fairy

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mandelene · 4 years

Note

Idk if you're still doing drabbles since the post was from yesterday (came across it too late 😅) so feel free to ignore this. But in case you are, how about this: very hot summer day. Madeline's exhausted because of the heat (low blood pressure I guess), Amelia's full of energy and hyperactive. You go where you want from here. Thank you! 💕

This drabble prompt has been sitting in my inbox forever and I’m so sorry! On the bright side, I wrote a lot for it.

You guys are trying to hurt poor Maddie again. Heartless fiends! Your wish is my command though, so here you go, lol.

Too Cool for You

Word Count: 1154

"Tag, you're it!"

"Amelia, I'm tired. It's too hot."

"Oh, don't be such a baby!"

Madeline isn't sure how Amelia has the energy to be hurtling up and down the driveway like this. She feels like she's melting. The heat has started seeping into her muscles and bones. The air is thick and humid, and her scalp is burning because she forgot to put a baseball cap on. She doesn't remember the last time it was this sweltering in June.

"I'm not! It's just...It's..." Even keeping a train of thought at this point is proving to be difficult.

Amelia finally stops running around like a madwoman and tilts her head to the side in confusion. "Maddie? You don't look so good."

"Just...Just too hot," she sighs. She hears a car coming up the block and sluggishly turns around to look who it is.

It's only Dad -- he's back from work.

"So do you wanna keep playing or not? 'Cause if not, I'm gonna go ask Ivan if he can--"

The world suddenly becomes fuzzy. Black clouds dance across Madeline's eyes. She tries to reach out a hand to grab something, but Amelia is standing too far away. There's nothing else around her but grass and concrete. Everything seems to slip away for a moment, and time stills.

The car gets closer and stops in front of the driveway. Her breathing quickens. Panic races through her veins. She hears Dad say her name but doesn't see him. Amelia screams.

Her legs give out, and her knees slam into the burning cement. Her upper body starts to pitch forward, but she lands in someone's arms. Oddly enough, she doesn't feel any pain.

"Maddie!"

Madeline groans. Her forehead, neck, and back all feel sticky and clammy. When she opens her eyes, everything is surprisingly clear again. She's slumped against Dad's chest like a ragdoll, and he looks down at her with a very serious expression on his face. And because she's scared and doesn't know what's going on, she feels tears roll down her cheeks.

"We'll bring you inside in a moment, love. You're probably overheated. You girls shouldn't have been playing in the sun," he says, carefully sitting her up. "And don't cry, darling. Don't cry. It's all right."

Her knees sting, and when she looks down at them, she sees speckles of blood oozing out from two sizeable scrapes. She hates the sight of blood -- it makes her want to throw up.

"Shhh, shh, don't worry. We'll fix it."

The front door to the house creaks open, and Papa appears in his kitchen apron and slippers. He says mutters something colorful in French and hurries toward them, slippers slapping loudly down the driveway. "Poor, Madeline. I can't let them out for even an hour, Arthur. I told them to stay in the shade."

"It's all right. This heat is enough to make anyone ill. "

Dad grips her waist and arm tightly and, with added support from Papa, she's able to stand. They carefully walk her into the house and over to the living room couch -- and oh god, does it feel amazing to be in the air-conditioning again.

Amelia bounces in and out of her vision, pacing around the couch and asking things like, "Are you taking her to the hospital? Is she having a heart attack? Is she gonna die? Can I have her iPad Pro?"

"Stop it. It's going to be fine," Dad says as he's stacking pillows under Madeline's feet and legs. "Francis, could you bring a glass of juice -- doesn't matter which kind...And ice."

"Ouai, of course."

"How are you feeling, Madeline? Any better?" Dad asks, crouching beside her. "Still too hot?"

"My head hurts."

"Sit tight. I'm going to bring my bag from the car. Amelia, watch your sister for a second, please."

"Okay," Amelia says, but as soon as Dad crosses the threshold, she yells, "It's been more than a second!"

"Don't test my patience!" he barks back, not even turning around.

Amelia sighs, sits cross-legged beside the couch, and murmurs, "What do you think he's gonna do to you? Give you a shot? Call an ambulance? Put stitches in your knees? Don't worry, I won't let him."

This is not the least bit reassuring.

Papa returns with a tall glass of cold apple juice and an icepack just as Dad appears with his backpack of torture tools.

"Thanks," Dad says, taking the ice from Papa and placing it on Madeline's forehead. He also passes the glass of juice to Madeline and has her take a few sips.

Then, he unzips his bag and pulls out a blood pressure cuff along with his stethoscope. The entire time, Amelia watches on intently, not wanting to miss any of the action.

He wraps the cuff around Madeline's left upper arm and shoots her a little smile. "Just going to make sure it's nothing more serious, all right?"

Madeline nods, watches Dad put his stethoscope on and holds still when she feels the diaphragm against the crook of her arm. This isn't the first time he's checked her blood pressure. She's prone to bouts of weakness in the morning before breakfast.

"87 over 60 -- a bit low," Dad says before pressing two fingers against her wrist. "Pulse is fine."

He then rests the back of his hand against her cheek. "No fever. How do you feel now?"

"Better," she sighs. Her head doesn't hurt as much as it did a few minutes ago.

"That's good. Rest here for a while. All that's left to do is to bandage those cuts on your knees."

From her front-row spot, Amelia frowns. "What? That's it? Aww, man."

Dad raises a brow and laughs. "What do you mean 'that's it?' What did you expect?"

"I dunno, I thought you were gonna do something gross or cool," Amelia says, very obviously disappointed.

Papa also laughs and shakes his head at her. "There are popsicles in the freezer if you're looking for something more exciting. Bring one for your sister as well."

"Yay!"

"I want grape," Madeline adds.

"Okay!"

Dad, meanwhile, pets her arm soothingly and says, "Don't pay her any mind, poppet...Amelia, did you put that cream on your foot rash today as I asked you to?"

Already halfway to the kitchen, Amelia shouts back, "No!"

"Of course not, I suppose that's not cool enough to bother with either," Dad grumbles, rolling his eyes. "Would you prefer an anti-fungal injection in your foot instead?"

"NOOOOO!"

"Stop scaring her," Papa chides.

"Fear is a very good motivator."

"Arthur."

"Not all children respond to kindness, compassion, and reason like Madeline does, Francis."

That gets a small giggle out of Maddie, and she can't help but feel miles better when Papa momentarily lifts the icepack on her head to give her a kiss.

She doesn't mind being the center of attention for a while.

#hetalia #aph canada #aph nyo!canada #aph america #aph nyo! america #aph france #aph england #aph face family #overheated #too cool for you #drabbles

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shima-draws · 5 years

Note

hey... ross comforting alba drabble :3c

[[Send me a fandom/ship/prompt and I’ll write a drabble for it!]]

I wrote this all in one sitting that usually doesn’t happen. The power of Albatross is just too strong for me to resist…

Apparently I’m just screwing myself over with my intended word count so I’m just. Yeah. WELL

Anyway for once I didn’t write a oneshot during Alba’s prison tutoring times, shockingly enough since that’s all I usually write for them lmao;; I took a few liberties with Alba’s research facility esp since Part 5 isn’t super clear about what he even does in there (or maybe I just missed it? Idk lol) BUT YEAH for the sake of this story. He’s still trying to get Elf and Alf back home :’)

THANKS SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING THIS KIO I’VE MISSED WRITING THESE TWO IDIOTS

EDIT: This is up on Archive now too!!

——————————————————–

“What are you doing here.”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and if Ros didn’t know any better he’d immediately jump into teasing Alba for his haggard appearance—but that ends up being the exact reason he decides not to. The hero has circles under his eyes that say he’s been awake for days. Ros hasn’t seen him like this since he was studying magic in a prison with seals sticking to his forehead.

“I came to check up on you,” he decides on saying, and frowns. “Which apparently was a good idea in hindsight because, frankly, you look like shit.”

Alba at least is coherent enough to roll his eyes. “Wow, thanks. I’m feeling better already.”

And with that he turns around and stalks off, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his fancy looking lab coat. Ros follows him at a trot.

“When’s the last time you ate something, Hero?” He asks, matching Alba stride for stride. They round a corner and Ros tries not to let his gaze linger too long on what’s going on around him—Alba’s research facility is like a maze and he always tends to get lost within it if he’s not careful. (Usually when he shows up, he shouts and calls attention to himself until Alba appears to either kick him out or invite him in with a look of fond annoyance.)

Alba sighs. “Does it matter? I’m eating.”

Ros looks him over and narrows his eyes. Alba looks…skinny. Skinnier than usual. Not his regular slightly muscled self. And pale. Frighteningly pale.

“Not enough, apparently. Do I need to start camping out here and force you to eat on a schedule?” He jokes, hoping for some kind of positive reaction.

The brunette only snorts. “Please. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

“Hero,” Ros says, his tone chiding.

Alba comes to a sudden halt, looking frustrated. Ros keeps his distance by a foot or two, wary.

“Look, just—“ And he scrubs his hand through his hair in frustration. “What do you want? To bother me? I don’t have time to entertain you today, Ros. I’m busy.”

Ros would have immediately punched him for his clipped tone and his blatant attempt at brushing him off if the use of his name didn’t make him pause. Nowadays Alba usually calls him Shion—as a way to show his affection, he supposes, because Ros doesn’t really let anyone else call him that besides Crea. It’s weird hearing Alba use his other name now, so used to hearing “Shion” in a tone full of friendliness.

Looking over him again, Alba looks exhausted. And also wired, like he’s been only surviving on coffee and whatever mana he has left to keep himself going.

Ros huffs out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows what Alba’s doing, because he’s done it a million times himself. It’s pretty easy to get distracted by your goals and keep striving towards them without pausing to rest. But if Alba keeps going like this, he’s going to crash and burn eventually.

So, Ros leans over and kicks him in the shin. Hard.

Immediately, Alba leaps back, magic flaring around him. “Ow—what the fuck?!”

Huh. Alba has no filter when he’s running on maybe three hours of sleep. Ros decides to file that piece of information away for later.

“Come here,” Ros demands, grabbing his wrist. He drags him down the hall and straight to the lounge—the one place he knows how to get to in the building.

Luckily, the place is empty when they arrive. Ros gently tugs Alba over to the first couch he sees and forces him to sit on it.

Alba opens his mouth, either to protest or to complain, but Ros cuts him off.

“Listen to me. I know what you’re doing. You need to stop,” he states, looking down on the tired hero as he crosses his arms. “Elf and Alf aren’t going to suddenly up and disappear just because you’re taking a nap.”

“I know that!” Alba snaps, and then he visibly deflates, like he feels guilty for doing so. “I know that. I just…”

Ros nudges him over with his foot and then takes a seat next to him, reclining against the cushions.

“I just want to help them,” the brunette admits, softly. “I told them I would. And I feel like we’re so close to a breakthrough, to finding a way to get them home, but…”

“You’re rushing things,” Ros murmurs. He reaches up to gently tussle Alba’s hair, who releases a quiet, startled noise. “You’re cornering yourself, Hero. I know you’re dead set on fulfilling whatever promise you made to those two, but it’s not like you have an exact deadline. I’m pretty sure that if they were supposed to be erased from our timeline, they would’ve been already.”

Alba slumps, finally relaxing beneath his touch. Ros’ hand travels to stroke down his back in soothing circles.

“Getting no sleep and only eating when you need to isn’t healthy,” Ros admonishes. “And trust me, I’ve been there. You think I didn’t do everything in my power to fix what happened to Crea? I didn’t sleep for weeks.”

Alba peers up at him curiously, looking a bit more lively than he did before. “Really—? I mean—wait, no, that’s obvious, of course you didn’t. Your best friend had his body stolen right in front of you, of course you probably had trouble sleeping…”

Ros squeezes his hip and he squeaks, cheeks turning pink. The black-haired boy resists the urge to smile.

“I know you’re a masochist, but this might be taking things too far.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Alba groans, throwing his head back.

Ros leans against his shoulder and grins like a cat. “You did? Wow. Must be our bond. You can read me so well, Hero.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Alba whines, but it’s sort of ruined when he starts laughing halfway through his sentence.

Ros runs his hand across the boy’s lower back again and chuckles. They’re sitting close enough now that their knees are almost touching. Ros’ heart floods with warmth, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry about those two. They’ll be fine. If anyone can figure out how to send them back, you can. But you don’t need to make yourself sick doing it.”

Alba nods, slowly, and avoids his gaze. His eyes are fixed firmly on the carpet, and his hands are balled in his lap. He looks almost bashful, and a bit ashamed. Ros’ arm is curled all the way around him now, his hand rubbing circles into Alba’s hip.

“Are you gonna be a good boy now and get some rest? If not I’ll have to knock you out and make you sleep.”

“Please don’t,” is the response he gets.

“Good, because if that didn’t work, I was going to call Rchi,” Ros tells him, smirking when Alba looks at him in horror. Rchi is a menace when she knows her boys are being idiots.

He finally releases him, and Alba lies down on the couch begrudgingly. He’s pouting like a child, but at least he’s finally complying.

“Get some sleep, Hero. Or I’ll be really angry.”

“Fine,” Alba sighs, closing his eyes. “See, I’m doing it now, okay? You happy?”

“Quite, actually.”

There’s a long pause, and Ros almost thinks Alba has already drifted off (which would be impressive, considering his head just hit the pillow), but Alba speaks again.

“Hey, Shion…” He mumbles. Oh. He’s gone back to using “Shion”, then. Ros tries to pretend that he’s not happy about the prospect. “Will you…stay here? Don’t go home while I’m sleeping.”

Ros’ heart skips a beat. He’s glad Alba’s eyes are closed and that he can’t read his expression.

“What, you afraid the monsters under the bed will attack you while you’re dreaming and steal your ribs? That would be a tragedy. Ribman, losing his ribs,” he jokes weakly.

“‘M not Ribman and you know it,” Alba mumbles. “And no, I just…feel safer when you’re near me. Like I can sleep easier…”

Ros covers his burning face with a hand and looks away, swallowing thickly. Jesus. This kid really is trying to kill him, isn’t he?

It takes a long while, but Ros finally answers.

“…Yeah, I’ll stay. I won’t leave your side, Alba.”

All he hears is a soft snore, and when he finally has the courage to look over again, Alba is completely passed out.

Ros exhales heavily and rubs the back of his neck. Guess he should have expected as much.

His eyes dart around the room, making sure that nobody else is around, and then he moves to crouch over Alba’s slumbering form.

“Goodnight, my Hero,” he murmurs, leaning down to gently press his lips to Alba’s forehead.

And if he holds Alba’s hand the whole time as he guards the boy who saved the world, well, that’s his little secret.

——————————————————–

We love a soft Ros who’s still trying to come to terms with his feelings uwu

#Senyuu #Senyu #Albatross #RosAl #Alba Fruhling #Ros #Shion #戦勇。#Shima writes #Fanfiction #Drabble requests #Drabble challenge #Long post #Friends #albaross

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ickle-ronniekins · 5 years

Text

cauldrons and goblets, george x reader

request: from anon: “I would love if you did 10 and 11 or just one with George and maybe add in some cuddling I think it would be super cute” of course darling!! sorry this is coming to ya a year and a half later looool i suck

prompt(s): “pst...are you awake?” / “knock it off, you tosspot!”

warnings: l m a ooo hiiiilarious

October 31st, early, early morning

It had to be almost two o’clock in the morning and I was bloody exhausted. The warmth of the common room fire was not helping at all - I could hardly keep my eyes open. Maybe just a few more minutes... I thought....

Sudden footsteps and light laughter woke me up a few minutes later. I didn’t open my eyes, though. Maybe I was just dreaming. I curled up tighter in the armchair I was resting in and ignored the noise as best I could, until somebody flicked me in the ear. “Ow!”

“Pst...are you awake?” said a voice.

I opened my eyes to see the frisky redheaded twins standing above me. “I am now,” I snapped. “I thought we were supposed to meet a half hour ago? I’ve been sitting here trying my bloody hardest to stay awake!”

“Sorry,” Fred said with a smirk spreading across his face. “Someone didn’t want to get up.”

George rolled his eyes at his twin, stuck his hand out to help me up from the armchair and headed towards the portrait hole as stealthily and quietly as he possibly could. “My four poster was very comfortable.”

“Well, let’s get a move on, then,” I told the twins as we snuck through the portrait hole and into the deserted hallway. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “How much you want to bet Snape is circulating the castle this late? We best be careful.”

“Two sickles!” they both said in hushed tones. I scoffed before beginning our journey through the dark, empty hallways. Eventually we found a classroom we thought would be safe, and we stepped inside quietly. “Damn. Wish we hadn’t given away the Marauder’s Map...”

With the light protruding from our three wands, we were able to see a few feet in front of us. “Let’s get started, then,” George said and massaged his hands together.

“You really think this is going to work?” I asked the both of them as we began stirring ingredients in the boiling cauldron in front of us. “I mean, we’d have to be really thick to think we can get past Dumbledore...”

Fred and George both laughed at me and continued to work.

“What?!” I snapped. “Seriously, you two, I’m having second thoughts...no way we’re going to fool an age line with a simple potion.”

“Oi, come on, Y/N,” George said, “All we have to do is take a drop...well, you, maybe two...we only need to age ourselves by a few months--”

“--Dumbledore won’t notice a few months--”

“Besides, he’s always been pretty fond of us. I reckon he probably wouldn’t mind.”

I stared at the two of them as they high fived and continued to work their magic. “The two of you are idiots.”

Fred placed his hand over his heart. “Oh, Y/N, now that hurts terribly...”

“You’ve never once doubted us before,” George winked.

“That is not true,” I told them, but it was. I’d never once doubted Fred and George and their pranks. Even though something deep inside me always told me not to go along with it, I just had too. It was too much fun, escaping trouble at the very last second with them both.

I threw my hands up. “Whatever you say! But you two are going first tomorrow afternoon.” Something inside me told me this wasn’t their cleverest of ideas.

“Wicked,” they chorused. Another drop of this and a dash of that, and before we knew it, we were all snoring in our dormitories before the sun rose.

October 31st, early afternoon

I yawned my way through lunch. All I wanted to do was curl up under my covers in my four poster, but I had to stay awake - I had to stay awake to see if our ageing potion would work and let us enter our names into the Goblet of Fire.

Somebody gently nudged my foot underneath the table. “Somebody’s sleepy, aren’t you?” George smiled at me.

“If you two loons hadn’t taken forever last evening,” I whispered, “I could’ve gotten a decent amount of sleep before our morning classes!” I yawned and rested my head on the table.

Fred clapped me on the back. “C’mon, Y/N! Aren’t you so bloody excited?! I can feel it...it’s going to work, it’s just got too, hasn’t it? Dumbledore honestly can’t expect us to just sit here and not at least try to get our names in. He’d be pretty thick to assume we wouldn’t do anything.”

“Okay,” I sipped the last of my pumpkin juice and smirked at them. “Let’s see it, then.”

The three of us walked over to the Goblet of Fire, Fred and George with their chests puffed out.

“Well lads, we’ve done it!”

“Cooked it up just this morning--”

“Count of three, okay?” George said to Fred and I.

And on three, we each threw back our desired amount of ageing potion - well, at least the twins did. I just had a suspicious feeling that this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as they’d imagined...

“You two first, remember?” I told them.

And together, in front of a crowd of very intrigued students, the twins jumped over the age line Dumbledore had placed around the Goblet of Fire, ensuring anyone under the age of seventeen would be unable to place their name within the goblet. At first, nothing happened, and the twins glanced over at me and raised their eyebrows while they took in all of the cheering from the electrified crowd. Until suddenly -

Fred and George were both thrown from the area surrounding the goblet. They hit the hard floor with a loud smack! and everyone waited patiently for them to get to their feet. But when they did, everyone in the great hall began to cackle, for the twins no longer looked sixteen.

Each boy had a large, white beard, very much resembling Dumbledore’s, growing from their chins, and their flaming red hair was now as white as snow.

“You said--”

“--you said!”

“Oh, my boys,” I mumbled to myself as the crowd roared with laughter and a little brotherly rumble exploded in the great hall.

Hospital Wing, moments later

“Madam Pomfrey says we should be as good as new soon,” George told me as he rested comfortably on his bed in the hospital wing. I glanced across the room at Fred, who had Angelina Johnson by his side, and a smile so big you think it would have fallen right off of his face. “I can’t believe it didn’t work.”

“Too bad,” I told him and watched as his red hair was slowly getting it’s color back.

“Imagine if you’d jumped over the age line? You’d have looked worse than us!”

“Good thing I didn’t drink any, then!”

George glanced at me and scoffed. “You knew it wouldn’t work, didn’t you?”

I shrugged my shoulders and looked to the ceiling. “I had a strange feeling it might just not...”

George shook his head. “And I can’t believe you let us do it, when you knew!” He started to poke me in my ribs and hips. I tried not to give in, but he knew exactly where I was the most ticklish.

“Hey!” I said and began poking him back. “Like you two would’ve listened to me. Hey, knock it off, you tosspot!”

He continued to poke me from my ribs to my arms, down to my wrists and eventually my hands. His fingers slowly intertwined with mine, and I looked at him solemnly. “You know a lot of the pranks I pull and the shenanigans I get into with my brother are just really to impress you, right?”

I knew. Of course I knew. I’d always known, because George Weasley wore his heart on his sleeve. I slid next to him on the bed and rested my head on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of it each time he took in a breath. “And how long have you been trying to impress me, Weasley?”

“Hmm...how long have we been friends?”

We both laughed and I looked up at him. It was funny to see his flaming red hair coming back into focus, but the beard was nowhere near gone. I squeezed his hand in mine and sat up, brushing his long hair out of his eyes. “How about after your facial hair dies down a bit, we go grab a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?”

George smiled at me and nodded. He then stroked his beard and said, “Why not now? Are you not attracted to my Dumbledore-esque look?” He winked at me.

“Ugh, you’re such a loon,” I said before rolling my eyes.

“You love it.”

I smiled back at him, ran my fingers through his hair, and knew I didn’t have to say anything more, because just by a glance, George Weasley could always tell exactly what I was feeling. Guess I wore my heart on my sleeve, too.

omg lmao i hate myself so much bUT I HOPE THIS WAS CUTE? AND IDK? idk how i feel about this but w/e i love when the reader is close with both twinnies hehehe

you can request drabbles from my prompts list here

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley drabble #fred and george

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lxveille · 6 years

Note

Thank you so much for the advice, I know it may seem unorthodox to have to give advice but I appreciate it so much like you don't believe. I was thinking of creating my own little blog shortly after my drabble challenge when I have the time, at least as a break from the original blog and as a chance to let me breathe for a bit. I don't want writing to feel like a chore or a daunting task, it was supposed to be fun after all! When I feel like writing for the other groups again, I might return-

but I’ve always wanted to have a svt only blog. Idk, I guess it’s just because I love them the most and find so many possibilities in writing with them. As for college, we’re just getting overloaded with assignments all the time (I do film production), and next week alone I have 3 assignments due-to make an animation, interview video and photography feature. And it just gets to be so much, for everyone, and no matter how much we’ve complained to the lecturers, they don’t really change? They just kind of brush us off and remind us that if we’re late handing in projects 5% gets taken off our total each day it’s late. And they don’t really teach us properly, I’ve to create a song piece by the end of the year but I still don’t know how to use protools along with everyone else cuz the lecturer doesn’t teach that well but he expects so much It’s just so much pressure and we’re only in year 1 and ugh, i just get so agitated and tired. I’m really sorry for ranting on btw - Mimi

it’s no trouble at all !! it sounds like you’ve got a good idea of what you want concerning the writing aspect; if/when you do go ahead with making a svt specific blog, i hope you’ll let me know!

i’m sorry to hear you’ve had rather flippant reactions from your instructors thus far! it’s always disheartening to hear things like that. the only additional advice i can think to add knowing that is to try not to frame it as a complaint about deadlines or their instruction? lecturers are just people too, and many, many people’s first reaction to complaints is defensiveness and finding fault in the other person instead. if you can frame your concerns as asking for advise or clarification, that might be something that may help with getting a more productive answer? also, the more specific you can be with questions, the better (‘can you explain how to do x in protools?’ vs ‘how do you use protools?’ – you might have to ask more questions that way, but with any luck breaking down your own questions into the smallest aspects possible will help prompt him to give the instruction you need)

again, i sadly can only speak from my own experiences – my heart goes out to you that you’re in this position to begin with ! and of course i don’t know if you’ve tried these things already or not, so i’m just taking a shot in the dark at things that might be useful considerations?? i’ll be cheering for you, though! remember to take care of yourself while you’re dealing with all this stress, above all ❤

#welovekpopscenarios

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bxchanan-barnes-deactivated · 7 years

Text

An Original Design

Hey! @tourmei SURPRISE I’m your secret santa!! I’m sorry this is so long, and even sorrier that this is so late!!! This was supposed to be a cute lil drabble, but it turned into this monster, so….. You’re welcome? I’m sorry? Both, maybe? IDK. BUT, I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

FYI: Post-reveal. Adrienette. Ft. Alya. Rated T for a few choice words. Word count: 4,252 (yIkes) My version of Gabriel tryna be a good father ok???? Let me dream.

AO3

Marinette doesn’t ask for much, especially not of those she is closest to. She doesn’t demand for materialistic things, she doesn’t insist on having their undivided attention, she doesn’t expect them to drop everything for her at a moment’s notice.

And she certainly does not expect for them to shove her onto Gabriel Agreste’s runway. Mid-fashion show, no less!

Oh, Alya is lucky I love her, Marinette thinks with a scowl, glancing around at all the stage lights and camera flashes and shocked faces, otherwise, I would kill her.

Earlier

Alya slings her dress bag and overnight bag over her shoulder before knocking on her best friend’s bedroom door.

“Marinette? You decent?”

A few bumps and strange noises later, the trapdoor swings open to reveal a nervous wreck that only somewhat resembles Marinette. Her usually tame hair is a disheveled mess, her pajamas are wrinkled, and her eyes are wide with panic.

All in all, she’s a total mess.

“Uh….hey?” The blogger asks cautiously, raising an eyebrow up at the girl before her.

“Hi,” Marinette squeaks, giving a nervous grin.

Alya hesitantly climbs into the bedroom, expecting it to be as big of a mess as her friend is. But nothing was out of the ordinary, except for the chaise lounge; it looked as if all of the other girl’s fancy dresses and shoes were thrown haphazardly onto the chair. She turned to look at the raven haired girl beside her, raising an eyebrow.

“Let me guess. We have two hours to be dressed and out the door and you still don’t know what you’re wearing?”

“No.” She lies.

“Oh boy..”

“In my defense, he didn’t exactly give me enough of a notice to get a fancy dress in time!” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He wanted it to be a surprise!” Alya reasons as she recalls the conversation she had with Adrien last week.

Adrien had been wracking his brain for weeks, trying to figure out what to get Marinette for her birthday. He didn’t want to take her out for a fancy dinner - he’d done that on their one monthiversary. Nor did he want to get her jewelry - none of it stuck out to him and it would just clash with her Ladybug earrings anyways. With only a few days left before her seventeenth, he was at a total loss. Until Alya so conveniently dropped a hint, of course.

“Adrien, dear, let me walk you through something.” She’d began, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Not only are you the son of the renowned fashion designer Gabriel Agreste, but you’re also a model. Who is dating an aspiring and hella good fashion designer who idolizes your father’s work.”

“And?” He replied slowly, obviously missing her point.

“And Mari has always dreamed of going to one of his fashion shows, which you so happen to be working one this saturday… You get where I’m going with this?”

All of a sudden he grinned, all bright eyes and sparkling teeth, and threw his arms around Alya in a bear hug. “Alya! You’re a genius!” He laughed in utter glee at finding the perfect gift for his wonderful girlfriend. “Taking her to an actual fashion show. I’m such an idiot. How the hell did I never think of this?!”

He paused, a frown replacing his smile in the blink of an eye. “But I’ll be working and I’d hate for her to be alone all night.”

“Oh, fine! I’ll go with her to keep her company!!” Alya said, dramatically rolling her eyes and acting as if it were the biggest inconvenience life had to offer.

He grinned again and shouted a quick “Thank you!” as he ran off to work out the details.

“Yeah, well now he can shove it cause I don’t have anything to wear!” Marinette practically shouted, frantic once more.

Alya shakes her head, trying her best not to laugh at her best friend.

She drops her things on the floor and begins to look through the clothes on the chaise chair. Finding nothing good enough for Marinette to wear to the event tonight, she then moves to the closet. Upon first glance, it was all casual wear. But then something in the back catches Alya’s eye; a deep red dress with a black ribbon around the waist. Taking a closer look, she could see that the black ribbon had gold beading on the front. It was beautiful and elegant enough for a fashion show. Furrowing her brow, she retrieves it and turns to look at Marinette.

“What about this?”

“But…that’s an original design. By me. I can’t wear one of my original designs to a Gabriel Agreste fashion show! It would be total career suicide!” She cries out, throwing her hands up in the air in distress. “I can’t even believe you suggested such a thing! You know how many designers and famous people and magazine companies will be there?! Way, way too many for me to wear an original design. And for sure they’ll all know that dress was hand made by a seventeen year old! I’ll be a laughing stock; surely Adrien’s father will be embarrassed. And I know he’s my boyfriend and won’t admit to it, but Adrien will probably be embarrassed, too.” She concludes with a huff, flopping face down onto her bed in misery.

Alya pauses, opening her mouth to respond to her drama queen of a best friend but ultimately decides not to. She sits beside Marinette, gingerly laying the fancy dress beside her.

“Marinette, you listen to me.” The brunette says, and the stern tone of her voice prompts the other girl to open one eye just enough to peek up at her.

“This dress is amazing. No one will ever guess that any average seventeen year old made it. And when you do tell them that you made it - because people will ask because it’s magical - you tell them that you made it. They’ll be shocked, too, cause like I said, it’s fucking magical, girl.”

The amateur fashion designer sits up, pushing her hair away from her face as she looks at her friend through her lashes.

“You think so?” She asks, and her voice is so small but so hopeful that Alya can’t help but give her an encouraging grin.

“Duh.”

The two girls share a hug.

“And neither Agreste guy will be ashamed of this dress,” Alya adds once they pull away. Her smile turns wicked, suddenly. “-I’m willing to bet that when Adrien sees you in this dress, he just might pounce on you on the spot.”

Like a cat, Marinette muses as she tries to hold in her laughter. But she just can’t contain it; she bursts out in giggles, a light blush blooming on her cheeks at the thought of her boyfriend reacting in such a way, especially in civilian form and not as Chat Noir.

“Okay, okay. I’ll wear it.”

“'Atta girl!” Alya smiles and gently claps her friend on the back.

“Now, lets brush your hair because you look like you got into a fight with a mangy cat.”

More like I was making out with one right before you got here, Marinette laughs to herself as she’s tugged to her vanity.

“Alya! We are backstage at a Gabriel Agreste fashion show! Can you believe it?!” Marinette cries out as she watches the hustle and bustle of models and assistants preparing for the runways. She looks a whole lot like what Alya imagines Chloe would in a Chanel store, eyes filled with wonder and her smile a little bit wild.

“This is the best birthday present ever!!” She squeals, throwing her arms around the brunette in a tight hug.

Alya grins at her best friend’s enthusiasm as they pull apart.

“You have your boyfriend to thank for this, girl – I just planted the idea in that pretty little head of his.”

The raven haired girl blushes and looks down at her fancy black heels - boyfriend. It still felt new to her daily vocabulary, even after these last few months.

“Speak of the devil.” Alya mutters, smirk widening at something - or rather, someone - to the left.

Marinette looks up from her shoes and is met by those green eyes she’s grown so fond of. She quickly glances over what outfit he is going to be modeling next; a simple black and grey three piece suit, but man does he look especially good in it.

Adrien’s eyes widen and his lips part at the sight before him, utterly stunned as he looks over her knee length strapless gown; the dress itself was Ladybug red, and that black ribbon tied around her waist was as black as Chat Noir’s suit with beading as gold as his bell. It flowed out beneath the ribbon, just enough to swish around when she moved. He looks back up at her face, expression shifting from shock into that of a man totally gone in love.

“Hey, Marinette. You look….beautiful.”

She smiles up at him, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless – partly for the way he was looking at her and partly for giving her this amazing opportunity, but also a little bit because of how attractive he looks in that suit. Ultimately, she settles for a quick peck on the lips, unable to wipe the silly grin off of her face.

“Thank you.”

“Hi to you too, Adrien.” Alya says, crossing her arms over her chest and feigning offense.

He tears his eyes away from his girlfriend, glancing apologetically at his friend. “Sorry, Alya. Hey.”

He offers a sheepish grin, fighting the urge to look back to his girlfriend until the blogger rolls her eyes, a fond smile on her lips. He takes that as her forgiveness and returns his attention to his girlfriend.

Alya watches the exchange and shakes her head.

Afterall, she would much rather her best friend’s boyfriend ignore her because he’s so taken with Mari, rather than ignore her because they don’t get along.

“By the way,” She interrupts their flirting, or whatever it was that her two weirdos do, gesturing to her best friend’s frock. “-she made this dress. By herself. Don’t you think it’s amazing and totally pro-designer worthy?”

Adrien nods immediately, eyes wide and serious. “Oh, yeah. Totally. At first glance, I assumed my father designed it and I just hadn’t seen it yet. It’s totally on par with his formalwear.”

Marinette blushes at his, her face as red as her dress.

“Oh my gosh.” She giggles, the current events much too much for her to fully process.

“Alya’s right, Mari. You could really make it as a designer. I truly mean that.” He says, and the raw honesty in his voice only furthers her desire to kiss him senseless.

She grins up at him as she bites her lip, barely containing a squeal.

“Thank you. For that…for all of this.” She says, and he meets her eyes and smiles.

“It’s really not a problem.”

The couple share a look and a silent moment, the busy crowd moving about around them.

“You looked good out there, by the way.” Marinette finally says, placing a hand on his chest to smooth out his lapel.

His cheeks redden in the slightest as he chuckles. Alya can’t help but let out an obnoxious snort; her best friend is so wonderfully lame.

“It’s kind of my job to look good, but thank you.”

“Oh. Because you’re a- right. Duh. I-I’m sorry.” Marinette buries her face in her hands to hide her embarrassment. “I’m just so excited. This is absolutely amazing.”

Adrien gently removes her hands from her face so he can place a kiss to her forehead. He holds her hands in his against his chest to keep her near, ducking his head to look her in the eye.

“Like I said, it’s not a problem. I’d do anything for my girl.” He winks at her, watching with delight as a brilliant blush colors her cheeks once more.

“Adrien, your next walk is in twenty!” The runway director calls out, wildly gesturing him over, and the blonde barely stifles a groan as he nods at the man.

“I’m sorry I can’t spend more time with you tonight, but I really am glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He murmurs to his girlfriend, caressing her cheek and giving her a much too short kiss on the lips.

“I’ll catch you later, right?”

Despite the terrible pun, Marinette snorts.

He leans closer to her and lowers his voice so that only she can hear his next sentence.

“We can finish what we started earlier.”

“I’ll be waiting.” She grins at him before leaning up to place a lingering kiss to his lips.

With a great, heaving sigh, he backs away from her, holding onto her hand for as long as possible without dragging her along with him. She watches as he turns around and jogs over to the runway director to prepare for his next walk.

Alya’s scoff brings the bluenette back down to earth.

“Yeah, see you later, Adrien!” Alya calls out after him, sarcasm practically dripping from her words. Then, turning back to her best friend, “Girl, you have him more whipped than Chat Noir is for LB.”

Marinette bites down on her lip to suppress her smile.

Oh, if only you knew…

“Shut up,” She dissolves into giggles, playfully shoving the blogger’s shoulder. “-let’s get a closer look at the stage!”

She grabs Alya by the wrist and yanks her in the direction of the runway, both girls chittering with excitement.

Half an hour later, Gabriel Agreste announces that the next line up is his last for the night. It’s all formalwear, set to be released this April.

Marinette already knows that she’ll be wearing one of these dresses to prom, even if she has to save up for the next three months.

Adrien is modeling two outfits this round, the first one alone and the last one as a couple, so he doesn’t have the chance to visit with her at all. But she’s excited to watch him walk the runway, as she likes watching him enjoy himself and look as comfortable as he does out there.

They make eye contact from across the room and she gives a little wave. He smiles wide, eyes full of happiness.

“Girl.” Alya gasps, elbowing her in the side to get her attention. “His color scheme! Gabriel’s fucking color scheme!”

Marinette tears her eyes away from her boyfriend and looks at the runway; the formalwear is all reds and black, with hints of gold here and there. One female model is wearing a long red cinderella-cut gown with gold beading on the bust, and another is wearing a black gown with red tulle underneath. Some of the male models are modeling red suits with black accents, whereas the other male models’ outfits are the opposite.

Adrien walks onto the stage by himself wearing a black suit with red buttons and a red tie.

“Your dress matches Gabriel-fucking-Agreste’s new formalwear line!” Alya cries out in sheer disbelief, eyes wild as she glances between Mari’s dress and Gabriel’s dresses.

Marinette chokes out an airy laugh, watching the models pose and strut down the runway.

Suddenly, Alya’s expression turns borderline evil, and Marinette has no time to question it.

In the blink of an eye, Alya has pushed Marinette ahead of the line of models and onto the stage. The raven haired girl stumbles into the center of the runway at the base of the long catwalk. A few people spot her, eyes immediately locked on this awkward, stumbling girl shoved onto the catwalk.

Marinette stops, eyes wide and mouth agape, bright lights nearly blinding her. She realizes that not many guests see her yet, so she straightens her back and gathers her determination and what’s left of her courage.

Oh, Alya is lucky I love her, Marinette thinks with a quick, fleeting scowl, glancing around at all the stage lights and camera flashes and shocked faces, otherwise, I would kill her.

After sending a quick death glare at her best friend on the sidelines, Marinette plasters a smile on her face and struts down the center of the runway, hoping to any god out there that she looks like she knows what she’s doing. She tries to recall what she’s seen other models do; she poses for the audience, winks, blows kisses. She’s met with growing applause and and flashing lights.

Upon seeing the crowd going wild at something behind him, Adrien smoothly turns around at the end of the runway to see what all the commotion was about. His eyes land on his girlfriend, making her way down the catwalk towards him, and he stills, eyes wide with a hint of panic etched on his face. They make eye contact and she just shrugs, an apology shining in her eyes. He regains his composure seconds later and extends his arm for Marinette. Once close enough, she grabs his hand and he twirls her into his arms, posing for the cameras.

“What are you doing up here?” He whispers through a well-practiced, forced smile, changing their pose.

“Alya.” was all that she had to say, and by the way he exhaled, she could tell that he needs no further explanation.

After a little more posing and a whole lot of smiling, they were backstage. If Marinette were not on a high from walking the runway, she might have actually killed her best friend for virtually ruining her boyfriend’s billionaire father’s fashion show.

“GIRL.” Her best friend shouts, face lighting up like a Christmas tree as she makes her way over. “That was amazing! Did you see the crowd?! They loved you! I told you they would!”

Marinette smiles, opens her mouth to answer, but then she spots Gabriel Agreste making a beeline towards her. Or maybe towards Adrien, she wasn’t sure. Either way, the brisk strut mixed with his emotionless expression was always terrifying, but she found it more so after potentially ruining his fashion show.

Adrien steps in the direct line of fire, already armed and ready to do damage control.

“Father, I-” The younger Agreste tries to speak first - tries to explain to his father why this girl who is not a model just accidentally walked the runway, tries to tell his father that hey, dad, this is my girlfriend and I’m so in love with her and she absolutely idolizes you, so please, please don’t yell at her and scare her off - but Gabriel doesn’t give him the chance.

“Wait, Adrien.” His father demands, a hand raised in the air to silence him as he sidesteps around his son. He studies Marinette’s dress, eyebrows scrunching together in concentration and confusion. “Marinette, was it?”

The girl in question nods, not trusting herself to speak quite yet.

“Where did you get that dress? I don’t recognize the design.”

Gabriel’s words are demanding, but his tone is far from it. Adrien stills at his father’s words, unsure of what was about to unfold before him, unsure of whether he was still going to have a girlfriend after this conversation ends. His insides twist in anxiety with every passing second.

The young model moves so he’s standing beside Marinette, ready and willing to give any kind of support she might need. As expected, she reaches out for his hand, grasping it with her own.

“I-I made it…Mister Agreste..sir.” The nervous bundle of girl squeaks out, clinging onto Adrien’s arm in fear.

Gabriel almost looks stunned at her answer, but returns to his typical neutral and vaguely intimidating demeanor moments later.

Except this time, the blonde realizes, his father is not intentionally trying to be intimidating. He’s trying to come across as something else. Something Adrien isn’t used to, something like…..nice, maybe? Could his father actually be capable of such thing?

“You did? By yourself?”

She nods, eyes wide as she practically shrinks into herself.

“With or without a pattern?”

“Without.”

“I see..” He pauses, words his next sentence carefully. “-and just why were you on my runway?”

Again, his words would be demanding, but his tone is far from it. Adrien blinks, still unable to move, unable to process just what was going on.

“I didn’t mean to. It-It was an accident..” She tries to explain, fidgeting with her hands. “Y-You see, I-I-”

Alya and Adrien both know that she isn’t going to willingly throw her best friend under the bus, that she was probably, definitely trying to think of some reason she ended up on that runway that didn’t include Alya shoving her there.

She would risk pissing off her boyfriend’s father who so happened to be her fashion idol - which came with so many repercussions in and of itself - just to save her best friend’s ass without a second thought.

And boy, did that realization just do it for Adrien…again.

She was so damn selfless and he was so damn in love.

“I see,” Gabriel repeats, glancing over her dress. “Turn around.”

It’s almost a question, but not quite.

Marinette lets go of her boyfriend’s hand and does as instructed, slowly spinning in a single circle as her fashion designer hero inspects her dress.

Adrien holds his breath as he watches the exchange between his girlfriend and his father.

Where was he going with this? Why wasn’t he yelling? What the hell was happening?!

“I want to buy it.”

Adrien almost chokes on a gasp, Alya’s jaw drops to the floor, and Marinette can’t quite believe her ears.

Did THE Gabriel Agreste, her all time favorite fashion designer, her idol, just say he wants to buy her design?

Pinch me I must be dreaming.

“You-You-but-…I’m..sorry….what?” She blinks, unable to do much else in the moment.

“I want to buy your design.” He repeats, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Well, I mean, not until after school.” She replies lamely.

Alya tries her best not to snort again; her best friend continues to be so, so wonderfully lame.

“Very well.” He nods, glancing at his son before looking back to Marinette. “Come home with Adrien after school and we can discuss prices and details. Your parents or a lawyer can attend our meeting as well, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped and she felt absolutely giddy. She couldn’t believe what was happening!

“Will that be feasible?”

She can’t form words, she can only grin with a dumbstruck look on her face.

Was this really happening?

“Done. Tomorrow, four o'clock, your house. She’ll be there with her manager.” Alya answers for her, speaking in a professional tone.

“It’s me- Um, I’m her manager.. Sir. If it wasn’t clear.” Alya adds on, nodding in confirmation.

“I look forward to seeing you and your manager then, Marinette.” He turns to leave, but pauses to glance at Marinette once more. “It was really nice to finally meet you.” He says, nods as he gives her his version of small smile, and walks off.

What in the name of…

“Father?” Adrien calls out as he follows him, still wildly confused about what just happened and in desperate need for answers.

His father stops and turns around, calmly raising his eyebrows in response.

“What just- Why’d you- What-” Adrien struggles to find the right words to question his father, but, thankfully, he interrupts once more.

“What just happened is that I just met your girlfriend, whom is very talented, and I would like to buy her design, Adrien.” Gabriel says slowly, meaningfully. He glances at Marinette and Alya giggling and squealing to each other, then looks back at his son with a much softer expression than the model is used to. “Don’t hide such things from me for so long next time. Understood?” Gabriel’s words would have been threatening if not for the small upturn of his lips and the ever so slight softness in his eyes.

Adrien nods, unable to keep his happiness out of his expression.

His father places a hand on his shoulder, locking eyes with him. They share a long look before Gabriel clears his throat and politely excuses himself with a simple, “I’ll see you at home.”

A very relieved, very pleased Adrien is left behind, feeling lighter than he has in a long time. He watches his father disappear into the crowd to tend to the fashion show, a warm feeling buzzing in his chest.

He’s barely had enough time to breathe when someone suddenly slams into his side, damn near tackling him in a hug. It takes him a heartbeat to regain his balance and realize the familiarity of the hug before he melts into it, holding his girlfriend impossibly closer.

“He likes you, Marinette.” Adrien breathes, a grin practically splitting his face in half and his heart swelling in his chest. “My father likes you.”

He thinks he might have broken his girlfriend when she just barely holds in a squeal before leaning up to give him a mind-numbing kiss.

Okay, so maybe Marinette shouldn’t be too mad at Alya for shoving her onto that runway. After all, she did just land a design deal with her absolute idol.

Even better, though, she just got her boyfriend’s stony father’s approval.

#miraculous ladybug fic #ml editor appreciation week #adrienette #miraculous ladybug fan fiction #fluffy #i may or may not edit this SLIIIIGHTLY via pc tonight #just checking for spelling errors and italicizing things i wanted to #anyways #tourmei #I HOPE U ENJOY!!!#UR GRAPHICS ARE SO PRETTY FYI N I LOVE ATLA TOO!!#also i love ur blog i'm obsessed now #fics #mine #og post

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dapperfvck-arc · 7 years

Text

How do you run your blog?

Repost; Do Not Reblog

Speed: It really depends. Usually I’ll get to a thread within a week or two at the longest. Given that have several partners that I talk to and plot with daily/weekly, we generate a lot of new ideas frequently and when something takes awhile, it usually got buried by under a crust of new threads and occasional meme prompt ask. My drafts box is like an archeological site, I swear. Sometimes I do have trouble with inspiration for a reply, but usually it’s just a matter of getting wrapped up with my little circle of friends and co-writers.

A side note, during my working week, my productivity slows to a crawl. I’m usually better off in Skype or tumblr IM and may get to a thread or two either before or after work if I’m just not in lurk/shit post mode until I pass out.

Replies: Aesthetically I use extremely light formatting. The first word always bolded and italicized and default size with all other text smaller. I also bold the quotation marks in dialogue because it looks hella cool on my blog proper given that I have bolded/italicized text is a different colour than the rest of the text. It also looks classy af on the dash. Icons for either FC depending on verse or comic caps are used until it gets to nsfw stuff or with some drabble prompts. As for preferences, I’m really quite flexible. Honestly, tho, I’m a multi-para whore and with most threads, eventually they start to get longer and longer. However, unless I can’t parse my muse’s thoughts on a matter or situation, I won’t go in hard and fast on a one-liner or small single para. Unless you’re one of my people, but then again, you prolly already have experience being slapped with my throbbing multi-para hard-on.

I don’t expect people to match me, and sometimes I may struggle to match length, as well, but I do like to see an attempt. Like if I give you a four para starter, I would prefer not to get a two sentence reply back (some of you are shaking your head, but this actually happened to me in my halcyon days in the community).

Starters: I don’t do greeters, because idk, for me it feels like when a teacher called on you because you weren’t paying attention. Nearly every time I’ve gotten a greeter, I’m unprepared and feel quite suddenly pressed. The RPC is already a ball of anxiety 85% of the time and I don’t want to add to anyone’s discomfort, providing I’m not the only crazy person who reacts to getting a greeter like a distant gunshot. Depending on how clogged my drafts box is and how busy I am, I probably post a starter call every couple weeks and open starters very rarely because like, idk, no one ever hops on them, so I don’t really feel like they’re welcome. In the case of the latter, I only ask that people read the tags. Some open starters are meant for mutuals, particularly ones with some established interaction.

Unless they’re plotted starters (or replies to longer ask box meme responses that I wanted to turn into a thread), they usually start short and often vague. Please don’t keep it vague. It drives me nuts. I want you to present an idea, go out on a limb, whatever (I mean within reason of course, use your common sense, too).

Inbox: It’s a mess, tbqh. A lot of times I mindlessly reblog or queue memes, especially at work or when I’m out and about on mobile, and then don’t feel like doing them or get excited over certain prompts over others. I will say that I keep things in my inbox for a very long time and might get to replying to prompt weeks to months later. Frequently I will draft ones that I know will be long.

Selectivity: Hoooo boy. I’m pretty fucking selective tbh. I like my partners to be literate and of course be able to enjoy their portrayal/character. That’s not to say I’m not open to meeting new people and interacting with new muses. I don’t need to know your muse extensively to RP with you, but I’m also perfectly willing to educate myself (I’m not going to front, I was compelled to watch both Daredevil and Preacher for the sake of character/canon research, as well as starting to read Lucifer). Also, I mostly RP with mutuals, but again, that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to discover new mutuals, you feel me?

Sometimes when my stress levels are high or I’m drowning in drafts, I tend to be a bit more standoffish and stick to “my people”, however this doesn’t last for long and may be broken by a compelling enough new interaction.

Wishlist item: *pounds table aggressively* CONSTANTINE FAM! AND I SUPPOSE THIS IS REALLY SELFISH BUT I WANT A CHERYL OR GEMMA RP BLOG IN MY LIFE. AND IDEK MAYBE HAVING A CHERYL BLOG WOULD BE BORING AS SHIT, BUT A GEMMA??? SURELY TO FUCK SOMETHING FASCINATING COULD BE DONE WITH HER. Also: CHAS! ELLIE! HELL BLAZER CANON CHARACTERS PLS.

ahem.

Anyway, idk, I really don’t have a wishlist? I mean, there are certain themes I’m keen to explore. Like my mythological bent to John, and developing certain verses, but like...all things considered I’m just more interested in world and relationship building than ticking off a wishlist of AUs or situations I want to see played out.

Honest note: I’m fiercely independent, and I don’t put up with bullshit. Honestly, I don’t have much tolerance for drama and the easiest way to push me away is pull me into a vortex of social or interpersonal drama. Been there, done that, and honestly I can be a bit skittish if I start getting a weird vibe. I’m coming up on five years RPing on tumblr and there’s not a lot that shocks me anymore.

A few more admissions:

-- I love writing ships. When I wrote fanfic, it was 95% shippy stuff. That doesn’t mean it’s all about romance, fluff, and sex, sometimes it’s just how two muses relate to each other or a glimpse into their lives together, but I know my strengths and tend to default to them. This doesn’t mean I’m out to collect lovers for John or am not willing to step out my comfort zone, just that there’s going to be a lot of that stuff here.

-- If we talk ooc, there’s a 100% more possibility that you’re going to get more attention from me both ic and ooc. It’s just a matter of comfort level. Though I might seem together and confident, it’s only really in regard to my writing. I’m intimidated by people who are so much better at being witty and fun and silly on tumblr and chatty about their characters and fandom outside of the constraint of meme prompts or whatever. I guess I’m just afraid of boring people or having followers roll their eyes like “omg Iggy stfu. Don’t you have twenty-odd replies? Chop, chop you anal retentive bitch.” Mind, no one’s actually said this to me, I just have dodgy self-esteem, honestly, and some days are worse than others.

-- If I tell you I think you’re a good writer, I mean it. This is important.

-- If I tell you I’m worried about the quality of a reply I gave you, I’m not fishing for compliments, I’m legitimately uncertain that you’ll like it. Just fyi.

-- I’m bad at writing m/f ships in any expedient manner. I have no good excuse for this other than being queer trash that would rather write about men being in love and lust. And uh, that’s not a good excuse at all. I’m just the literal worst and I’m sorry I come off as not inclusive enough. Honestly, I’m trying to be better about this deep failing of mine.

-- I apologize a lot for things I shouldn’t. Sorry lol

Tagged by: @vamptrampbamf

Tagging: @dcviltongued, @aliasinvestigate, @hittcr, @haharlarious, @riskedfalling, @hawkwxrd, @rageinmybones

#w ow this got real ahhgdhtghd

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shadowyin-yang · 7 years

Note

Got this idea listening to a song: AU where elves are long-lived beings who are rather solitary in their home in their realm They are also very mischievous and are attracted to pretty things including people Fenris is strolling along the border of the two realms (Fae and human) which is made of an ancient sentient mist that keeps humans out of Fae (save those the fae allow in) but allows the fae to come and go as they please He sees Anders through the fog and takes a liking...

Send Me Prompts!

I think I’m definitely going off track on what a drabble is supposed to be…

Every time I fill a prompt I think I’m gonna end up saying “idk if this is what you were looking for but here ya go” and hope it’s liked at least a little.

Link to Ao3 Chapter: here

All the children in this village grew up with the stories of the scary manbeasts that reside in the the Brecilian Forest. You must never enter it for you may be taken by one. They especially liked bad children. If you get taken during a storm you may never return, because when a strange light appears after a storm ends. That means the manbeasts have crossed between our world and theirs and no human could stand a chance to return.

It is far too dangerous to go into the forest. But if you must, you cannot go alone. You will never see the sun once you step foot into this land of trees, for it has never had a day without fog. You may also get attacked by a manbeast that roams! Even the most innocent animal you find could secretly be a manbeast as they are magical shapeshifters - you must never trust your eyes in this dangerous and magical forest…

No one enters the Brecilian Forest, and no one supposedly ever comes out. It was the perfect place to run to and hide, possibly forever. And so one day, a young human did. It was quiet, too quiet for the his liking. Birds did not sing and animals did not scurry around. There was no wind and the water he finds are still. But it did not deter him from continuing forward. The young human felt hunger and stumbled upon an odd tree that grew strangely colored apples. They looked so fresh, shiny, and (hopefully) juicy that they were begging to be bitten into. As if the the Maker willed it, an apple dropped from its branch, effectively hitting the poor human square on the head. Annoyed, but food has now became readily available to him and he swiftly knelt to pick up the purple apple. It was only a moment of admiration before he took a bite. Oh it was delectable! So sweet, so full of tasty apple juice, and perfectly crisp at the bite! As he neared the end of his snack, a soft thud caught his attention. Beside him another apple had fallen. Another thud. Another apple. Another thud and the young man fell over.

When he next woke, the human found himself on the path outside the forest along with a bruise on his head. He was swiftly found by his family before he had the chance to act on his need to return within the trees, for he had lost his golden earring.

The eyes in the forest soon saw the young man again when he returned with a basket. The man showed no hesitance when he entered. It took a bit of wandering but soon he found his way back to the odd apple tree. With a few jumping and stone throwing to get some apples to fall, his basket became filled and he left the forest on his own. Maybe the forest will have more visitors now that a human has come here not once, but twice. But they never did. It was the same visitor and never more. He’d come with a basket, fill it up with colorful apples, and leave.

It seemed the human enjoyed humming. The forest didn’t have such…sounds. This filled the nothingness with soft tunes. The human often scanned the ground in search of something. But as time went by, the human stopped. Instead, he brought other materials besides a basket.

He touched the tree, drew in front of it, and observed the growth of this tree and its apples during the changing seasons until he learned the best times to pick from it. He made his own pattern, and often showed up when the apples were the ripest and just about ready to be picked from or had fallen. He started coming here less, but he spent more time there when he did visit.

The human has fallen asleep at the base of the trunk. It has been so long since he remained still like this…

When the man awoke, he was laying atop of a bed of flower pedals. The smell was breathtaking. It reminded him of the perfume his mother used to wear. He saw he was not far from the tree at all, but these pedals surely were not here before, even with the thickness of the mist here. The man discovered a flower crown on top of his head, and smiled at the thought of bringing home something that reminded him of his mother. Days passed before he realized he was missing his bracelet.

The leaves were falling. They died a lot of faster in this forest, the air was significantly cooler than it was outside, and the fog was thicker. The human didn’t seem to mind. Bundled up under a feathered cloak he made his way to the tree again. The human has grown significantly taller over the years and no longer needed to go about knocking down apples when he had to get the ones that haven’t fallen. Today he only picked up the orange colored apples. When the grass no longer held his preferred color of the day, he started jumping up to grab the orange ones from the lowest branches. While scanning for more his foot accidentally kicked his basket and the apples came tumbling out. Some didn’t get far, but others rolled away and dipped into the water nearby. The human sometimes rested by this mysterious still-watered river, but never stayed for long, often mumbling about it being “too cold” and “weird that it never moves.” He followed the trail of his runaway apples before kneeling beside the water. With an outreached hand he was able to nab one from that stopped floating too far away. But there were still that kept moving away from him until they disappeared into the thick fog. The human stared in hopelessness. Before he could get up to return to finding more from the tree, he heard the water splash. He froze in confusion and soon saw a few apples drifting his way until it touched his side of land.

“Is someone there?” He found himself asking, trying to see if there was something to be seen. It was hard to make out anything through the fog but he could could see moving shadows on the other side of the waters. “Hey, um, thank you!” he lifted the fruits from the water to place in his basket but did not hear a response when he finished. A part of him wanted to let it be, as one should not question what goes on in this forest. Though he could not resist staying as curiosity got the better of him. “Hmm…I could’ve sworn there was one more…!”

Splash!

Another apple came drifting his way from the fog. He could not help but let out a soft laugh as he picked up the fruit. He stopped when a brand new voice was heard, for a moment, laughing along with him.

“Hello…?” the man leaned forward, still eyeing the shadowy figure on the other side.

“Hello.”

The man gasped when a response actually came. “H-Hi! Who are you?”

“Is it not rude in your culture to ask for another’s name without giving your own?” the voice was deep, and oh so wondrous. Never has he recalled a simple question ever sounding so smooth and rich to his ears.

“Oh? I suppose…” he shivered under his cloak as he sat himself down on the dirt, wanting to converse with this stranger. “I’m…um, sorry, you can just call me…Anders. And you?”

“Anders.” the stranger repeated.

The human flushed, not expecting to like how that sounded with this stranger’s voice.

“I have different names as well. You may call me Fenris.” The figure shifted again, but seemingly settled as Anders was.

“Fenris…like a wolf? Oh, excuse my rudeness, but are you maybe one of those ‘manbeasts’ from our stories?” impossible! Even though he very much knew anything might be possible in this strange forest.

“Perhaps. My people have been given many names by yours over the years. Most of them not kind. I would not know what the current stories of us are. Most of us do not tread far beyond these trees.”

“Oh…Well, I um…I wouldn’t really blame you. I like it here myself. I mean…it was kind of scary at first - too quiet, and a little dark. But it’s not so bad.”

“I am aware. You are amusing to watch.”

“Wh-What?! You knew of me being here?!” Anders could see Fenris give a slight head tilt, as if in confusion at the outburst.

“Yes. You are not very quiet. But you are an interesting to watch, and you leave nice gifts some days.”

“What? I do not leave…” his voice trailed off as he thought back to things he has lost over the years: his jewelry, his trinkets, some flowers a village girl gave him once, and even snacks! “Those…weren’t gifts though.”

“But they were very pretty.”

“I’m glad you think so, I thought they were pretty too, but…I was not even aware there was another person here to even gift them to…” Any anger that rose was swiftly diminished as this stranger seemed genuinely confused about the ordeal. He rather did miss his things, but at least he finally knew he wasn’t losing them.

“…I see.”

Anders wasn’t sure what he heard in the other’s tone. It sounded like disappointment, but he could not pinpoint why.

The strange continued after a moment’s thought. “That was disrespectful of me, Anders. And I apologize. You’re…tch…a human. I know that is not an excuse, but you do not fit the description of humans from what I was taught and from what I have seen. You act more intelligent than most.”

Anders almost nodded in understanding. So they are different in someway. Anders knew of other species besides humans. There were the dwarves and the qunari, and surely others he never met before. Humans must’ve drove away this stranger’s people in the past. In each other’s absence, it seemed the creations of ‘lowly, stupid, humans’ and ‘manbeasts’ have taken shape in each other’s history. Not that Anders could really blame them…he was not one to vow for the intelligence of his own species.

“It’s alright…I mean, no harm done right? And I know humans can be, well, bad. They try to hide it, but our history shows it. I’m a bit weirded out but…I guess I can understand why you did what you did…”

“I thank you for your understanding, Anders. My people come into this world for things we do not have access to back home. We rarely see humans due to our enchantment of this forest. However, you kept coming back…”

Anders had so many questions he didn’t know where to start. It wasn’t just a separation of people, but worlds?

“Oh Maker, this all sounds so fascinating! I must be dreaming…”

“It is not dream. I can confirm that.”

Anders softly laughed to himself. Maybe that’s a question to ask another time, but perhaps he did not want to know.

“Alright, Fenris. I believe you. I um…rather you do not watch me in secret from now on though. Can you…come out from the fog?”

“…We should not identify ourselves to humans. You may think me as monstrous as your stories.”

Anders felt the urge to exclaim that he would never, but he went back to think about their history and lack of documentation of the ‘manbeasts’ that roam forests all over. True or not, it was still his people that painted them as such. Maybe it really is better this way…

“I…understand,” he forced himself to say. “Can we…still talk? You don’t have to show yourself.”

“What would we discuss?”

“Anything! We…can ask some questions and learn about each other.”

“Ask questions…such as: what do you do with the…apples?”

“Yes!” Anders replied excitedly, “Questions like that! Um…I bake them into sweets. Like apple pies.”

“Apple pies…” the stranger repeated, as if testing the phrase.

“You never had apple pies?” the short silence that followed confirmed that the stranger had not. Anders was flabbergasted. How did the stranger never once smell his apple pies that surely drifted from his farm’s window? “I shall bring one next time! And we can share it!”

“That sounds…wonderful. Do you create food for your people?”

“Well, sort of? I’m human and even I get tired of other humans. It can get lonely though…But see, I live on a farm. Well it used to be a farm. I own a lot of the land but I don’t utilize most of it now. It’s a bit harder nowadays. People pay me to make them certain foods, but I’ve been using my space to save some animals! Do you like cats…?”

“Cats…yes. I prefer the white striped beasts.”

Anders chuckled. “Maybe not those kinds of cats. I cannot keep big beasts in my home. Like…um, here.” Anders’s hands moved around under his cloak. After a moment, a furry head popped out under his cloak, “This is Miss Sweety-Hearty-Pie. She’s shy.” The reddish tinted cat looked around briefly before ducking her head back under the warmth of Anders’s cloak. He chuckled as his hands moved around to tuck the cat somewhere warm again.

“That is a tiny creature.” Fenris noted out loud.

“Yeah, most cats are. In comparison to the beasts you described at least. But I like them small. You get to hold and cuddle them.”

“And that pleases you?”

“Very. Do you not cuddle pets?”

“We have many magnificent and beautiful creatures in our land, but I suppose not many of us…cuddle them.”

“Well that is why I love cats! They’re one of the rare creatures you can hold in your arms- Brr…” Anders shivered upon finishing his statement. He noted he could see his own breath in the cold. Maker, how long has he been in here? “Sorry…I um…I may need to head back. I’m not usually in here for this long around this season.”

“I see…”

Anders could hear the disappointment in the other’s voice. “I’ll be back!” he quickly added.

“You do not come as often during this season, or the next. The apples are not as ripe.”

“Well…I can come back and just talk with you?”

“You would return? Just for conversation?”

“Is that sad? I mean I sort of know it is…but if you’re okay with that, I would like to?”

The moment’s pause from Fenris worried Anders, but finally Fenris replied. “That sounds…rather pleasant. I would like that very much.”

Anders smiled. He was about to stand but paused as an idea entered his mind. He swiftly removed his hair tie and plucked some of the feathers off his cloak. With a bit of quick handiwork he attached some of the feathers to his band. From the ground he picked up a small rock and wrapped his hairtie around it. “I’ll give you a real gift. Can you catch?” Anders saw a vague outline of movement and possibly a pair of arms stick out. He carefully tossed the rock over and deemed it a success when there was not a splash. “I know it is not much…and I don’t even know what you look like so you might not even have hair! But…you can hold onto it or put it somewhere. And every time I come back, I can give you a new feather!”

“That…Thank you, Anders. I shall wait here for then. I look forward to your return.”

Anders’s face felt warm again, though this time he wasn’t sure from what. He gave a smile before he stood to leave.

Fenris shifted through the trees, hidden behind the fog that cloaked him so thoroughly from the human eye. He was swift as he followed Anders until the edge of the forest. Fenris stayed, watching from a high branch. Anders would travel down the path, alone, until he reached the little house in the distance. Fenris remembered seeing more humans around the home over the years. Then one day he realized it was only Anders that went in and out the house. Fenris leaned against the tree as he wondered what it was like beyond this forest. The sight before him was beautiful: The sun fell perfectly behind the house, and at night the moon would shine above it. Sometimes he could see smoke coming from the roof at the top of the home and light from the windows that brought out Anders’s outline. Despite the seemingly beautiful world, Anders kept leaving the beautiful imagery Fenris saw to this enchanted forest that was meant to keep travelers out.

Fenris looked in his hand, examining the gift. He slipped it onto his wrist, letting it rest with the bangle he took from Anders once before. Perhaps these previous items really were not gifts then. Everything from the earring he wore on his pointed ears to a simple necklace around his neck. They did not feel as important anymore, not as important as the one he had just received from Anders.

When Fenris saw Anders’s small silhouette enter the house, followed by light in the windows, he deemed Anders was safe. Fenris returned deep into the Brecilian Forest, into his own home in another realm. He found he never stayed too long, not as much as he should. Fenris often returned to his new favorite tree whenever the human - no- Anders paid a visit.

#fenders #fenris #anders #prompt fill #immortal au #??#diamonddragon33 #syyprompted #syydrabble

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