#fanfic lines that deserve to be in a hall of fame

[mikimeiko]

8 shows to get to know me better

I was tagged by @bookshelfdreams and almost forgot about this but then I didn't and so here are my shows :D

Buffy the Vampire Slayer It was the show that introduced me to the idea of fandom, the first show where I bought dvds, the first show I screencapped and made wallpapers for. My first and only two fanfics were Buffy fanfic. Back then there was nothing like it on tv, and I will always and forever have a soft spot for my slayer <3 I like seasons 4-7 more than 1-3, and season 6 is my favorite of them all (with season 4 as a close second if we ignore 99% of the Initiative plot lines XD).

Our Flags Means Death Jumping straight from the first fandom obsession to the latest. My first engagement in a wider fandom, the first time I was in it from the start. The real reason I started making gifs! Also I've never watched a show so many times in such a short amount of time XD

Community Specialest comfort show. Seasons 2 and 3 are the best seasons of tv I have ever watched in my life. The actors are all amazing. The characters are so real in a slightly absurd way. I'm glad it ended up on Netflix and was discovered by more people because it very much deserved it.

The Expanse Best scifi show, BEST. The science is good, the politics are messy in a very realistic way, the core characters are so precious and especially Chrisjen Avasarala deserves a hall of fame just to herself. The later seasons are a little uneven but still very much worth watching. (there's a small part of me that still hopes it will picked up by another new network to adapt the later books but they did give it a satisfying enough ending as is)

Ted Lasso While season 3 was... a mixed bag, it will always be very dear to me. I love every single character on the show. I love their journeys. I love their connections. Beautiful, beautiful show.

The Good Wife / The Good Fight I'm cheating a little here, but I love both the original and the spinoff and I couldn't choose one or the other. Alicia Florrick! Diane Lockhart! The acting and directing was phenomenal from start to finish, and carried both shows even when the writing got a little weaker.

You're The Worst I don't even know how to talk about it. Every single character is a piece of shit, every single character will steal your heart. I don't know how they made it work, but they really did. Gretchen will always be the little gremlin of my heart.

Legion Ok, so, there are a lot of shows that I like more than Legion as a whole (also I haven't finished watching it yet XD). But there's no other show that has such an interesting, deliberate approach to visuals and soundscaping. It's amazing! I spend the episodes with my jaw on the floor, just constantly astonished by the level of creativity on display. I just wish the same level of care went into the writing? XD But I also wish more studios experimented like this with the medium.

I'm tagging @malvolios-yellow-stockings, @acenita, @invisiblegreendot, @little-orcs-hurrarrumm, @nefarious-sloth, @bisexualtedlasso, @khargaotte, @dailydoseofsquee and whoever else wants to do this :D

#about me #thanks for the tag dearest sorry for the delay XD #i just want a tag for the things i personally put out into the world

[kawaiijellymonster]

So I’ve got a note in my notes app called “Fanfic lines that should be in a hall of fame” and it’s gotten pretty long so I figure I’ll toss it on here so yall can enjoy it, most of them are: mha, zukka, miraculous ladybug, harry potter, and I think one is from a comment on a hannibal amv, But here you go:

Stain sold papers because he just had an aura about him that drew people in, like people who slow down to look at car crashes.

“The Rumor Come Out: Does Todoroki Shoto is Gay?”

Izuku spent the next week going to his normal martial arts classes, studying, and drinking gallons of coffee. Not healthy but he could deal with it. His body was never meant to be permanent.

So no one was watching when Mei placed her forehead against his, breath fanning across his face as she spoke. "Wake up Loki… the world needs you."

“No probs ‘lil listener!” Hizashi said, striking a dramatic pose. “I’ll be your DJ all through the night, bringin’ you such rockin’ hits as safety, security and sweet dreams!”

“This is stupid! Screw the waiting and screw these stupid butterflies. They're not paying rent, the little shits--”

Experimenting with unstable genetic mutant abominations is more of an art than a science, really."

Several looks pass across both their faces. “No flying for a month,” Sirius declares. That sucks, actually. But he’s also a hundred percent certain he can get them to cave on that in two weeks tops. “Okay. Is that for the breaking into the Ministry, destroying the Department of Mysteries, making a bargain with Voldemort, or bringing all my friends with me?” “It’s for recklessly endangering your own life again,” Remus says, “and while the punishment very much doesn’t fit the crime, we’re a bit at a loss for what else to do.” “It wasn’t reckless!” he protests. “We had a plan and everything, and we even brought an adult! An adult Order member! Also what else were we supposed to do, let Snape die?” Sirius takes a deep breath, but Remus steps on his foot before he can put it in his mouth. “Which is why you’re only getting flying privileges taken away and not thrown in a cell in Azkaban for our sanity and your safety.” As if any cell could hold him. “I accept your terms.”

“Who’s Theophania?” Sirius asks. Harry hesitates. Perhaps bringing her up was his smartest decision, strategically speaking. “If I tell you you’re not allowed to throw me in Azkaban. Or ground me.” “This isn’t a negotiation,” Sirius repeats. If Blaise has taught him anything, it’s that everything is a negotiation. “She’s a friend.” “And?” Sirius repeats. Remus suddenly grabs onto Sirius’s shoulder, “Wait. Petrifying - during your second year - is Theophania - she’s not the basilisk.” “No, they killed it,” Sirius says automatically. Harry remains silent. “Harry!” He rubs his nose. “It turns out I’m not that good at killing things. Unkilling things, however? My specialty.”

“It’s okay,” Nanaia says, “you don’t know. What do you do when you don’t know something?” “Try something you do know and hope it doesn’t make everything worse?” For some reason, Horace looks sad at that answer, and Dumbledore shifts from one foot to the other. “No,” she says, “you ask for help.” Oh.

“It’ll piss off your son,” he answers bluntly. “Fuck that kid,” Riddle Sr. says

“You played me!” “Like a cheap kazoo”

Batman sighed, before speaking in a voice that was so unlike his usual growl that most of the other League members almost fell out of their chairs. Diana and Clark seemed to be used to it. “Damian,” he started. His voice was still deep, but a regular-deep, instead of I-just-swallowed-six-buckets-of-gravel deep.

“She loved James too,” she assures, and the confidence she says that with allows him to breathe, like someone has let go of his lungs. “It is possible to love more than one person at the same time. She loved your father with the type of love that’s – that was like a shooting star, burning and bright and touching everyone around them. Her love for Severus was different, and in the end it wasn’t the type of love either of them could handle.”

You’re better at it now then many people are after leaving a full apprenticeship, and you’ve only had a year of lessons a couple of times a week instead of years of intensive study. Do you know why that is?” “Luck?” he offers weakly. For some reason, he doesn’t like the direction this is going in. “No,” she says. “To be good at healing, the way you are, the way I am, you need a certain combination of things. Intelligence, power, control, but more than that. Stubbornness, a tricky balance of flexibility and inflexibility, and a constant, brutal assessment over your own skills. And something else.” “A propensity towards poor life choices?” he suggests. Poppy shakes her head, not taking the bait. “No. You have to care. You have to care about everyone, even people you dislike, and you have to care so much that if feels like it’s killing you, you have to care and that care has to hurt, until the only thing that hurts worse than caring is not caring. To be good at this, you have to let it hurt you.”

“You two shouldn’t have bothered dressing formally for Albus, he’s a bitch.” Harry doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, but he’s loving it.  

“It was on the syllabus,” Zuko whispered conspiratorially to his mother. Sokka gasped. “You know I don’t read those!” “This is your own fault then.” “I like to be surprised. The procrastination keeps me humble.”

sometimes you remind me of the stars youre gorgeous and happy and can always brighten me on the darkest days and even when youre dampened you can guide me home

“imagine you are the only person who loves to play chess more than anything but nobody else in the world has ever heard about chess. and then you see a person holding a chessboard. it’s like your whole world was reborn”

"I wanted to be a stripper in middle school," Izuku said. Yup, that's a good cover.

What you’re asking for isn’t fair or right. You can’t ask a person for more than they’re willing to give

In Mei’s words, “You have about five minutes of ‘fuck that one thing in particular.’ Make them count.”

“Mei, let me introduce your new best friend. This is Momo. She has a Quirk that lets her make anything as long as she knows its composition inside and out. All you have to do is buy her dinner,“ Izuku said,

The cameras were looped. The bots were hacked. It was a good day to be a villain.

“None. The alarm never left the building.” “Really? Why is that?” “Mei finished first and decided to do you a favor. However, you've got the fire alarm just starting to go off and that's on a different circuit. Take a fast way down.” “Understood,” Hitoshi drawled. A moment later he was looking back at the crew. “Ladies and Frenchman. We take the express.”

Quinn is talking like that actually answers his question when it really, really doesn’t. “If you don’t start making sense, I’ll cry.”

“You’re one of my best students,” ze says. “You should understand the importance of timing. Speaking of, you’re late for your next class.”

Fuck, he totally is. “Thank you for that very confusing answer. I’ll think of you while crying myself to sleep.”

He’d wondered if that was what bravery was, to be quiet even when you were hurting so much you wanted to scream.

maybe bravery was also running screaming at the thing that nearly killed you, to keep it from killing someone else.

“Apologies are not difficult. Good apologies revolve around three basic points. One, I acknowledge what I did was wrong. Two, I regret that you were harmed. Three, this is how I plan to make sure it does not happen again. That’s all. Apologies are easy.” Then she’d glanced at them all again, evaluating. “And if you become very, very good at your job... they will be the absolute hardest thing you ever do.”

“Even though we’re a bunch of migraine-inducing hellions who are smart enough to know when something is a bad idea and stupid enough to still do it?”

“You’re like the nice china that Al only brings out for Christmas. Except Bruce just realised that I stole it, and chipped it. Maybe it’s time I give it back before I shatter all the pieces.”

she won’t co-parent my perfectly reasonable and well-behaved children.” Clark snorts. “Damian’s trying to stab Tim, right now.”

"Oh, my knight in shining armour. What would I do without you?" the teen droned, placing a dramatic hand on her head. 

"I think you mean 'knight in shining leather', M'Lady. And without me, you would be left alone in this kingdom of lies.”

"It's a kingdom, alright. It'll topple sooner or later." "That's the spirit!" Adrien laughed.

Here’s something that a harbinger of tragedy would never find the courage to admit: there are moments in between the bitter self-hatred and the visceral, tangible consequences of your sins in which you almost think you’re worthy of forgiveness; of second chances; of a life beyond your greatest regrets. It’s a unique brand of pain,

“Go directly to horny jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”

“You can’t wait around for him to be sorry,” Izuku says. He’s quiet now. This isn’t something that’s meant to be shouted. “Maybe he’ll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn’t know he did anything wrong, or he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Cautiously he takes a step forward. “You can’t depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it’s never going to get better. They’ll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they’ll be gone and you’ll be waiting forever.”

Midoriya may be strong as hell, but that just means looking out for him has to be a team effort.

How would his new adoring fans react if they knew he raised a villain? He's no All-Might. His pillar's made of toothpicks, and it's not gonna take much to crack it.”

Tensei approaches Rei, “Okay, this plan is childish, unprofessional, and a discourtesy to this school's reputation. That being said, when do we nail the little twat?

Hinata is dead. Deceased. Passed away, laid to rest with a headstone that reads Here Lies Hinata Shouyou, Killed By A Wink And A Blown Kiss.

It’s dangerous to be a bad father when you have life insurance

#long post #fanfic lines that deserve to be in a hall of fame #fanfic #rambles #lol

[therealvinelle]

On your fic recs you have some Aro/Bella, so I was curious what you thought about the pairing?

Well, first of, I should say that I’m of the belief that just about anything can be pulled off if the writer is good enough, in both original fiction and fan fiction. With fanfic, this leads to a lot of strange pairings being on my hall of fame list, because when something is written well enough to pull off something I wouldn’t usually like, that means it’s written extremely well.

That being said, what all these fics that somehow, miraculously, pull off seemingly insane pairings have in common, is that there was potential. The author saw something in the ship, and they pulled it off so beautifully that I could see it too.

(Ironically, my exceptions to this rule, ships that can’t ever happen, are usually found in a fandom’s canon. James Potter/Lily Evans, it can’t be done. In Twilight we have Edward/Bella, Carlisle/Esme, Alice/Jasper- none of them can be done, because these relationships are doomed. I won’t get into a whole rant, suffice to say that pulling it off necessitates making the characters something they’re not.)

Some ships are pulled off more often than others, though, and Aro/Bella is one such.

I think this is in part because Aro is a fantastic character. He’s one of those lucky charm characters whose presence instantly makes even the worst fic just a little better. He doesn’t even have to be well-written, if he’s a macho man sex god or Frank Underwood in a wig I’ll be very entertained.

Aro is also a very interesting character. He’s leader of the Volturi, he killed his sister, he has a wonderful, trippy, gift, and his personality is a delight. There’s so much an author can do with him.

If a fic is Aro/Bella, it means that he’ll be a significant part of the fic, meaning I’ll enjoy it. If a fic is well-written Aro/Bella, it means that I’ll get a lot of well-written Aro, and that’s truly fantastic.

More, for an author to write Aro well, they have to put a lot of thought into Twilight. They have to look past Edward, Edward/Bella, and the Cullens, and look at their world from a different angle than the one provided. To get these two people together, they also have to deviate from the standard formula of “What if it was Jasper in Biology class with Bella?” or “What if Edward and Bella met in college?” They’re forced to get creative.

There’s also the fact that they have to on some level be interested in Bella. Bella, for all the bad rep she gets, is a very good character (I’m not even going to link any metas. My blog is 70% Bella appreciation already, just look up a random page and you’ll probably find something) who deserves more love. So, if the fic is written well, it means I get a well-written Aro and a well-written Bella. Jackpot!

Bottom line is that I like a lot of Aro/Bella fics because the ship has all the ingredients for good fic.

This all being said, I don’t think there’s anything supporting the ship in canon.

I think Aro’s gay, for one thing. More, this guy sees the souls of everyone around him. It’s as normal to him as being able to see someone’s face is to us. This has been his reality for 3500 years. Edward’s gift allows him to condescend and dehumanize those around him, and he falls for the woman whose thoughts he can’t read for all the wrong reasons. Aro’s the opposite, he accepts his gift with an ease I don’t think Edward could ever own, no matter how long he lived.

This, in turn, means that I don’t think Bella’s silence would be the relief to Aro that it is to Edward. To him, I imagine Bella is on some level creepy. A hollow woman, who walks and talks like anybody else, but touch her and in the place of a soul, Aro sees nothing at all. She’s a faceless woman, closer to Schrödinger’s infamous cat than a real person.

I think that alone would make him uneasy around her. Sex is certainly out of the question. His gift means he catches every thought and sensation his partner feels, that’s just what sex is like for him. Sex with Bella would be reminiscent of sex with an inanimate object. If he were into that, I would be worried.

Then there’s the fact that there’s not a trace of sexual tension between them, not at any point. Bella is fascinated by his skin texture, but it’s a morbid curiosity. Aro gives her an extravagant wedding present because he takes her wedding to mean she’s finally being turned, and it’s an appropriate gesture. And, I imagine, an attempt to recommence friendly Cullen-Volturi relations after the clusterfuck that was Eclipse (ref 1, ref 2). Aro and his treasury is invaluable, anything short of extravagance would be a snub.

#yet another meta gets quotes from my fic #aro #bella swan #aro/bella #fanfiction #twilight fic #twilight meta #twilight #twilight renaissance #Anonymous #ask

[writtenvisionary]

Do It Again - fanfic

Read on Ao3

He sighs, stealing a long glance at the beautiful girl standing by her locker. Her friends surround her, listening eagerly to her story. She talks with her hands — her small hands with nails painted pink \ and the smile on her face is contagious as she becomes increasingly more immersed in her tale by the minute.

His heart skips a beat when she laughs. He can hear it all the way from down the school hall and he has to look away. If he didn't, who knows how long he'd last.

She's breathtakingly gorgeous and adorable all wrapped in one petite human. He doesn't think there could be anyone more perfect.

He wants to hold her. He's not so sure why. But he wants her friends to go away. He wants to ask — right now.

It's taking forever. Good heavens, he can't wait any longer. And god knows that girl can ramble.

A grin forms on his face at the thought (and he's sure he looks ridiculous, but he can't bring himself to care).

Man, he's whipped.

Her friends are finally gone, he realizes.

He must have been lost in his own thoughts (about her) for so long that he never noticed their absence.

She turns back to face her locker, opening it with ease.

Shit. Now's my chance.

Swallowing his nerves, he takes a step forward.

Progress. Progress.

Another step. Then he stops.

I can't.

He watches as she pulls out a textbook and expertly opens her backpack with her other hand. He's mesmerized by her abilities. He's mesmerized by her.

Ah, shit. Focus!

He manages another step towards her.

Then suddenly her backpack is zipped closed and her locker is secured once again. Her dark locks flow so elegantly through the air as she whips around.

They meet eyes. She smiles. He nearly trips.

Shit, shit, fuck.

"Hey!"

Is she talking to me?

"Why aren't you moving?"

The melodious sound of her giggle blesses his ears once again. He tries not to smile like a complete idiot, but he fails.

Just his luck.

He forces himself out of his frozen state, pushing back his irrational fears (making their presence known only at this very moment) and takes those last. few. steps. to stand in front of the girl. The girl who will hopefully be his girl, very soon.

When he arrives to his mark, he exhales in relief.

He's pleasantly surprised that he didn't trip and fall on his way there.

—

"Hi," he mutters, nervously. Rolling his lips in, he waits.

"Hi," she giggles.

He takes a deep breath and just goes for it.

"Will you go out with me?"

Her eyes light up in pure excitement.

To say he's relieved at this immediate reaction would be an understatement.

But then her excited expression turns… playful?

Realistically, he shouldn't be worried.

For some reason, he is.

"That depends," she starts, with that beautiful voice which sounds very seductive and oh my god her hand is on my chest—

"What do you have planned?"

Gulp.

—

"I'll pick you up at eight…"

"Uh huh…"

"And we can drive around?" He suggests.

"Mm, sounds nice already."

He gains some confidence, "I'll take you to the beach and then we can head downtown?"

She seems to think about it for a moment.

"Hmm… can I hold your hand?"

He smiles.

"We'll walk around downtown while you hold my hand," he confirms.

Licking his lips, he takes a small step forward, pulling her closer to his chest.

"Then we'll park and lay down on the hood of my car…"

Her smile widens.

"…We can just listen to the airplanes while we count the stars."

This time, her heart picks up. She can nearly feel it beating out of her chest.

"Tonight," he finishes, "I'll be your man."

She wishes she could stop smiling.

"On one condition."

"Yes?"

The innocence in his voice strikes her in the right place. Her smile is still unwavering.

"Tomorrow, we can do it again."

—

He wishes he had more to give her. Somehow, the beach and downtown and airplanes and stars just weren't enough. She was his everything; his world. And he wishes he could give her the world right back.

Because a girl that shines as bright as she does; a girl that is rich in everything but money and fame; a girl that pays attention to him even when he doesn't deserve it…

A girl like her is too good to be true.

Too good for him.

As he snuggles the stuffed dolphin she gifted him for their one-week-aversary, he sighs.

She deserves better than him.

He wishes he had the world to give. He would give it in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

Maybe then, he would feel good enough for her. Maybe then, he would feel like he was rich in something, like her.

Maybe then, he'd be rich with love.

And he knows for a fucking fact that he would give her everything he had.

Every. Single. Thing.

—

She had one condition.

And he didn't follow it.

Obviously, she didn't mean tomorrow, tomorrow… right? Because it's been a little over a week.

A WEEK.

But he's not one to break his promises. Would that be considered a promise?

He thinks so.

His finger hovers over the little phone icon at the corner of her contact page. He wants to call her, he does. Her voice is the reason he wakes up in the morning. Hearing it would be amazing right now.

No, that's not the problem.

You see, he doesn't want to admit it, but he's nervous.

Will she be mad if I ask now?

The answer is no, for the record. He's pretty sure he knows that.

'I was kidding,' she'll reassure him.

Deep breaths. You got this.

"Hey, what's—"

"Do you want to go out with me?"

He face palms.

But her gorgeous laugh floats through the phone's speaker and into his ears. He pulls his hand away from his face.

"Silly goose, what are you talking about? We're already—"

"I promised you we'd do it again, so we're doing it again. It may not be tomorrow, like you said a week ago, but it can be tonight."

Her silence on the line gives him a moment to glance at the clock.

7:47.

"Look, I'll be there in 10 minutes. I've got it all planned."

—

That laugh keeps him going. Her smile helps him sleep at night. The feeling of her warm, small hand in his is a gentle reminder that she's there. With him, in this moment of time.

It's all he could ever ask for.

Cars past them as they walk along the strip of stores open downtown. Colorful lights flash on around the couple as it starts to get dark, and their feet guide them around the town, coming full circle.

The lights that were once off are now on, leaving no corner of the little city dimmed.

She stops in her tracks, staring in awe at twinkling lights, which hang from a small gazebo near the park. Her eyes sparkle in amazement, mouth agape.

"Surprise?"

"Oh my goodness, you—"

"I just put the lights on it," he chuckles, "The gazebo was already there."

She shakes her head, "How come I never noticed it before?"

"You were probably laughing at a really bad joke you had just told."

"I don't tell bad jokes!"

"Uh huh."

A giggle erupts out of her throat, to her dismay.

"So… no car rooftop star-gazing tonight?"

He gives a very prominent shake of his head before pulling his hand out of hers'.

"Oh no, we're still doing that. But right now I want to just look at you."

She tilts her head in confusion.

He clarifies, "I don't want to look at the stars or listen to planes or anything. I want to admire you. And your beauty."

A reddish tint overcomes both her cheeks.

"And your intelligence. And your—"

"Shut up," she mutters.

"Okay. For now."

The new couple is silent for a minute as he starts making his way under the gazebo. She follows. He turns to stares at her.

It's not weird. She doesn't know why it's not weird. Like, he's literally just STARING at her and that should creep her out but it doesn't.

Is that a problem?

No. Because when she looks into his deep, brown eyes, she is reminded of the kind-hearted person who carried her books on the first day of classes. When she looks at his blonde locks, she has the urge to run her fingers through it for hours on end. When she looks to his lips, she finds herself wanting to feel them. On hers'.

Now that's definitely weird.

He takes a step closer.

But is it?

He starts leaning in.

If she does too, she doesn't notice.

Suddenly, their lips collide. Melding in perfect harmony; moving in sync. Her fingers live out their dream, running through his hair. His hands rest on her hips, gently pulling her closer.

Lost in their own world, they imagine what it's like to live their lives together. Kids, birthdays, a house, and so much more. It all flashes right before them.

It's over too quick, they think (and it might be awkward to go back for more).

But the night isn't over yet.

—

The stars are beautiful, but not as beautiful as her eyes, in his opinion. Not as beautiful as her laugh, or smile, or personality.

Nobody is really traveling tonight. One airplane so far.

He's ready to book his own flight.

To his honeymoon.

Realistically, he's in way over his head. It's been a week.

His parents will say he's not ready for marriage; that he doesn't know what love is.

Pfft. Yeah, right.

This girl is love. He knows it when he sees it.

He bites his lip. It's too early. He doesn't want to ruin what they have.

But, "I love you."

FUCK. DID HE SAY THAT OUT LOUD?

He must have gotten extra lucky, because—

"I love you, too."

—

Being by her side is one thing, but being welcomed to glide his hands over her body makes him feel alive.

Her lips are fruity. She is beautiful. He wants her.

This is way different than she anticipated. Holding his hand was level one, and now she feels like she's on top of the world.

His lips are soft. He is dashing. She wants him.

Awkward as it was, their bodies moved in perfect harmony.

He couldn't deny it.

She couldn't deny it.

They were made for each other in every way possible.

Soulmates. They were soulmates.

And they only had half an hour before her parents came home.

Neither wanted to rush it, but it was their time.

"Let's just take this moment," he had whispered in her ear just minutes earlier. "It's ours, okay?"

His eyes flicker down to her lips, "You don't want to waste it, do you?"

—

'I'm not sure," she matches his whisper. "It-it's only been a few months and I—"

He breathed, "I love you."

It tickled her face, his breath, and she used every ounce of will not to lean just a millimeter closer.

Their lips were about to connect.

"I'm not ready."

"You'll never be ready, minou…"

She hesitated.

"Babe, I…" she sighed and shook her head. "I can't."

"You don't want to miss out on this. On us. Please."

All she could come up with was, "We'll regret it, A—"

"There is nothing to regret."

"There is a lot to regret."

He was silent for a moment.

But then he smirked.

"Like what?"

"Like… do we have protection?"

A teasing look was sent her way.

"I always keep it in my bag," he offered.

She pondered, then—

"It's too early. We're too young."

"It's not too early," he licked his lips, "And I'd rather experience this when I'm young.

"Before I fade away."

She gulped, searching his brown eyes in the darkness.

"Regrets don't fade away," she stated firmly.

He nodded.

"Exactly."

Her head tilted in confusion. He reiterated.

"If this… us… is something we regret, then we won't fade away."

—

On their one year anniversary, he couldn't think of anything more fitting.

"So," he smiles dopily. "I've got it planned."

He doesn't need to say anything else; this has become routine.

She scrunches up her nose cutely, giving him a smile.

"Perfect. Pick me up at eight?"

"Precisely."

—

He gazes at the girl lying next to him.

The moonlight shines on her face. She's gorgeous.

"Oooh," she exclaims quietly, pointing up above them.

He follows her finger, his eyes landing on the moon.

"That's—" he giggles, "That's the moon, silly goose."

She turns her head to look at him and smiles.

"You're my moon. And my goose," she chuckles.

He mimics her chuckle.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugs.

"If I could go anywhere…" she starts, in lieu of a response. "I wouldn't.

"I'm happy right here, with you right next to me, as we fall asleep under the stars just for our parents to call and wake us up."

He lets out a laugh at that, grabbing ahold of the small hand resting on her chest.

She continues, "You're mine. And I'm so glad that I can call you mine."

—

The blonde grins.

"Remember when I first asked you out?" He asks.

"How could I forget?"

His smile wavers as he turns serious, meeting her eyes.

"I said that I'll be your man."

"And you are."

"But I only said for that night."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Your point?"

He smiles again, "I'm really happy you agreed."

"Of course. You're amazing."

"And so are you," he pecks her nose.

They fall into a comfortable silence, watching the stars yet again.

And… just loud enough so she can hear, he speaks softly.

"I'll be your man tonight, and forever… and I'll give you everything I can. I promise."

She looks over at him again, admiring his side profile.

His skin shines in the moonlight so magnificently. It's almost royal.

She gulps.

The heaviness of the statement hit her hard.

Taking a deep breath, she responds.

"I promise, too."

- And tomorrow we can do it again -

#ooc miraculous #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ooc marinette #austin moon #austin and ally #auslly fanfic #auslly #ao3 #fanfiction.net #fanfiction #ally dawson #ooc ally dawson #songfic #r5

[morpheuslikestodream]

PUCKER: a Sandman Universe fanfic

*The following is extended and lifted from the Sandman: Seasons of Mist storyline. This is a mere writing exercise and honorary gesture to play within the confines of the world created by Neil Gaiman and all creators, with honor and respect. :) 

There was a woman who achieved glory upon a vent of gushing air. Of course, she had already gained fame, and fortune, but it was the image, the stance – legs slightly bent, knees inverted, arms locked and hands clasping her dress – that cemented itself in the collective. Poor, tragic Marilyn, her fists securing that white ivory cocktail dress as it danced in the wind, like a skinned swan or a hungry lily attempting to devour its host.

Go on. Visualize it. The dress and the damsel wed together over that gushing vent. She would always be tattooed in the eye of your mind, a girl symbol, caught in a flirtatious up-shoot of tragedy. You’ll see her, the image, in commercials and magazines and the chronicles of filmography. She’ll be immortalized in wax. You’ll smile at her as if she were an intimate friend or fond crush from a bygone youth or a pretty face you wish you had, all fulfilled vicariously in that bombshell visage.

And if you could envision her, so could they.

“The gods have come for you,” Susano O-No-Mikoto addressed her coldly, like an art collector attaining their next commission. His hair was black, pulled back into a bun, and he possessed a thin, wispy beard that sharpened into a point. He wore a scarlet robe, delicate and silky, and his eyes, which scrutinized her with an impersonal fondness, appeared to be of some Asian nationality. “As a private individual for the pantheon of my mother, the Queen Izanami, it is a grace, Miss Monroe, to be welcomed into our collection. There is a special wing that exclusively houses Americana and Western iconography.”

Marilyn didn’t understand any of this.

And she couldn’t speak, her mouth failed to beg for clarity. It was the lips, frozen, puckered lips. And the wind, blowing perpetually beneath her, danced her dress like a rabid beast. While the robed man continued, Marilyn’s focus was consumed by the dress, and here she had to convince herself she was more than this accoutrement.

“Come. Follow,” said the god. And while he spoke, she strived to recall who she was. She had entered the world as a woman, yes, and she had taken her grand exit as a star, in the same City of Angels. She had been an actress, the wife of a playwright and a baseball legend and maybe mistress to dead presidents. She was a person, goddammit, of flesh and blood, of rumor and glamor.

None of that mattered at the moment, not in her current situation.

Because Marilyn couldn’t move. She had tried. She really had, but her body refused to budge. She was alive, or she was dead. She was on-stage, or off. There were cameras in the shadows and spotlights from oblivion. Eyes in the flashes of light. And she couldn’t move because, again, her legs were bent, the knobs of her knees pressed together, arms rigid, hands taming the white bastard dress, and that cold, cold air licking her from underneath.

And lips, puckered.

Marilyn felt no trace of self here – wherever here was. Had she died? Was she being punished, because your savior was revoked if you did that act, even if that wasn’t for certain? Whatever had happened had stolen her humanity. Marilyn might have been a wax statue, a fixed caricature, someone’s midnight wank. And perhaps all those were true; after all, she was an icon now, and icons could be many things. Despite that, whoever they were now cared nothing of the personal touches, no, the gods regarded her as a pretty face in the American collective. That’s what mattered.

Puckered lips.

Susano O-No-Mikoto escorted her through his mother’s underworld, strange halls cluttered with armors and museum props. She spotted a display of a toilet that perhaps once sat the rear of a king. In his rambling, he used words like eclectic and hybridization and efficiency. His words were bloated with pride, like an uppity hunter who sought and attained the rarest treasures. But those words meant nothing to Marilyn. She still hadn’t forgotten the kind visage of the woman with raven black hair with the shadow filled with the flapping of wings in flight.

“…we hope to continue down this line,” continued the god, “acquiring you, we can acquire others. John F. Kennedy is in Hell. But his effigy is strong in the artifacts of his demise. Lee Harvey Oswald could be ours. The grassy knoll itself harbors a sentience all its own as well. The prospects of our ambitions are limitless. It is said…”

And when Marilyn refocused, Susano had stopped to inspect her, his breath – scented with the promise of storms – was cold and brutal, and a pointy finger tapped his lips, the vaguest hint of a smile on his arrogant face. She felt no love from him, no real love. Not like the love Jesus and the Lord promised her as she grew. And she had been a good person; she deserved better than to not have love. And yet the man, who might’ve been a god, cared nothing for her as the person. He only desired the spirit of what she was. But a transcendence within a certain collective didn’t change her stature. It wasn’t her. All the little details of who she was were sprinklings upon a personal mythology that only bred the impersonal. The world, cultures come and gone, could only see her in the stars. 

And as for the little details, did those matter?

No, not to him.

And then he was gone.

When Marilyn was alone, “They have you too,” rumbled a deep and heavy voice from the room. “You are beautiful, as I was, although you are not as beautiful as the one I carried to the top of the world.”

Marilyn winced, startled.

“Be still, woman. We are family now, and I will protect you if I must. If I can.”

“Where am I?” Marilyn piped.

“The assimilation of the American Pantheon. The Underworld. Hell. Who can know for sure?”

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled. “Who’s there?”

“You remind me of her,” said the deep voice.

“Of her? Who?”

“You look like her, in your fashion, a pair of eyes and pretty hair. The one I carried to the top of the world. I was king there, before I fell, before I was forced to fall, although I confess I attained immortality in that moment, I think. At least, I’d like to look at it that way. The tragedy, the descent.”

“Are…are you…the devil?” Marilyn stammered.

Ignoring her, “They can fear you and love you and cry for you. When the tears are shed is when we become idols.”

She needed to see the face. She had to. “Oh, Mister,” she pleaded, “please come forward.”

And the beast revealed itself.

Marilyn would’ve screamed if her lips were puckered, if they could ever alter. Her frozen stance did not permit. Instead the dress blew more frantically. * “I must take my absence. Opportunities abroad bless us. The gods of Nippon and her highest majesty, the Queen, my mother Izanami, must not squander the chance in attaining most fruitful grace. If the key belongs to our kingdom…” the Asian man in his fancy gowns who smelled like a thunderstorm or a coming rain shower departed from the room through an entrance that didn’t really exist. In the silence of an attic filled with antiques from Atlantis or Wall Street or Hollywood, the white-haired star with her puckered lips kept her gaze down, until sheepishly she dared to lock eyes with the gorilla. And the gorilla rested his black hands upon his massive ape pecs and exhaled forcefully from nostrils that flared out in angst and boredom.

“I would have found the stars,” King Kong said after some time.

Marilyn raised an eyebrow, oh?

“I could have climbed forever.” Kong drummed his fingers on his chest. “It wasn’t me who was limited; it was only the ladder in which I ascended. Just me and her, the one that wasn’t you. I would’ve reached for the moon, then the stars themselves, and whatever is above that. I was limited by them, because a monster could only ascend so far and then they fall, and then they love you. In death you gain humanity; a posthumous flavor of idolatry and what you represented. You become your fall because that’s how people remember you. Not the details. It’s all what you could have been; all the what-ifs. And that’s how a star is born. That’s how idols rise.”

And the gorilla was done then, crossing its arms, and saying no more. In the silence, Marilyn felt a quiver in her lip, a tear in the corner of her eye. If she could unpucker her lips she would’ve smiled fondly at the beast and his words. After some time she glided towards him, her hungry frilly dress shooting up around her, and she moved next to him and the two touched, so slightly. Time faded then. It came in and out in waves and blurs. And sometime a hole opened in the world and a vast shadow filled the space for a moment. The sound of wings beat around them.

“Hey, down there!” called a perky voice that was kind, yet filled with urgency. “Things are a mess around here. It’s a Hell thing. Anyway,” the girl trailed, “I’ve got lots of work, you know, and, well, if you wanted to perhaps transition in a sense, I’m here. I’ll always be here, even if I’m not. Ok? But the doors open. Mister O-No-Mikoto’s dreams of attaining Hell are dead. I took them when the fiery torch was passed on to another pair of angels. And besides the mighty storm god of Nippon is in a bit of a predicament. Sorry. Talking too much.” Like that she was gone.

After a moment, hesitantly, King Kong moved to his feet. He climbed the walls and reached towards the ceiling exit. And before he departed, he looked towards her. “Come. You are not her but I can carry you to the top of the world, again.” And he took Marilyn in his grip and they ascended together towards the stars. “The winds are on your side,” said the King, “and he was a god of storms. Perhaps there’s irony in that. Or perhaps we shall rise as high as the gods allow.”

#neil gaiman #Sandman #sandman universe #vertigo #fiction #creative writing #mythology #books #fanfic #fantasy #fables #Fable Unbound

[stuck-in-ffxv-hell]

FFXV Favourites Meme

I got tagged by @elillierose 5-ever ago and figured I’d give it a shot!

Favorite Chocobro: Prompto. To literally no one’s surprise. But my second favorite is probably Ignis. I just love his personality and dedication (and hands)

Favorite Guest party member:

Oh god. How can I choose? I mean, Iris is a mini badass and her Eclipse attack is probably the most badass thing ever, but Aranea is fucking flawless and I love her so much.

Favorite Minor Character:

Okay, I just love Monica so much. She is the queen mom friend. In a group of mom friends, she is the alpha. The mom friend to end all mom friends. And she looks so fucking fly in her Crownsguard uniform. Like, I’m not usually into that (or anything, lol) but like… damn. But then there’s also Coctura, who’s a total sweetheart and deserves all the love.

Favorite Villain:

Okay, Ardyn is obvious, so Imma choose another. It’s either Drautos/Glauca because HOLY SHIT THAT PLOT TWIST LEFT ME SCREAMING or Loqi because he’s an adorable little shit and I love his outfit and wanna make it.

Favorite Kingsglaive character: Can I cheat and saw Drautos again? Well, even so, I think I’ll go with either Luna (because she was so badass in this movie holy shit) or Libertus (because his character arc was really nice and HE RAN OVER GLAUCA WITH A FUCKING VAN OH MY GOD)

Favorite Astral/Divine Being:

From a gameplay perspective: Totally Ramuh. He’s a bro, always wants to help you out. “Hey, u having trouble w/ that? Here, lemme smash”. From a story perspective, I really like Ifrit? I like how he used to be humanity’s protector, but they turned against him (sound familiar?), and his relationship with Shiva is just adorable.

Favorite character:

*Looks at my fanfic folder*

*Looks at my blog*

Uhhhhh… Yeah, I’d say Prompto, lol. This pure bean of sunshine and anxiety with soft hair and freckles.

Favorite Weapon:

I mean, the Ultima Blade is pretty sweet, as is the Ring of the Lucii. But as for pure weapons, I gotta say I really like Vigilantes and the Zwill Crossblades because I prefer quick weapons like daggers. But the bazooka is also really nice. I just suck at aiming.

Favorite Location:

I mean, Altissia is REALLY pretty. but from a gameplay perspective, I liked Zegnautus Keep because so much happened there, and it was so plot-driven. Even if the section itself was so repetitive I wanted to bang my head against the MT holding cells.

Favorite Quest/Questline/Hunt

The Hunters of Legend quest line, definitely. I just love how hype everyone in the game was about it, and then it turned out o just be a sales pitch. Bless these naive boys. But there were also some great weapons in there, so…. hey. Not a total loss.

Favorite Boss:

Oh shit. Probably Leviathan. It was really fun to turn into a nigh-unkillable god to fuck her up real good. Even if Luna did die and Ignis did go blind… Just a really pivotal moment in the game that I really enjoyed.

Favorite Monster/Monster family/etc.

Hmmmmmmm… The anaks were really cute. I tend to enjoy peaceful animals that don’t attack unless you do. But thanks to @freaky-trickster ’s fic, I know also have a soft spot for spiracorns.

Favorite song: Valse di Fantastica, without a doubt. Maybe this is just the ballroom dance nerd in me talking, but a moderately paced syncopated waltz? Sign me the fuck up. I just imagine Noctis dancing this with (Prince) Prompto and I feel so warm and fuzzy inside. Plus, it’s somehow peppy but with a lingering morose undertone and I just love it????

Favorite Boss Theme:

Raves Aeterna  - First off, it’s a great boss battle, but the music just elevates it to another level. The mix of rock instrumentals, strings, and brass just fits together strangely well, and it’s so sad and yet rockin’, it’s amazing.

Favorite Non-Episode DLC/Update:

Assassin’s Creed, no doubt. It’s basically a long Promptis date and you can’t convince me otherwise. Plus, Prompto gets some loving from total strangers and the babs get to dress up. And you get to take Loqi down. Double plus.

But then Comrades was so addicting I beat the game in 30+ hours in just like four days, and they had a crafting station, and I’m addicted to crafting in games. It’s a real problem.

Favorite Episode DLC:

I loved them all? Gladio’s was just plain fun, with some seriously epic music, Prompto’s was great because he developed his character, and we learned a little more about Niflheim and the MT’s, and Ignis’ gave us more story, more angst, and a second ending that I really enjoyed.

Other Favorites of Note:

I have so many characters to cosplay from this, or make cosplay for. At the very least, I am doing all of Prompto’s outfits (including older Prom), Ardyn, and Accursed!Luna, but I also wanna make Luna’s Kingsglaive outfit, her casual white dress, a Prince!Prompto outfit, as well as Loqi’s armor, the Assassin’s Creed outfits, and my Comrades character’s outfit, so…. so I have a long way to go. XD

I also just love this game so much. It’s the entire reason I bought a PS4. It’s the reason I got back into fan fiction (both writing and reading), and gave me a new favorite character to put in my “favorite character hall of fame”.

I’m tagging @the-strawberryfarmer and @ellay-gee

#ffxv #meme

[camilliar]

For @tomatowrites, who deserves a break, because the only analgesic in my cabinet is fanfic.

for compliance: jack/bitty. 1.2k, pg, nothing happens

“You ought to write a book,” Jack’s agent says, and not for the first time.

“I’m not—” Jack pauses, looking for a word, lettuce leaves balancing on her fork. “Prosaic?”

“Oh, honey, there are ghost writers for that.”

“But that seems.” Jack sets the fork down. “Inauthentic.”

“It’s your story,” she says, cutting into the croque madame. “What could be more authentic? Don’t you think people need to hear it?”

Jack doesn’t, but when she gets home she makes sure Bitty isn’t in the kitchen, and then sits down at the island with her tablet. Her father published a memoir once; Jack knows she must have read it, but it’s been so long, and she misses him. Strange, because she never thought she would. Most people, Jack thinks, expect the natural order of things. When Jack is at her best she’s an empty attic, nothing going on upstairs. As she throws the tablet down on the counter she thinks, well, that’s no good as a metaphor; I’d really like to go upstairs. I’d really like to be alone for a while with my thoughts. But then she sits, alone at the kitchen counter, and stares down at the blank screen. Better turn this on, she thinks. Better read this damn book. No, first I’ll make this cup of coffee—she gets up. Then I’ll read this damn book.

The older Jack gets the more coffee she drinks; Bitty is the opposite. He grows things out back, picks them, makes tisanes. Jack drinks coffee at 4 in the afternoon or 9 at night or 3 in the morning. “Isn’t that keeping you up?” Bitty asks, but it really has no effect anymore. Shadows of her long-ago pill-popping days: so much of something in the bloodstream that it takes a crazy dose just to be normal. Like the testosterone, she thinks, opening the book. Well, I weaned myself off of that. Ha ha.

No, she realizes, it’s the other way around; I never had to inject that. Well, whatever.

The fact is, it’s not that good a book. Athletes aren’t writers. Jack hasn’t picked up a hockey stick for many years now, since she deigned to inscribe the blade of one for the little hall of fame they installed at the new Falcs stadium. “You really think the people of Providence ought to pay for this?” Shitty asked. Jack shrugged, because she didn’t care. New owners made the right overtures, gave her a whole section in the back, crammed with her jerseys and skates. They look huge now, up close; what kind of person fit into those enormous things? Jack still hasn’t been to a game. For going on twelve years she’s been a useless Summit Park housewife.

No, obviously that’s wrong; housewives do things. They clean or cook, at least. Jack is content to just be, to let the world swirl around her while she refuses to have a third slice of the tahini-pecan-honey cake on its pedestal next to the stove, drinking coffee and thumbing through some co-author’s summation of her father’s childhood visits to Val-Jalbert. Boring, boring. She flips to the end.

“The end”—so subjective. “My son Jack is 12 now,” the last chapter begins.

Jack doesn’t know why it’s hard to read this. She was his 12-year-old son. He would never put anything into writing that would embarrass that little boy or make him unhappy. “It must be a blessing to have a life so full of happy days. There is something uniquely wonderful, though, about seeing my son on the ice. The smile on his face when he was named captain of the Élite will stay with me forever.”

That’s the end of the book. There is nothing about Jack between the first line and the last. There is nothing about being a father. The chapter goes on about his life in retirement, his going to Provo to call the women’s Gold Medal game for the CBC, joking with Mario and Steve over how he didn’t mind being too old to play because the real money was in announcing. (False, Jack thinks; the real money is in endorsements, if not investments, and this is the first lunch in many years over which Yvonne hasn’t suggested she pitch for a women’s multivitamin.) Of course, there’s nothing in the book about how Bob promised Jack she could accompany him to Utah, or how Jack chose not to go because she didn’t want to miss three hockey games.

Now Jack has been to Utah, en route to Kent’s second wedding at a luxury chalet in Lake Tahoe—or, now that Jack is thinking on it, maybe that was on the California side. Either way, she didn’t want to go, but Bitty wanted to check out the chalet, and Jack had to wear something off-the-rack from a shop in town because she found herself unable to get the zipper up on her party dress for sedate occasions, a waistless Westwood that fell to the floor dramatically, cut just right to skim over all the unflattering bits without giving them away. Of course, it’s only flattering if it fits. Jack pinches her flesh to make sure she can still feel her hip. Yep, still there. She closes the book; there is an awful lot of cake left over. It’s staring at her from across the room. Bad day, Jack thinks. Take another Celexa, she thinks. Call your shrink, she thinks. No, she thinks, if you’re calling anyone, call your mother. But, she doesn’t really want to.

Jack is still staring back, caught between the black mirror of the tablet and the specter of the half-eaten cake, easily ensorcelled, desirous and hating it, knowing there’s something within her that wants to get out—but what, but what?—when Bitty comes home with the fruits of his labors, an armful of what looks like mostly vegetables, some citrus, and crisp shirts in plastic bags.

His hands go to Jack’s hips before he’s even got the shirts down, kissing Jack’s cheek and saying, “Guess propriety got the better of you”—because she shaved before she went to lunch, and layered on some foundation. He puts the shirts down and asks, “How’s Yvonne?”

Still stunned and still hungry, Jack all but manages to gather her thoughts: “Do you think I should write a book?”

The whole mood turns on dime: “Honestly, sweetheart, it doesn’t affect me either way.” Then he finally drapes the dry cleaning over a chair and starts piling grapefruits on a platter: maybe he’ll bake with them, or maybe they’ll just live with an attractive centerpiece of grapefruits.

Jack can barely get herself off the chair, saying, “Excuse me,” remembering to grab the tablet.

“Can you take that to the bedroom?” Bitty asks, meaning the shirts. To sweeten the deal he throws in another kiss; he pats Jack on the ass and says, “Go on.”

She does best when she’s following instructions, or carrying out orders.

But she really doesn’t want to write a book.

#fic post

[adrienaline-rushed-art]

Tomato Soup and Lemon Zest: Touche, Pussy Cat!

Rating: Teen

Chapters: 5/5

ao3  fanfic   1 - 2 - 3 - 4- 5

NOTES: "I'm just tryna get my head around, wtf is happening *clap clap, clap*" "I'm just tryna get my head around, wtf is happening *clap clap, clap*" - lol

 I was reminded of OK Go for some reason.Did anyone get the reference in the title? No? Ok...

That's a wrap!Well.. ok that's a lie. I'm probably gonna do drabbles for this and make it a series. But for now, a break, I've got to finish Maid for It and Charming Spell first.In the meantime, I hope you enjoy! Please leave reviews!

Comment if you want me to tag you in the next update, otherwise check the tag #adrinathdrawingfic

based on this post

@samantha-girlscout @artgirllullaby @miraculouslyme @breeeliss @itsmegan347official @b0n3-crush3r @tallsuperstar @messy7seamstress

Also, @yourfavouritekindoftrash made a fic based on the same post, check it out under the tag #adrinathdrawingfic

It had now been 2 months of constant training. Nathaniel was already starting to become toned. He was gaining endurance and strength he'd never heard of - though, they still didn't meet the athletic standard - he was at a good place where he could probably excel in a P.E. class. And his teacher noticed, too.

He often hid behind other students so that the teacher would forget about him long enough to last through to changing time without doing a thing. Recently he was confident enough to give the activities and sports a shot. He wasn't half bad. Not skilled, but not trailing behind his team while chasing a ball and wheezing. Not strategic, but not standing frozen like a deer in headlights waiting for the other team to steal the ball. Adrien was his only issue. When he was on the opposing side he was nervous and when he was on the same side he preferred to pass everything to Adrien and just watch. It was far too stressful knowing Adrien was watching him play… and he was watching a lot.

Nathaniel had achieved a lot with his dedication. It was time to move on to the main goal. Fencing.

"I'm proud of you, Nath," Chat handed half of his baton over to Nathaniel, "You're finally ready."

Nathaniel smiled shyly, studying the baton in his hands. "Yeah, well, I'm not close to the finish line as far as my coordination goes."

"That's what I'm here for," Chat smiled at him in a caring way Nathaniel wasn't familiar with.

"Right?" Chat continued, "Otherwise you could've done all of this on the internet."

Nathaniel shook his head. "No, I wouldn't have stuck to this if it had been from the internet. The only reason I'm trying is because it's you- I mean because you're- Imeanitsnoteverydayasuperheroofferstojustshowyouhowtofightand-"

Chat laughed. "I get it, you love me, nothing to be shy about."

When Nathaniel stopped to gawk at him, Chat swallowed hard and began to regret the existence of his mouth.

"Oh. Uhh.. I, um sorry, I didn't know you actually…?"

Nathaniel stopped Chat nervously. "No, it's fine! You just caught me off guard, oh was that a joke? AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Yeah…" Chat's smile was strained, and his smile was stiff, "A joke."

"Anyway…" Nathaniel tried to hide his disappointment.

"Right, back to stance."

Chat Noir moved Nathaniel around again until he was positioned correctly. Nathaniel tried moving forward as instructed.

"You're putting too much weight on one side and you're leading with the wrong foot," Chat stood behind Nathaniel, trying to help him shift his weight and grabbing his wrist to raise the staff higher.

Nathaniel tried again. He got the leading foot right but his balance was even worse.

"Try to be on the balls of your feet instead of your toes."

Chat continued to give Nathaniel the best advice he could until he finally was alright at it.

"I feel like a crab," Nathaniel finally said.

Chat laughed, "Yeah, I know.. And look you have red hair too."

"Not all crabs are red, you know," Nathaniel pulled at his bangs to stare at them.

"I know…"

"There are purple ones too."

"You've got purple pants on."

Nathaniel glared down at his pants. "Oh my god, you're right. I'm an actual crab. How many nicknames am I gonna get? Tomato, Little Red Riding Hood, now what… Mr. Krabs?"

"Now, now, don't get crabby about it," Chat grinned.

Nathaniel shot daggers at Chat. "Teach me how to fight already so I can kick your ass!"

Chat shot his hands up defensively. "Hey, I thought you liked puns?"

"I never told you that…" Nathaniel squinted at Chat.

"Ah, nevermind, you're right… I must've been thinking of Ladybug or something. Hey, but, aren't nicknames kinda nice, though? They're cute… well except for Mr. Krabs, but trust me that's not gonna be one of them. Maybe Krabby Patty."

"No, that's… No. And, maybe they would be cute, except that no one ever asks me. They just start calling me something, and my quiet ass doesn't have the guts to say anything about it.."

Chat stepped closer to Nathaniel. "You're right, I never asked either, I'm sorry. Is it alright if I-"

"No no no, it's too late now. I think it'd be better if I thought of one for you," Nathaniel tapped the staff on his chin.

"People call me Banana Hair," Chat suggested.

"Mmmm… no, I'll think of my own, thanks. How about, Lemon?"

"Noooo… I do not want to be named after smut fics," Chat cringe.

Nathaniel poked Chat's chest with the staff. "It's not my fault that's the first thing that crossed your mind. Normal people think of fruit when they hear the word 'lemon'."

"Oh, they think about fruit alright…"

"Oh my god. Listen, I happen to know someone who's nickname is Lemon, and I happen to think it sounds perfectly fine. I'm sticking with Lemon, and you can't convince me otherwise."

"But, well just don't say it in front of anybody. I don't wanna sound like some sexual beast."

Nathaniel snorted. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" He tugged at Chat's bell until it came slightly down and jingled.

Chat froze. What the fuck was happening? Chat Noir was supposed to be his safe haven, now Nathaniel was growing bold. Was his newfound confidence because of his new physique?

"I-"

"You're the one who's been flirting and teasing this whole time."

Chat Noir scratched the nape of his neck. "You're right, I deserve that type of name then."

"No, you don't deserve it in that sort of way. You deserve it because you deserve a nickname. I don't mind the flirts…"

Chat blinked at him. He smirked. "Really? You're not so bad yourself- now let's get back to that ass-kicking you told me you were gonna do."

After a little over a month, learning grip - though Chat informed him it would be different with an actual rapier - and how to loosen his wrists without making them weak, it didn't take him long to get used to attacking and parrying.

"Well, you're ready to do a drill. Is this the part where you kick my ass?" Chat lowered his stance and pointed his staff to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel smiled. "I guess we'll have to find out."

Chat waited for Nathaniel to advance and their staffs clashed. Nathaniel swung with practiced movements. Chat picked up the pace, stepping forward and driving Nathaniel back. The wind blew and Nathaniel noticed a small poster of Adrien Agreste falling at his feet. He glanced down at it to avoid stepping on it.

"Don't take your eyes off me," Chat said.

Nathaniel twitched, blocking an attack and ignoring the poster. He kept a steady gaze on Chat Noir.

Chat looked back to make sure Nathaniel didn't start wandering near the fountain, but Nathaniel's staff collided into Chat Noir's and slipped just enough to graze Chat's side.

Chat stopped, stunned. Both of them stared down at Nathaniel's extended arm, going through the gap between Chat's arm and his waist.

"I thought you said not to take your eyes away, Lemon." Nathaniel grinned up at Chat.

Chat bit his lip. "Touche, Red."

Nathaniel stood back. "I guess that's the closest I'll get to any sort of ass-kicking. It was probably luck though."

"Maybe," Chat maneuvered his staff until Nathaniel somehow ended up on the ground, "But don't let your guard down."

Nathaniel smiled ear-to-ear at his cellphone below his desk. Several pictures of Chat Noir had been secretly saved to his photo album. Class wasn't really being taught at that moment, students were working in class assignments and wandering around. It was time to add a new member to the sketchbook hall of fame.

He sketched a basic outline, adding no details but a rough tail and ears. He started with the eyes, which had a gaze that could kill, somewhat familiar. Of course it was familiar, he'd known Chat Noir for months.

He took a moment to take in Chat's mouth, which he should've had memorized by now from all the times Chat teased right up in his face, but just barely touched skin.

He finally moved to his nose, which he always saved for last. He drew what he could from what showed beneath his mask.

He looked back at the composure of the face. He furrows his eyebrows. Something…

He drew the shape of the head and started to move on the the hair before he froze.

"Oh my god." Nathaniel muttered.

It was unmistakeable. He'd drawn every shape perfectly. Those strokes weren't foreign to him, his hand knew those lines.

Adrien climbed the steps to Nathaniel. Without lifting his head and with his hands casually stuffed in his pocket he asked, "What are you drawing this time, Nath?"

Nathaniel's finger twitched around his pencil. He glanced back down at his paper, then back up at Adrien. He stood up slowly.

"Adrien… you're… Chat N-"

Adrien's face dropped as he flinched and within a split second he sprung into action. He strode forward, with a subtle wave of his hand and a few quick shushes. He placed his lifted hand on the collar of Nathaniel's blazer, the index of his other hand found itself touching Nathaniel's lips before he moved it out of the way and planted a kiss. It all happened so quickly Nathaniel had no time to react. He could do nothing more than simply let Adrien take another heartbeat of a moment before pulling away, and listen to the delicate chirp of lips parting echoing in his ears.

Adrien remained breaths away, gazing into Nathaniel's eyes. "Touche, Red."

Was that good? I hope it wasn't anticlimactic :/

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#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #adrinath #ml rarepair #adrinathdrawingfic #cass writes