#prou-out haha

[multi-lefaiye]

find the word tag!!

I don’t participate in these nearly enough considering it’s a tag game I think is really fun.

Anyway, I’m yoinking the open tag from the wonderful @albatris hehe!! :’> The words it gave are: strike, blanket, watch, taste and good!

I will tentatively tag (with no pressure to any of y’all): @emotionalsupportpuma @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @paradisiacalshroud @wherearetheplants @idkjustgowithitok and anybody else who’d be interested!!! Feel free to tag me if you do--I wanna see!! Your words are chance, winner, fall, foundation, and scrap!

I’m taking each of these from another character study thing I’ve been writing on and off for quite a bit now, haha!

strike:

Her funeral was a small affair, with only a few attendees. She hadn’t had many friends in the city, after all.

Still, Salvatore made a point to attend, and he left a bouquet of forget-me-nots for her on her grave. Though he’d never been the most sentimental man, he thought she would appreciate the gesture.

Ginger had wanted nothing more than to leave an impact on the world. She wanted to dig deep through the cracked and broken stones beneath her feet, to push and push and strike gold. All she wanted, and all she deserved, was a chance to truly shine.

Though she never had the chance to affect the world as a whole, she left an impact on one man. Because the flowers were correct. Salvatore would never forget her, and he would carry her name with him for the rest of his life.

blanket:

Thankfully, everything went as expected, and soon Leslie came screaming into the world, a tiny bundle of flailing limbs with a scowl on her face and a dark tuft of hair on her head. She wailed from the moment her tiny lungs took their first breath, as though crying out to all the stars and heavens themselves, demanding that they hear her and take her seriously.

As Anna, exhausted as she was, cradled her tiny baby in her arms, she remarked to her husband, “My, this one sure is lively!” Leslie, though she was far too young to understand the words, pouted nonetheless as she squirmed in the soft blanket she’d been swaddled in.

Westley chuckled breathlessly, his relief and pride plain on his face as he agreed, “We’ve got a real spitfire on our hands here.”

watch:

When Jesse held Leslie, he held her like she he was confused about what to do, something he clearly wasn’t used to. Though she was quiet, he watched her with wide eyes, as though waiting for her to start screaming again. For her part, Leslie stared up at him, her tiny face screwed up in a frown.

“Can someone else take it?” Jesse said after a moment.

“That’s not an it,” Anna chastised her son. “That’s your sister.”

“Of course,” Jesse said, holding Leslie out to her. “I just don’t want to hold her. All she does right now is scream, anyhow.”

taste:

Prudence Burke was, to a young Leslie, practically ancient, with a severe demeanor about her that made every interaction with her unpleasant, leaving a sour taste in the young girl’s mouth.

And she was far, far less charitable than Bethany was when explaining what happened to Scott.

“Don’t say that name, child,” she’d snapped at Leslie, her piercing blue eyes narrowed in displeasure. The wrinkles cracking across her face only served to make her look angrier, and for a moment, Leslie thought she looked like a large, angry cat. Leslie had never been afraid of cats, and she wasn’t afraid of Prudence.

“Why not?” Leslie asked, full of the persistent curiosity carried by so many children. “He’s my brother, ain’t he?”

good:

The first to hold her was her eldest brother, Scott Burke. Scott was a fine young man, having only recently come home from his time overseas. He was his parents’ pride and joy, as he’d fought on the front lines in the terrible war. Combat had left him with a prominent limp and a sad, desperate sort of exhaustion in his eyes, but he still wore a smile on his face most days.

He was a good man, the sort of man many boys aspired to be. Though he was young, he had much to be proud of. At least, that’s what he’d always been told.

Scott held Leslie like she was something fragile, something to protect. He ran gentle, world-weary fingers over the soft brown hair on her tiny head. Even when she batted his hand away with little fists and whined, he only smiled warmly.

#multi makes text posts #multi's writing #find the word tag #don't worry about the time i'm posting this btw

[nifrequerne]

my brain has this one chart that goes “if you enjoyed this ship check out the rest” 

#sorry #ships #i guess #angbang #hualian #serovolk #moshang #geraskier #wiedźmin #the witcher #silmarillion #major grom #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #wow angbang hualian moshang have this "so i found god now what: #bang him / get banged by him / make him your secretary #i know im not funny #prout #prou-out haha #dont make me say my similarities between jaskier #shang qinghua and jarjar binks

[pinktatertots99]

looking out of the corridors proustite hummed at the clearer sky today, colorful mystic topaz eyes almost shining as the sun shone on them. their mind was lost wandering on the blurry fragmented memories.

‘my arms...’ he remembered thinking, looking at his arms of a slimey metal, pouring down melting along with his legs of the same kind. looking up all he could remember of who was there was a scar on the back of their neck.

“proustite?” they shook their head, seeing the familiar yellow and faded peach pigtailed gem looking at them innocently in their white long sleeved uniform with a dress like frills decorating their bottoms, with the red tie and pink band on their shoulder.

“...ame...trine?” he spelled out as they nodded excitedly. “yeah! you have such a good memory!”

“...rrriiiight. good memory...riiiight.” he looked away awkwardly as it seemed the gem finally realized something. “heeeey wait a second your supposed to be in your room silly.”

“oh yeah? well you should be in one too.”

“haha don’t be silly.” they giggled as they pulled their arm band. “being a guard means i can be able to protect you guys and not stay in a room.” prou stared at that band. he never quite understood the difference. they were all gems, they all could fight...alrightly, yet some had to stay in rooms while a single band is what separated them into differences.

“anyways, shouldn’t you get back? big brother’s gonna be so mad.”

“i’m still doubtful your both related.”

“it’s just an endearing term ehehe. but still though-”

“iii’m actually going to get my band today?” he asked as the room went quiet, ametrine’s eyes widening. “really!? congratulations! good luck then!” he exclaimed, running off with a wave as prou waved back. slowly walking again they hummed as they reached the exit.

standing on the grass on their metalic feet they walked a ways, a bout of drowsiness catching them off guard.

---------------------

“big brotherrrr!!!” ametrine exclaimed as they hugged hajime, the larger patting their head. “shouldn’t you be in the fourth building?”

“awww but i wanted to see you!”

“there’s a thirty percent chance of a lunarian attack today you.”

“oh i can handle myself silly.” they stated as hajime felt that awkward dread with how naive this gem was. it still surprised him how he passed the training. “also glad i came for new recruitment!”

“what?”

“proustite told me you were gonna make them a guard gem!” hajime raised a brow. “i didn’t say anything on that. their the last gem i’d ever make one.”

“but they told me when i saw them in the halls though?”

“...”

-------------------

“THAT BRAAAAAAAAT!” loud heavy steps echoed the halls leaving small craters as ametrine followed him. “when i get my hands on em i’m gonna shatter em and NOT repair that idiot!!!”

“that’s not nice big brother!!!’

“AND THIS IS NEW TO YOU!?”

once reaching the field both looked to find a sunspot in the sky, a bowl being lifted up to it by two lunarians. “i’ll get em!” ametrine exclaimed as they ran out, sword in hand. “oi wait!!!”

leaping to the air ametrine glared at them. “i’m here to save y-” he started, only to fall flat faced on the ship. the impact was enough for proustite to wake up. “huh?” he asked, looking around to find himself in the bowl of of the large head piece’s hands. “...oh you gotta be kidding me.”

“proustite!” they looked over to find ametrine with no scratch. “come on!” they nodded, eyes widening as the lunarians glocks clocked, aiming for ametrine. before they could exclaim anything they were disipitated and he was muted by a loud crunching crack of ametrine getting hit in the back of their head.

“OW! big brother be careful!”

“atleast i didn’t throw you!!”

“you still owe me an apology for that!!”

proustite sighed as they hopped out of the dish. ametrine felt the ship disipitating as he and hajime looked to see the head stand had been slashed off. both gems jumped off it with hajime glaring down both of them.

“...to be fair, i was asleep.”

______________________

proustite pouted as their leg was glued back. “you damn brat constantly breaking out and nearly getting yourself taken.”

“like i said, i fell asleep.”

“quit breaking out is what i mean!”

“come ooooon hajime we get BOOOOOORED.”

“unless you WANT to become one then stay in your damn room.”

#nanbaka #houseki no kuni #nanbaka the numbers #idiots with numbers #nnbk #nanba prison #CrossOver #au #land of the lustrous #hnk #fanfiction #lotl #kingdom of gems #i made this #houseki no bakas

[flyswhumpcenter]

It’s Okay [Fever February Day 3: Forehead Touch]

FEVER FEBRUARY INDEX

Summary: Sometimes, you have to learn it's okay not to always be 100%. Everyone has bad days. Mr Honfleur has to teach so to a star student today, and he's surprised, maybe scared, but he wants to make the boy feel better.

Fandom: Original Work

Word Count: 1.1K words

Notes: It's short and it's late, but I worked on an assignment before that... At least, I got to explore Fran’s relationship with his former Literature teacher and role model.

AO3 version available here.

Inside a rather big classroom, on a cold but dry day of February, a French class is taking place. Some seats are empty: the fault to the current epidemy of flu. That happens every winter, and the experience teacher who is currently making class is so used to it, he’s not any bothered by it. He counts on his students to take care of things themselves, and give each other the lesson.

They can do that, right? They’re good, mature first-year kids. He loves them, just like he loves the current second-years, and the ones before them, and… Oh, right, Proust.

“In The Search for Time Lost, the narrator tells us about his journey to find how to write his memories in all the details he has experienced on the very day it happened. The books actually cycle at the end of the last…”

Mr Honfleur’s voice comes to a halt. He’s hearing a weird background sound near him. Something… peculiar, which doesn’t ring many bells to him. It must be something doing some weird shenanigans again, like the computer (which he still doesn’t get along with). Yeah. Outside noise he’s not responsible of.

He continues to make class after this small halt, apologizing to his students for zoning out over there, as short as it was. Maybe some of them didn’t notice, oh well. He continues on Proust, and the interest of his novels, as a way to entice his students to read him when most of them picked Céline because it was shorter.

He still hears that sound. A distraught, unnatural sound, in a way. The sound of an obstructed windpipe, like when you stick something at the end of a straw or a toilet paper roll and blow in it. Maybe. That’s just a weird sound he’s never heard, but it may be his brain. He’s probably a little sick himself.

Right, Proust, where was he? He keeps getting distracted. He needs someone to help him through it, and someone who’s read Proust of that… He knows exactly who!

“François? Could you tell us about…”

He stops mid-sentence again, right as he looks down on the table in front of him. The sound gets stronger and stronger.

In front of him is a blue-and-brown shape, slouched over a table, dripping from a chair. Dishevelled hair, discarded glasses, an empty seat next to it. Paper sheets all over the place. A limp hand suspended from the occupied table. This isn’t fine.

Mr Honfleur, in disbelief, lowers down to the level of the slump. He’s getting a bit scared when everyone goes quiet, the sound so strong he can’t attribute it to a computer he can barely turn on. He knocks gently on the table.

After a few knocks, the shape stirs and, slowly, faces his teacher. The boy looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days, deadly pale, dark rings under reddened and unfocused eyes, unshaved facial hair, red centred on his nose and splattered across both his cheeks like he just drank an entire wine bottle to himself. Sweat is pearling down a face covered in slight, rebellious streaks of hair.

“W-what…?” he rasps before coughing in his hand.

“You fell asleep. Class is not a place to sleep in, François. I know dorm life is hard, but you cannot sleep in class.”

“R-right sir…”

The student coughs out a lung as soon as he even opens his mouth. He’s not alright, and if he ever says so, it’s a big fat lie. Without adding another word, Mr Honfleur puts a hand on the boy’s forehead, his usually gentle face turning into a much severe expression. He hisses as soon as the back of it touches the other skin.

“You’re burning up!” escapes from the professor’s mouth as brown eyes close on themselves.

“Haha, maybe… What did ya want from me sir…?” he slurs back.

“Well, I wanted to ask you about Prou… Your priorities are completely screwed, young man!”

He grabs François by the arm, taking him completely aback, maybe profiting of his heavily weakened state so he doesn’t protest. It continues to heat his hands even under a wool sweater, maybe two considering the shivers and chills he feels down there.

“Where we goin…?” he asks in a painfully sore voice, coughing loudly.

“To the nurse’s office. I am going to ask your classmates to gather your stuff for you, before you can even ask such a stupid question!”

“The nurse’s office again…? She’s already seen me twice last week…”

They exit the room to a too-slow-in-his-taste pace. It’s also to respond back to something stupid his student just said.

“You had an asthma attack in the middle of a PE session because everyone forgot you even had asthma. The colleague was freaking out so badly we thought he may have an asthma attack too, actually.”

“It was better in high school when nobody knew I had asthma…”

“Please tell me your fever speaking right now, François. You sound utterly insane.”

“Maybe… Feels like I’ve always been sick anyway… Sir, what was the question on Proust…?”

“You are even worse than a college professor with the flu! Do I have to spell it out to you? You are sicker than I’ve ever been and all you worry about is a question on literature. You should reconsider your priorities, I mean it.”

“Sure, I’ll try one day…”

Halfway there, the student starts to cry as he clutches his chest with his arms, weakly embracing it.

“What’s wrong, François?” the teacher asks, with worry finally spilling out. He’s been worried all along, but it’s harder to hide it when he’s crying in front of him.

“My dad’s gonna yell at me again… My sis too…” he whimpers.

Michel can’t help but go to him and get him in his arms. Who cares if it’s authorized?

“It’ll be okay, François. Everyone gets sick one day or the other. Everyone in the class has been sick one day. I’ve been sick multiple times before, and I’ll be afterwards. It’s okay to miss class when you’re sick, and it’s okay to sometimes overestimate yourself or underestimate the ailment.”

The tears of the boy start to subdue.

“But I always go to class sick…”

“Then it means you are very involved in your studies, and it’s good as long as you try not to overdue it.”

He pulls out of their weak embrace to look at him. He’s even redder from his sorrow, but now, he has a slight smile on his face. It’s already better nothing.

“I am sure it will be fine. Come, we have to get you somewhere you can sleep and rest properly before your parents or your sister can get you.”

“Thanks sir…”

“Don’t stress it.”

#sickfic #whump #fever #illness #fever february #pdv #michel honfleur #françois bannaire #PDV 0 L