#time to write about this in a small drabble to demonstrate better

[fanaticsnail]

Kiss their cheek

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 220-650 for each character

Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law, Kid

Synopsis: It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind?

Notes: I have hit a follower milestone and I am freaking out about it. I don't normally post about the follower count, but this is simply too incredible to not mark the occasion for. To distract myself from the sheer number of you that found my writing good enough to follow, I have a little drabble for you to enjoy for my favorites. To quote the goodest and bestest boy there ever was: “Thank you for loving me.” I love you all too. All 1,200+ of you.

Themes: cheek kisses, feelings, monster trio, supernova trio, crewmate!reader, unrequited love, confessions of love, no prior romantic relationship, gn!reader, pure fluff, A little OOC while I'm still learning about a couple of the blorbos.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @cinnbar-bun

Blackleg Sanji

“Dinner was beautiful as always, Sanji,” you cooed at him, swooping forward and collecting his smooth cheek beneath your lips in a small kiss, “Well done, Chef.” Holding his cheek in contact with your lips for a few moments longer before pulling away with a broad smile. 

“You’re most welcome, love,” he returned your affectionate demonstration, his lips finding your cheek and grazing your flesh with his lips. 

Both of you reacted as if this touch was not uncommon, not something out of the ordinary in the slightest. This was the first time you had given him this small gesture, demonstrating your appreciation for his hard work with something as simple as a small kiss. 

The fact that this kiss was so freely given to him had Sanji’s heart catch in his throat, his pulse rapidly beating and elevating the flow of his adrenaline through his veins. His family of origin comes from a culture that kisses on the cheeks to greet and farewell friends, acquaintances and even enemies. Why did this kiss feel so perfect against his skin? 

He would do anything to feel your lips on him again, often giving you preferential treatment in the hopes your lips would find his skin once more. Should he gather up the courage to turn his head, claiming your lips within his own, would you turn away? He hoped you wouldn’t. 

Roronoa Zoro

His mind could not comprehend the moment that just befell him. 

It was a simple night of comradery and relaxation. The air felt alight with joyful merriment: Brook playing music, Sanji ensuring each of you had an adequate meal. It felt light: nothing plaguing, hunting, seeking, nor fighting. It was simple, and that is what it felt. 

It being a simple and small kiss against his right cheek.

“You are an excellent first-mate, Zoro,” you laughed up at him, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, “A noble knight and fearless protector.”

Zoro’s head couldn’t produce a single thought to form a string of a sentence. He had not felt this way, the ignition of a small swell of passion to not involve swordsmanship, ever before. 

In all the realms of intimacy and subtle touches, Zoro was inexperienced in receiving and reciprocating. Zoro was, for lack of a better word, a virgin to such an expression of unbridled affection. 

“Th-Thanks, I guess?” he grunted, his brows arching at you. You giggled, patting him on the shoulder and offering him a warm smile. 

“You’re welcome, soldier,” you cooed up at him before turning on your heel, following the gentle rise in rhythm with your hips, dancing along to Brook’s playing. He followed your movement with a keen eye, more enthusiastic about your gentle sway and soft laughter than he was moments prior. 

Monkey D Luffy

“Oh, Captain!” you smiled at him, hooking your arm over his shoulder and drawing him close to your face, “Your cheeks are so cute. I could just-,” you halted your words, lunging forward and peppering his tanned cheeks with several fluttered kisses, humming throughout each press. 

“Oi, oi, Docinho,” he chuckled, swatting at your hands and writhing within your arms, “Stop that. I am a hardened criminal. I am a captain! You’re not meant to think I’m cute, you’re meant to dote on me and offer me tribute of your loyalty!” You giggled, allowing him to swipe your body away from his. 

His eyes darted away from yours, his lips curved in a soft pout with his brows furrowing in a deep frown. For a moment, you thought you truly offended him by your lips finding his skin. Your eyes widened, your hands shaking defensively to desperately retract your affectionate touch.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to-,” you were silenced by several inexperienced kisses littering your cheeks, nose and forehead. The cheeky chuckle that followed each of the small pecks only prompted your mind to chase your heart with its rapidity. He placed his hands over your shoulders, laughing whole-heartedly at your frazzlement. 

“If this is the way you’re offering me tribute as a wonderful captain,” he hummed thoughtfully, “Perhaps I’m not so bad at the job after all.” 

Trafalgar D Water-Law

“You work too hard,” you sigh against his cheek, pulling away from his cool flesh and raking your eyes over his face, “You deserve to take a break some time.” You watched the small hue of pink rise to dust over his cheeks, his hair at the nape of his neck standing alert and rigid. 

Unsure what exactly prompted you to seek out your captain’s cheek with your lips, you were regretting the small brush of your lips over his smooth skin the instant you drew yourself away. Watching as Law inhaled a deep breath through his nose, he exhaled a lengthy breath through his lips: following the small gesture with a soft hum. 

“Just know that you’re appreciated, Sir,” you reiterated your stance, ensuring you held your eyes against his to reinforce your seriousness, “I-... We appreciate you, Captain. We love you, and want to help you achieve your goals. Just-... Just know that, okay?” 

Yellow eyes followed your exit, watching every step that you took and hearing the hollow floor ricochet the reverberating tap of your boot heel. His haunted gaze held firm to your retreat, silence growing heavy at the closure of his office door. 

He could not stop thinking about the kiss all day. The way your lips felt against his cheek, the way he felt the small elevation of your smile - the way his heart swelled in his chest, and the way his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to know what it meant. He needed to know if you were being friendly and supportive, or if you wanted more. 

Lips over his cheek, the catching over the words “I appreciate you” with your reassurances that he is loved and worthy of devotion, inhibited him from welcoming slumber for several days. In the hopes of providing him encouragement and loyalty to soothe his rapidly sporadic mind, you aided in him in only finding restlessness. 

Growling at his own racing emotions, he hastily drew up the transponder snail and dialed your personal shell. He awaited the annoying hum, the crackle of the receiver halting as you picked up the call. 

“C-Captain?” your groggy voice called over the snail, “Cap, it’s nearly five in the morning. I clocked off the overnight shift and only just got to sleep-.”

“-Do you love me?” he quickly spurted the words before he could stop them. 

Your mind did not have the capacity to mask your words, given your groggy sleep deprivation. Yawning your answer into the transponder, Law’s heart raced at hearing your words.

“Of course I love you. We all love you,” you confirmed, rolling your neck and taking a moment to collect yourself, “You’re my captain. I pledged my allegiance to follow you, sir. What are you calling me at-?”

“-No,” Law’s voice crackled over the receiver, his tone immediately waking you of your prior tired state, “I need to know what it meant. I need to know what it meant. Why did you kiss me?”

“What?” you began, shaking your head and brows beginning to knit in confusion, “I don’t understand what you’re-.”

“-Why would you kiss me knowing your lips would haunt me? Knowing that that kiss you gave would scorch and mark my heart?” his voice rose as his temper boiled over the edge. “You know I closed myself off to this bullshit. You know what giving me a small amount of your affection would do to me. Why would you-?”

“-Because I love you, Law,” you uttered in a low voice. You flung your legs over the bed, feet finding your sleep shoes beneath your mattress. Your confession hung heavy in the air, your heart and mind fully awake and comprehending your every waking minute. Silence was heavy and swollen with tension, your mind racing over all the possible retorts Law could throw at you. 

Dismissal, execution, exile, abandonment: these were the responses you deduced to be the most appropriate response. In its stead, you were greeted with a small huffed chuckle and a low rumbled retort.

“Come to my office,” he hummed into the receiver, “Show me more. I-I-...” the transponder crackled as Law found his words, “...-I need more.”

Eustass Kid

“In some cultures, it’s seen as a sign of respect,” you nodded your head, bowing your down to him, “It’s an extension of submission and admission to serve beneath a mighty ruler. Hands are the most common to touch, but kissing a cheek is the most intimate expression of-.”

“-Fine, you can kiss me,” the gruff rumble of Eustass Kid’s voice dismissively crackled. He rolled his eyes, turning his cheek away from you to hide the bite of his lip to stifle his rising blush. 

Affectionate touches was not something Kid, nor his crew, were very experienced in receiving. When he offered you the chance of joining his crew to achieve his goals, Eustass Kid did not expect you to dote and coddle each of his crewmen into submission beneath your affectionate touches. As the last member of his crew to be a recipient of your gentle touch, he truly did not comprehend why his heart was beating with anxious rapidity. 

“Only if you’re sure-,” you began, halted by a harsh bark from your captain.

“-I said it was fine, didn’t I?” his gruff voice cut through the air. While his head was still turned from you, he stretched out his right hand to await a small touch from your lips. 

But his cheek was right there. You couldn’t help but spring at the opportunity to rise up to Eustass Kid’s seated position on the wooden bench aboard the deck. He was ripe for doting and peppering a flurry of kisses all over his face, but you held yourself back from such an expression of unbridled affection. You opted to start slow.

Gently touching his shoulders, you stooped down and pressed a sweet and intentional kiss atop the apple of his cheek. You felt his breath catch in his throat, an unintentional whimper halting in his nose at the soft expression of your admiration.

As you pulled away from him, your upper left arm was caught by the wide and firm grasp of the captain of the Victoria-Punk. His face was still turned away from you, but the crimson hue of his pale face gave away the elevation of his heartbeat. 

“I’m sorry, Captain. I should’ve just gone for the hand-,” you began, attempting to tug away from his grip and apologize properly to him. 

“C-Can I-...” he grunted out a gruff cough, continuing to hold his face away from yours, “...Can I have another one?”

#one piece #x reader #opla #one piece live action #monkey d luffy #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #eustass kid #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #law x reader #kid x reader #op headcanon #op drabbles #op kisses #follower milestone #thank you for loving me #i might do another one of these #for the little bit older guys

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Please, darling. Can you please write more fanfics of Jily from Snape's povs like "she didn't"? I beg you please please. I really like Snape's bitterness and James's flirty character in it. I love it

I apologize for the extreme delay in answering this, but I hope this lil drabble makes up for it. Have another Jily from Snape POV moment. <3

Severus attempted to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes with a weary hand. It was nearing eleven, and he still needed to make his way back to the Slytherin Common Room without detection. It wasn't exactly a difficult feat, but it wasn't one he felt particularly up to facing at the moment.

He stared down at the cauldron bubbling frothily on the bathroom floor. He'd never done anything like this before, and he wasn't quite sure how to go about testing it now that it was theoretically done. How was he to know that it had worked? He couldn't test it on himself, surely?

It had been Lucius Malfoy who had informed him of the Dark Lord's request for the development of a potion, one that would erase several hours’ worth of memories for the drinker. Severus had not been privy to the purpose for which the potion would be used, only that the person who successfully brewed it would be greatly rewarded.

Severus had volunteered for the job, eager to prove himself to the Dark Lord. He'd already altered several established potions on his own, and had been dabbling in spell development since he was in third year. This was a task perfectly suited to his strengths, once that he could use to distinguish himself, to demonstrate his superior acumen and skill. 

He had thought it would be simple. 

He had been woefully mistaken. 

It had taken him the better part of six months to work out a theoretical approach, and once he had come up with a list of ingredients that should do the job, he'd realized it would take more than a month to brew. This posed a slew of practical obstacles: where would he brew the potion undisturbed for two fortnights? Where would he get all of the ingredients?

He'd eventually settled on brewing the potion in a small abandoned bathroom located off a hidden passageway that very few people knew about. The bathroom was tiny and cramped, and had the benefit of a magical lock. This was where Severus sat now, huddled in the small space between the door and the cauldron, staring into the depths of his creation.

This first go at the potion was finally done, but he didn't feel the sense of accomplishment that he'd thought he would at its completion. Instead, it was mostly fear and trepidation that filled him as he looked at the light green liquid. The extensive research he'd done seemed woefully insufficient in light of the prospect of handing the potion over to the Dark Lord. If it were up to him, he might fiddle around with testing it and perfecting it for months. Years, maybe. 

But he didn’t have that sort of time.

He would have to test it, albeit crudely. How, he was uncertain, but it seemed time was running thin on working out a stealthy plan. He would have to just slip it into some unsuspecting person's pumpkin juice and monitor them closely.

He sighed. He would figure this out in the morning. Sleep was itching at his eyelids, and his back ached from being hunched over the potion for so long. He needed to go to sleep, and he needed to do it now.

Opening the door carefully, he peeked out into the corridor. It appeared empty. He gathered his things and threw them unceremoniously into his bag. He slung his bag over his shoulder and exited the small space, casting his usual magical protections over the room.

He began making his way toward the Common Room. The biggest drawback of his chosen location was its great distance from the dungeons – he had to pass through patrolling teachers and prefects to make it back, and he had very nearly been caught on more than one occasion. There was little he could say to explain away his bag full of illegal potions ingredients - some of which he’d had to go to Knockturn Alley to purchase - should his would-be captor choose to investigate his possessions. 

He simply could not be caught. 

Despite this fact, he wasn't being as careful as he should have been tonight; sheer exhaustion had made him lazy, and he took a more direct route than he ought to have done toward the dungeons. Though at the time it had felt like a necessary risk worth taking, he would come to deeply regret it later that night, when sleep would evade him as deftly as she did.

He heard them before he saw them. Or rather, heard her. He would recognize the melodic peal of her laughter anywhere. 

It used to be that she laughed that way with him. She didn't, anymore, although that fact was neither here nor there.

“--and Mum had to pay off my instructor with a year’s supply of hair serum.”

Severus would recognize that voice anywhere, too, though for different reasons. James Potter.

“You were a terror,” Lily laughed, her voice dripping with affection.

“Categorically.”

Severus paused, an acidic wave of hatred eroding his stomach. How could he have forgotten? It was Thursday, the day Lily and Potter traipsed around the castle together in a pathetic performance of Head student patrols. From the sounds of it, they were about to round the corner ahead and discover him, frozen, in the middle of the corridor, decidedly out of bounds and carrying a bag full of illicit potion ingredients. The thought of being found by them - together, no less - far worse than any punishment they could possibly dole out, Severus scanned the corridor frantically for an escape route.

Lily’s voice was growing closer - “I’m not sure you should sound quite so proud of that…” – and Severus’ eyes landed on a shabby tapestry that he knew concealed a small alcove. It would trap him there until they left, but he would, at least, be hidden. Without any time to consider alternatives, he threw himself behind the tapestry and waved his wand to still its fluttering behind him, hoping that he had been quick enough to avoid detection. The alcove was small and cramped and just large enough for him to fit, albeit uncomfortably. A particularly jagged stone was digging into his back already. 

“Oh, I’m not,” Potter replied easily. “Because now I’ll look like a tit in front of your mum.”

Lily snorted, while Severus gritted his teeth. “Funnily enough, I don’t think my mum actually cares about proper ballroom dancing technique.”

“Phew,” Potter replied in mock relief. Their voices were now right outside of Severus’ little cubby, mere feet from where he crouched, hidden. His hand twitched around his wand, the opportunity to catch Potter unawares deliciously appealing, wondering if it was worth the detention. But no, he couldn’t, not with this potion…

How he wished he could. 

“You really don’t have to come, you know,” Lily said. “I don’t even want to go, it’s going to be dead grim.”

“You can’t rescind the invitation, I’m really looking forward to it.”

To Severus’ horror, their voices were not growing quieter with distance; it seemed they had paused just beyond his hiding place, lingering to chat, trapping him in this tiny uncomfortable crawlspace to listen to their unbearable banter. Severus could not have imagined a more sadistically designed form of personal punishment for himself if he’d tried.

It was a matter of policy that he avoided Lily and Potter at all costs. Seeing them together made him feel both ill and corrosively bitter. They had been together for months now, holding hands and snogging everywhere and looking so irritatingly happy. When he first saw them together, he’d decided Potter must have hoodwinked her, somehow, must have put up some sort of front to trick her into believing he was decent, and it was only a matter of time before she saw through it down to his rotten, arrogant core and ditched him.

But she hadn’t, and the days had turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, and still they were together, looking no closer to ending things. He couldn’t reconcile it, the Lily he had thought he’d known and the one who could want Potter. That the Lily who could cast Severus aside after a single mistake could apparently find it within herself to forgive him.

Fuck her. He wanted to hate her, but settled for hating that he couldn’t instead.

“That makes one of us.”

Lily’s voice was light and sarcastic, but there was an undercurrent of sadness that Severus recognized immediately. Against his will, Severus’ mind whirled, trying to make sense of their conversation. 

“She wants you there, underneath it all.”

“My mum wants me there,” Lily corrected. “Petunia only invited me to make her happy.”

Ah. Petunia. Severus knew Lily’s relationship with her sister was strained; he’d never understood why Lily seemed to care so much. It was clear to Severus that the sister was jealous, because Lily was magical and extraordinary, while she was nothing but a Muggle. But that was Lily, always caring about people she shouldn’t. 

“Would you rather we didn’t go?” Potter asked.

Severus nearly snorted and gave away his position. Of course Lily would want to go wherever her sister invited her. Potter clearly didn’t understand her at all. The thought nearly erased the pain that Lily had invited him to come with her to some sort of important family event, and the implications that went with it.

His back was starting to ache, crouched awkwardly as he was.

Lily heaved a great sigh. “No, the only thing worse than going is not going.”

“Then we’ll go,” Potter said decisively. “It’ll be good fun, you can show me Muggle music and I can wear a fancy tuckadoo getup–”

“-tuxedo-”

“Right, that. And I can show you all of my wasted ballroom dancing potential.”

Lily laughed, again, like she always seemed to when Potter wasn’t even being particularly funny. “It really isn’t going to be any fun, you know. Petunia is going to say something wretched to you, probably about your hair–”

“My ego can sustain it, I think.”

“And Vernon is going to ask you about what sort of car you drive–”

“Think he’ll be impressed by a brand new Comet 220?”

“And they’re going to make you feel really unwelcome, even though –”

“Lily.” Potter’s voice was suddenly firm. “They can say whatever they want, I really don’t give a flying fuck. I love you, and if you want me there then–”

“What?”

Lily’s voice sounded as shocked as Severus felt.

“I don’t care what they said to me, I–”

“No, not that. You– you said– you…” Lily’s voice trailed away.

“Oh. Oh,” Potter replied idiotically, coming up short. Had the imbecile really not even known what he’d said? Was Severus unfortunate enough to be trapped here, forced to listen to the first time he said those words to her, tumbling out of his mouth in a mistake, not even intentional, not even careful, not even precious, the way Severus would have been, the way Lily deserved to be told? 

The silence was heavy. Severus wanted to vomit. He didn’t deserve her, and yet he had her anyway. 

“Did you mean that?” Lily’s voice was small, inscrutable.

Potter let out a sigh. “I didn’t mean to say it like that, but fuck, of course I mean it. Have I not been wildly obvious?”

“Obvious?”

Potter choked out a humorless little laugh, sounding far more nervous than Severus had ever imagined him capable. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. Things are great, I’m not trying to– to rush anything. We can forget I said it.”

“No,” Lily interjected sharply, as Severus felt a savage pleasure wash over him. Potter had fucked it up, as Severus knew he would, being thoughtless. “No we can’t.”

“Right,” Potter breathed. “Right, yeah. Probably not, but–”

“I love you.”

“I didn’t – what?”

Severus quite nearly fell out of the alcove, had to grip the craggy walls to support himself. She loved him? Potter? She loved him?

“I love you,” Lily repeated like a dagger to his heart, and her voice sounded like a smile that Severus couldn’t and would never see. “Quite a lot, actually.”

Potter, apparently struck speechless, took a moment to say anything.

Several moments, in fact. Suspiciously long moments. And then, Severus heard the distinct scratchy sound of robes rubbing up against a stone wall, and a deep breathy sort of sigh that sounded far too much like coming up for air.

He didn’t know why he did it. Perhaps it was some sort of sick masochism that caused him to prod the ancient tapestry ever so slightly forward, creating a crack just large enough for him to peer out and see them, about six feet down.

Potter had her up against the wall, pinning her there, kissing the life out of her like a fucking dementor. Her hands were fisted in his stupid hair, and her legs were hitched up around him as he held her there. He’d seen them kissing before, always against his will, but something about this one was particularly excruciating to witness, something in the desperate insistence of it, something in the way she clung to him like a life preserver, something about the deep intimacy of it that left him feeling like someone had scraped out his insides with a spoon.

She loved him.

He let the crack he had made between the tapestry and the wall fall closed, dropping his forehead to rest against the cold stone wall across. He tried to tune out the sickening sounds of their snogging, of Lily’s heavy gasps, of their soft humming.

He’d been wrong before. This was the most sadistic form of torture he could imagine, this moment right here.

She loved him and she was snogging him and she wanted him and Severus wanted Potter to feel this pain one hundred fold for the rest of his fucking miserable posh life.

After what felt like an eternity, Potter finally pulled his tongue out of her mouth long enough to speak.

“Nobody needs detention tonight.”

Lily Evans told him she loved him, and this was how he replied? What a joke. What a sick, twisted, ridiculous joke that Severus was here to be tortured with this interaction. 

“What?” Lily said, sounding about as confused as such an inane, inadequate comment deserved. 

“I think our patrol is done,” Potter clarified. “Castle seems safe.”

“Oh, yes,” Lily agreed quickly. “Very safe.”

“About time we turned in for the evening, don’t you think?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Good. Because the woman of my dreams just told me she loved me, I’ve never cared less about people being out of bounds.”

“You never cared about that at all.”

“Oh, well. You love that about me, apparently.”

Lily laughed. Again. “Hey, you love me too, remember?”

“Yes,” Potter replied airly. “But that was always a given. You loving me is much more newsworthy.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Felt plenty newsworthy, to me.”

Severus wondered what he had done to deserve hearing this.

“Well, I love you, and I meant it all.”

“I know you did.”

“We’ll go to Petunia’s wedding and we’ll make the most of it, even if Vernon prefers Cleansweeps.”

“Thank you,” Lily said, her voice inflected with such affection that Severus’ heart ached with it.

“And who knows?” Potter replied, suddenly sounding mischievous. Severus heard the sound of their footsteps and deduced that they were finally, finally leaving, off to go whisper sweet nothings to each other mercifully out of his earshot. “If she’s really ghastly to you, perhaps I’lll propose at the reception. She won’t mind, will she?”

Lily snorted. “Oh my god.”

“Only joking. That would be poor form. I’d do it at the ceremony.”

“Perhaps I’ll propose to you during the toast.” Lily’s voice was far away now, it sounded like they had nearly reached the next corridor.

Potter let out a surprised bark of laughter that carried all the way to Severus. “Don’t tease me, Lil, that’s cruel.”

And then they were gone.

Severus sat, dumbstruck, in the alcove for a few more minutes, before his aching back screamed at him to move. He clambered out awkwardly, not looking at the space of wall that Potter had pushed her up against, and made his way back to his dormitory in a sort of haze.

He would lay for hours, sleepless, reliving every flirtatious comment, the image of them kissing so intimately seared into his brain with a hot iron.

She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

And she would never love him.

How he wished this fact would release him from the torture of his love for her, but it twisted like a knife instead.

He realized with a deep sense of irony that he should, indeed, have tested his potion on himself, for he would do nearly anything to erase these memories from his mind, cursed as he was to relive them until his dying day.

#jily #drabble #snape pov #i love you

[saphscorner]

Maybe a short Pearlsuma drabble? If that’s okay?

hey anon! since pearl and xisuma have previously expressed some level of discomfort with shipping, i prefer not to write them romantically. i've written a platonic scene instead, and i hope you still enjoy! word count: 645 words pairing(s): pearl & xisuma (platonic) warnings: none general tags & vibes: friendship bracelets, fluff

Spread out on a picnic blanket, Pearl and Xisuma sat across from each other, soaking up the last warm day of autumn. Sunny, clear blue skies painted the illusion of summer’s remnants, and there seemed no better way to spend it than in each others’ company enjoying a much needed rest.

Xisuma clicked his pen idly, twiddling it between his thumb and forefinger as he tapped it against the back of his book. He was alternating between reading and jotting down notes in the margins, occasionally shifting to stretch and readjust. 

Pearl was sprawled on the other side of the blanket, knotting embroidery floss into a friendship bracelet. The small project was secured to her jeans with a safety pin, using her clothing as an anchor point to keep it steady as she continued to build the bracelet down. She was nearly done by then, working through the short untied ends. 

“Would you rather a bracelet or a bookmark for yours, X?” She asked. 

“Oh, that’s a good question,” Xisuma said as he looked up, “I’m really not sure. Surprise me, I guess.” 

“Surprise you,” Pearl echoed back. “Well, alright.” She smiled as she went back to work, tying off and trimming the remaining threads. She fished through her small box of supplies, eventually finding a small plastic clip. She set about securing closures to either end of the bracelet, clipping and unclipping it a few times to ensure the mechanism worked properly. 

“Here we go,” she finally said. 

Xisuma marked his page, closing his book to set it aside. “What did you decide on?” 

“Both!” Pearl answered brightly. She held up the finished creation, demonstrating how it could be clipped and unclipped. “You can wear it around your wrist like a bracelet, or you can undo it and use it like a flat bookmark. Best of both worlds, right?” 

The corners of Xisuma’s mouth upturned in a smile. “Yeah, that’s perfect actually.” He held his wrist out, and Pearl immediately put it on for him. 

“Look, we’re matching now!” She exclaimed, holding her wrist next to Xisuma’s to show off their matching purple bracelets with a little laugh. 

Xisuma admired his own bracelet for a moment, before he unclipped it. He picked his book back up, wordlessly swapping his old bookmark out for the bracelet Pearl had given him. “I love it, really. Thanks, Pearl.” 

“Of course,” she replied. “What’s next then, want me to bead your shoelaces to match mine?” She teased. Pearl uncrossed her legs, extending them to show off the laces of her sneakers that she’d adorned with a few star-shaped plastic beads scattered throughout the lacing. 

“You think I could pull off the look?” Xisuma asked, glancing skeptically at his practical work boots. 

“Oh for sure,” Pearl replied. “Colors of choice too.” 

“You know, maybe. But I’ll have to make something for you to return the favor first.” 

Pearl swept her bracelet materials back into their carrying case. “Really? Like what?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Xisuma admitted. “But just something. You made something for me, now it’s my turn, right?” 

Pearl smiled. “Well, okay. I’m sure I’ll love whatever it is.” She resituated herself, rolling over to lie on her stomach beside Xisuma.

As Xisuma reopened his book, he resecured the bookmark around his wrist into a bracelet, laying the book open in his lap so Pearl could read along with him. Propping up on her elbows, Pearl did exactly that, reading on as Xisuma continued with his reading and annotations. 

Their afternoon continued on in comfortable silence, Pearl and Xisuma simply happy to coexist in the same space together on a sunny afternoon. When the day would be over, they’d have a matching set of friendship bracelets to take home as a lasting token of a day well spent. And maybe one day, they’d just do it all again.

#pearlescentmoon #xisuma #hermitcraft #drabble #requests are open #feel free to drop them in my asks and check out my pinned post for more info! #platonic ship #saphs drabbles

[okay-j-hannah]

Raindrops

Marvel : Drabble

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 622

Warnings: 😍 F L U F F 😍

Request: "Hii! I just recently came across your blog and i loved it! could i request a small scenario of bucky x female reader? One where they are back to bucky's original timeline and are dancing in the rain to 40's music." @cameleonfrenzy

A/N: Rain, diner, music... time for an impromptu dance

I listened to this song while writing this if you want to play it for ✨ambiance✨

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP0tHmoc1rs

They stood from the vinyl booths, milkshakes empty and cherry stems tied in knots. She straightened her skirts and Bucky grabbed her cardigan from the seat.

“May I?” He gave her a warm smile.

(Y/N) nodded, turning around and letting him rest the cardigan on her shoulders. He brushed the base of her neck as he pulled away. It sent a flurry of warmth down her back and through her chest.

“Thank you,” she said, taking his arm, “I see you’re trying to make up for the milkshake.”

“I only stole two bites.”

“Bucky, I left for the bathroom with still half a glass. When I came back there was nothing!”

He left money on the table, leading the way to the door, “I’m pretty sure I saw something in the paper about missing milkshakes. Maybe they’ve struck again.”

“I didn’t know you were a serial milkshake stealer.”

They laughed, reaching the front and noticing the plink plink of falling rain. It was grey and cloudy, rain showering the road. Ripples of water fled for the gutters. The only light came from the hazy streetlamps that glowed a pale yellow.

(Y/N) huffed a little sigh, already feeling the chill of rain soaked clothes. “Would you look at that?”

Bucky hummed, peering out of the doors, “We could call a cab.”

“Or…” (Y/N) said, tugging on his arm, “We could walk like we planned.”

“Walk?” Bucky laughed, “You can’t be serious.”

She pulled on him and upon realizing he wasn’t going to budge, she took matters into her own hands. She pushed through the double doors and stepped into the rain. The click of her heels was masked by the plinks of rain.

She put her face to the sky and let it shower upon her. It plastered her hair down, soaked her clothes, and filled her ears. It was making her smile.

Behind her a music began playing from within the diner. You could just make out the tune between the raindrops.

She spotted Bucky standing there, hands in his pockets, watching her. It made her outstretch her arms, demonstrating her welcomeness to the rain. She laughed – bright and loud – twirling once where she stood.

Rain flew from her skirts like a sprinkler.

She continued to step out into the road, swaying to the steady rhythm of the diner music. She gave Bucky a heavily lidded look, although that could’ve been because of the rain falling into her eyes.

Bucky was grinning back in complete wonder, his smile white in the blanket of grey. He was laughing when he stepped into the rain to join her. He was animated in the way he shivered and cried out in the cold.

“It’s freezing out here!” he whined. “Why are we doing this again?”

(Y/N) was still swaying to the music, “Because it’s romantic.”

“Well, I’m going to need you a little closer if I’m going to survive this cold.” And he took her hand, drawing her close. He fell into her sway of the music.

She laughed, holding onto him, “Is this better?”

“It’s certainly put some warmth in my stomach,” he said, pulling her flush to his side, spreading a hand against her back. With his other he took up her hand and swayed to the music. Water streamed down his face as he looked down at her. And rain splashed on her cheeks as she looked up.

She had to squint against the droplets, but she was smiling.

Bucky spun her, rain flying everywhere. The twirling elicited a laugh from her. When he drew her close again, he held her tight. They closed their eyes and danced to the music, slow and sweet.

And, you know, it wasn’t so cold anymore.

~~~

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @kaqua @andreasworlsboring101 @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @appreciating-chase-brody @multifandomfix @murder-swan @mxacegrey @emilythezeldafan @girl-lost-not-found

Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List

#bucky barnes x y/n #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes #mcu #Marvel MCU #marvel cinematic universe #Marvel x Y/N #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel #winter soldier #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader

[heronchild-haven]

HIII! I don't know if you are still taking these or if I am even in the right place, but it is so hard to find good heronchild content on here and you are one of the only good ones I have seen. Could you possibly do a drabble or fanfic where their families find out that heronchild is a thing? Possibly in one of the worst ways to come out ever or they just decide to tell them, I don't really mind. Anyway, love your work !!!!!!!!

Hi! Yes, I’m still around, always happy to receive a request! Even though it took me a while to write this time, since I‘m busy with college. But you asked so you shall receive! I decided to go with a fairly fluffy coming out, because my main fic is already an angst fest right now. Hope you enjoy! 🤗

“Are you ready?” Matthew asked, turning to face James as they reached the door to the institute library. He offered a reassuring smile, but James knew him well enough to recognise all of the small mannerisms betraying how nervous he actually was. The way he kept fumbling with his initial ring, the slight twitching in the corners of his mouth, and the vulnerability reflecting in his wide open eyes. Seeing him like this made James feel helpless. If there were a better way, one that didn’t risk Matthew being hurt, he would take it.

But they had decided on this together, and really, it was their only option. They couldn’t keep sneaking around everyone forever. Not only because it wasn’t fair to their friends and families, but also because they knew someone would find out eventually. People were already wondering why they’d been pushing off their parabatai ceremony, Thomas had made multiple ambiguous sounding statements about how he would always remain a friend to them no matter who they chose to be with, and then there was Lucie…

She had been incessant about reciting her writing to James over the last few weeks, inundating him with stories about the extravagant pirate king Matthäus, who spent suspiciously little time actually pirating, instead having it made his mission to charm the evil prince James into ceasing his villainous antics.

James assumed that Lucie had either chosen a particularly bad time to be absolutely insufferable, or was beginning to catch on to what was happening between them.

Matthew was still looking at him, patiently waiting for a reply, and James nodded slowly. “Yes.”

He knew it was the right thing to do. He also knew that his parents loved him and that so far, he’d always been able to trust them. But would they understand?

Pushing down his doubts, James opened the door to the library.

Will and Tessa looked up almost simultaneously from were they were leaning over an assortment of books at one of the wooden writing desks. “James,” said Tessa: “do come in. You wanted to speak with us?”

They entered the room together and Matthew presented the Herondales with a blinding smile: “Oh yes, in fact, both of us do.”

“What is it?” asked Will. “Please tell me you boys didn’t cause damage to any institute property- again. You know how Jessamine gets with these things.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” James glanced briefly at Matthew, then cleared his throat: “Do you remember how you told me that, if I ever were to find the right girl, I would know, and that I should fight for her no matter what?”

“Of course,” said Will, smiling fondly.

“I know that you feel this way about mother. But… I also know how much you love uncle Jem. And that this is the reason you are so happy about Matthew and I becoming parabatai. And- I was wondering… if you could imagine someone finding both these things in just one person.”

James turned to Matthew again, searching for assurance in his green eyes. Yes, they were doing this together. Matthew grabbed his hand and James held on to him demonstratively as he turned back to face his parents. Will stared at them, mouth slightly parted, and Tessa’s grey eyes were brightly lit with attention.

James kept going, undeterred. “Well, that person would be what Matthew is to me- what we are to each other. He’s not a girl like you might’ve wanted for me, but I love him and there’s no changing that. So we won’t be able to become parabatai, after all.”

His parents looked at him in bafflement, and James was suddenly overcome by a nauseating wave of doubt. There was nothing he could do but stand frozen in place as his parents' silence seemed to stretch on forever. Matthew’s grip on his hand tightened.

Then, like the first rays of sunlight suddenly breaking out from the horizon, a wide smile spread on Will’s face. ”And here I was worrying about your delayed ceremony. You don’t even know how relieved I am to hear that we will be able to take Matthew into the family, after all.”

James blinked a few times, stunned at the unexpected reaction.

Tessa stepped forward. “What he means,” she took Matthew’s hands into her own and squeezed them briefly, “is that we could not imagine anyone better for our Jamie than you. No matter the nature of your relationship.”

Matthew stared at her, flushing slightly. He looked vulnerable, wearing an expression that most people never even got to have more than a glimpse of. “Thank you, Mrs. Herondale.”

“Please, call me Tessa.”

James looked back and forth between his parents: “You… don’t mind?”

“Jamie Bach,” Will said, sounding more serious this time. “I never meant to make you doubt yourself. I simply- when I said that, I was thinking of your mother,“ his voice melted into the warm tone it always did when he was talking about Tessa, “but I don’t expect you to do things exactly the same way I did. What I meant is that, when you love someone, you fight for them, especially as a Herondale. And I’m proud of you for doing precisely that.”

He patted James’s shoulder. “You understand?”

James had to let the words sink in for a moment before he could reply. “Yes- yes I do.”

Will smiled, seemingly satisfied, and turned to Matthew: “Now…” He slung an arm around his shoulder in a fatherly manner: “As an official member of the Herondale family, there are some matters of great importance that I need to discuss with you. We value our traditions and you will be expected to follow along.”

Matthew’s disarming smile was back, and he directed it at Will now: “Of course Mr. Heron- Will. Please enlighten me.”

“To start with, you must abstain from associating with any types of Anatidae, and -if existent- recant previous allegiances immediately.”

Matthew nodded politely, clearly confused and expecting an explanation, and Tessa sighed. “Ducks. He’s talking about ducks, and he just made that up.”

Will went on blithely: “Furthermore, every year on Christmas, we hold a performance of the demon pox song among the inner family circle, which I assume you are familiar with already…”

James, knowing very well that the performance Will was referring to was usually a one man affair, was deliberating how to interject before his father would break out into a demonstration right then and there.

“James,” Tessa said, interrupting his train of thought. “I appreciate that you have been so open with us, even though it might’ve seemed daunting. But you will never need to fear judgement from us or apologise for anything that you are, you know that, right?”

“Yes. It was just… because he’s a man- the way people talk about it sometimes- I don’t think the clave would ever tolerate us-“ the tension he’d been holding in for months must’ve shown on his face, because she swiftly pulled him into a hug. Being slightly taller than his mother, James had to lean down to drop his head on her shoulder.

“Oh, darling.” Tessa sighed and stroked his hair consolingly. “I know very well how intolerant the clave can be, which is why they never need to know any of this, least of all from us. Within our walls the two of you will always be safe. It makes no difference to me wether you want to be with a man or a woman, as long as they make you happy. And I know that Matthew makes you happy.”

James lifted his head at that and smiled. “He does.”

“Good.” She stepped back and threw a skeptical glance over to where her husband was cheerily holding Matthew hostage. She was just about to say something else when, suddenly, a high pitched yelp from the door made James whirl around. “Matthew!” Lucie had apparently taken on the task of rescuing Matthew from having to recite the demon pox song by barging in and throwing herself around his neck. Before he could respond, she’d already let go of him and begun chattering excitedly. “I am so very, very glad that you decided to tell us! You see, I had thought maybe a famous duchess or a pirate king for James would do fine, but you are so dear to me already, it is even better this way. To be entirely honest, you were somewhat of an inspiration for the pirate king in my latest story- Oh, I almost forgot, shall I address you now as my brother-in-law?”

Matthew seemed amused. “Please, Luce, you can keep calling me Matthew, if you don’t mind.”

“Lucie, dear,” Will chided her mildly. “Were you eavesdropping on us just now?”

“Oh no,” her eyes widened. “That would never occur to me! I simply happened to be lacing my shoes outside in the corridor when I overheard you.”

Matthew followed their conversation, but glanced furtively at James when he came closer. He reached for James’ hand again, slowly interlacing their fingers, almost shyly, as if he were doing it for the first time- and in a way, he was.

Something had shifted. It was like a weight had lifted off them, and James felt a kind of pride in being able to show to his family how much he felt for Matthew.

Gently, he pulled him closer by his hand and placed a kiss on his temple. “Are you alright?”

“Mhmm,” Matthew hummed and leaned against him, nuzzling his face into his neck.

James noticed his mother’s warm smile as she glanced at them before turning to break up whatever battle of wits had unfolded between Will and Lucie, to say something about arranging for afternoon tea. A wave of comfortable warmth spread from James’ heart throughout his body at the sight of his family like this, knowing that he and Matthew were welcome in their midst. Right now, there was no place he’d rather be.

Suddenly, Matthew chuckled. He lifted his head to fix his mischievously glinting eyes on James: “Pirate king, eh?”

James suppressed an eye roll. With how much Lucie seemed to support their being together, he could hardly be mad at her, no matter how well she fulfilled her role as little sister in embarrassing him. “I suppose it was her way of letting me know that she would accept you.”

#yes yes Lucie would do that I know it in my heart #i love her she needed to be present for this #heronchild #james herondale #matthew fairchild #james x matthew #the last hours #matthew x james #fanfiction #my writing #submissions

[sinha-ri]

The thing about Lily and the way he looks is that-

He's naturally good looking. It runs in the family, literally. Have y'all SEEN Alexander?? Their appearance is meant to be trustworthy, reassuring.

However, Lily absolutely ruins it. He hardly brushes his hair, covers most of his face, and then bundles himself up with layers of clothes. So he usually looks like a hobo or from the street. His personality too, is nothing as he was taught to be.

He seems to lack manners, very blunt and deadpan, and he is overall a god damn gremlin. Absolutely feral.

Both of these contribute to his later relaxation after realizing, there is no fucking way people would ever believe he is a prince, let alone the "Prince of Iesu"

The way he dresses, speaks, and acts, is nothing like that of a prince, and not even close to his psychopathic phase as a child. So even if someone claimed he was the Prince of Iesu, and they were so sure, no one would believe them. It'll go like:

"Lily? The Prince of Iesu??? That's a heavy accusation there but there is no way in hell he's that shitty prince! I mean, look at him!"

#fact #now #time to write about this in a small drabble to demonstrate better

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Do you have any advice for someone who wants to write drabbles? I don't know how you do it, it's almost as if you don't sleep 🤣

Ooh! Thanks for the question! :) I actually talked a lot about this recently on @ishipitpod with @idontgettechnology, so if you want lots of tips for writing drabbles, plus some silly stories and lots of giggling, go check out that episode! It was really fun.

I definitely sleep! 😂 BUT, drabbles are writing, and writing does take time. Once you've written enough drabbles, you'll get faster at them, just like most other skills and hobbies. At this point, I can write a drabble in about ten minutes... though that being said, I post between 5-10 drabbles a day and try to write 500-1000 words of longfic or other writing every day, too, so I spend between an hour and three hours every day just writing. Writing is a skill that requires active practice, and the only way to get better at it is to put in the time. "Ten thousand hours of work or 1,000,000 words on the page" etc.

*And I'd put in a self-deprecating caveat here about "not saying I'm a GOOD writer," but like, I am a good writer. Not every drabble I write is prizeworthy, but they're also 97% of the time not crappy, and working hard on something only to denigrate your own skills is a Tool Of The Patriarchy and I Refuse.

So: my biggest tip for writing drabbles is just to try writing drabbles. They're definitely a skill that takes practice, like any other writing, and the only way to build the "muscle" for it is to do it. What's really nice about them is that they're also building your scene-writing muscle and your concision muscle and your to-the-point dialogue muscle and your grounding muscle in a really tight, focused way, which I've personally found super helpful for writing longer things as well. Because really, I think if the idea of writing drabbles seems intimidating, you can very easily not think of them as "drabbles" and instead think of them as 100-word scenes.

Drabbles kind of straddle the line between being short stories and being story beats/scenes, IMO. You can handle them in either way and you're not wrong, you know? Both require your drabble to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. You should try in both to ground your characters in a space so that their actions or dialogue have meaning. Both need something to happen either physically or emotionally that changes the scope of things for the characters (unless you're writing a drabble that is purely imagery scene-setting world-building candyfloss which, IMO, is also totally valid).

When you're first starting to write drabbles, these are my biggest tips:

1. REMEMBER YOUR SCOPE. It's only 100 words long, so don't try to tell too big of a story for your wordcount. This is why I don't let people suggest plot points or AU scenarios when they request drabbles and why I use single-word prompts. Trying to tell too much story in too small a space, or vice-versa, is a really frustrating writing experience. You don't have room to set up an elaborate AU or tell a complete sex scene from foreplay to afterglow, so keep that in mind when you decide what you want to write your drabble about.

2. START WITH 1:1:1 AND THEN PLAY LATER. One sentence exposition, one sentence climax or change, and one sentence denouement is a good place to start with drabbles. Set up your scenario in one sentence, write one sentence of the "point" of the scene, and one sentence to sum up or demonstrate how things have changed since the set-up. If you write long sentences, like, ahem, I often do, then you've got 33 words-per-sentence to play with, and even I'm rarely that verbose. But that's a good thing, because it means you'll be under 100 words and can go back and beef up whichever section(s) need more meat.

Ex)

SET-UP: Because of Cinna’s expertise in clothing, he saw that something was wrong with the Districts.

ESSENTIAL CHANGE: He only saw the Districts the same way that all Capitolites did, in the nightly news propos about how grateful the Districts were to be under the guidance of the great Capitol, or how these backwoods heathens needed the strict hand of the Capitol to even pass for human.

CLOSURE: But Cinna saw the moth-eaten wool, the stretched-out soiled cotton.

74 words. I can go back and add more detail of what Cinna noticed in the propos, or I can go back and add more detail to what Capitol life is like, or I can set up what he's going to do about the noticing. There's a LOT of room left in 26 words!

3. 100 WORDS IS LONGER THAN YOU THINK. It is! If the idea of a 33-word sentence is insane (and it probably is), then naturally you can assume you've got way more than 3 sentences' worth of room in a drabble. One page in Microsoft Word TNR-12 is ~250 words, so a drabble is really half a page long. That's not nothing. You have to be purposeful and concise, but not to a degree that feels actively stifling. Don't stress about HOW SHORT 100 words is. Fanfiction is often, compared to book-books, insanely long. 100 words is a pretty normal scene/beat length, tbh. Focus on how much you can fit into the wordcount, not how much you can't fit in.

4. BE SPECIFIC. Drabbles are not a place to eschew $4 vocabulary words if you can use them correctly and if they mean the particular, specific thing you want them to mean. In longer works, I'm generally not a fan of Fancy Dialogue Tags, but in a drabble, if someone whispers or mutters or exclaims, then that's what they're doing and it's okay because that word exists to set the tone of the line. Most writing advice about eliminating adverbs/adjectives/dialogue tags neglects to mention that their PURPOSE determines whether they're appropriate, not their existence as a part of speech. Drabbles are GREAT practice for this, tbh, because you really have to be judicious about WHEN and WHY you're deploying your words.

Ex)

"Yelena, I'm gonna kill you," Kate muttered as they pressed together in the suddenly-not-unoccupied dorm shower. <- Muttered sets the tone of the whole line and what comes after in this case as a drabble-opener because we have no other context to show the reader how she's speaking. She could be yelling it. She could be texting it! She could be saying it as she's literally committing murder. We don't know because it's the scene-opener. It's fine to use an illustrative tag when it's opening a scene because you're grounding the scene into a context. It also doesn't add anything more to your wordcount than the less-illustrative "said" would.

"Yelena, I'm gonna kill you," Kate said calmly as she looked at the arsenal that appeared in her apartment overnight. <- Again, you can use an adjective here because it defines the tone of the whole scenario for the reader in a way that NOT using the adjective leaves out. There is no indication otherwise what Kate is feeling or how she is reacting in seeing an arsenal in her apartment, and in a way, saying something "calmly" is counter to what the reader expects from both what Kate says and the situation in which she's saying it. It adds a word to your wordcount, but it's a GOOD wordcount expenditure.

"Yelena, I'm gonna kill you." Kate clenched her hands into fists, trying not to succumb to the urge to grab some blonde hair and yank. <- You can also avoid using dialogue tags and/or adjectives at all by utilizing your verbs and putting those into context, in this case "trying not to succumb to the urge to..." This adds the most words, even though you're taking out the dialogue tags, but it also gives you more space for imagery and can be great for tone.

ALSO, giving yourself a 100-word limit is excellent practice for training yourself out of using phrases like "the dark-haired boy" or "the verdant green orbs," because they're fucking longer than "Jesse" or "his eyes." Be specific, not poetic, unless poesy is the whole point of your particular drabble.

5. TONE TONE TONE TONE TONE. The single biggest way to eliminate extraneous words and tell a complete story/scene/beat is to know exactly what, who, and how you're writing about. You should ideally be able to write a drabble in just dialogue, no dialogue tags or narrative, and still have it be clear which character is saying what, if you're writing fic and your readers know the characters already, yk? Like, if you can capture the idiosyncrasies of your characters in concise ways, that's the best way to keep your wordcount down. Not every character ducks their head and blushes when they're feeling shy, not every character speaks in grammatically proper Writer's English, etc. Writing each character's behavior and/or speech patterns as they actually are in the show/movie/book/whatever is a GREAT way to keep your wordcounts low AND practice writing in different tones and voices. Plus, it's fic; people are probably reading it because they like the characters, and you should want to have it feel like the characters, yk?

But tone is also the structure of the drabble. A short, staccato drabble is going to have a disjointed and fractured feel to it, so it fits a character whose mentality is disjointed and fractured. A beat from a really sensuous sex scene will probably involve longer sentences with more sibilant adjectives and slow, soft pacing to get between clauses (whereas a really hard fucking scene will be shorter sentences and more consonants). Semicolons and em-dashes and ellipses can be your friends if you use them properly--ending a tense drabble with an em-dash leaves the reader hanging on the precipice, where ending on an ellipsis lets them tumble over. USE YOUR WRITING CRAFT. Study writing craft! And then use it!

So overall, just treat drabbles like you would treat any other piece of writing: with care and respect to your readers. Don't over-promise and under-deliver; you literally cannot set up and execute a wild AU in a drabble, so don't say that you're going to do that. What you can do in a drabble is show a scene. So SHOW it.

Use every one of your 100 words on purpose.

#writing #**writing #fandom #fanfiction #drabble #drabbles

[megsironthrone]

On Wings of Dragons

Based on this request: Hi. :) I was wondering if you could write with Viserys? Inspiration from the drabble you wrote for me earlier. Perhaps where they still have the dragons and finally have conquered the 7 kingdoms? :D from @xwennie

Here you are, lovely! I decided to take the drabble I wrote you, use it for the first part, and then expand on it! *Familiar Characters are NEVER mine!*

Warnings: AU-ish. Angst, blood, violence, death. Dragons. Fluff-ish

Pairings/Characters: Viserys Targaryen x fem!reader. mentions of Joffrey and Cersei.

Viserys gaped at you in disbelief. This was not what he'd been expecting to come back to after storming out during a disagreement. He'd expected you to be asleep or crying or something. But that was absolutely not what he returned to. You were still sitting in front of the fire where he left you. Only this time, you weren't alone.

"What are those?!" he snapped, gaining your attention once more. You looked up at him with surprise in your eyes. "Dragons," you whispered, "They were real. The eggs weren't decorations at all. They were real eggs." Viserys couldn't believe it. He was the dragon! Targaryen by blood! How was it that you had been able to hatch dragon eggs and he hadn't?!

Something in Viserys' gaze must have told you what he was thinking because you got up, cradling one of the two dragons to your chest and walked over to him. "They are ours, Viserys. Yours and mine. And with them, nothing will stop you from winning the Iron Throne."

You handed over the tiny dragon before stooping to pick up the other one. Viserys held the creature in his hands, letting his violet eyes meet those of the dragon. It almost looked like it was smiling at him. Viserys chuckled softly to himself. It seemed like he wouldn't need Drogo's army after all. All he needed were his dragons and you.

*time skip*

Viserys felt the wind whipping through his platinum hair as he rode his dragon across the sea. He glanced over to see you on the second one. You grinned at him. The two dragons had grown quickly, but Viserys had raised them with help from you. They were obedient only to the two of you. Anyone else made them wild and untamed. And nothing made them happier than the daily training in flying. Now, though, it was different.

Now, you were flying across Westeros, toward King's Landing. It had been you that had pointed out Daenerys pulling away from him. You were the one who warned him of her possible betrayal. That had been the catalyst for Viserys' decision to gather whatever belongs the dragons could carry and fly to the nearest seaside city. There, Viserys had purchased a small fleet of ships. They had sailed underneath the flying dragons. One more step toward the Iron Throne even if the journey hadn't quite gone the way he'd planned.

After arriving in Westeros, the rest seemed simple enough. Take over Storm's End and what remained of Stannis Baratheon's army. Then, head for King's Landing, gathering more soldiers along the way. By the time Viserys was ready to take on Joffrey, there was no stopping him. With his newly acquired army, your support, and his dragons, there was no way Viserys could lose.

"Give Joffrey a chance to surrender, my love," you told him softly as you landed the dragons just outside the gates of the city. You couldn't destroy the city. Then who would you rule? You were the voice of reason for Viserys. You were the reason he knew he wouldn't go mad like his father. Viserys didn't reply, but you knew he'd heard you.

As expected, you were greeted by the Gold Cloaks, all of them ready to run you through on Joffrey's orders. Viserys didn't pay them any mind. He had the upper hand and he knew it. "I have come to offer you the chance to surrender. You will relinquish the Iron Throne to me, as is my right. Do that, and there will be no need for bloodshed." His voice was deceptively sweet, but you knew better. That was the voice he used when he was fighting to keep his inner dragon under control.

Joffrey stared at him for a moment before scoffing. "And why should I do that?! You have come here with a stolen army I'm certain would gladly fight for me for the right price." You placed a hand on the back of Viserys' arm. No one else could see it, but Viserys recognized your support.

"I have two dragons circling the city from above. I could destroy you and the city in a storm of dragon fire and blood and bone, if I so choose. For the sake of honor, I chose to offer you this chance. I suggest you take it." Joffrey looked ready to soil himself at Viserys' threat. He knew Viserys wasn't bluffing. The question was, would he surrender or would the child king doom himself and the people of Westeros to death and destruction?

Joffrey rose from the throne, gaze shifting between you and Viserys and the people in the throne room. Everyone waited with bated breath to hear what he would say. He opened his mouth to speak, but a thunderous roar was heard overhead. Joffrey practically jumped as he realized that Viserys wasn't kidding. He had dragons and was not afraid to use them. It was only because of you that he hadn't already.

You watched as Joffrey thought about what to do. "I should have my Gold Cloaks remove your head from your shoulders." Viserys chuckled. "Try it, boy." Joffrey nodded his head and you heard the sound of swords unsheathing. Viserys didn't even flinch. In a bored tone, he simply replied, "Sweetest?"

You could feel your lips spread into smile that was almost feral. Without warning, you launched into an assault. The Gold Cloaks were so caught off guard that they didn't know what to do. You managed to take out three before one landed a hit on you. You kept going. You told Viserys that it would be a bad idea to destroy the city. You never said anything about killing a few of the Kingsguard that dared threaten your husband.

You fought until Joffrey screamed at the Gold Cloaks to cease. You were back at Viserys' side in an instant. Joffrey and the remaining guards stared at you in disbelief. "What? You truly didn't think he married me just for my pretty face, did you?" you asked with a laugh, "No. In Viserys Targaryen's army, the only things more deadly than I are the dragons."

"Now that you've seen a demonstration of the power I possess, what is your choice?" Joffrey looked even more pale than usual, all sense of bravado gone. He reached up and removed the crown from his head. He tossed it to the ground in defeat. Cersei cried in frustration as Viserys took a step forward to grab the crown.

"Behold! The Dragon of House Targaryen and the new ruler of the Seven Kingdoms!" he declared. You gave him a curtsey, prompting everyone else in the room to do the same. The smirk Viserys wore was one of pride and you couldn't deny it thrilled you to your core.

"Now, leave me and your new queen! But first, take these two to the dungeons!" Guards wasted no time in grabbing Cersei and Joffrey and escorting them out. Once the throne room was cleared out, you turned to Viserys. He eyed you up and down, admiring how looked splattered in the blood of his enemies. "You did it, my love!" you exclaimed. Viserys grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to him. "Yes. I did. We're back where we belong and I will fight tooth and nail to keep it with our dragons. There will be a Targaryen on the Iron Throne for eternity." He then claimed your lips in a searing kiss, only parting when another roar came from overhead.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @etherealpotter @line-viper @frozenhuntress67 @cd1242 @smalltownbigheart @gruffle1 @igotmadskills

#george r.r. martin #game of thrones #viserys targaryen #viserys targaryen x reader #viserys x reader

[deepspacedukat]

Same anon who asked if you write for Glinn Daro. Could I request a drabble where Daro steals a kiss from the reader before departing the Enterprise? Like, maybe he's been attracted to the reader and he knows he'd regret it after if he didn't at least sneak a kiss before leaving??

I absolutely love this idea! Thanks for the suggestion, nonny! I love me some Cardassians, so of course you can. I’m considering writing a companion piece for this from the reader’s p.o.v., but for now, I hope that this meets with your approval! Cross-posted to AO3 here.

If anyone wants to be added to my taglist or wants to submit a fic request, my ask box is always open! If you want to know whether I write for a certain character, have a look here. If the character you want isn't on the list, I probably just forgot to add them, so please feel free to ask.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Just One

Glinn Daro (ST:TNG) x Reader

Warnings: None, this is fluffy af.

~*~

He noticed the Ensign as soon as he beamed aboard with Gul Macet. There was something about her that sent a little thrill through his neck ridges. Daro felt his lips form a small smile even as his Gul’s words with Captain Picard faded to a buzz in the background. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, even though staring like that was extremely rude. When she saw him looking, she gave him the most angelic smile in return.

That’s when he knew he couldn’t leave without talking to her at the very least. She was...well, perfect. There was tension on the Enterprise, of course, but even that could not dull the attraction he felt towards her. His chance to talk to her wouldn’t come until much later in the voyage, however.

Daro had just been left at the bar by Transporter Chief O’Brien when a light voice came from beside him.

“May I join you, Glinn?” When he looked up, there she was. His mouth went dry and all he could manage was nodding his head and gesturing to the seat beside him. She took it eagerly as he took a sip of his kanar to steady his nerves. “I hope everyone has been treating you alright.”

“Y-Yes, they have. Your civility is...more than we deserve,” Daro stated slowly. “The war was...We should have behaved better.”

“Both sides could have behaved better. That’s what war is: mutual mistreatment for selfish gain,” she said before taking a sip of her own drink. Daro looked at her curiously. This girl wasn’t anything like Cardassians were taught to believe. “If it’s not too personal...may I ask...? Ah, nevermind. It’s silly.”

“I’m certain it’s not,” Daro said placing his hand gently on hers. Once he realized what he’d done, he pulled back as if he’d been burned, but the Ensign didn’t seem bothered by his lack of professional distance. “Please, what were you going to ask?”

She looked at him shyly and her cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink.

“I was just curious about Cardassia. I was wondering what it’s like, but I realize that’s none of my business.” Her words made him smile. She was curious about his home? Well, Daro was more than happy to satisfy that curiosity.

“Cardassia is warm and dry,” he started and her face lit up. The mere sight made Daro feel delighted that he could provoke such a reaction with just a few words. He regaled her with a few modest stories of his home, each demonstrating the beauty of the planet and some aspect of his people’s culture. All too soon, Gul Macet was ordering him and Glinn Telle to the transporter room so they could return to the Trager. Daro and the Ensign had been in Ten Forward for hours chatting by that point. He’d even managed to pull a few stories from her about her home by the time all was said and done.

“May I escort you back to the transporter room?” The Ensign asked when Daro got the call. He stood and offered her his arm.

“I would be honored,” he said with a smile. The two of them walked to the turbolift in no particular rush. Moments into the lift ride, however, Daro knew he couldn’t let this end without doing the thing he had wanted to do since he saw her. “Computer, halt turbolift.”

She looked at him curiously as he caught her hands softly in his and stood facing her.

“If what I’m about to do is out of line, I apologize profusely, but...if I didn’t take this chance, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.” Cupping her cheek so gently, Daro leaned in and pressed his lips gently against hers. She tensed up initially, and he thought for a moment that he’d made a grave error.

But then she just...melted into his arms. The Ensign kissed him back and it was everything he could have ever hoped for. What he didn’t know was that she’d wanted this kiss just as much as he had.

#glinn daro #star trek tng #star trek tng the wounded #glinn daro x reader #deepspacedukat fic #cardassians #the sweetest cardassian

[2jaeh]

LITERATURE LESSON | QIAN KUN

genre: drabble, daddy fic

warnings: mature theme with no smut,

Dilf! Kun, Uni! Reader, bff! Chenle

Words: 1,6k

Chenle invites you to do your internship project at his dads publishing house. But with the bad weather and no one but you showing up to his office, Kun decides to get your advice on his...erotic literature novel.

————————————————————————-

“Do you have an internship set up yet for the final project ?” You asked while you watched Chenle annihilate yet another player on pubg. The two of you being the anti-social best friends that you were, snuck up to his dorm in order to avoid the career day market that was being held at your university.

“Nah” Chenle simply replied as his face neared his phone screen setting up his next kill, “I think I’m just gonna intern at my dad.”

All you knew about Chenle’s dad was that he was always busy and never home whenever the two of you decided to hang out at Chenle’s place during vacations. You watched as Chenle took yet another victory, finally feeling satisfied enough to set aside his phone and give you his full attention. “Why don’t you come with me to my dads place?” He shrugged.

“I don’t even know what your Dad does Chenle”

“Well he’s not a drug dealer or something”

You flung a pillow at him as Chenle giggled erratically, avoiding the pillow and surrendered by putting his arms above his head.

“Sorry...okay well my dad is an author but he also runs a publishing company” Chenle explained and pulled out a few pictures to give you a better idea of how much really went on at his dads office.

You stretched your arms behind you. “Well I am majoring in journalism this would probably look good on my resume”

“Exactly so are you in ?”

“I’m in! I hope your dad likes me.”

You finally found the publishing house and rung the doorbell, praying to God that you weren’t too early and no one was in yet.

After about two minutes the door finally creaked open and there stood a very dashing man, dressed in shades of brown and pair of spectacles that rested on his sculpted face.

After about two minutes the door finally creaked open and there stood a very dashing man, dressed in shades of brown and pair of spectacles that rested on his sculpted face.

“Y/n right ? Come in come in” the man said quickly shielding you from the droplets of your umbrella and offered to hang up your coat.

“Thank you” you smiled shyly, finally warming up in the cozy hallway that seemed homier than you expected.

The man smiled back, pushing back his blonde hair as he held out his hand to you, “I’m Qian Kun, Chenle’s dad.”

“Oh h-hi sir ...uh Mr Qian” you stumbled over your words.

Kun chuckled and waved his hand in front of him, “please please just call me Kun”

You nodded and pressed your lips together as he gestured you to enter the next room and you expected to see one other person but it was surprisingly empty.

“I guess everyone decided against coming into work today” Kun scratched the back of his head, “the weather is extremely bad I told Chenle to also stay back, I’m surprised you’re even here.”

“Well I thought that he would be here...don’t you guys live together or something ?” You were taken aback by your own bluntness, forgetting you were conversing with someone much older than you.

Kun bit down on his lip and nervously adjusted his turtle neck as this was the first time he met any of Chenle’s friends.

“Well I actually live here, Chenle’s mom and I are separated, he lives with her” Kun carefully explained and you wanted to punch yourself for putting the both of you in this uncomfortable atmosphere.

“Oh....okay well are you closed then ? Do I need to like leave ?” You mumbled as your eyes drifted to the mountains of books that lay around.

“No it’s okay you can stay, it’s way too dangerous to be walking out in weather like this, I’ll find something for you to do y/n” Kun smiled sweetly and you felt yourself blush. He was incredibly handsome and so poised. He looked much younger than you expected, and the way he dressed only accentuated his perfect body. We’re you checking out your best friends dad ?

Kun snapped you out of your daydream and handed you a warm cup of tea as the two of you sat in a mini library. Soft indie music filled the room, harmonizing with the droplets that hit against the window from the outside.

Kun made you do a bit of record keeping for one of the latest books that was about to be published by his company. It seemed all too natural to talk to him and because of your common interests in novels, Kun was quickly impressed with how well you held conversations despite being quite young.

“You have more knowledge on Stephen King than any of my employees here you know that ?” Kun quirked his eyebrow at you.

“I love horror novels, I’m not sure why but the adrenaline it gives me....”

“I appreciate his writing but I can’t stand creepy stuff” Kun shook his head, typing away at his desk.

“Well I don’t only read horror I also prefer romance novels but not the sappy kind” you shrugged as your eyes were still stuck on the book keeping sheet, completely unaware that Kun had stopped typing and was looking over at you.

“Oh? Then what kind of romance ?” He quizzed, resting his elbows on his desk and bit down on his thumb.

You were still in your own bubble unaware that the atmosphere had shifted. You had been talking to Kun for almost 6 hours now and it felt like the most natural thing in the world - as long as you weren’t looking directly at him.

“I like forbidden romance, also I know there’s a stigma around them but erotic novels are actually pretty well written”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah I think it’s pretty amazing how writers can capture passion and...lust like that” you swallowed hard as you now felt the tension in the room.

You turned back to see Kun staring directly back at you, his eyes were narrowed as if he were deep in thought.

“Is...is everything okay?” You asked in a small voice. The way he stared gave you butterflies in your stomach, you had to keep reminding yourself that this was your best friends father.

Kun stood up from his seat and rolled his sleeves up as he began rummaging through a box that sat on a counter top near the foyer. He returned and handed you a small booklet, taking a seat on the couch next to you.

“This is a draft for a novel I was planning on writing but ended up scrapping because the...lewd scenes...were too uncomfortable for me to write” he coughed as he watched your eyes scan the paper.

You cocked your head to the side and nodded as you took in word for word before handing back the script, “it’s not bad it’s just not alluring enough.”

“Alluring ?”

“Yeah” you responded and turned your body to face him, “I think when starting off with a passionate kiss, there needs to be more impact”

You took his warm hand in yours and felt your heart do a somersault but you kept your composure.

“May I demonstrate ?” You bit down on your lip and looked up at him.

“As long as it’s okay with you, by all means please teach me y/n” Kun agreed while his eyes fell down to your plump lips.

You neared his face and kissed him softly, nothing too intense even though it felt like you were on fire. The kiss was simple but the way Kun kissed you made you aware of his experience and it was so goddamn attractive.

“That’s practically how you wrote their passionate kiss, it’s good but it can be a lot better” you explained and before you could let go of his hand Kun tugged you a bit closer,

“Well then y/n, show me” he said lowly as he licked his lips.

You responded by straddling his lap and allowed him to shift a bit lower, enough for your eyes to meet his. Kun raised his eyebrow, waiting for your next instruction like a model student.

“Grab my thighs” you whispered into his ear and he listened, immediately squeezing your thighs as you unconsciously let out a moan. Kun smirked up at you as you composed yourself and wrapped an arm around his neck and the other tangled with his hair.

You pressed your lips to his, this time harsher than before and without any instruction Kun took the lead in the kiss and the lesson became the real thing. Kun pulled you closer to his body and when his hand found your ass your gasp allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth, completely dominating you.

It seemed like hours you two were in that position, completely lost in the kiss and each other. Kun felt almost brand new. He was a very reserved person and he would never do something like this but he was enamored by your presence. All he wanted was more.

You finally broke the kiss as you needed to catch your breath. You still sat in Kuns lap, legs on either side of him as you ran your hands down his toned body and bit your lip.

“You know I could teach you more about erotic literature if you want Mr Qian” you purred.

“Well there’s so much I clearly need to learn from you y/n lets get to work.”

#nct imagines #wayv kun #qian kun #wayv smut #nct smut #nct dilf #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #wayv scenarios #chenle #kun smut #kun scenarios #kun imagines

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Pushed Around

Prompt: i looooooove you protective knights Merlin drabbles from over quarantine, the frantic energy of these large children fretting over Merlin is hilarious and so precious (': would you ever write your take on the classic "a visiting knight/noble is a dickwad to Merlin but he doesn't tell anyone bc of either worries of diplomacy or something else and then when Arthur and the knights do find out they have to have a serious chat w Merlin about his priorities and self-worth?" bc,,, it would be awesome

Thanks for the req! I do love this trope...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur, but can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Warnings: uhhh nobles can be dicks

Word Count: 3372

The problem with Merlin is that he doesn’t say nearly enough for all the talking he does. Honestly, the man can ramble on for hours and hours without being interrupted and never say one word about himself. He’s spoken about how Arthur sits wrong for longer than a council meeting for goodness’ sake. And yet in all that time, he’s never said a single thing about himself.

 It would be impressive if it didn’t get them into nearly so many stressful situations that could’ve been avoided had he asked for help.

In fairness to Merlin, servants asking for help from anyone other than fellow servants isn’t exactly normal. In unfairness to Merlin, when has ‘normal’ ever been very high on his list of things to strive for?

 They’ve all gotten fairly used to it. Merlin will be doing something and one of them will notice that perhaps there’s a…better way to do that. Or perhaps he’s doing it with a little less skill or proficiency than he normally does and gods, Merlin, how long have you been hurt for? Merlin will shrug and smile sheepishly at them and say that it’s nothing to worry about. Only Gaius seems to be immune to that, raising the Eyebrow of Disappointment and Merlin will bow his head and let him tend to whatever he’s done to himself this time. The problem is Merlin seems to know this and does all he can to avoid doing these things in front of Gaius. Which leaves the rest of them to struggle frantically to keep track of Merlin while he’s frantically keeping track of them.

 But they’ve gotten used to it.

 Arthur is allowed to be an absolute prat—Merlin’s words, not his—in the mornings, insisting Merlin do all sorts of ridiculously elaborate chores to assess whether he’s hurt himself, whether something’s wrong, or whether he’s done something to upset Merlin more than tossing the occasional boot at him. If Merlin doesn’t snipe back or calls him ‘sire’ unironically, something is definitely wrong and everything is on pause until they fix it. No exceptions.

 Leon, as the closest thing to Arthur’s right hand aside from Merlin, takes every opportunity to stand next to him, regardless of how proper it is. Leon may not be immune to Merlin’s impish little excuses, but Merlin is not immune to the protective-older-sibling looks Leon gives him or the gentle way Leon arranges his cape so that Merlin looks even more inconspicuous behind the copious amounts of red fabric. Leon never says a word, and Merlin would never admit it, but there are times when, if you looked at them from behind, you would see Merlin reach out to clutch Leon’s cape and Leon reach to hold his hand.

 Percival is not a small man. Anyone standing opposite him better think very carefully about whatever they’re about to fight over. Odds are it won’t be worth it. Often all he has to do is stand up and they’re babbling apologies or excuses. Merlin, on the other hand, is a slight man who looks as if he’s always about two seconds from tripping over his own feet. Percival makes sure to stand in front of him.

 Elyan has a way with words. Not that he’s the most loquacious speaker, nor the most forceful, but he’s got a voice that makes people listen. It’s not Arthur’s authority, nor it is Uther’s unmistakable iron, but it is a quiet power. Oftentimes, people don’t seem to respect Merlin. Some go so far as to refuse to remember his name. Elyan’s never had a problem making them see reason.

 Gwaine is not known for being discreet, nor is he especially reserved in demonstrating that he’s here for Merlin, not for Camelot, not for Arthur, but for Merlin. Sometimes Merlin just needs a little reminder that he’s worth fighting for, and not just because he’s fighting for something bigger than himself.

 Lancelot is the only one that can actually get Merlin to talk, reliably. The man can see through Merlin’s nonsense in a way that rivals Gaius. Unlike Gaius, Merlin won’t fight him on it. It’s difficult to get Lancelot to tell the rest of them, despite what he’ll have you believe. But if Merlin looks a little happier afterward, then it’s all fine.

 So yeah, they’ve gotten used to it. What they haven’t gotten used to are the people that go out of their way to make life for Merlin harder.

 “There’s another tournament?” Merlin huffs as he throws the blanket over Arthur’s bed. “Didn’t you just have one?”

 “That was a joust. This is a melee.”

 “You’re all throwing yourselves at each other with various pieces of metal,” Merlin remarks dryly, “what’s the difference?”

 Arthur rolls his eyes as he gets up, glancing out the window to see the approaching knights. There aren’t nearly as many as the last tournament, thank goodness, but that does mean that this one won’t be nearly as easily decided.

 “As long as I’m not cleaning up after all of you this time…”

 Arthur frowns, looking back at Merlin straightening the bed covers. “What do you mean?”

 “Last time. I was working non-stop. Had another knight almost as demanding as you are.”

 “I’m allowed to be demanding,” Arthur says, “you’re my servant.”

 “Mhmm, sure.”

 “No one else is.”

 “You tell them that, sire.”

 “I will. Who was it?”

 Merlin shrugs. “Don’t really remember his name.”

 Arthur sighs, walking forward and resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Yes, you do. That’s what you say when you don’t want to tell me someone’s name.”

 “You don’t know that.”

 “I do,” Arthur says softly, turning Merlin to face him, “so you can tell me.”

 “That’s not how it works.”

 “Sure it is.”

 “No, it really isn’t.”

 “Merlin,” Arthur huffs, “if something is wrong, you know you can tell me.”

 “But nothing’s wrong!” Arthur just gives him a look until he sighs, picking up the laundry basket. “Alright, fine, his name was Tobias, are you happy now?”

 “Yes, I am, thank you.” Arthur gives his shoulder another pat before moving away. “The next time he’s here, I’ll make sure you’re nowhere near him.”

 As it turns out, that doesn’t go as planned. Because Sir Tobias didn’t just sign up for the joust, he’s here for the melee too.

 “Arthur Pendragon,” the man roars, clapping Arthur firmly on the shoulder, “thought you’d seen the last of me, eh?”

“Thought that bruised backside you got from falling off your horse would’ve kept you away.”

 Tobias throws his head back and laughs. “You’ve got spirit about you, lad. It’ll serve you well if you can hold your nerve.”

 “My nerve has never failed me before,” Arthur replies cooly, gesturing up the stairs, “though I’m sure you know that by now.”

 “We’ll see come the melee.”

 Merlin is out of sight, helping the stablehands tend to the horses. As Arthur walks up the stairs, he sees Tobias glance around and huff softly to himself.

 “Is there something wrong?”

 “No, no,” Tobias says quickly as they enter the hall, “just glad to see you’ve not assigned me the same servant this time.”

 Arthur straightens. “Excuse me?”

 “The gangly boy that tended to my chambers last time,” Tobias says, waving his hand, “right awful he was. Glad you’ve fired him.”

 “I see…”

 Arthur does not, in fact, see, but he makes a point to tell the knights not to let Tobias near Merlin.

 As it turns out, they don’t have much of a choice. Arthur needs Merlin to help him get ready, and Tobias is of high enough rank to be near the prince as he does so. Luckily for Merlin, he just has to stay inside the tent.

 Unluckily for Merlin…

 “Arthur,” Gwaine calls from outside, “they need you to come look at the shields.”

 Arthur gives Merlin’s arm a squeeze and steps away, ducking out of the tent. Gwaine leads him over to a table laden with shields, each with a different insignia painted on it. The Pendragon crest gleams in the light, next to the sigils from each of the other knights fighting. None of them has so much as a scratch.

 “Very good, sire,” the attendant says, sweeping them along to finish the final preparations. Arthur follows Gwaine up the hill to where the others are standing, Leon turning and nodding solemnly ate his approach.

 “Are all of you competing, then?” Arthur leans against the wall.

 Leon shakes his head. “Lancelot and I will be sitting this one out.”

 “Not growing weary are you, old friend?”

 “Weary of people attempting to kill you while I’m already engaged in combat,” Leon replies wryly, “and weary of Merlin being the only one able to do anything about it.”

 “They won’t listen to him when he calls for a stop to the tourney,” Lancelot adds.

 “And so you can keep anyone away from him,” Gwaine says firmly.

 “Precisely.”

 They head back down the hill, just in time to see a flutter of movement from Arthur’s tent. Gwaine frowns, rushing forward and throwing it open.

 “Merlin?”

 “I’m here,” Merlin says, getting to his feet, “just fell.”

 Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and reaches down to help him up. “At some point, Merlin, I do have to wonder.”

 “It’s fine, I just picked up something without realizing it was attached to something else.”

 “I see.”

 The rest of the knights glance at each other over Arthur’s shoulder and Elyan stalks off toward a neighboring tent. Leon bows deeply and tells Merlin that he and Lancelot will wait for the others to finish their training before coming to collect him.

 “There’s still a few more days to go,” Merlin says softly, “I don’t see why you all had to come here so early.”

 “It’s to make it fair, give the knights the chance to get used to fighting in the same place.”

 Merlin grumbles to himself as he goes about finishing up. Arthur catches him gently by the elbow as he turns to leave.

 “Are you alright? Really?”

 “Arthur, I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

 Arthur sighs. “I would really like for one of these to go off normally for once.”

 Arthur does not, in fact, get what he wants.

 Not that anyone is particularly surprised that there’s a knight who managed to sneak a poisoned weapon into the training grounds, but someone clips Arthur through his armor and he winces, immediately aware that something’s wrong. Merlin spots it a mile away, because of course he does. The knight is quickly escorted away and Arthur shakes his head, calling for a search of all the knights’ belongings and weapons.

 “You’d think we’d get better about this,” Lancelot mutters as he and Merlin approach, Merlin rubbing his shoulder, “and that they’d stop trying.”

 “At least we caught it before the actual melee.”

 “Merlin, there you are,” Gwaine says, pulling Merlin to his side, “good. Now, you and I are going to have a talk.”

 “About what?” Arthur looks around. “What’s going on?”

 Lancelot just mouths that they’ll be back as Gwaine sweeps them both along the corridor. Arthur brushes it to the back of his mind. That’s not the first time they’ve done something like this.

 It’s the night before the melee. Merlin is late. Arthur paces up and down the length of his quarters. The knights have all vanished hours ago. Merlin is late.

 A knock.

 “Enter.”

 Leon sweeps inside, a stony look on his face. He glances around the quarters and bites back a curse. “Merlin’s not here, is he?”

 “No,” Arthur says, his blood beginning to run cold, “no, he isn’t. Where is he?”

“Gwaine and Lancelot are already looking,” Leon says, shutting the door, “but…sire, may I ask a question?”

 “Always,” Arthur says immediately, “you don’t need to ask.”

 “How long has Tobias been…allowed near Merlin?”

 “He hasn’t,” Arthur growls, hustling down the corridor, “but what has he done?”

 “He was more brazen during the joust.” Leon shoulders a door open. “But now—“

 “Merlin!”

 Arthur rushes forward as Merlin turns the corner. Startled, Merlin barely has time to turn all the way before Arthur’s wrapping him up in a protective arm and turning him back toward the safety of Arthur’s chambers.

 “Where were you?”

 “I was, um…”

 Arthur bites back a curse and hurries faster, Leon hot on their heels. Along the way, they come across Elyan and Percival, coming up from the armory.

 “Arthur, we need to—“ Elyan breaks off when he sees Merlin in Arthur’s arms. “Merlin?”

 “My chambers,” Arthur growls, “now.”

 “What about Gwaine and Lancelot?”

 “They’ll find us.”

 “Guys, whatever this is, it’s fine,” Merlin tries but Arthur simply opens the door to his quarters and sits Merlin down. “Really!”

 “Merlin,” Leon says quietly, “where were you just now?”

 Merlin glances at Arthur. Then back to Leon. “Helping Amelia.”

 “And who were you helping Amelia help?”

 Another glance at Arthur. Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

 “Merlin,” he says slowly, “I need you to answer me honestly, please.”

 Merlin nods, evidently a little taken aback at how soft Arthur’s voice is.

 “Were you helping Amelia because she asked for your help, or were you helping her so Tobias would get angry with you instead of her?”

 The silence that fills the room is more than enough of an answer.

 “I’m going to kill him,” Gwaine announces, kicking open the door, “now where’s—there you are.”

 “Gwaine, I—ah!”

 “Don’t break him,” Lancelot chides gently as Gwaine sweeps Merlin into a hug, “he’s probably still hurt.”

 “Hurt?” Arthur looks from Lancelot to Merlin. “Merlin—“

 “It’s fine.”

 “Can you allow us to be the judge of that,” Leon asks, settling a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder and moving him away, “please?”

 “It’s just a few bruises, he doesn’t even hit that hard.”

 “Not exactly helping your case here,” Gwaine snarls, stalking toward Arthur.

 “Merlin.”

 “…why’re you guys so upset?”

 Arthur winces. Merlin looks back and forth between them.

 “No…really, I don’t—I don’t understand. You lot hit me.”

 “Not like that!”

 “It’s fine, I don’t—“

 “This isn’t fine, Merlin, you’re being hurt.”

 “So?”

 The room falls silent. Leon draws back as if Merlin reached out to smack him across the face. Percival bows his head as Elyan bites back a curse. Lancelot stares at Merlin like he’s grown a second head. Gwaine looks at Arthur.

 Arthur’s chest clenches so painfully he fears he’s going to have to send for Gaius. Merlin…Merlin doesn’t believe that he’s worth worrying about when he’s hurt? Merlin doesn’t care that he’s getting hurt? Merlin is letting someone hurt him?

 “Merlin…”

 “What?” He looks around at all of them in confusion. “What it is? Why do you all look so…so…”

 “Upset?” Leon tilts his head. “Because you just told us you don’t think you’re important.”

 “But…this isn’t that big of a deal. It happens all the time. Why is this time any different.”

 “How often,” Lancelot says, “would you say this happens then?”

 “Every time there’s a tournament.”

 “Every tournament,” Leon repeats quietly, “there is a knight that does this?”

 “Sometimes more than one.”

 “And you…let them?”

 “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

 No.

 No, no, no, this isn’t right.

 This isn’t right.

 Merlin is the man who waltzed right up to Arthur on his first day in Camelot and told him to stop being a prat.

 Merlin is the man who spat in Uther’s face as often as he could.

 Merlin is the man who demanded that everyone is treated as a person, be they servant or noble or royal.

 This is wrong.

 “Merlin,” Arthur manages, “Merlin, of course you have a choice.”

 “If I don’t do it, they’ll hurt someone else. And I’m used to it.”

 “But you never should’ve gotten used to it,” Arthur cries, rushing forward and grabbing Merlin’s shoulders, “damnit, Merlin, why don’t you protect yourself?”

 “I’m fine, Arthur.”

 “You’re letting yourself get pushed around and beaten by someone, you’re not fine.”

 “I have to put up with you, don’t I?”

 Arthur burns.

 Something in his chest squeezes so tight it breaks. He takes his hands off of Merlin like he’s been stung, backing up until he hits the poster of his bed. His mouth is open in shock and he can scarcely draw breath.

 Merlin thinks…Merlin…did he do this to Merlin?

 “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” Merlin is saying far, far away, “it’s not like I’m not…why’re you all looking at me like that?”

 No, no, Merlin is Arthur’s Merlin, he—he’d never hurt his Merlin, he’d never—no, he hasn’t—but—Merlin—

 “Arthur, are you—are you crying?”

 This is Arthur’s fault. This is Arthur’s fault, isn’t it, he’s messed this up, he’s messed Merlin up, he’s ruined it—he’s ruined everything.

 “Sire,” comes Leon’s—is that Leon’s?—voice from somewhere to his left, “you have to breathe, come on…”

 Arthur gasps, the air burning the inside of his throat. He does it again, frantically blinking to clear his eyes. Tears stream down his cheeks—so he did start crying—as the image of Lancelot and Gwaine talking to Merlin swims into view in front of him. Merlin’s brow is furrowed and he keeps shooting concerned looks Arthur’s way.

 “I never meant—“ Arthur swallows— “I never meant to hurt him. I didn’t—I never meant any of them, I—“

 “Shh, sire,” Leon murmurs, “we know. Nothing is simple right now.”

 “But that’s not what Arthur does,” Merlin protests, “he—is that why you guys are so worried?”

 Merlin turns and flies at Arthur, hands immediately coming up to cup his cheeks and numb away his tears, muttering all the while.

 “That’s not what I meant, Arthur,” he babbles, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—you’re not like them, I just—that’s what I’m used to, I didn’t know that there was a difference—“

 “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” Arthur says, gripping Merlin’s arms tightly, “I just—you must believe me—“

 “I do, I do—“ now Merlin’s crying too— “I just—“

 “Alright, you two,” Leon hushes, gently laying a hand on both of their shoulders, “let’s have you two sit before you fall over.”

 The knight guides them both to the bed, sitting them on the edge. They’re no help; they’re too busy crying and clinging onto each other.

 “Now, why don’t you two have a chat, and we’ll be outside.” Leon ruffles their hair affectionately and sweeps the others out into the corridor despite Gwaine’s protests.

 Arthur swallows. “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” he mumbles, “nor do I believe that you’re—a fool or an idiot or stupid or anything.”

 He clutches Merlin tightly. “You’re important to me.”

 Merlin nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you lot, it’s just…that was how the older boys in Ealdor treated me. I got used to it. And it always made sense.”

 Arthur shakes his head furiously. “It doesn’t make sense, Merlin. They were hurting you. People are hurting you. That’s not alright. That’s awful. And I’m going to stop it.”

 “You can’t just fight all the nobles who don’t like me.”

 “Watch me.”

 “Your father will—“

 “To hell with that,” Arthur snarls, “they’re hurting you. And I won’t stand for it.”

 Merlin sighs, slumping forward. Without a thought, Arthur catches him, pulling him closer and tucking his head over Merlin’s.

 “…you really would fight them for me?”

 “Yes, Merlin. I would. And I will.”

 He feels Merlin grin against his shoulder. “You’re going to make Tobias never come back to Camelot, aren’t you?”

 “Perhaps.”

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur #merthur fic #dragonbabbles #fic

[whosnickydude]

A soft dusk

okay so a while ago a posted this Kandreil drabble on ao3 but never really kept writing a 2nd part? but now that’s summer i have more time on my hands and i started writing again, so i guess i’m posting the 1st part here as well?? idk enjoy

CW: panic attack, Kevin has some really sad and harmful thoughts. please take care of yourselves lovies!

Kevin was spiraling. He felt as if his chest was about to explode from the pressure of not getting air through, and he couldn’t get a hold of his feelings.

Six months had passed since Riko’s death. Since the press lurking around every corner, demanding answers, fighting for a statement. None of them were sensible about it. Kevin practically couldn’t go anywhere alone the first month, or he would probably end up being stalked. One time it actually got close to physical assault.

All the while, he was mourning Riko. And he was the only one, it seemed. He felt immensely guilty, for an overbearing amount of reasons. He felt guilty for letting his brother become the sadistic monster he turned into. He felt guilty for not being able to change him. He felt guilty for leaving him. But most of all, he felt guilty for mourning him. It wasn’t fair, not with all that he did to Kevin. The sleepless nights, the feeling of always being a prey, always the second, always with a leash around his neck. He broke his hand because he was having a fucking tantrum, for God’s sake. It was not fair that Kevin still had to feel like shit because of him dying.

He started drinking, after that. More than he did before. It was the only way he knew to numb the pain. The other foxes let him. None of them understood why he felt so sad about his abuser’s death, so none of them knew how to —or wanted to— comfort him. They would throw him a pitying glance and try to do so, but after some times he shoved them off, they started to leave him to himself. So they let him drink. It wasn’t as if they ignored him completely. When everyone went to Eden’s Matt, or Dan, or Allison asked him to go dancing with them. Sometimes he got so drunk that he actually did. Most of the time, though, he stayed on the table while everyone gradually went to the dance floor. They never left him completely alone. Almost every time, Neil and Andrew stayed on the other side of the table, speaking in languages he didn’t know. Probably flirting shamelessly right on his face. However, the only one who stopped him from getting alcohol down his throat was Andrew, and only when he saw that another one would end up with Kevin passing out.

Five months had passed since Thea left him by now. And through text, at that. Apparently, he was making a fool of himself in public every day and it was bad for both of their careers. She didn’t want anything to do with him nor with Edgar Allen. The hypocrite. Kevin was the only one that was always mindful of his surroundings. The only one that acted perfect, that pushed every feeling inside so as to not attract too much undesired attention from the public. But she had it as she wanted it, and Kevin put no resistance against it. They didn’t even see each other and barely even texted or spoke on the phone.

The drinking got worse. The mighty Queen of Exy had fallen, but the only ones who saw it happening were the Foxes. And people who knew nothing about Exy in the darkness of a nightclub in full swing.

Four months had passed since on a Wednesday at 6 A.M., in the middle of his morning run, Neil had found Kevin, alone, near to unconsciousness in the middle of the road to Fox Tower. He had his body on the street and his head on the sidewalk. His face was pressed to the pavement as he sobbed, a half-empty bottle of vodka in his right hand.

Four months had passed since the last time he drank alcohol: he was four months sober now.

It had taken fights, screams, and comforting talks with Abby, but Kevin finally accepted to go to A.A. Neither Wymack nor Andrew would let him alone enough time for him to get near any type of alcoholic beverage. It took a while, but he got to the point that he spent a whole day not thinking about it.

Right now, he would kill for a drink. His mind seemed to have caught up on everything that had happened in the past few months. It was the beginning of term, so everyone wasn’t as free anymore to look out for him. Andrew and Neil had gone out a while ago, probably to the roof, since it was almost dawn. Kevin was left alone for more time than he could manage. The prospect of having to deal with still mourning the death of his worst nightmare, his own mental health, his addiction, and the school year, was simply too much. It was looming over him. He felt as if he was dying.

Maybe it was because he found himself with so few distractions that he started overthinking. Maybe he just opened the wrong Pandora’s box from the rotten depths of his mind. Either way, he was panicking. The rush of adrenaline and utter fear he felt —he remembered— from his time in the Nest was a live wire around his throat. How could he let all those things happen to him? Riko’s abuse, Tetsuji’s beating, the terror, the exposure. Being so vulnerable and ignored while also being right in the spotlight. “Always a commodity, never a human being...”

And then, what? He went running to his father, who didn’t even know he was his father. And he didn’t say anything about it until he was forced to do so. He was a coward. He was a coward, a fucking coward.

He couldn’t breathe. His head felt heavy, his shoulders felt heavy, his whole body felt heavy. Living felt heavy. Maybe he could just lay down where he was sitting on the couch and let himself go. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. His vision started blurring and everything around him was out of focus. Suddenly, there was a warm pressure on the back of his neck, and then another on his right cheek. The world started solidifying back, spinning around him, and he was gasping for air. He was letting out ragged, desperate gasps, his neglected lungs screaming for oxygen.

A face started coming to focus in front of him, but as soon as it materialized it blurred again. Tears were running down his face and he curled his arms around him. The pressure on the back of his neck —a hand, he realized— tightened, and the one on his cheek went up to pull at his hair.

“Kevin, look at me,” he heard someone say. The voice sounded familiar. “Kevin, I need you to breathe.”

The hand behind him stretched up and tangled between his hair as well, pushing his head slightly down.

“Come down, Kevin. You’re safe.”

The voices felt oddly comforting, and his hands flew up to grasp the other two. He was still crying and gasping, but it wasn’t as desperate. Maybe he wouldn’t die today.

At some point during the episode he had shut his eyes tightly, and now he tried to blink slowly, with narrowed eyes. The first thing that he saw was red hair, scarred skin, and blue eyes. Neil was in front of him, looking worried in his own way. His brow was furrowed, and he was chewing on his lip, but his expression didn’t seem quite compassionate.

“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, Kevin,” he said. He showed the motion, exaggerating his breaths for Kevin to copy. And Kevin could only look him in the eyes and comply. Some time passed —maybe minutes, maybe hours— and the panic ebbed. The tears wouldn’t stop falling and his breath was shaky, but he wasn’t hyperventilating anymore.

He was still holding both hands, and he felt the one at the back of his head slip away from his grasp. He looked back and saw Andrew staring at him, sitting on the arm of the couch. Neil was sitting on the coffee table in front of it.

“I’m... I’m sorry, I just...” he started, but couldn’t finish.

Andrew didn’t look away from him. His face didn’t demonstrate any emotion, but he still wasn’t looking away. “What happened, Kevin?”

“I...” He sighed. “I started overthinking, and I really wanted a drink, and I... I guess it just went down from there.”

His voice was small and he hated it. He felt stupid, he couldn’t be left alone with his thoughts for two fucking seconds because he started falling to pieces.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Well, don’t be,” Neil said. “It’s only natural for these things to happen.”

Kevin wasn’t really sure what he meant by that, but he didn’t have much time to think about it because then Neil was standing up and going to the kitchen. Kevin looked back towards Andrew and saw him lighting up a cigarette and walking to the desk next to the window.

“Go change your clothes, Kevin,” he said, looking out towards the campus. “You’ll be itchy until you do, and you probably drenched all that in sweat anyway.”

He was probably right, Kevin thought, but still glared in his direction. Only because it was in his nature and he felt better already; Andrew wasn’t looking at him. Though he probably knew Kevin would glare at him. Giving no response to the blonde, he stood up and went to the bedroom to change into his pajamas. Andrew was right: the sweatpants felt like heaven on his skin. He closed his eyes and brought his hands up to rub them. He was feeling sleepy all of a sudden. The panic attack had drained all the energy from him, and his muscles hurt everywhere.

He went back out to the living room, yawning, and found Neil sprawled on one end of the couch with his laptop on his lap and a cup of coffee on hand. Andrew had one too where he was still sitting on the desk, and there was another one on the coffee table.

“Is that for me?” Kevin asked, sitting down on the other end of the couch. Neil looked up at him from his laptop and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“No, Day, I felt like having two cups of coffee,” he said. They fixed their eyes on each other until Kevin decided to take the cup. Neil seemed satisfied with that and looked back to where he was browsing something. A few seconds later he clicked on something with a flourish and put his laptop on the coffee table. It was a Trojan’s game they had already seen many times.

Kevin stared at Neil, but the boy just kept watching the beginning of the game. He saw Andrew moving to stub his finished cigarette on the window sill and light up another one. The last rays of sunshine and the street lights drew shadows all over his face. He breathed out the smoke and Kevin saw it disappearing in the wind. He looked back to the game playing on the laptop and brought his knees to his chest. He sipped on his coffee, and it was sugary sweet. But he could allow himself that, at least for today.

#aftg #kandreil #kandriel #andreil #kevneil #kandrew #wip #i just love them #this is entirely self indulgent #so yeah don't expect much #panic attacks #hurt/comfort #a soft dusk

[ginnympotter]

Drabble prompt: Dad!Harry comforts one of his kids (any age) when they feel hurt/upset by something. Maybe he tells them a little about his own childhood. I am a sucker for this family fluff.

I have no idea if this is good or not but I felt a certain type of Way while writing it so maybe it is. THIS BECAME MUCH (MUUUCH) LONGER THAN I EXPECTED LOL I APOLOGIZE BUT HOPE YOU LIKE IT :) James is 10, Albus 8, Lily 6 :)

Harry’s favorite part of the day has always been walking in through the door after work. The hugs around his legs from his excited children, the glowing smile from his wife and the feel of her greeting kiss. He had a particularly boring and arduous day at the office, and although Ron dropping in to have lunch with him and Hermione was a nice consolation, he was as eager as ever to apparate back to Godric’s Hollow and see his little family. 

But when Harry opened the door, relying on the usual routine to lift his spirits, his stomach dropped and he groaned at the sound of two familiar voices shouting upstairs, remembering the alternative but just as frequent routine of sibling chaos. As he made his way through the entrance he only saw Lily, his six-year-old daughter, in the sitting room, lying on her stomach and coloring, singing under her breath. She noticed him as he began walking over, hopped up from the floor, and ran over to him. Harry dropped his briefcase and bent down to be level with her as she jumped in his arms and cooed, “Daddy!”

“Hi, Lils,” he replied, kissing the top of her head and hugging her tightly. “Where’s your Mum?”

As on cue, Ginny scurried down the stairs. “Oh thank Merlin,” she sighed in relief. Harry let go of Lily and stood up to meet his wife, whose smile was more pained and exhausted than anything. “Can you go up there, please?” she asked before leaning in to kiss him fleetingly. “They’ve been going at it for a quarter an hour, it’s driving me spare. I’ll take care of dinner.”

“No problem,” he told her. “What happened?”

“Al accidentally set James’s training broom on fire,” she told him casually as they watched Lily, apparently uninterested, walk back toward her drawing and plop down on the floor. “While James was riding it.” At the look on Harry’s face, she laughed and quickly added, “He’s fine, he’s fine, nothing happened. I put it out right away.”

“And we’re sure it was an accident?” Harry asked skeptically.

Ginny nodded. “I saw it happen, we were in the yard. James was provoking Al, you know, the usual. Both on their training brooms and James was saying that Al couldn’t go up as high as he could, or as fast, and as James was demonstrating this Al looked like he was going to combust, and then-” she made a small noise to resemble an explosion.

Harry took off his Ministry robes and hung them up by the door as Ginny continued. “I put the fire out right away, then James landed and practically strangled Al, I separated them and told Al to take a shower while I told off James for provoking him and the subsequent attack, but as soon as Al got out they started going at it again.”

Harry sighed as he heard the two of them talking over each other from above. He moved back toward the staircase and kissed Ginny again. “I’ll handle it.”

“Just tell James to shower when you’re done before dinner, please.”

“Will do.” He began to ascend to the second floor, and as he reached the last step he saw James standing at Albus’s door frame, playing with a training snitch.

“That’s not true,” he heard Albus say, his tone deadly. “That’s a lie. I don’t believe you.”

“What’s a lie?” Harry piped in as he reached them, taking the snitch out of James’s grasp and pocketing it.

James spun around quickly on the spot. “Dad!” James shouted, not in excitement to see him, but in a tone that suggested he knew he was about to get told off again.

Without preamble, Albus said, “James said I won’t be accepted into Hogwarts if I keep doing accidental magic.”

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t be,” James mumbled. “I said you might not be. There’s a difference.”

“But you’ve done accidental magic, too!” Albus retorted, his face blotchy and red. “Mum said so!”

“Yeah, but none that almost hurt my brother!” he emphasized, glaring back at him pointedly. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Al shouted back desperately, looking up at his father. “I didn’t!”

“I know you didn’t, Al,” Harry reassured him. He looked at James. “You. Stop antagonizing your brother. You know that’s not true; of course Al will still be accepted to Hogwarts. And if you don’t quit it I might just write to Professor McGonagall before your birthday telling her to throw your letter into the fire. Clear?”

James gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t test it,” Harry warned him. “Now, enough of this. Your mum is making dinner and there’s no use in fighting anymore. The both of you, apologize.”

His two sons stood there, arms crossed, neither looking at the other. Finally, James spoke. “Sorry for lying,” he said quietly.

“And?” Harry prodded him.

“And,” he whined, “for making fun of your training broom, which used to be mine, anyway, so I guess that was stupid.” He looked up at his father for approval, but Harry kept his eyebrows raised. James groaned. “And for tackling you after Mum put out the fire.”

Harry nodded at James, who smiled. Albus spoke quietly, too. “I’m sorry I accidentally set your broom on fire.” He paused, then looked up at James. “I really didn’t mean to. I was just angry, and it just...”

“Happened,” James finished for him. “Yeah, I know. S’okay.”

Harry smiled encouragingly at both of them. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it? James, go shower, then meet us downstairs for dinner, alright?”

“Sure thing, old man!” James saluted, then ran and slid to the loo, slamming the door behind him. 

Albus sat down on the edge of his bed, his shoulders sagging. Harry walked in and placed himself beside him, putting an arm around him. “You still upset?”

He nodded, staring down at his feet. Harry waited for Albus to collect his thoughts. “Do you think I’m bad, Dad?” he asked in a small voice.

Harry’s heart broke, just a little. “What? Of course not, Al.”

“But...what I did...I know it was an accident. But it was bad.”

“Things like that used to happen to me all the time,” Harry told him.

“But you always told us about ending up on roofs and having your hair grow. And when you set that snake free, which was a good thing!”

Harry laughed. “I’ve told you about Aunt Marge before, haven’t I?”

“I think so.”

“Well, I never told you lot this story, because I didn’t want to encourage James,  so keep this between us for now, alright?”

Albus looked up at him, curious. Harry went on. “The summer I turned thirteen, Dudley’s Aunt Marge came over the Dursleys’. And she was not a very nice lady, saying things about my parents intentionally to get me upset. And just like with you today, my anger got the better of me. I couldn’t control it, and well...I sort of blew her up.”

His son’s eyes, so like his own, widened in shock. “Blew her up?”

“Well, inflated her is more accurate,” he corrected himself. “Like a balloon. They couldn’t get her down from the ceiling.”

Albus let out a short snort of laughter. “But you were thirteen? You didn’t get in trouble at school?”

“Not that time, no,” he answered. “I didn’t use a wand, it was an accident, and easily corrected. It wasn’t good either. She could’ve gotten hurt. But I didn’t mean to do it. I would never do something like that on purpose, just like you wouldn’t light your brother’s broom on fire on purpose. And you apologized, which was the right thing to do. I didn’t even do that with Aunt Marge! But maybe I should have. Do you think I’m bad?”

“No!” 

“Well then, you can’t think you’re bad either,” Harry said simply, ruffling his hair. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Albus responded before leaning in and hugging his father.

Harry hugged him back. “Come on. Let’s get downstairs and help Mum set the table.”

After the table was set and Harry helped Ginny finish up with the mashed potatoes, James came stomping down, gave his father a delayed yet warm hug, and then went to bother Albus again as if nothing at all happened, asking if he and Lily wanted to see a trick. Harry and Ginny laughed, and Ginny put a hand on the side of Harry’s face, tracing the lines there, her smile glowing. “Hard day?”

He smiled back. “Much better now.”

#harry potter #hp fanfic #ginny weasley #albus severus potter #james sirius potter #lily luna potter #pre-epilogue #post-war #drabble #one shot #dad!harry #harry potter / ginny weasley #hinny #harry potter x ginny weasley

[xparadisexlostx]

So Idk what possessed me to write this. I wrote it all in one go and it is in desperate need of a proof read and probably and edit... but I doubt I’ll ever do that lol. I’m tired and I’m getting a headache and I still have drafts to work on, so I’m just gonna post it before I lose confidence and hide it like the many, many other drabbles I’ve never posted.

I don’t know why I wanted to write this in first person. That usually annoys me, but for some reason it just sounded right in this case.

So this drabble is primarily about Beck and Cora, how they meet, and the relationship they have. Obviously I did a LOT, if not too much, condensing because otherwise this never would have ended. 

For context, Cora is Beck’s sort of adopted mom. She his a centuries old witch who was possessed, years ago by a spirit of hospitality. Over time the two merged into one being and that is why she’s pretty much immortal. Because of what she was she was made an outcast by her own people, the clan of the Grey Owls. Here is her face claim. 

_____________________________________________

A long life makes you accustomed to loss. You learn people are better at a distance. Far enough away that you can’t really make out their faces, and their voices turn to echoes by the time they’re in your ears. Any closer than that and you risk the pain that comes with a proper meeting. I found that out the hard way when Hattie passed. 

It was agonizingly slow. At first she just needed a bit of help with getting up after a long day in the garden. And then she couldn’t go as far on our evening walks. Eventually she couldn’t make it out to tend the flowers that she loved so dearly, and she forgot the names of the dairy goats we’d raised by hand and bottle. And when I saw Death come peacefully across the border of the Living Dream, shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight and invisible to my love, I lifted her up in my arms and carried her out to the fields of flowers. She didn’t remember my name, but she held me close to her with what dwindling strength remained in her arms, and laid her head on my heart while I whispered a silent goodbye.

We had never had any children. Back then we only escaped the scandal of being together by living on my family’s land and growing or making most of what we needed. People in the towns whispered, but they let us be so long as we didn’t make too much noise. That wouldn’t have been any life for a child. Children need community, friends, and more love than just two mothers could bring them. The mortals would have never accepted a child of ours, and the witches had cast me out years before on account of what I was---what I am.

I buried Hattie in the flowerbed, and I left my home after that. The place I had been made, where I had settled for three centuries, had nothing to give me but pain. Even England reminded me all too much of what I had lost. I was alone, and I imagined that somewhere else I could find a place where I was content with that once again.

And I did. In a cottage deep in the Sierra Nevada mountains, I found the peace that had evaded me for so long. People stopped by in the occasional way: lost travelers, rapscallion youths, the occasional farmer looking for good dairy stock. That was the way for well over a hundred years. It wasn’t until the storm of ‘01 that it all changed, that I noticed the pie I was cooling on the windowsill was gone, and there was only a small muddy handprint in its place.

In the afterglow of a lightning strike I saw him there. A great, hulking bear, tall as the horizon, pale as a fresh pressed bedsheet, illuminated against the black sky. On his head were horns made of trees, and his claws were gnarled roots. On his back he carried a forest with a heart-tree that glowed gold. My brother, older than me by millenia, scarcely seen but ever familiar, always present. He looked from me to the barn, and stared, transfixed, by whatever he saw, and then he was gone.

I pulled on a raincoat and stepped into my boots, and raced across the yard to the shelter of the barn. The goats stirred in their pen, and the chickens let out a low squawk of protest as the building flooded with light. I found my pie in the back stall and a trail of blueberry pawprints leading away from it and into a pile of hay, where I found a small, trembling kit, little enough to fit in my one hand.

She shook like a leaf, whining up a terrible storm, as I tucked her beneath my coat and took her into the house. The promise of a proper meal convinced her to turn back into the girl I already knew she was, but she still shook so hard that she lost half of every bite she tried to take. I might have scolded anyone else for stealing, but she was so slight, too small and slender for a girl her age, and she was covered in mud and briars and sticks that matted in her golden hair. And when I put her in the tub to scrub her clean I saw the bruises and the cuts that no branch had inflicted. 

Looking back on that night I never had the chance to hold her at arm’s length. From the moment I plucked her out of the hay and pressed her to my heart, she was mine. I couldn’t keep her. The Fox Bitch wouldn’t allow it. And no one would listen to me when I told them of the heinous crimes Elea Tandy was committing against her own kin. No one cared when I complained of the local coven teachers casting her out. 

I made myself content with what I could have, and I taught her what an old witch could when she escaped that awful house and made her way through the forest to me. I showed her how to sew up a skirt as well as a wound, and taught her what the woods had to offer when her mother denied her supper. When she couldn’t read my spellbooks I taught her songs and rhythms to help her remember words and order. How to milk a goat, how to shear a sheep, how to tie a good and proper knot, and how to cook anything you found or caught. Our time together didn’t always last long, and when she left I felt it like a stab to the heart, but she was mine. The baby Hattie and I never got to have, filled with more kindness and curiosity and life than anyone else I had ever met.

And I ought to have known by the sight of my Brother what she was, and that she could not belong to me, or to anyone forever, but it wasn’t until months later, when I saw him again, watching her ride through the woods with a wild abandon, that I understood. 

Feral. A term that makes every parent clutch her pearls and shiver in fear, even though they barely know what it means. Feral witches are born to leave. They are only a brief bridge between the Dream Realm and the physical, destined to merge once more with the Nature Spirit from which they came. 

She was not mine to keep, but I held on.

I held on in agony as she ran off, desperate for freedom and adventure and a respite from the violence of her home. I smothered her in loving arms every time she came back. But she came back less and less. It was too dangerous, and every time she risked us both. I told her I didn’t care, and that I wasn’t afraid of Elea Tandy… but I knew that she was.

She was right to be.

Even I had never imagined Elea could be so vile and twisted as to kill a familiar. And to make a child watch… It turns my gut even to think of it now. I thought it would be the death of her, and it likely would have been if her brother hadn’t turned on their mother himself. He tried to bring her back to life, and so did I. But there was nothing but fathomless despair behind those blue eyes. I finally had her safe beneath my roof, and she was dying in my arms just like Hattie had. No amount of love could ever replace what she had lost when Dawnbreaker had been hanged before her eyes.

After ages of lifelessness, she eventually became restless in her grief, and I imagined I was witnessing her end. I put her in my car and drove her as deep into the wilderness as I could, and when I wrapped my arms around her I said that same silent goodbye. I barely made it home before my own sorrow and anger threatened to drown me. She was too young, I thought, and how unfair it was that she should die having tasted so little happiness, having felt so few kind touches. Brother would care for her upon her return, but why had he ever allowed her to come from the womb of that wretched woman? I had gifted her all the love that I could, and it didn’t feel like nearly enough in the face of all the pain she had been put through.

I hated him for that. Perhaps I still do.

I left California the same way I left England, distraught, and purchased new land on the secluded shores of Lake Erie. I told no one where I went, and no one would have ever asked. 

When I saw the golden horse upon my lawn some years later I thought it was a reflection in the Living Dream, a spirit of what once was lingering, but the girl upon its back was no longer a child. Even at a distance, even after all those years, I knew her face, and when she ran into my arms I held her tighter than I ever had before. 

She was alive and more vibrant than I’d ever seen her---all golden curls and smiles and a wild glint in her eye. We rode horses on the shoreline and sang foolish songs around a campfire. She told me stories of where she had been and everything she’d seen as she wove crowns from wildflowers. The next evening she showed me the scars where the mountain lion had nearly ripped her life away, and then demonstrated her new form with such ease that I felt my knees go weak. Even at such a young age the power swelled around her.

Feral. The very thing that had made other witches reject her had allowed her to thrive. In the wilds she had found the peace and happiness that others had so cruelly robbed her of. And I felt a pride blossom in me that I’d never felt before.

She left me again, as I knew she would, as was her nature, but this time I didn’t feel grief. For as long as she was on this Earth, she would return to me. That much I was certain. And that much has always been proven true.

Now, without the fear of her mother’s viciousness, she comes to me more frequently, and she can linger in my house as long as her wild spirit will allow. Our time together isn’t so rare… and yet I know that it is still brief. 

Each visit I see the spirit grow within her, each year the magic grows stronger. It pulls in more animals, and it bends nature around her without her even noticing it. 

She doesn’t see my Brother when she is sitting upon her golden stallion, basking in the sun as it cuts through the forest branches, but I think she feels him. As the animals gather all around her and play like newborn lambs, as she feels the embrace of the woods around her, I think she feels him watching. Her eyes glisten and she smiles with a fondness that breaks my heart. I think that if she just takes one step she will be lost to me forever.

I call her name when she raises her hand to touch what she cannot see, and with the slowness of a drunkard she blinks her eyes. When she looks back at me in those moments I know she can see across the centuries. She knows what I am. 

Again I call her name. It’s selfish, maybe, to want to hold onto her. Perhaps I do nothing but hold her back. But she smiles at me, and the mist evaporates from her eyes to reveal that mischievous sparkle.

“Come away from there, girl.” I say, beaconing her back toward the house with a wave of my hand and I watch my Brother’s eyes with unbecoming smugness as she presses her golden stallion forward and exclaims “‘Race ya!’” as she charges back home.

#my drabbles #post type: unformatted

[zutaraangtastic]

for the prompt thing how about Ihro giving relationship advice to any of the three, could be preot3relatinship or etablished, i just though it was a cute idea.

Hi this is for the drabble challenge thing, could you write something about katara getting a little jealous of zuko and aang? Could be pre-poly or not I guess! Btw you are awesome

Didn’t originally intend to double up on these two prompts, but they fit well together. Enjoy! - Mod J

They’re washing dishes after the Jasmine Dragon’s doors close for the day, Katara bending water into two basins and Zuko’s uncle burning a block of wood for scrub ash. 

In the South they use soap fats and fishbone scrapers, but it’s interesting to watch a firebender’s method. Iroh heats up the water in the first basin and stirs the ash in it, then takes up a rough cloth and the nearest teacups, dipping them both in the grayish water. He doesn’t let Katara do much of the work for him, despite her insistence that she wants to help.

The scraping – scrubbing – is always the most calming part to her, something she used to throw herself into when Sokka got on her nerves, subjecting her hands to aggressive, numbing repetition that allowed her to think. With enough force, the water usually scraped everything away for her once she learned to control her bending. Still, there was something satisfying about the manual labor, the raw knuckles and wrinkled fingertips.

Unlike her, Iroh doesn’t clean the dishes with any urgency, taking time and care with each cup and spoon. He hands them to her, and she plunks them into the second basin for a final rinse before she lines them up to dry.

It isn’t uncomfortable, being alone with him, but it’s also unusual – normally, her visits with him are visits with Zuko. This one is too, technically, except that Zuko and Aang are still off at Ba Sing Se’s Culture Day festival. She and Aang had run their own stall this year, with Southern cuisine and air nomad drums, and closed a little early so he’d have time to visit the other attractions. Their notoriety had drawn crowds all day, and Katara excused herself to go back to the tea shop instead when they were done. 

Besides, Aang has Zuko to keep him company, anyways. It had been fun to spend the day with them both, but it was like there was something tense underneath it all.

Katara breaks the easy quiet with a quick, deep breath. “General Iroh?”

He laughs at that, not unkindly, but heartily, with his whole belly. “Please, it has been years since my retirement. Allow me to enjoy it. You can call me Uncle, as your friends do.”

“Uncle Iroh, then,” she corrects herself, resting her hands on the edge of the basin while she waits for the next dishes. “Can I ask you something, about Zuko?”

“Ahh. I suppose a little gossip will do no harm,” he says. “What is it that’s on your mind?”

“Do you think he likes someone?”

“Likes someone? Sure! I know he likes his friends. He may still be grumpy sometimes, but I assure you, he was much more hostile before he met all of you.”

Katara smiles, but shakes her head. “No – well, yes, I mean, I’m glad. But I guess what I’m asking is, has there been anyone special in his life? Since Mai?”

“Hmm.” Iroh turns his attention to removing a particularly difficult sugar stain from a cup as he considers her question. “I am afraid it would be a violation of his trust to speak too openly about his personal life, which is to say, if he had a personal life to speak of. He devotes much of his time to his duties, perhaps too much. If he keeps any company in private, I do not know of it.”

“I see.”

Iroh passes her the cup in the palm of his hand, his copper eyes curious. “I don’t mean to pry, but you seem troubled, Katara. Is all well with you?”

“It’s just…” She sighs. “I wish I knew how to read him. There are all these – rumors, and even what I’ve seen for myself, that make me wonder if…if Aang might be better off spending more time with him, than with me.”

She thinks of Aang’s easy laughter, and the way it made Zuko smile more freely, too, the two of them escaping the world for a day with a little less weight on their shoulders. The way Aang’s eyes softened, and the confusing pull on Katara’s own heart, when they watched Zuko hand a raspberry ice cone she made to a small child, his expression kind and indulgent as he urged the little one to try it.

It doesn’t make sense. She loves Aang. And she knows he loves her. But what if she’s holding him back from something else he wants? 

And what does Zuko want? Aang always seems jealous when Katara spends time alone with the Fire Lord, but why does she feel the same when Aang does? She doesn’t even know who’s jealous of who anymore!

Katara isn’t aware of the tears filling her vision until Iroh puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, and his face blurs when she looks at him. 

“You do know Zuko, better than you think, because the two of you are much alike. He is not a selfish man, and he would not do anything to hurt you, or Aang.” 

She rubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand, nodding. “I know, you’re right.”

After a beat of silence, Iroh reaches into a pocket of his outer robe and produces a short cord of braided yarn, unraveling it to the knot. “I have taken up a new hobby recently, and there is something I have discovered.” He begins to demonstrate, taking two of the strands and leaving one out. “If you do not want to use as much yarn, you can make something nice out by twisting together only two pieces.” He pulls the new cord taut, then relaxes it, allowing the gaps to show. Then, he starts over again. “But see, the braid is stronger when made up of all three strands. It does not waver when given slack, nor can it be pulled apart so easily.”

Katara blinks and opens her mouth, then closes it, unsure of his meaning. Is he suggesting that she, and Aang, and Zuko, could all…?

“I can braid, too,” she says, instead of voicing her question. It’s something she learned at a young age, the same as cooking, and washing these dishes, and all the other things men are seldom asked to do. Especially not royalty. Iroh’s humility is refreshing – and not for the first time, she recalls how much Zuko takes after him.

“Oh, do you think you could do my hair sometime? I have tried, but it is a little hard to reach in the back.” Iroh laughs, putting the cord away and taking up the first basin to go drain it in his garden beside the shop. “I am just kidding, of course!” he calls behind him. “I would not ask you to make my head look pretty, because by now, I am pretty sure it is already a lost cause.”

Smiling, she finishes drying the last cups and spoons, and when Iroh returns for the second basin, she says, “Thank you, for your advice.”

“I don’t remember giving much advice – just an old man’s rambling, if my nephew asks,” he says with a genial wink. “But, perhaps I can add this: the best way to know another’s feelings is by asking them.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

While he’s in the garden, Zuko and Aang return, the two of them aglow with the setting sun behind them through the doorway. Aang’s arm is around Zuko’s shoulders, and Katara thinks that beneath the nervous doubt in her stomach, there’s warmth. 

Zuko catches her eye and immediately draws nearer to tell her all about the last stalls they visited before the festival’s closing, and Aang gives her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. For one brief moment, the three of them standing here together, wreathed in the aroma of Iroh’s teas, feels like something perfectly woven.

#zutaraang #zutara #kataang #zukaang #zutaraangdrabblechallenge #mod j #Anonymous

[mshomestyle]

Yay!! This request can definitely be asked then. Sad and odd btw. What if when Oboro died he had a very young daughter that nobody really knew about, and Aizawa got custody of her because he's her Godfather. And years down the road she gets saved by Kurogiri. Idk how that happens, but she recognizes him. Not as her father right away, but he feels familiar. Then she finds out that's her dad and now she's trying to being him back because she just wants her dad again. I hope this isn't a sucky ask.

So, this will probably read a bit rushed, the reason being that currently, I do not write one-shots only drabbles for this blog. Getting this idea into a drabble was a bit challenging. >.< It is a great idea, though, and would be a really good story!

Also, though I primarily write reader-inserts and probably could have just assumed that the main character would be as such, I wasn’t exactly sure, so I did sort of a mix!

Spoilers! Spoilers! MHA Spoilers and Vigilantes Spoilers!

She had been so young when it happened, barely remembering a thing. She knew him, though, or rather a small part of her still seemed to remember. Not many people knew that she existed. Just Aizawa, Yamada, and Kayama, the three that had been the closest to Shirakumo, Oboro, her father. Her mother had wanted nothing to do with her, and her grandparents could only do so much. So, once he became an adult, Aizawa stepped in. He was, after all, her Godfather.

It wasn’t too hard of an adjustment as she was still quite young when Aizawa became an adult. He raised her up as best as he could, knowing exactly what Oboro would have wanted for his daughter. Though, even with a guardian like Aizawa, the young girl still grew up to be like her father. She was charismatic, cheerful, and an incredibly selfless person. Looking at her, could sometimes be like looking at Oboro, himself. It was something that was bittersweet.

[Name] hoped to become a hero one day. She knew that her father died trying to save others, and she wanted his dream to live on in her. Not only that, but being who she was, she knew that she couldn’t just sit still while others were in danger and she had the opportunity to do something. She had gotten her father’s quirk after all, which she was demonstrating now as she was currently comfortable sitting on a low-flying cloud. “What did I tell you about doing that in the house?” Aizawa asked, running a hand through his long black hair.

“It’s comfortable, though,” [Name] pouted trying hard to give a little kitten look-Kitten not puppy, because of Aizawa’s love for them.

“Cute, but not going to work,” Aizawa crossed his arms. With a mock sad sigh, [Name] descended, dusting herself off as she now stood on the floor. “I have a meeting to go to, so I trust you’ll behave.”

“Of course, Uncle Shouta!” [Name] smiled, “But only if you leave me money for take-out.” She batted her eyelashes at him. Aizawa let out a sigh, before pulling out his wallet and giving the now excited teen some money.

“Don’t stuff yourself,” he told her as he headed to the door, “And behave.”

“Will do!” Once Aizawa closed the door, [Name] went to find something interesting to do. It was still early afternoon and the meetings at U.A. could often last until evening, so she had the rest of the day to herself. After some thought, she decided to go for a walk.

It was a nice day out and there weren’t too many people walking around. [Name] did think about using her quirk, but she also knew that she could get in trouble for it. Not wanting to possibly cause a problem for Aizawa, she decided against it. “I might as well get dinner while I’m out,” she thought aloud. There were many restaurants and shopping centers that she knew of, and after much thought she decided to go with ramen.

The walk to her favorite hole-in-the-wall ramen place proved itself to be a far one, but being as it was one of those ‘best kept secret’ sort of places, it was worth it. Since this place wasn’t in what some might call ‘the nice part of town’, many people did indeed overlook it. The food there was amazing, and even as [Name] finally made it, noting the line of people, she knew that it would be worth it.

Tapping her foot lightly, [Name] played on her phone as she waited for her turn. ‘Shouldn’t take too long,’ she thought to herself. ‘And soon I’ll be at home relaxing again an-‘ A loud ‘boom!’ was heard and [Name] quickly turned to look towards where she heard the sound coming from only to see half of the restaurant on fire. She knew that she had to act quickly! She had to save as many people as she possibly could-No, she needed to save everyone!

[Name] looked for the nearest opening to outside, and the second she noticed a window she took a chair and smashed through it. People were screaming and running around, and [Name] worked quickly to make clouds to transport the customers from inside of the building to outside. She knew that she didn’t have a hero license, yet, so she could get into trouble. She just didn’t care at the moment.

As she worked quickly to save everyone, [Name] almost completely forgot about herself, so before she knew it, she began to cough, the smoke starting to get to her. “Almost there, almo-“ Another explosion was all [Name] heard before she saw black.

The sun was setting when [Name] woke up. Quickly, she shot up, hearing sirens in the distance. When she looked around, however, [Name] noticed that she was in what appeared to be an alleyway. “Oh, good, you’re awake.” The young teen shot up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and looked all over until she saw its source. Now, [Name] usually didn’t notice people with mutation quirks in her day to day life since it was like regular people to her, however, this man…He was just a big cloud of black mist with glowing eyes.

[Name] didn’t feel afraid, though, because for some reason he felt almost familiar. “I will take my leave then,” he curtly spoke.

“W-Wait!” [Name] found that word coming out of her mouth before she could really register it. The mist man slowly looked at her. “What’s….Who are you?” He just stared at her, eyes giving away no emotion, and because of that [Name] was starting to regret asking her question. With a shake of his head, the man turned and left.

“Kurogiri…,” Was all he said.

Months had passed since that incident and on the day that [Name] received her hero provisional license, she could not help but to recall it. That man ‘Kurogiri’ had been found out to be a key member of the League of Villains. Why had he saved her, though? Those thoughts only appeared briefly, however, as she went back to celebrating with her friends. More time had passed, and the more it did, the more [Name] found herself becoming a better hero. She wanted to be able to save anyone and everyone, and she would continue to work towards that goal.

Luckily for her, she had herself a golden ticket to private training lessons with Aizawa-Or rather she would bat her eyelashes and give him kitten looks in order for him to give her some extra training. So, heading into the teachers’ dorm after being extended an invitation inside by Cementoss, [Name] went to seek her guardian.

“Well, what did you expect?” she could hear Present Mic’s voice.

“Not that. Not that at all after we were called in.” And there was her uncle Shouta. He sounded as if he was in a weary mood, which made [Name] pout. She hated to think that he had overworked himself.

“So, are you going to tell her? I mean, Oboro was her father, after all, and she knows about him.” ‘Oboro…’ That name. It caused [Name] to stop right in her tracks.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Aizawa scolded Mic, “The last thing [Name] needs to hear is that her father was turned into…well that.” [Name] could feel her heart starting to beat faster.

“Okay, but what if we can get Oboro out of Kurogiri? Then what?” ‘Oboro….Kirigiri….Oboro….Kurogiri….Oboro…Kurogi-‘ It was way too much for [Name] to handle and without a second thought, she dashed out of the teachers’ dorm, nearly running into All Might, who was on his way in.

“Young [Name]?” All Might questioned, though was ignored. [Name] just couldn’t believe that! It couldn’t have been true! There was just no way, no way that her father was-Her mind quickly went to that incident in which she had been saved by him. She had wondered before why a villain would choose to save her. She even debated telling Aizawa about it or not, but eventually decided that perhaps she was saved before Kurogiri became a villain or something of that nature, just anything really to justify it. Now, however, hearing what was said, it only made sense.

Stopping in her tracks at the realization, [Name] thought long and hard about everything that had happened. Everything from what she knew of her father to the incident in which Kurogiri saved her, and now to this. Was he still her father under there? Did he remember her? Did he even know her? [Name] shook her head. There was so much that she needed to know. So much that she needed to find out. Most importantly, she needed to save him from the life of being a villain. [Name] had no idea about the whole situation with him, but she decided that day to get her father back.

#bnha oboro #oboro shirakumo #aizawa shouta #aizawa #my hero academia aizawa #My hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero fanfic #reader #reader insert #drabble #my hero academia dads #mha