I almost can’t believe it, but I’m actually posting two fics within the space of a few days!! This week has been crazy productive.
So this fic is not a Christmas fic, but it is kinda Christmas-y, because I wrote this while listening to copious amounts of Christmas music. It has a very different feel from the last fic I posted, but I hope you guys like it~
Sterek, ~6k words, rated T
It happens on a Monday. Derek stayed up stupidly late the night before, reading a weird German serial killer novel Erica lent him, and overslept. He’s running late, out of breath and a little sweaty from jogging all the way from the subway, and when he yells, “Hold the elevator!” an arm obligingly snakes out between the doors and he slips inside.
The guy who held the door for him doesn’t even look up. He’s slouching back against the wall, scrolling disinterestedly through his phone, his other hand curled around a bouquet of flowers wrapped in crinkly paper. He’s got messy brown hair and a mole right by his mouth, four more in a cluster along his jaw, and, under the scent of cold air and wet pavement that’s clinging to his jacket, he smells—good. Really good. Warm and a little gingery.
The elevator doors slide shut. Derek’s so focused on trying to look at him without letting the guy know he’s looking that it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize the guy just said something. To Derek.
Derek blinks. “What?”
The guy smirks. “Running a little low on caffeine? I asked what floor you want.” He nods at the elevator buttons, and Derek flushes. Right.
The guy leans forward to press the button, and Derek leans in a little after him, trying to subtly smell him again.
735. Teddy never gets to figure out his shape shifting completely so he was often changing his appearance without knowing, nobody did really ever see his face because of this until one unfortunate Quidditch match where he was hit by a bludger. While he was still unconscious, McGonagall was the first to notice he looked just like Remus.
Wow, so first of all I AM VERY SORRY. Especially to the sweet anon that requested this. This took way too long and I am sorry. I spent a while in the hospital, found out I have spherocytosis, and got my gall bladder removed. This means LOTS of makeup work. Yeah lmao I’ll stop whining now. Anyway, here it is! Enjoy! (●´ω｀●)
Request: hey! i was wondering if you could do this prompt? Dan used to pick on the reader in middle school and then they went to separate high schools but now she is in the same college as Dan and she became hot as hell and really popular
Yes! I can certainly try you sweet, patient anon!
The older you got the more you realized confidence is hot as hell. When you were younger you were teased for how you dressed and for being one of the only girls in middle school who didn’t wear makeup. But, come to find out, the most attractive thing people found in each other was confidence, the self love and trust to strut into a room and act like you own the place.
So, that’s just what you did, walking into your first day working in the campus coffee shop. And although the way you carried yourself made you feel sexy as fuck, you had become the queen of makeup and halfway through high school your boobs had finally come in. Just to reiterate, you were a goddess.
Your new boss greeted you, told you a bit more about the campus, and you began; how exciting! Well, not really. Few students trickled in, and you had started to entertain yourself by sitting behind the counter and decorating a binder. You got off in about an hour and would have an hour to be in your first class of the day. You heard the entrance open, but didn’t bother looking up. “Welcome.”
You heard him yelling something, but it certainly wasn’t at you. You looked up, and the stranger was yelling something out the door, presumably to a friend outside, and his back was turned to you. Cute hair, tall, cute bum. Oh, without even seeing his face you could tell he was fine. Suddenly he turned around, catching you looking at his bum, and when you looked up at his eyes you could not believe who it was you were checking out.
He chuckled and you looked back down at your binder. Your middle school bully who you were certain you would never see again just caught you checking out his ass. Splendid. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice who you were?
He approached the counter and you willed yourself to stand and look at him. “Good morning Dan-” SHIT.
He looked a bit taken back but somewhat amused, “Um, what?”
“I said good morning, how can I help you?”
He studied your eyes, causing you to blush a little, then the realization washed over his face. “Oh shit, Y/N is that you? Y/N Y/L/N?”
You groaned, “How could you tell?”
He laughed, “Well you certainly look a hell of a lot different, but your eyes are the same. And that dorky necklace.”
Were you flattered? Offended? Both? “Well, I’m not the same girl you knew back then so don’t pretend you still know me, and I don’t intend on you coming to know me again. How can I help you?”
“Where did you go? I remember my parents telling me you had moved out of the neighborhood.”
“Where I moved is none of your business. How can I help you?”
“Why are you being so defensive?”
The built up emotion within you finally met the surface. “Do you remember anything about growing up? How much you teased me? How you said I was ugly for wearing my hair up and not wearing makeup and how my teeth were gross and how I looked like I dressed myself in the dark and how you felt bad for the guy who’d end up dancing with me at school functions?”
Dan was very taken back and took a second to collect his thoughts, then spoke in a whisper, “You remember exactly what I said? Everything?”
Your gaze shifted from his face to the floor as you quoted him, word for word. “You are the ugliest girl at this school and you will never, ever, have friends if your face remains an instant repellent.”
He looked down at his own feet, and back up at you. “Y/N.” You looked up and were instantly immersed in the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m very sorry for what I said as a kid. I didn’t mean a single word of it. If anything, you were the prettiest girl I knew. When we were friends before I admired how creative and productive and funny you were. I guess I really, really liked you Y/N.”
You blushed a little then gave a smirk, “Just so you know, I have lots of friends, not because I wear makeup but because of who I am. A face doesn’t define who you are, the inside does.”
He gave the prettiest chuckle you had ever heard. “You’re right, I guess I didn’t know that back then.”
“So what do you want? You’re kinda at my place of work and I am assuming before this chat you were wandering in for a coffee.”
“Tell me about your friends.”
You snickered. “I’m friends with everyone, can you believe it? The people love me. How can I help you?”
He laughed. “I was hoping you’d forgive me for what I did back then, and I’d love to become friends again.”
“Forgiven. But you still haven’t ordered anything Daniel.”
“You have got lots of friends now Y/N, but what I want to know is do you have a boyfriend?”
Smile to smile, both of you very genuine. "What do you want Dan?”
do you think you could give us some beautiful upd8 eridans? ;;;___; AHHH such a good upd8, i hope youre doin good
I can try! I was so happy about seeing the lil fishnerd again! At first I planned to leave it at one picture, but then my drawing mojo sorta came back and I wondered: isn’t the last thing he would remember being chainsawed in half? So what if:
Imagine an au where roy and Hayate get bodyswapped for a couple days and Hayate is happy to finally be able to talk like a person and eat people food, and roy is stuck in a small dog body and everybody only feeds him dog food and he's so annoyed
Oh my god I am LIVING. Also, for your consideration:
Hayate gets excited and he knows that humans most of the time kiss with their lips so when he’s overcome by his emotions he gives Riza a bunch of little kisses all on her face so it looks like Roy is holding her and exclaiming, “I love you!” between every kiss and Riza is just there, flailing and trying to get him off of her.
Riza has to tell Roy over and over again that he has to eat the dog food because Hayate cannot have people food and he needs to keep Hayate in shape. Meanwhile Hayate tries to eat everything under the sun in Roy’s body. Unfortunately, he’s developed quite the love for chocolate.
Finding the right therapist has taken me nearly 4 years, but it has been so worth it. He (and I'm astounded my therapist is a HE, I never would have thought considering my past trauma) calls me out when I need to be called out and validates me when I need validation. My message to anyone reading this is to not give up. Keep looking. Find a good therapy relationship. It's worth it. The work and growth you'll achieve is astronomical when you have a good therapist.
prompt: a shy lavellan who wasn't bold enough to kiss him in the fade decides to court solas by sending complimentary messages and anonymous gifts (like tiny frilly cakes and wildflowers and tasty aromatic hot drinks that are not tea).
show it to me in the little things
He is being courted.
It takes a while for him to notice; to put the
pieces together. First there are gifts – edible gifts. Small, frilly cakes in colourful boxes
with pretty bows; little bursts of frivolous beauty that delights him more than he’ll admit. Then one afternoon he returns from his walk to find a steaming mug sitting
at the centre of his desk – hot apple cider that makes his mouth water. A cold, brittle evening a few days later, it’s mulled wine. But there’s no obvious culprit, and when he
inquires with the kitchen staff, no one breathes a word.
At first he suspects Sera, but the treats have not been
tampered with – there are no poisons, no bugs. Nothing that would suggest a
practical joke. But he doesn’t touch the cakes, or the drinks – not at first,
anyway, but then one day there is a cup of hot chocolate awaiting him, thick and sweet-smelling and topped with cream, and this time, he can’t resist.
He doesn’t mention the gifts to the others –
doesn’t ask if they know who might be behind them, in
case word should start to travel. Whoever is sending them appears to desire
their anonymity, and so he keeps their existence to himself, these small
indulgences that remind him a little of home, and a life where he could allow
himself to enjoy small pleasures.
Then, there are notes. Written in an elegant pen but
unsigned, they appear among his belongings – in his rucksack, on his desk, and even one tucked between the folds of his bedroll. A far better surprise than Sera’s
lizards, and he spends an idle hour reading it under the glow of his mage-light
while the rest of the camp sleeps.
It’s a poem. An amateur’s construction, there’s no distinctive pattern to the rhythm,
but the words are heartfelt, and he keeps them with him as they trek across hills
and plains, finding an odd respite in sounding out the words in his head. He
wonders if the sender might be in their travelling party, but there are no more
notes while they are away. It could have been someone at Skyhold, slipping it
into his belongings before their departure, and he mulls over the thought, even
as his eyes drift a few paces ahead, to the bounce of russet hair, and
the trilling laughter that keeps drawing him out of his introspection. Because there are days he thinks the sender might be– but no, he doesn’t
let his thoughts linger long on that, aware that it’s a dangerous path.
Dangerous, because of the hope that accompanies
the idea, that she might harbour the sentiment he feels in the written words, and that she –
He shakes the thought loose, but it’s an itch that won’t
quite go away, and it stays with him long after they return to Skyhold, and the notes keep
coming. These are not poems but short sentences – I saw a flower in the garden today and thought of you. A sturdy stem
and thick, green leaves. Most would call it simple, but there is beauty to be found in simplicity, I think. The next note contains
the same flower, lovingly pressed, and he tucks both note and flower between
the pages of one of his books.
And there are more notes, as the weeks crawl by. Some contain simple descriptions, of the light
filtering through the grand windows in the hall, or the herbs growing in the gardens – I didn’t think anything could grow this far
up the mountains – and a profound melancholy he feels in his bones – sometimes I look at all these smiling people
and I wonder if they smile in truth, or if they are like me, and smile for
small things but cannot muster the happiness to be truly at peace. But I feel peace with you, and that is no small thing.
And he reads them and rereads them until he knows them all
by heart, and there’s no doubt in his mind now that he is being courted,
thoroughly and skilfully, even before he wakes one morning to find a folded piece of paper sitting by his empty cup, bearing five simple words: