#but i have an outline and several several pages of rough notes and ramblings i just need quotes and research to back it up now

[afterthegoldrushes]

if you follow me on storygraph and see me reading if we were villains again despite how much shit i talk about it just know its because im writing an essay about it

[johns-prince]

John also had a lovely mix of masculine and feminine physical traits, though this wouldn't become obvious until 1968. When he was on the skinny side (which I loved, sue me) you could tell how beautifully delicate and dainty his bone structure was, way more than Paul's imo. He had those gorgeous long legs and graceful narrow hips that you most commonly find in fashion models. And I love that until at least 1975, he showcased his body beautifully, especially those legs.

Ironically I feel as if people didn't embrace John's femme beauty as well as they did with Paul. I don't know why. Most people seem to prefer him with the more masculine look of 1966. Which was great as well, he was gorgeous but I am a big fan of the 1968 to 1974 run. Btw, note to fanfic writers: please, show John's body some love, I know Paul is stunning but it's kind of exhausting reading 10 pages about how pretty he is and when it comes to my boy John he barely gets a paragraph 😂

Alright, I feel like I’m probably gonna rub a lot of people in this fandom the wrong way with what I’m going to say but this is my blog and you did send this to my inbox so here we go; At the end of the days these are my thoughts and feelings and I might not articulate them very well or I often ramble till I do!

I have my issues, and a complicated relationship with 1968-70s John Lennon. I love John, and thought him healthy and just right in his body type, basically up until 1968, and it’s spotty onward throughout the 70s. To me, John was naturally masculine looking, there’s not exactly an era or year that I could give you like you gave me [Specifically 1966? What about his teddy boy days? All of the early 60s? Hell even throughout the 70s, to me John still was masculine looking to me] He was a bit awkward in his teenhood, but all the boys were, and gradually grew into his adult body. Boy was built and sturdy, naturally thick and strong. 

So we’re probably split on this, because while you see the positives in 1968-1974/70s John, I only really see the negatives. You say skinny, I say malnourished and/or sickly. Depressed druggie who was pushing everyone and everything he loved away, and becoming pathetically dependent on an individual like Yoko [and the other vultures during that time who were terrible influences] 

George was skinny, John was not well and either starving himself or simply using drugs and alcohol as the basis for his diet. And diets.. don’t even get me started on that, the diets he was on, the unhealthy lifestyle that his wife only seemed to enable and help him get on. 

When I look at George, sometimes I get the need to feed him, like an old Mexican mother. When I look at John, who’d lost an unhealthy amount of weight for what it looked like for his body type, I don’t see delicate and dainty bone structure. I see a man who just, he’s not well, something’s wrong.

I’ll give it to you that 1974 New York photoshoot looked very nice, he had muscle again in his arms, though he was still relatively skinny, he didn’t look sickly, or depressed. So I can give you that period during the 70s, I will give you that [hey he was away from Yoko during this no fucking wonder he looked pretty good here] and that shoot was definitely a model moment, wasn’t it? [Not like he didn’t have many of those moments throughout his life] 

So there moments in the seventies where I think John doesn’t look half bad? Even relatively fine? Certainly, I’m devastatingly attracted to this man, dear God almighty have mercy on my soul yes I am. So I’ll agree that yeah, there were periods during the 70s in which John seemed to hold himself fairly well, I’d still climb it.

But I’m at least willing to admit that when John started his spiraling, in 1968, that he was Not Okay. And I personally believe he wasn’t all that okay throughout most of the 70s too... Maybe my issue isn’t with him being ‘skinny’ as it is I don’t like the underweight/severely underweight look on John, I just don’t. The incredibly unhealthy way he went about losing weight... Physically frail doesn’t fit him, and it only upsets me whenever I see photos of him that show how thin his legs became or how you can see his ribs, just how wasted away he’d look at times throughout the 70s, up until the last days of his life. 

You want a “skinny” or ''skinnier'' John Lennon? A healthy, ‘’skinny/skinnier’’ John Lennon for his body type, is ‘66 and ‘67 in my eyes, and even then it wasn’t a radical change in weight loss; John still looked like John.

And speaking of 1968-1969, or the White Album era; don’t think it isn’t lost on me when I see people making light of John’s unhygienic appearance during the making of the White Album. Boy was depressed and hurting for whatever reason, again, spiraling, and getting lost in Yoko and heroin as a means of escapism and someone to tell him ‘it’s alright it isn’t your fault it’s everyone else’s fault’. Of course he didn’t care much for his personal appearance or hygiene... I will say I appreciate your appreciation for him during that period, instead of getting the whole ‘stinky/smelly rat man.’ Maybe I’m too much of a ‘’stan’’ but I don’t find it very amusing or endearing. 

Don’t find me mocking or ‘’teasing’’ Paul’s depressed ass and his appearance during the breakup period/white album era-- but I suppose it’s because Paul actually tried and wasn’t on hard drugs, and had a good wife, so he was able to wear his depression and struggle with alcoholism a bit better, hmm? I don’t like Paul’s beard simply because I know it was the result of his lack of energy, depression, and falling into the drink-- he simply didn’t feel the need nor had the energy to care for himself, so that’s why he let it grow out. I don’t like it because of that, but that’s as much as you’ll get from me. 

Anyway... Maybe I just don’t see John as characteristically feminine/effeminate as Paul, although he has his moments of acting and wearing clothes that are campy and elegant or give off a softer appearance, specifically around 1968 and throughout the 70s. But otherwise, I can’t agree, John didn’t have the same mixture, or balance of masculine and feminine traits as Paul-- and if it’s only made obvious during the downfall turning point of The Beatles and John (1968), then I don’t think that really counts as a ‘’lovely’’ mix of masculine and feminine traits for the reasons I mentioned. So I’ve got to disagree. John's always come off as much more masculine, or naturally masculine, both physically and characteristically, to me.

You know maybe it’s just the blogs I interact with, but I feel like it’s the other way around. I know I can sometimes come off as aggressive but at the end of the day I don’t necessarily care what one person thinks or believes, since it’s all relatively subjective to our own ideas of things and biases, etc... I have my thoughts and beliefs and theories and whether people agree or disagree with them on tumblr dot com... Well, what’re you gonna do? Nothing, it’s not my problem. 

What I 100% agree on you with is about showing Johnny’s body a bit more love and attention to detail when it comes to writing about him in fanfiction! 

There’s his auburn red hair, a darker ginger, which was thick and fun to watch as it lit up like fire when sunlight hit him, and could easily go wavy and curl when left unkempt and natural. The splattered and scattered galaxies of light freckles up and down his arms, his shoulders, his back, even a couple on his face. His aquiline nose, a relatively square jawline and facial structure, thick, heavy eyebrows which really intensify expressions of rage and hurt, almond shaped eyes which are the color of honey-amber when the light hits them just right and outlined with thick, long lashes, blind as a bat without his glasses but can give a mean squint which either helps scare off trouble, or brings it right to him, especially when he’s got thin bitten lips that could pull off a devilishly cheeky smirk or a no-good, charming grin to showcase teeth with the upper front turned slightly in towards each other, gives that imperfection which truly just perfects it-- a face like that of a tragic hero in a Greek Romance, distinctive and handsome. How he just oozed filthy sex and genuine trouble, sweaty leather and smoky dancehalls and rock & roll that crawls up your spine like an orgasm. Hips that could roll like Elvis and strong legs, thick thighs which would make a lovely place to sit. Broad shoulders, strong arms that could easily manage to lift you up and manhandle you in any way he’d like. Big hands, almost like shovels-- beautiful hands, with fingernails usually bitten short and occasionally had black ink or charcoal under them from when he’d be working on art, and rough, callused fingertips from playing guitar till they split and bleed, add a lovely roughness to any gentle touching he might do. A naturally thick midsection, a normal, healthy layer of fat which covers the sinewy just beneath. Any hair is light, light and lightly colored, on his arms and legs and chest. Cute tush, nice butt, a nice boy butt, slightly muscular bubble butt. 

Fun facts; he had the largest feet out of all four Beatles. John isn’t circumcised. John and George share the same height. John has a surprisingly long tongue. John’s skin tone may be light, but for comparison, he’s much tanner compared to Paul-- he’s a bit more olive or wheat to his skin tone, and tanned very, very well. John’s cheeks could become easily red though. John liked the scent of citrus to wear--  he was also self conscious about the fact he could easily sweat and so usually wore such colognes or scents, didn’t want to smell bad. He started smelling of witch hazel when with Yoko. Despite his issue with sweating, he didn’t smell bad naturally. John was a true romantic, being an artist outside of being a musician/rock and roller-- he just didn’t like to show it, and growing up in his time, you couldn’t. John’s a swimmer, he loved to swim and loved the ocean. 

[blog4snape]

What if I Meant it? (2)

Pairing: (young) Severus Snape (M) x Reader (F) 

Genre: Fluff with some soft angst

Rating: Citrus (very safe for work)

Summary: A follow-up from the previous chapter. After Severus leaves your classroom, you notice he left his book behind.

Warnings: *spoilers* invasion of privacy

Word Count: 1.7K

Date Written: 9/10/2020

~~~~

June 18th, 1978

After Severus left your classroom in a huff, you sighed, turning your gaze over to the indentation he had left in the pit. He had forgotten his book. You pulled yourself up from your chair and crossed the room to the fortress of pillows, gingerly picking up the discarded item. The book opened naturally to an outlined message, the words smudged from constant touch. Several pages were folded into the shape of a heart with notes written hastily into the inner margins. Curious, you squinted your eyes trying to read the blotched and scribbled writing in the inner corner of the book. Your face flushed, immediately snapping the book shut and holding it farther away from you.

After a moment of collecting yourself, you stared down at the cover of his book. It was an outdated divination book, one he must have gotten from a secondhand book shop for next to nothing. ‘But then again,’ you thought to yourself, ‘all of divination is quite outdated.” You scratched your scalp. 

In your syllabus and throughout the first week of classes, you had expressed that there was no need for any of your students to buy the books. You didn’t require any of your students to purchase divination books, as most of the lessons you taught were hands-on anyway and the books were frankly full of rubbish. Tracing a finger over the worn-out cover, you smiled softly to yourself. Severus was an excellent listener--it couldn’t have been a mishearing--he must have taken an interest in the subject to go out of his way to purchase a divination book. 

‘Or in you.’ The words floated in your head, reminding you of the notes you had just seen scratched into the book still in your hands. 

You sighed, laying in the pit. It was still warm from where Severus had been resting, and you caught a hint of the scent of pine and lavender that would tend to cling to him. You opened the book once more, flipping through the notes he had written.

“That dunderhead Potter wasn’t paying attention to the lesson on Ichthyomancy. He got slapped by the fish we were working with today-”

You laughed, remembering the giant trout that smacked James Potter’s face last week when he decided to mess with it during your lesson after your instruction not to. “You deserved it, Potter,” you laughed, causing other students to follow your footsteps. You said it then and you’d say it again now. 

“-It was pretty great, even the professor laughed at him. She has a cute laugh.” 

As your eyes traveled further down the page, seeing what Severus thought of your laugh made it halt in your throat. Your cheeks burned as you continued to read the comments he wrote. The majority of all of the writing was about divination class- most of them were notes he had written from the lectures. You allowed yourself to have a new teacher’s proud grin, seeing that he was getting a lot out of your lessons. But as you kept turning pages, you found yourself appearing in the margins more and more. Not all of the words were about you, but many of them mentioned you in some way or another. 

‘I told her I had taken quite a liking to ferns. The next week she waved me over after class with a huge smile on her face. She looked so excited. She gave me a tiny fern plant whose sparse fronds had yet to unfurl.’ 

Next to the note was a small doodle of a baby fern. You grinned, it was the cutest drawing you’ve ever seen.

‘She tutored me after class today. She told me to “keep up the good work” and hugged me afterward.’

You nodded, glad to help your students feel more confident in their abilities and glad that Severus Snape was one of them.

‘She baked us biscuits because we all got high marks on the test last week. They tasted good.’

You smiled, happy to know your students liked your gifts. For every test they aced, you would give your students biscuits as a reward. You figured the upperclassmen deserved a treat every now and then, as they’re usually stressing about the OWLs and their NEWT classes.

‘She has pretty eyes.’

Your smile faded. You had to read that line again. You adjusted the book in your hands, moving one hand to your temple. Were you reading that right? 

‘She held me while I cried. It was all I’ve ever wanted. I want her to hold me again.’

‘She doesn’t want to tell me about who she saw that night. But, she didn’t ask me about the werewolf. So I guess I’ll stop asking her. For now.’ 

That night a boggart was in your classroom. You bit your index nail, images of your boggart pressing into your mind. With all that had been happening lately, you didn’t even realize he had stopped asking you but you instantly felt gratitude blossom in your chest. You read the past two notes again, feeling regret at the way you handled the situation. You wished you had been harsher. Any other teacher wouldn’t have given in to his demands. But he wasn’t just your student--he was your old friend.  

‘Her hands are soft.’

Was he just your friend? Your heart thumped, wondering if he only thought of you as his friend, also.

‘I like her plants. She’s got a bunch all over the classroom. Whenever I ask her about one, she gets so excited and tells me all she can about it. I already knew most of it, but I haven’t the heart to interrupt her. I like when she gets passionate about something, and the way she rambles about plants is cute.’

The note was surrounded by small drawings of the plants around your classroom. You stroked the ink outlines of the leaves with an appreciative grin. He was rather talented.

‘She’s so cute when she’s setting something on fire.’

Despite the flush on your cheeks, you chuckled a bit. Divination allowed you to set a lot of things on fire, and sometimes you seemed just a bit too eager. ‘So are you,’ you murmured, thinking of Severus’ passion for learning.

‘She smiled at me today and told me something. I was too focused on her mouth to remember what she said.’ 

You absentmindedly stroked your lips. You took a moment to swear at yourself- urging yourself to stop reading this book, to stop reading Severus’ private feelings, and to stop feeling your own feelings, but you just kept going. 

‘She named one of her plants, “Snargs.” I don’t know why, because it wasn’t even a Snargaluff, but it made me chuckle anyway.’

You smiled at the mention of your plant. Next to the note was a drawing of Snargs, your forever-flowering cactus with the name ‘Snargs’ written in a curly font above the plant. You looked up, seeing Snargs sitting on the high windowsill with his petals dancing in the soft summer breeze. You blew a kiss to him, placing his weekly watering schedule at the back of your mind as you kept reading.

‘She gave me a gift last Christmas. It was a new bag for my books. I saw her staring at the holes in my old bag the month before. The box didn’t have a sender, but I knew it was her. I could smell her perfume on it and it was her handwriting on the note inside.’

Embarrassed, you scratched the inside of your arm. You tried to be sneaky about your gift but it was certainly difficult getting anything past someone as observant as Severus. The two of you didn’t participate in the holiday’s secret santa event, but you could tell he desperately needed a new bag. His previous bag looked a century old, full of holes and nearly falling apart at the seams. His materials constantly fell out of his bag, and you had grown sorrowful every time he had to backtrack with downfallen eyes and a red face to retrieve his dropped items. You knew he didn’t want your pity, and you were afraid if you gave the bag to him in person he’d reject it, so you decided to be as anonymous as possible. You were glad he decided to use it anyway despite knowing where it came from in the end. Smiling, you wondered if he’d accept the gift if it came from anyone else.

Then, for the next few pages shaped like a heart, he had written your name in the margin in his best calligraphy, with pulsing hearts, twinkling stars, blossoming flowers, swimming fish, and tiny sketches of tarot cards. You stared, mesmerized at his magicked art, caressing the moving lines with your fingers. He wrote your names together in a heart, side by side with his. You couldn’t help the smile bubbling onto your curious face as you slowly took in every addition, fiddling with the corner of the dog-eared pages that had been shaped into a heart. You flipped the page, confused--there were tiny hearts drawn around an inky black mass. The mass was a jumble of rough sketch-lines, but they started to move. Your breath caught in your throat as the lines scribbled down on the paper formed an image of you, turning around and smiling. Nothing but astounding brightness was in your features, a direct contrast to the next notes he had written down. 

‘I wonder if she feels the same as I do. She has to, right?’

You just couldn’t answer that question right now. You bit your lip, glancing up at the door as if Severus could burst in at any moment. You sighed, thinking about him as your eyes dropped back to the writing. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stroked the next horrible words beneath your finger, feeling his self-doubt emanating from the paper.

‘But who could ever like someone like me?’

The next note was a long paragraph, but whatever words you could see were smudged and crossed out. Ink had been spilled on top of the page, the black streaks marring the yellowed pages. The corner of the page was brandished with scorch marks. 

~~~~

A/N: Thank you for reading!  These “one-shots” (lol) are from a series called Afterimages of You. Here’s the masterlist for all of the one shots I have posted in the series. a big ol thank you to @thats-mrs-snape-to-you​  @bush-viper-cutie​ and @littl-prince​ for helping me, i love you guys!!

[muggle-writes]

Happy Storyteller Saturday! What are some ways you organize your notes/writing thoughts?

thanks for asking! Sorry I'm answering late, I had a rough headache and tried to sleep it off for most of Saturday so it's like 2am Sunday now (3am when I finished because I'm tired enough to have very little filter which means it's ramble time) but I'm awake so I'm answering.

to be honest, it depends on where I am and whether I have free time where there's nothing else I "should" be doing.

if I'm out and about, or if I "should" be doing something else I'll be writing on my phone. usually with a program called Quip, occasionally with a program called Bookstack. I'm out at my QP's right now, and she and my wife are talking video games, and I don't have my laptop handy so I'm writing in Quip. it's kind of a dropbox/google docs alternative, and it has a not-terrible app. I sort everything into a personal writing folder (i used to use quip for other things too, which I kept in other folders since it has a decent checklist ability) and if I expect something to be a long story I'll create a folder for it and put different scenes in different documents in that folder. if I expect it to be short, I'll just create a document straight in the writing folder and hopefully remember to give it a descriptive name. If I'm intending to write something especially short and post it immediately, like this, I won't usually give it a title. sometimes this bites me in the butt but mostly it's fine. I write things in quip rather than directly in the tumblr editor for two related reasons: tumblr mobile has a really annoying habit of eating my longer posts instead of posting them. i haven't figured out if this is more related to the length of the text added, or the length of time I have the draft open. on top of that, if I type it in tumblr mobile and try to make a backup copy, the largest unit I can copy at a time is a paragraph, not the whole document, so it would be a hassle to copy out. often, for posts this long, I wind up copying in three or four paragraphs at a time, saving the draft again, and waiting for tomorrow to display my changes before I click edit draft and add another few. it's easier to copy text into tumblr than out of it

if I'm on bookstack (a mediocre Google docs/scrivener alternative but it's open source and my wife runs an instance so I've tried it out. among other problems, it doesn't have an app so I have to write through my mobile browser and I have to have internet. quip stores locally regardless and syncs with the internet when possible so I tend to use quip instead) When I'm using bookstack, I'm forced to use its organization system. broadest to narrowest categories: shelves books, chapters, pages. you can put pages directly into books, or into chapters. I usually use pages as scenes, and keep them sorted into chapters. in theory I like bookstack but it needs some major improvements (options for variable theme, offline mode, general mobile UI, etc) before I would actually recommend it.

If I have my laptop I occasionally write in bookstack but more often Microsoft Word (I got a free student copy when I was in college and whenever my current laptop dies I'm going to get Open Office or Libre Office instead rather than pay for Microsoft.)

I sort my writing into fanfiction and original works. there's very little in the original works side, sadly. Within fanfiction, since I generally publish to ao3 as I go, I separate it into folders incomplete and completed. within each, I sort it into fandoms, within incomplete, I then have a folder for each fic, and then documents titled "published" and "unpublished" within each. within completed, there's individual documents for each fic (equivalent to "published" within incomplete) I cut and paste things between documents, or move documents around as necessary

for editing, it's a different story:

in Word, if I'm writing a variant of a scene I've already written, and I want to keep the old one and decide later which one I like better, I'll strikethrough the old paragraph and write another. If I get several of these I'll color code the old scenes so I can tell which one's which (sometimes I reuse parts of sentences in like. 3/5 variants so they're usually intertwined. my drafts get colorful) If I'm going in a really drastically different direction, sometimes I'll create a new document and in the title describe what the difference is.

In Quip (actually, in bookstack too, when I'm on mobile, so probably it's just my phone keyboard not playing nice with long documents. somehow I never have the same issue when I'm writing directly in the tumblr app) if I try to select large sections and replace or delete them, it deletes significantly more than I want it to, probably twice as many characters? twice as many minus one? idk. if I'm not happy with something in quip, it's a little glitchy about strikethrough so I'll just put a few blank lines, a line of squiggles (~) and/or an all caps "ALTERNATELY" and another line break and then the replacement.

anyway. that's all for when I'm composing prose (or publishable poetry)

when I'm scribbling down notes to keep them because I'm plotting a longer story or because I want to write but don't have time, I'll open up one of the above programs (usually quip or word) and create a bullet point list of sentence fragments and notes. I put major points at the top level of bullet points, indent for the next level of detail under each one. the top level bullets are usually vaguely in chronologial (or storytelling) order, but flashbacks/"this sets up for..." often show up in the nested bullets.

If I have a really thorough outline, with a full sentence for every scene, in word I'll make a copy of the outline with a page break between each outline point, and then I'll skip around between scenes based on my inspiration and write the scenes in their corresponding place in the draft so that the end result is pretty effortlessly in order. (in bookstack, I'll create "pages" for each scene. in quip I put three or four line breaks between the scene prompts or occasionally split them into separate documents.)

[midwinter-fox]

Learning

This is gonna be mostly backstory with some fluff. c: Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, but now I have three entire chapters to edit and post at once. 

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

The rain outside started out as a faint drizzle, but before even half of an hour passed, the heavens opened and drenched the world with a heavy downpour. Howling wind blew through the herb garden and thunder rolled in the distance, but the world may as well have been empty to Dettlaff. Leonore was pressed tightly to him, her rosy scent filling his senses as he closed his eyes and simply took her in. Her hands and arms were doing all they could to soothe him and the pain in his heart even now, hours after he spilled his tragic tale and revealed to her everything in the deepest depths of his heart. The fear and apprehension had melted away, bringing calm and quiet in their wake. This was perfect, he mused briefly, but only because the storm's song served to further lull him into a sense of security in the small woman's arms.

He had no idea when he began to drift off, nor when they laid together on the bed, tea forgotten on the nightstand. It could've been days from then for all he knew, but for the first time in centuries, he knew a true peace. A low, rumbling purr from within him intermingled with the thunder outside, but he didn't wake until the flash of lightning shone through his heavy eyelids from his window. It was then that he woke and began to move, but a dainty hand gripped his shirt, pulling him out of his drowsy reverie. His eyes, though still filled with sleep, peered down at the human woman through heavy lids, and he could feel himself begin to smile.

She was not a graceful sleeper. There was a fairly damp spot on his shirt where her mouth pressed against his chest, no doubt from drool. Her snores were only barely audible beneath the thunder and rain, but he could hear them clearly. When he brushed his clawed fingers through her brunette locks, they tangled a bit, but he tenderly worked them apart while she slept, blissfully unaware of his silent appraisal.

Though he was awake now, he couldn't bring himself to rouse her from her slumber. It didn't feel right. Instead, he looked over to his nightstand and determined he was just barely close enough to open the drawer and slip his hand inside. He withdrew a sketchbook and a piece of charcoal, determined to capture this moment since he at the very least had both of his hands free. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he shifted so he could better use his hands to draw. How long they stayed like this, he had no clue, but he was able to finish several small pieces on a single page before she began to stir from sleep. His hands stilled as she hummed and stretched against him, her cushy body still pressed tightly to his lean one, but she eventually settled back against him with what could best be described as a happy sigh. Her eyelids were fluttering open, but now that she had stopped moving, his hands resumed. After her eyes finished opening and adjusting, she remained still and quiet, perfectly content to watch him as he drew.

The first few images were small studies of her face while she slept, the Nazairi rose still somehow tucked behind her ear though it looked a little worse for wear. At one point she traced her fingertip along the outlines of her expression on the page, and he paused to allow her to do so despite the charcoal smudging slightly when she accidentally touched it. When he resumed, it was to begin a small doodle, this time of the slightly misshapen rose in closer detail. Though his hand worked, his eyes weren't entirely focused on the sketches. He watched her watching him, taking note of all of the small features that warmed his heart. The kind eyes, round cheeks, circular face and the faintest freckles that dusted across her small nose. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a chubby, freckle-faced little girl with mousey brown hair and cute cheeks. She was cute now, but seeing such innocent, almost childlike features in her made him inwardly chuckle to himself. It came out as a lazy smile and push of air from his nostrils, but she recognized it as the faintest of laughs. Her head turned so she could rest her chin on his chest, those hazel eyes digging into his blue ones with an unmistakable fondness as she spoke, voice a bit rough from sleep.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing of importance, liefje. I simply imagine you were an adorable child."

He wouldn't know. It was just a fleeting thought through a sleep-adled mind, but the term of endearment was a slip of the tongue that she ignored, though her eyes turned up in a joyful smile.

"Oh yes, I was teased about having fat cheeks in my youth. My own family would often compare me to a chipmunk."

"Oh?" Now there was an amusing thought. The mirth in his gaze was clear, as was hers.

"Mhm. And I perfected quite the pitiful pout thanks to them. I use it to this day to get what I want."

"So you were a petulant youth."

"You've no idea. What about you? I can't really imagine you as a child, but I can only hope that your hair was just as curly."

"Hmhmm, moreso. It was a constant mess, impossible to tame."

The bright grin she shared with him made his heart flutter, even as he recounted memories from centuries passed. Mirrors never revealed to him their secrets, but he remembered days when he would have difficulty pushing his mop of black locks from his face with once tiny hands.

"You must've been tall even as a child."

"No. I was, though briefly, a runt."

"Impossible."

"It is true. My siblings dwarfed me."

"You've siblings? Are they as roguishly handsome as you?"

"Ehm.. Not in the same sense as you are thinking. I was raised amongst katakan."

The memory wasn't entirely fond, but it was what led to him having such innate influence over lesser vampires; in a sense, he was raised as one, his true parents lost to him in infancy. Despite this, he loved the family in which he was raised, dearly so. Where his brothers and sisters were to this day, he wasn't entirely sure, but he hoped beyond hope that they were well.

"I'm not familiar with what katakan are."

"They look to be large bats covered in soft, thick fur."

"Ah, was it akin to being raised by wolves?"

"No. They have the appearance of beasts, but they are capable of human thoughts and interactions. Some can even take on more human forms, though most prefer not to."

"I'd like to see some. They sound adorable."

For a moment, he paused to contemplate showing her the katakan of his pack, but he pushed the thought from his mind. It was too dangerous, he decided. No harm would befall her so long as he was with her, but it wasn't a risk he took lightly. Not a hair on her head would come to harm so long as he was alive and able to protect her.

"They can be frightening," he decided to tell her, hoping to deter her from being too curious. It was the truth, but in his mind, they were far from being mindless monsters that attacked without discrimination. "They are large and imposing. I would advise against encountering one alone."

"What if I'm with you..?"

He hummed in thought, allowing himself to entertain it fleetingly.

"It.. is possible. There are many in my pack, but I will not risk the potential for you coming into harm's way."

"Then tell me about them. I want to know everything."

That she would press him for details in an attempt to educate herself on his kind was heartwarming and meant more to him than she knew. As such, he would tell her everything she wanted to know. He recounted physical aspects of different varieties as well as details about individuals. There were many, but he cared deeply for all of them. Before long, he was giving her the names by which they called themselves, most in an ancient tongue known only to his ilk, and though there was much that he divulged, she nodded and listened intently. It was a topic on which he could speak for days, but he stopped after realizing he'd been talking nonstop for the better part of ten minutes.

"I apologize," he sighed after recalling a particularly fond memory - one that described the juveniles in his pack and how he took to playing and cavorting with them every chance he got. "I.. I did not mean to ramble for so long."

"Please, don't stop. I love hearing all about them. You speak of this pack like they're your own family."

That's because they were. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, just as they would do the same for him. It was why he hated himself after the results of the attack on Beauclair. So many were killed because of him, and it was something for which he internally punished himself every chance he got. It would never happen again, and he took the greatest of care to ensure their happiness and that they thrived outside the influence of mortals. Right now, they kept to the Brokilon Forest. The dryads permitted them to keep to the woods so long as he himself stayed clear of their territory, but in return, he also took to deterring foolish travelers from venturing into the dense forest both to protect his kin and to gain the guardians' favor. It was a silent arrangement, but he assumed it was a favored one for the fact that he had yet to receive a well-aimed arrow through his head.

"I would like to hear more about you," Dettlaff responded, hoping to encourage her to talk more so he could allow his racing heart to settle. He always got worked up when on the topic of his kin, both in excitement and pride. For now though, he truly wanted to learn more about her. It was rare that he ever took a genuine interest in another, especially a human, though he was always content to politely listen regardless of the conversation. This woman, however, made him want to listen and absorb as much as he could about her. Her genuine interest in him and his kind was returned with equal enthusiasm, though it was tempered to look like a mild but kind intrigue.

"What would you like to know?"

"Hmm.." He had to think for a bit, but settled on starting from the beginning just as he had for her. "What of your family? Any siblings?"

"Ugh, yes. Two sisters from a different father, and who knows how many from a different mother. I had a broken home."

"Oh. I am sorry." Mentally, he berated himself for having brought up a sore subject for her, but how could he have known? A hand on his cheek brought him out of his own head, the gentle caress of her fingers reassuring him.

"Don't apologize. It wasn't horrible. I saw plenty of my sisters, but I have a Nilfgaardian brother somewhere out in the world that I've never met. I'll be the first to admit that my family was pretty awful, but I have some good memories of them at the very least. I don't really know what happened to most of them. Some of my sisters I simply stopped speaking with. My grandmother raised me mostly while my mother took to drugs and my father to drink, so I try to stay in touch with my grandmother, but my parents I couldn't care less about."

Though her memories weren't as fond, he still listened closely to each word, hanging on them so to speak.

"Have you spoken with her of late..?"

"Yes, but as she grows older, she's been getting a bit senile. She thinks the children of her village are out to get her, so she's become a cranky old crone, but she holds a sweet spot for her favorite granddaughter."

The cheeky grin she gave him made him chuckle. There was something subtly yet inherently mischievous in her that came forth at times. He was certain that though she was a young woman, she still held on to many childish qualities.

"Something tells me you were rambunctious as a youth," he commented and watched as she shrugged.

"Actually, I was pretty quiet. I didn't come out of my shell until I reached my sixteenth summer, and even then I was reserved. I'm only outgoing now because I.. Well, frankly, I got tired of being lonely."

"Lonely..?"

"Yeah.. I didn't have friends growing up. I was always a bit too odd for the other kids. Not even my own sisters wanted much to do with me, and most of the time the children my age avoided me."

"I have a hard time believing that." Of course, he didn't think she was lying to him, simply that she was such a joy to be around now that it was difficult to comprehend how she could have been otherwise.

"Believe it. I haven't always been this amazing." Leonore's brazen boast made him roll his eyes, but the grin on her face and bubbly giggle made it clear she was jesting.

"I will not disagree with your claims, though modesty is considered the color of virtue, liefje."

"Oh please, your fancy proverbs won't sway me. I know I'm fantastic." Again she laughed, and he found himself chuckling with her until she spoke again. "By the way, what is a 'liefje'? This is the second or third time you've said it."

A look of passing confusion crossed his expression before he realized that he really had been calling her that. It wasn't necessarily serious, but it wasn't originally intentional. Rather, it suited her in his mind, for she had become very dear to him.

"It.. hm, it has a number of equivalents in the common tongue."

"Is it Nazairi?"

"It is."

"Well, what does it mean?"

"Literally?"

"Sure."

He paused for a moment, then suddenly found himself a bit tongue-tied. If he was to be literal, he was calling her a lover, though it was simply a term of affection similar to how one called someone 'honey' or 'dear.' It was fairly intimate, he realized, and he had to tame the sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach. The effect she had on him continued to astound. He cleared his throat lightly before he elaborated.

"It is.. It means 'lover.'"

The soft confession made her smile.

"And here I thought you said you couldn't return my feelings."

"It is used in a similar sense to calling someone 'darling.' I.. I am very fond of you, Leonore. Your love for me is gratifying, but I do not wish to toy with your heart."

"What do you mean..?" Her smile faltered slightly, making his own heart wrench at the fraction of a change.

"It is a term of endearment. Nothing more."

Silence fell between them, and though she looked like she may be hurt, she schooled her expression and brought back a genuine smile.

"That's alright. I already told you that I won't hold it against you if you don't return my feelings," she admitted, though he had already seen the pain in her eyes no matter how minute it was. Dettlaff had become increasingly more receptive to every emotion in her stare. "Besides, I was teasing you anyway. I daresay I'll have to find a suitable pet name for you in return though."

Her attempt at being lighthearted brought him some relief.

"What would you call me?"

"A number of things, admittedly some of which are less than appropriate." When she gave him a wink, he furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Why is that?" Why would she call him something inappropriate when his own term of affection was fitting?

"Because I find myself irrevocably attracted to you, of course. But I can't go around calling you a stud in polite company, can I?"

Oh.

Oh.

Heat rose in the vampire's face, and he had to avert his gaze. She had effectively managed to leave him flustered, though a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at her flattery. It was very rare that he ever felt like that, and while it was foreign to him, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. This was, however, the first time Leonore made her sexual attraction to him known, and he wasn't sure what to do with this knowledge. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to her too, though he wouldn't admit as much outright.

Sensing his unease, Leonore snorted and laughed before placing a light, platonic kiss to his cheek.

"You're adorable when you blush, you know that?"

Now she was teasing him, which only served to make him go even redder.

"I could say the same for you," he ground out through his embarrassment, though he was suddenly very aware of how they lounged together on his bed now. He laid on his back with his head and shoulders elevated by pillows, but she was still flush against him, her every curve pressed to his side. Her face was close to his, though for the majority of their conversation, she had rested her chin on his chest, looking at him when he spoke so as to give him her undivided attention. No doubt she could hear how his heart skipped a beat when she teased him so. Looking for an escape, he picked up the sketchbook that had gone forgotten, laid beside him in favor of paying attention to her when she talked. Now though, he wished to change the subject. It was a success, though barely.

"You know, that lady at the pawnshop was right when she said you're incredibly talented," noted Leonore when he opened the book to flip through the pages. He stopped at the one he'd most recently used, her charcoal face sleeping beside the margin.

"Thank you. I've spent years perfecting my art."

"It shows. Your drawings look like the works of a master."

Was she trying to tease him again? It almost seemed like it, but her words were genuine.

"It is the result of much practice and study." He was humble, though he did feel a swell of pride at her praise. When she sat up to better look at his sketches, he allowed her to take the book from his hands and flip through it herself. He sat up too and watched as she marveled at what he considered to be nothing more than messy doodles.

"These are amazing, Dettlaff. Have you ever painted anything like this?"

"I have."

"May I see??" She seemed suddenly very excited, but he shook his head, much to her dismay.

"I have none of my works. All of what I've painted were left in Beauclair or sold." He was reminded of a time when he allowed Rhena to convince him to accept commissions, though he only did so both because she suggested it and because the money it brought meant she had less need to put her life on the line as a mercenary and bandit. After she went missing, he hadn't picked up a palette since. Though the memory brought with it a fresh wave of pain, he dismissed it in favor of watching Leonore peruse his charcoal artwork.

"Do you have any paints with you at least?"

"No. After losing Rhena, I have abandoned the practice." The deep frown in response to his admission was concerning.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I did, yes. It was a pleasant distraction."

"Well then you shouldn't let her memory ruin it for you. I for one would be absolutely ecstatic to see one of your paintings. I know you try to avoid anything associated with her at all costs, but it pains me to see such a wonderful hobby ruined for you like that."

"Ah, you misunderstand." It wasn't that he disliked painting now, he simply hadn't the inspiration any more. When Syanna died, so did his muse in a sense. "I simply lack inspiration and materials. The shops in town lack the appropriate supplies for me to continue the practice as well."

"Oh, okay. Well, I'll keep an eye out when I make my deliveries. If I see anything you could use, would you mind if I brought it to your attention?"

"Not at all." In reality, he probably wouldn't bother trying to purchase more materials. He had been particular when choosing his paints, sometimes even going so far as to make his own when there were none that were satisfactory for purchase. Still, her sentiment was nice, so he would humor her if it made her happy.

"Then I'll be sure to do so," she said with a smile up at him.

---

As Dettlaff and the mortal woman continued to converse, the storm proceeded to rage outside. It grew dark quickly, but he lit a lamp when it became too dark for her to see. Still, they continued to talk in the candlelight, but neither of them paid any mind to time nor the world around them. Eventually, Leonore yawned then looked outside his bedroom window at the rain that pelted the glass.

"You know, I should probably be heading home by now. I have more work to do tomorrow, and I fear I've only been keeping you up as well."

"Nonsense." His response was immediate, making her look at him with a cocked brow. "You will stay here until the storm passes. I cannot bear the thought of you braving the weather only to fall ill or find yourself hurt."

While his consideration for her was sweet, she didn't want to impose.

"I'll be alright, Dettlaff. My home isn't too far from here anyway, so I should be able to make it back quickly. I'll be wet, but otherwise I'll be fine."

"No." It was something by which he was going to stand firmly. There was no way he could let her leave when the weather was so foul. "Please, liefje. You may sleep here."

"Here?" she asked. "As in with you?"

"Is this an issue?" It wasn't unusual for him to share a sleeping space amongst his pack, and they often would huddle together for warmth on nights like these. It didn't occur to him that it could be misconstrued, even after she frowned at him.

"Are.. Are you certain..? I feel like that's a bit sudden, don't you?"

"Sleeping..?" The utter confusion in his eyes told her that she was horribly mistaken and he was far more naïve than she thought he would be, so after a moment she shook her head and fixed him with a smile.

"Never mind. I thought perhaps you had something else in mind."

"What else could I have meant?" He thought he'd made it very clear.

"Nothing. It's nothing, truly. If you'd like for me to sleep here with you, I suppose I won't decline. You don't seem like you'd be too keen on letting me leave anyway."

"No, I am not."

"So be it," she said with an air of finality. He was pleased she would see things his way. "Though, I don't suppose you and Regis would have a nightgown laying about..? I'd rather not sleep in the clothes I'll need to wear tomorrow, but I suppose I will if I have to."

"I apologize, but I do not think so." Still, he thought about it for a moment, and after looking her over briefly, he stood and went to a dresser that sat in the corner of his room.

The clothes inside were mostly dark colors or black, mainly because they simply suited him, and the lack of garish colors made it easier for him to remain unnoticed. He removed a shirt, one he wore fairly often, but it would do. It was long, as was his preference for he was a tall man, but on her it would probably fit like a dress. As such, he handed it to her and watched as she then stood and held it up to her short frame by the shoulders.

Comically enough, the bottom hem would reach her knees.

"Well, it'll work. Are you sure you won't mind?" she asked, giving him one last chance to change his mind.

"Not at all."

"Very well. I'm going to get dressed then."

They stood and stared at each other, neither one of them moving before Dettlaff realized she wanted for him to leave so she could have some privacy.

"Ah, right. I apologize." When he made for the door though, she stopped him.

"You don't have to actually leave, but uhm.. Could you at least turn around..?"

"Of course." With that, he did as she wished.

"You can change too if you like. I won't look."

She too turned her back to him then started to disrobe. In all honesty, he didn't care if she saw him undressing or not. He never really felt the need to hide his body save for around people he did not know. However, he didn't wish to make Leonore uncomfortable.

When he discarded his own clothing, he dug through his drawers to find the sole pair of undergarments he owned. They were a bit ill-fitting, loosely hanging from his hips despite being drawn by a tie in the front, but they would suffice. The only reason why he owned them was, in fact, for when he was forced to wash the rest of his clothes outside yet had nothing left to wear. As comfortable as he was with his body, he didn't care to show off everything to strangers whilst doing his laundry.

Inwardly, he was suddenly starting to become almost self-conscious. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't be feeling this way, but he was almost completely nude in the presence of a woman whom he desired. Realistically, there was nothing for him to feel insecure about. He was toned, well-built from spending so much of his time hunting and being generally active. Wrestling with the larger of his kin made him strong, even for a vampire. His biceps were decently thick, though not ill-proportioned compared to the rest of his body. He almost prided himself on his fitness, though that came with being a leader of a horde of creatures - the majority of which made him look quite small. Even the garkains had trouble besting him in competitions of brute strength, though one wouldn't know it by looking at him. If he wanted to, he could lift a fully grown bear single-handedly with relative ease. 

Despite all of this, when he looked down at himself and the dark hair that covered his chest and trailed down his abdomen, his mind wondered if she would still find him as attractive now as when he still wore clothing. The only reasonable explanation for his pointless and outright ridiculous concern was solely for the fact that he wanted, more than anything, for her to desire him too, though he would never admit it to himself let alone aloud. Once finished inwardly kicking himself for such stupid insecurities, he waited patiently for Leonore to let him know when he was free to turn back around.

"Alright," she said after a few more moments of rustling fabric. "I do have to say though, you're thinner than you appear under that frock of yours."

He turned to see what she meant and almost had to immediately look away. It was very clear she was buxom, but he didn't realize just how much so when she wore loose and billowy skirts and blouses. While his shirt was indeed long on her, it hugged the curves of her plush hips, waist, and breasts. The top few buttons were undone to allow for more comfort, leaving little to the imagination. Regardless of this, she looked, without a doubt, wonderful. Something in him growled possessively, but he swallowed thickly to push down the growing need to lay waste to the offending garment.

Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.

No, he reminded himself that the storm outside was too harsh to allow for her go home on her own, and now that she wore his clothing, he would be damned if she would wear anything else for the remainder of the night.

"Dettlaff..?" Her inquisitive voice shook him from his thoughts, and he found he'd been staring at her intensely. "Is it too much..?"

"No." It's perfect. "You look fine."

Why she cared about how she looked was beyond him. After all, they were going to bed - her appearance didn't matter. Satisfied with his answer, she turned to douse the candle on the nightstand. Her blue rose was laid delicately beside the now cold mugs of tea that they'd completely forgotten. He made a mental note to apologize to Regis later for wasting it. For now, he watched as she put out the light and crawled underneath his covers then followed suit. His heart was rejoicing at having her so close, especially with his shirt adorning her body. His linens would probably smell like her after the night too, which wouldn't be altogether unpleasant.

While he laid on his back, she laid on her side and curled up, her cold feet pressed to his warm leg and her back against him. It wouldn't do, not for him. The room was chilly, and he didn't want for her to be uncomfortable. When he turned to curl his body around hers, he waited to see if she would protest. On the contrary, she welcomed the gesture and pressed back against him in response. As such, he wrapped his arms around her and cuddled her close to his chest. It wasn't long before she fell asleep, leaving him to lay and revel in her soft body until sleep finally claimed him too.

[leopah]

NAF: Afterword

Since the epilogue of my fic gets posted today, it’s finally time to post the afterword I wrote when I first finished it.

At the time I write this, May 3rd, 2017, I have just completed NAF! I know you guys won’t see the final chapter until early August, but I have to write out my gratitude while I’m still overflowing with emotions.

So, top of my list, huge thank you to my beta Madi, who was cool enough to read over my chapters before I posted and hang out with me on Discord. Even though you were too busy to help me out during the final arc, I couldn’t have done this without you, seriously. You’ve taught me a lot about adverbs and other things, and I’ll do my best to keep those in mind as I move forward.

Next off, thanks to the Skype squad, aka the hell chat, all 25+ of you in your chaotic glory. You guys stuck with me through the whole thing from the initial planning all through my work on it, and being able to talk with you guys and throw random lines at you out of context really did help when I was having a hard time. I doubt I ever would have had the courage to even start this thing without you guys, either. Your support means the world.

On that note, thank you to Scarf and Gio especially, for your words of encouragement when I lost my confidence (which happened a lot), as well as for jumping in as my betas when Madi was unable to. I really don’t think I would have been able to finish this huge project without your support. I’ve never finished a long-form story before, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d make it until I did. I love you both, and by the time you read this, the three of us should have met at Anime Expo if all goes well on our respective ends. <3 (Update: we did and it was wonderful)

Thank you to all my readers! When I started I wasn’t sure if anyone would read this, but every comment and kudos I got made me smile. Whether you were here from the beginning or just read recently, I value you all so much.

Will I write another Noragami fic? Mm, it’s hard to say. I have some ideas in the works, but we’ll see they come to fruition in a meaningful way. Also, I spent a good 8-9 months married to my story while I wrote it, meaning I worked on nothing besides it and the drabbles. I really want to work on original stuff as a priority, but we’ll see how it goes. I’ll leave you guys with an optimistic “Maybe!” (which is probably a yes since I’m trash).

And of course I still have the drabbles to work on at this time. Remember, if you want more material pertaining to this fic, check those out! They’re a light version of what you see in the main story, and it’s basically where I shoved all the fluffy/shippy stuff so it didn’t mess with the main flow of the story. I know I love my cliffhangers.

I first got the idea for this in August 2016. It seems like it was just yesterday, but what happened was I woke up one day while on vacation and thought, what if Yato severed Hiyori’s cord during the hospital arc and made her his shinki? Before I knew it, most of the first chapter had fallen into place and I knew I had to write this thing. I turned over the idea in my head for a few more weeks with planning, concept sketching, jotting things down on my phone while I was away from my computer, and wondering if I was ready to be committed. I started actually writing in early September, and worked on it pretty regularly until now, in May. I took a month-long break after writing each arc, but those were unplanned and just how my schedule with school and everything ended up working out.

When I first started planning the story arcs, I thought this fic would end up pretty long (IF I finished it, was the nagging thought at the back of my mind). I thought around 50k would be the total word count, in the beginning. But once the story arcs started taking their own shape, my outlines for my chapters got more complex, and the chapters themselves grew longer, my new estimate was about 75k, and I still thought that was overshooting. I ended up going about to 80k with 27 chapters and an epilogue, plus the drabbles, which finished at 25k, so ending up with 100k, a 400-page novel equivalent on my first serious attempt at writing? Not bad, if I do say so myself. Especially considering I didn’t write creatively for six whole years before this. I will always credit this fic as the sole reason my writer’s block (which I thought was insurmountable) got crushed for good.

The writing was really rough around the edges at first, seeing as I was out of practice and out of my depth. That being said, I hope you guys can see the writing changing and improving through the chapters as much as I can. I’m such a perfectionist with myself that even the tiniest mistake makes me lose my footing, but I really tried to make each chapter the best it could be for all of you with all my constant editing and nitpicking.

Ahah I’m so emotional right now. I just can’t believe it’s really finished. I never feel like the work is done because of the sheer amount of time I spent editing every single chapter until they satisfied my needs, up until the final week, but the story itself is done and it feels kind of surreal. Especially since I was always working so far ahead of what was being posted, now that the two have caught up it still doesn’t feel real.

But that rambling aside, thank you guys for making this journey with me. Again, thank you. You haven’t seen the last of me, I guarantee it.