So I had the idea of making a Dorym writing prompts tumblr? Like, having different writing prompts for the boys. Anything from AUs to missing scenes, dialogue or song lyric prompts. And people could submit to it too.
I have like fifty ideas right now I just don't have time to write but I'd love it if someone else could. And there's a lot of wonderful Dorym writers out there.
I don't know. Kinda putting feelers out if people would be interested.
A continuation of my Ashari Foster Dads post because I somehow forgot about the EXU crew the first go around.
When Opal and Ted come to visit, I feel like it’s definitely classic sleepover activities, doing hair and face masks and fun talk. The kids get confused why Opal calls Orym “Nancy” but when she finally manages to tell the story (she has to wait until he’s not around or she knows he’ll stop her) they all cry from laughter. Orym and Dorian also have to spend quite a while telling the kids after Opal that yelling is not the solution to every problem.
Fy’ra Rai always makes sure they know how important family is, whether or not it’s by blood. And sometimes she tells stories that seem to be as old as Exandria itself and the kids are fascinated.
Dariax is basically one of them. He gets so into the imaginary games they play and is willing to go on adventures close to their home. He’s just a big kid and he loves them.
Keyleth always comes to visit, too. Her stories always amaze the kids. Tales about vampires and betrayer gods? She also shows them the most amazing magic and will go Minxy when it’s cold and they cuddle with her.
Also, because I refuse to part with the widower Orym theory… Sometimes they go and visit Riegel’s grave. Dorian explains to them that even though he never met him, he was a great man who loved Orym very much and was very important to him. And Orym tells them about loss and healing. Since the kids came to them at varying ages, I’m sure some remember their birth parents, so so knowing that their amazing, super strong and super brave dad Orym lost someone like that too helps them not feel alone. And he helps them heal and cope.
When I’m not insanely busy with grad school, I’ll actually try to write this. Otherwise, if anyone else wants to… please do.
Or if anyone else wants to send me other ideas and headcanons for this or in general… again, please do. I am living for this idea right now.
I was trying to cheer up my bestie with wholesome Dorym thoughts, because the other day I had the thought of future Ashari Foster Dads.
Like, as it is, the kids in Zephrah see Orym and Dorian as the awesome uncles who have amazing stories about their travels and can do these amazing things. The kids love them.
But then at some point, something happens, maybe just right outside of Zephrah, and a child is left without a family. Without hesitation, Orym and Dorian step in and volunteer to take the child.
Then when another Ashari comes back from traveling, they return with a child who they found that similarly lost their family. They take the child to Orym and Dorian and of course they're going to take in that child, too.
Over time, they acquire a few more.
I'm imagining something very much like The House in the Cerulean Sea, all of the magical children with the most peculiar gifts. Maybe a changeling child and maybe a shifter and maybe someone who's fey. But despite this odd combination, they're such a happy family.
They garden with Orym and plant flowers. They learn to druidcraft. They make flower crowns or braid them into Dorian's hair.
They sing with Dorian and he acts out stories for them. They put on performances and plays and concerts for Orym.
Sometimes they get visitors, the troupe that used to travel with Orym and Dorian. Fearne tells them stories and, when the dads aren't looking, teaches them how to steal. Laudna plays hide and seek with them. Imogen always wins at guessing games they play. Fresh Cut Grass always lets them talk. Ashton shows off his head injury and the kids tattle on him every time he swears. Chetney is always sure to tell the kids how long it took for their dads to realize they were in love.
Maybe sometimes, even, they get visits from the leaders of the Silken Squall. The first time Dorian tells them about his old home, they don't believe him, until Cyrus comes to check in on his brother, and they see the moving city and are amazed by it.
A big, strange, happy family. Because they both deserve it.
“Well then, what about you, Orym?” Laudna asked, leaning forward a little in his direction, her damp hair falling around her face in a way that only seemed to accentuate her undead appearance. “You’re handsome, strong, likable… I know you’re new to traveling too, but I’m sure you dated other Ashari, at least.”
And there it was—that very thing he didn’t quite feel ready to discuss, even years later. A part of him wondered if Laudna had some inkling already, the way she had questioned him about losing someone to the attack on the Air Ashari, the way she gave him glances that were a little too knowing at times.
He gave her a smile. “I have,” he admitted. “Not a lot, and not in a long time, but… I have.”
While waiting for Chetney outside of the Moon Tower, Dorian and Orym are asked about their dating experiences. Orym has quite a bit to offer, until he catches his mind straying to the man beside him and the possibilities.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Status: Complete (3678 words)
Rating: T
Characters: Orym/Dorian Storm, Dorian Storm & Fearne Calloway, mentioned Opal and Dariax, brief Chetney, Ashton, Imogen, Laudna, and FCG
Summary:
“I’m sorry if we upset you downstairs,” Fearne said. “Teasing you about Orym.”
Dorian looked down at his hands. “It’s not like it was completely unfounded,” he allowed.
“You said you were friends. That should be enough.”
A laugh escaped Dorian’s mouth, admittedly a little hollow, a little self-deprecating. “Yeah,” he said, a sad smile on his lips. “But… friends don’t look at each other like we do.”
After a drinking game to initiate Chetney into the group, Dorian is forced to reflect on what he feels for Orym, and the idea of losing Orym's friendship even for something like this is terrifying.
Prompt fill for "But friends don't look at each other like we do" on this list. Feel free to drop me Dorym prompts!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Status: Complete (7020 words)
Rating: T
Characters: Orym/Dorian Storm, Keyleth & Orym, Keyleth/Vax'ildan, past Orym/Riegel
Summary:
Orym stretched upwards slightly, closer, until their breaths occupied the same space, noses brushing. Dorian closed his eyes in anticipation, and Orym took just a moment to admire his long dark lashes, contrasting against blue skin, cheeks colored a shade of lavender that he could see even in the low light. He pressed a kiss to Dorian’s mouth with certainty. A chaste brush of lips—once, twice. He leaned in a third time, letting the touch linger for just a second longer.
“Come to Zephrah with me,” Orym whispered against his lips.
He felt Dorian’s mouth twist into a smile against his, felt his chest fall beneath his fingers as he huffed out a tiny laugh. “You never really had to ask,” he breathed. “You know that wherever you go, I’ll follow. For as long as you’ll let me.”
When Orym takes Dorian to Zephrah for the second time, it isn't so much of a realization but a confirmation of what he feels. For both of them, it's like coming home.
Dorian leaned forward, capturing Orym’s lips with his own. It was a chaste kiss, but it lingered, sweet like the scent of the buds surrounding them. Dorian drew back for just a second before Orym immediately closed the gap again, sliding a hand up to rest at the nape of Dorian’s neck. It was a deeper kiss, this time—still slow and almost painfully sweet in its gentle fondness. Dorian’s spine tingled at the sensation of Orym’s fingers against his skin, thumb just skimming over the corner of his jaw, and he found himself humming contentedly into the kiss.
After a moment, Orym slowly pulled away, and Dorian’s eyes fluttered open, certain that the soft affection on Orym’s face was mirrored in his own expression.
“I did come up here for a reason,” Dorian whispered a little breathily. Orym raised an eyebrow at this, and Dorian felt himself flush, drawing back a little more in embarrassment. “Not—I didn’t mean—” he stammered. “I wanted you to hear something.” He pulled his lute around, resting it on his lap. “If… you want to, of course.”
Dorian plays a song of rest for Orym. Companion to Roses_By_The_Sea_11's What Once Was Mine, but can be read alone.
Working on a fic when I should be doing work for my graduate classes? Me?
Orym stretched upwards slightly, closer, until their breaths occupied the same space, noses brushing. Dorian closed his eyes in anticipation, and Orym took just a moment to admire his long dark lashes, contrasting against blue skin, cheeks colored a shade of lavender that he could see even in the low light. He pressed a kiss to Dorian’s mouth with certainty. A chaste brush of lips—once, twice. He leaned in a third time, letting the touch linger for just a second longer.
“Come to Zephrah with me,” Orym whispered against his lips.
He felt Dorian’s mouth twist into a smile against his, felt his chest fall beneath his fingers as he huffed out a tiny laugh. “You never really had to ask,” he breathed. “You know that wherever you go, I’ll follow. For as long as you’ll let me.”
Seriously. The fic is also including other domestic things like bed-sharing, pastries, Orym's tattoo, and casually-dressed Dorian.
It's 4100 words and I'm not sure if there's plot, yet. It might just be an exercise in language when writing and letting the boys be soft because they deserve it. Also a bit of a twelve year friendaversary gift for my favorite human (who specifically liked this part).
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Status: Complete (6017 words)
Rating: PG/T
Characters: Orym/Dorian Storm, Orym & Fearne Calloway & Dorian Storm, mentions of the other characters in EXU and C3
Summary:
Fear felt like hopelessness, like admitting he had no way to push forward. Fear made him feel small in a way that his stature never did.
“Well, that’s okay, too.” Fearne’s words cut through the quiet of the dark room, and Orym felt his heart stutter at their certainty. “It’s okay to be afraid. It’s good, even.”
Orym couldn’t stop the small breath of a laugh, nothing but utter disbelief at the words. “How is fear good, Fearne?”
“Well,” she said slowly, considering her words in that way so unique to her, as she always did just before she said something truly amazing and utterly her. “Sometimes… Sometimes it’s good to be scared, because it means you still have something to lose.”
Orym and Dorian learn that, in some ways, fear and love go hand-in-hand — but that doesn't mean that it isn't worth it.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Status: Complete (405 words)
Rating: G
Characters: Orym/Dorian Storm
Summary:
“No debts between us.”
The four words seemed to come easily. They were simple in and of themselves, really. Even once they were strung together, there was a sort of unassuming quality to them.
But the moment he said them, a gentle smile and soft eyes, such genuine earnestness in each syllable, they meant so much more.
Orym reflects on the meaning behind Dorian's promise of no debts existing between them.
Hey guys! I’m back from the dead for just a moment to share some new links.
I’ve started a graduate program to get my master’s degree in liberal arts, and I’m taking a lot of English and writing courses. It’s inspired me to finally start properly working on my original fiction writing.
Tapas -- I’ll mostly be using Tapas as a platform to post my original stories! If you’re interested, please click the link and check me out. I’m currently working on two stories, both of which have LGBTQIA+ themes. One is fantasy, one is YA fiction. My username there is sarahvlang. I’d love it if you checked out my stories and subscribed and liked them!
Patreon -- I’m also starting a Patreon. I currently only have one tier, because in the future my higher tiers will have the ability to read chapters ahead, and I’m not far enough ahead on either novel to feel comfortable delivering that. For now, you can support me for $2, and if you do, you’ll get a minor character named after you in one of the novels! I have plenty of goals on there too, hoping to eventually commission art and even print and publish the novels. I’m sarahvlang on there as well!
I appreciate it so much, guys. Even if you just share this post, it would mean a lot! I’m hoping that some of my following for fan fiction and other mediums will be willing to follow me there. ♥
I’m here with part one of a three-part dialogue prompt done for my sister. My sister is great, and has been helping me get through a lot the past couple weeks, probably without even realizing it. I still have other prompts to work on, but this one has been calling to me, mostly because of an allusion to Puppeteer and I’ve been rewatching old episodes with my friends lately, so... yeah.
With the prompts, she asked for Marinette and Marc being bros, with MarcNath and a little bit of MariChat/Adrinette and Lukanette. I intended this part to be about 1000 words. JOKE’S ON ME, GUYS. IT’S 3000.
Part One | 38. “Even though I know you’re lying, I still almost believe you.”
Marc hadn’t been invited to Marinette’s for a sleepover before. As a matter of fact, it had been a long time since he’d been invited to a sleepover at all—probably since école primaire—definitely none since he transferred to Collège Françoise Dupont.
But, well, Marinette was one of his first friends he made after switching schools, so it made sense that she would be the first one to invite him over for the night.
“It’ll be so much fun!” she told him eagerly.
“I don’t know…” he said, a small hint of uncertainty in his voice as he looked down at his journal, slowly closing it.
“We can play video games and watch movies, and paint each other’s nails, and maybe, if you’re willing, we can share some works in progress with each other! There’s a couple designs I’ve been working on that I really think you’d like,” she continued. “And it’ll be all the macarons and éclairs you can eat, too. Maman and papa will want to feed you the second you walk through the door.”
Marc chuckled a little at this, sliding his notebook into his backpack. “All right,” he said, offering her a smile.
“Great!” she responded. “Then you can grab your stuff after school and be over in time for dinner. Maman was planning on making beef bourguignon since it’s been getting so cold."
“Sounds good,” Marc said with a nod, gripping the straps of his bag.
It ended up raining that night, adding to the chill in the air, but Marc and Marinette were warmly tucked away in Marinette’s bedroom, full of beef bourguignon with potatoes and toasted bread—not to mention mille-feuille made by her father. They’d changed into their pajamas and ended up sipping hot chocolate while listening to Jagged Stone, sitting on the floor while Marc painted the girl's fingernails. Her mother had insisted on them taking a plate of palmiers as well, just in case they got hungry, and it left her room smelling sweet from the heart-shaped bread. They talked and laughed, passing the time by discussing things that had happened at school, especially the art room they now met in so frequently.
“What do you think?” Marc asked, releasing her hand, pulling back a little.
She smiled down at her hands, spreading her fingers out wide and examining the sleek black polish, watching as it shimmered a little silvery in the light when it caught just right. “I think Luka will like them,” she said with a giggle.
Marc smiled in return, recapping the nail polish, screwing it shut, and setting the bottle aside. “And Adrien?” he asked teasingly.
She blushed, glancing away. “Adrien probably wouldn’t notice,” she admitted quietly.
Marc frowned at this. He wanted to say something to assure the girl, but he knew that that was always Alya’s approach, and he honestly wondered if the words would just fall empty if he said them.
“I know the feeling,” he said instead, offering her a wry smile.
“You?” she responded, forcing the smile back on her lips as she looked at him again with a quirked brow. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one Nath notices, anymore.”
Marc felt his cheeks heat up, shoulders tensing and eyes widening. “W-what?” he stammered. “I—I don’t know what—Nath isn’t—I don’t—”
“Relax,” Marinette said soothingly, reaching out and placing a hand on his. “I’m just teasing,” she assured him. “It’s okay.”
Marc swallowed thickly, still grimacing at her. “Is it that obvious?”
Marinette blinked at him, seemingly taken aback by the question. Then, she bit her lip, trying to hold back her giggles. “Now I understand what Alya means when she tells me I’m not as subtle as I think…”
Marc groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Oh god, everyone knows, don’t they?” he bemoaned.
“I’m trying not to take offense after the comparison,” Marinette said, poking him in the side, though her words were still amused and not angry; Marc squawked and leaned back, swatting her hand away. “You know, I’m pretty sure Rose thinks you two are dating.”
“We’re not!” he said quickly. “Nathaniel—he—he doesn’t—” He swallowed, trying to gather his words. “Nath doesn’t like me like that.”
Again, Marinette gave him a glance as though she couldn’t believe the statement. “Has he said that?” she asked, voicing her disbelief.
“Well, no, but—”
“Believe me,” Marinette said firmly, looking at him with a smile. “Nathaniel’s got just as big of a crush on you. You two really are the only ones that don’t see it, huh?”
“Marinette,” he groaned, elbows on his knees and hiding his face behind his palms.
“I mean it!” she said in response. When Marc looked dubiously at her, peeking between his fingers, she sighed, picking up a bottle of nail polish and holding out her other hand so that Marc could place his on her palm. “All right, then let me prove it to you.”
“Please, no more schemes,” Marc said as Marinette began painting his nails. “I love you Marinette, but…”
“I love you too, so I’m going to ignore the implications there,” she said with a half-grin. “But no, I won’t meddle. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m just going to convince you I’m right.”
“I’m not sure that sounds better,” Marc told her.
“He draws for you, doesn’t he?” she asked, again ignoring him.
“Of course he does,” Marc responded. “We work on our comic together.”
“Not what I mean,” Marinette said, leaning back a little to look at the nails she’d painted, then picking up another bottle of polish in a different color. “I mean he draws you little doodles or cartoons, cute little things to make you smile.”
Marc couldn’t stop the blush from creeping up on his cheeks. “Yes,” he admitted. “But—but that’s just him. He’s always drawing things.”
“Does he draw things like that for Alix?” she asked flatly.
Marc frowned a little—as far as he knew, no, Alix didn’t have a collection of little sketches like he did, drawn on scraps of paper or post-it notes or index cards—anything that was on hand. As Marinette said, they were just small drawings that made him smile, brightening his day, and he kept all of them, displayed on the board above his desk at home.
“I guess not,” he allowed.
“He gets you coffee and pain au chocolat every Monday morning, doesn’t he?” she asked. “When you two meet up to discuss what you guys came up with over the weekend?”
“He said it’s on his way,” Marc objected.
Marinette laughed at this. “He stops by our bakery for the pain au chocolat,” she told him. “It’s not on his way.”
“It… isn’t?” Marc questioned.
Marinette shook her head. “Though, I guess I can’t speak for the café he goes to for the coffee. Still, he stops at two different spots for you, because he knows you like our bakery best.” She put the bottle of nail polish down, picking up the first one. “Other hand.”
Marc swallowed, giving her his other hand. “Still…"
“He got you those nice pens,” Marinette pointed out, spreading the polish on the nails of his other hand.
“He said they’re his favorite pens for drawing and I might like to write with them,” Marc said, blushing.
“And that mug,” she added. Again she switched colors of nail polish, shaking the bottle a little before uncapping it.
“That was after I accidentally drank paint water,” Marc muttered.
“And he designed it to look like your character,” Marinette pressed on. “Not to mention he’s always going out of his way to make sure you’re included in every conversation, always asking for your opinion on things. He knows your favorite snacks, your favorite drink, favorite color, favorite song…”
“He’s just being a good friend!” Marc objected, flustered. Marinette raised her eyebrows at him, and he looked away, the heat on his cheeks almost unbearable. “You know most of those things, too, Marinette. And you like making me feel included too. You’re the one who first brought me to the art room.”
“Both hands,” Marinette cut in with the request, and Marc obliged, still not meeting her eyes.
"Besides…” He swallowed. “He’s pretty straight.”
Marinette tilted her head a little. “Why do you say that?”
“Because his last two crushes have been Ladybug and you,” Marc said flatly.
“Marc, don’t pretend to be narrow-minded,” Marinette said, not unkindly. “He could very easily be bi, or pan, or demi… Just because he’s liked two girls doesn’t mean anything. You’re the one who usually reminds me not to label or assume, and the same goes here.” She pulled her hand away, screwing the top back onto the bottle of nail polish. “There!” Marinette grinned. “I based it off of Mightillustrator’s design.”
Marc glanced down his hands, and sure enough, he recognized the colors. She’d alternated his fingers with white and a deep purple, a dot each of yellow, cyan, and magenta on both of his thumbnails. “Do you, uh… do you think he’ll like them?” he asked cautiously.
She couldn’t repress the smile. “Do you like them?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
She shrugged, closing up the kit with nail polish and getting to her feet. “Then that’s all that matters!” she told him. She then walked over to set the pink case on her vanity. “All right,” she said then, turning back to him, clapping her hands together. “What do you say we get comfy and share some of the stuff we’ve been working on? I really want to show you these designs.”
“All right, sure,” he agreed, moving over to his bag to grab his journal.
Marinette picked up the two now-empty mugs. “More cocoa?” she asked.
“Sure, if you don’t mind,” Marc said.
She smiled at him in response. “Not a problem. Grab the palmiers and my sketchbook over on my desk,” she said, nodding to the spot where her pink polka dotted book sat. “You can head up on my bed,” she said, then nodding over to the stairs. “I’ll be back in just a couple minutes.”
Marc nodded. As the girl disappeared down her trapdoor, he got to his feet. He slipped his journal and her sketchbook under his arm, then picked up the plate of sweet bread. He then made his way up to her loft bed, setting the notebooks and the plate to the side as he pulled his legs up beneath him, glancing around.
He smiled as he looked at the collection of photographs pinned to the board on one wall. He wasn’t surprised at the number of pictures of Adrien, but he was pleasantly surprised when he noticed that he even appeared in a couple of photos—one, a selfie that Marinette had taken with him, the other a picture of many of them at the picnic in the park on Heroes’ Day. He blushed when he noticed how close in proximity he and Nathaniel were in the photograph.
The shelf above her bed caught his attention next, eyes falling on the moon and star lantern that just seemed so Marinette, then traveling over the collection of books she had there. He shifted closer to the shelf, noticing that she had all of the issues of Ladybug that he and Nathaniel had made on display amidst her other books.
On top of the shelf, he noticed a collection of dolls, which looked as though Marinette herself had made them. Immediately he recognized Ladybug and Chat Noir. Beside Ladybug, he did notice one that almost looked like Alya, though he didn’t recognize the outfit. One that was on the other side, nestled between Chat Noir and a blue and black robotic-looking plush, was another one he recognized: Mightillustrator.
But no, he quickly realized as he took the doll between his hands, glancing it over, this must have been Evillustrator. So then the other one was likely when Alya had been akumatized, as well. There were a couple of other plushes lined up, but none of them were the akumatized victims he recognized. Instead, he looked back down at the doll in his hands.
“I made those ages ago.” Marinette’s sudden voice made him jump a little, and he whipped around. “Sorry,” she said, grimacing. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine,” he assured her as she took a seat on her bed, setting the two mugs in her hands on the floor.
“I started out making dolls of the people who got akumatized, back when it first started to happen,” she explained. “But after a while…”
“There were too many?” Marc offered, and again Marinette grimaced at the thought.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I found them while cleaning the other day, and I figured I’d put them out. It seemed silly to have them just sitting in a box.”
Marc nodded, again glancing down at the doll he was holding. It made something in his chest ache a little, and he bit his lip. “What was he like?” he asked quietly. “As Evillustrator.”
Marinette sighed, scooting closer to her friend, bumping shoulders with him. “Very… confident. And sweet?” she offered. He glanced up. “To me, anyway. He used his tablet to create a date for us. But… I had set it up for Chat Noir to crash it, so after that he wasn’t so kind. And he did draw a giant shoe to stomp on Chloe, so I guess there’s that. Though, well, she was the one who upset him in the first place.”
Again Marc nodded. “And…” He swallowed. “And me?” he asked, raising his gaze so their eyes met. “What was I like?”
Marinette blinked, frowning a little. “I, uhm… I didn’t see too much,” she said carefully, evasively. “I don’t think you were so bad.”
"Even though I know you’re lying, I still almost believe you,” Marc said, shaking his head as he set the doll aside. “It’s fuzzy—I don’t remember most of it. But I know you were there when it first happened. And I know I was pretty terrible.”
“Marc…”
“Please, just tell me?” he asked, pleadingly.
She sighed. “You… you tried to make everyone hate me,” she said quietly, as though that would soften the blow. “You said I was a liar and said I was the one who caused it.” Marc flinched a little at the words, so she leaned forward, gently covering his hand with hers. “But Marc, that wasn’t you. That was because of Papillon.”
“I’m sorry Marinette,” he told her.
“And you know that I’m sorry, too,” she said. “You understand that I was trying to help, I just… went about it wrong. And I understand the things you said when you were akumatized. It’s okay.”
He sighed, glancing back down at the doll on the bed. “This is still new to me,” he murmured. “I switched schools, so I’m still new to so many of you, too. And… it hurts, sometimes. I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. I hate that Nathaniel has seen me at my worst, but I never saw that from him.”
“Marc, you have seen Nath at his worst, though,” she said, smiling wryly. “Getting angry, ripping your notebook—that was him as his worst. Not when he was akumatized. Just as when you were akumatized, that wasn’t really your worst. It was Papillon.” Marc hesitantly met her gaze again, looking at her with uncertainty. “So really, if anything, Nath’s the one at a disadvantage, as you said.”
Marc considered her words, turning them over in his mind as she reached down for the cocoa, pressing a mug into his hands. “You think?”
“I do,” she told him firmly before taking a sip of her own drink.
“Thanks, Marinette,” he said, smiling slightly at her.
“Of course!” She folded her legs up, sitting criss-cross as she shifted her mug to one hand, pulling her sketchbook in front of her. “Now, I have to show you this design. I was thinking of you when I was drawing it—I was pulling from typical masculine and feminine designs while not making it strictly either. And then it just made sense with all the colors…” She grinned at him as she found the page, handing him the book. “Please tell me that if I make it, you’d model it for me.”
Marc’s eyes widened when he looked at the sketches. “I inspired this?” he asked. She nodded. “This—this is gorgeous. I can see the sense of movement, the way it just flows… and the colors are beautiful. You’re amazing, Marinette…”
She beamed at his words, eyes shining brightly. “I’ll have to take your measurements. Then I’ll start looking at fabrics.”
“You’re sure you want me to wear something like this for you?”
“I couldn’t imagine anyone better,” she told him. “Alya keeps saying I need to have a website where I share my designs, and if I share this one, it has to be you wearing it.”
“If you’re sure,” he said slowly, “then of course I will.”
“Great!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly. “I hope you know that means more sleepovers will be involved, so I can make sure everything is fitted just right. And then Alya will probably be the best one to take the photos… We can get Juleka to do some really stunning make-up, too!”
Marc laughed, unable to stop his smile—the girl’s excitement was really contagious. He felt a warmth spreading through him, feeling indisputably happy that he’d accepted her invitation for the sleepover in the first place. “Of course,” he agreed, grinning at her. “It sounds like a plan.”
Dialogue Prompts
Also, all of these are posted on my AO3, so especially for notifications on this one, as it’s gonna have three parts, please check it out there as well!
snowghoul
annaxmalina
vaporwave
romaincrisis
jbbartram-illu
titsay
blakekathryn
2087
