Hi there, so sorry to bother you dear !! I’m trying to access one of your google doc templates but I’m on mobile, and I think whatever links may be connected to it might not be accessible in formatted mobile posts ?? Would it be okay if I could get a direct link for the Le Cygne template ?? Completely okay if not !!
hi !!! it’s not a bother at all , and sorry for the late response , i’ve been a lil busy and just saw this ! you can find a direct link right here : https://docs.google.com/document/d/1W8hWfOZEvDNb49t99ZCj-yTY-dMq4tQ4fE5LwMDiTwQ/edit?usp=sharing .
edit ─ i originally had my templates on edit mode but they’ve been switched to view only now that a friend helped me make sure that you can still make a copy that way , so please remember to go to file > make a copy to use !
“Remember when we were little?” + whoever you may want to write about !!
drabble list90: “remember when we were little?”
x
“You need to stop wearing fancy clothes when you come visit,” Natsume says plainly as he wrings out his own shirt. “I mean, you’re just asking for it at this point.”
Shibata makes a show of sweeping his damp hair back so that it looks less like a bedraggled mop and more like he decided to wear it that way on purpose.
“Sometimes I forget to account for near-death encounters when I dress to visit my friend in the country,” he says with false disdain. “You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever fallen off a bridge with? Isn’t that nice?”
It wins a small laugh from Natsume, a sound that escapes before he can help himself, and Shibata smiles smugly as they wade the rest of the way out of the water.
Nyanko-sensei watches from his dryer perch with slitted eyes. Cats always smile, but this one is definitely laughing at them.
To be fair, he did scare off the yokai that pushed them from the bridge – but Shibata thinks he could have tried to catch them, at least. He can fly, can’t he?
Natsume’s hair is a mess, dripping into his eyes and plastered to the back of his neck. His hands are out as though the air might be persuaded to catch him if he falls. He steps on a slippery rock and squawks when he almost looses his footing. His face turns slightly pink at the sound of his cat’s snickers from the riverbank, at the same time it wrinkles into a scowl.
Shibata can’t help but feel fond of him. All his mannerisms are – a little strange, maybe, a little outside the ordinary – but out here in the dense forest at the bottom of the mountain, where Natsume seems to spend most his time, it’s as if the world reorients itself around him. The trees are talkative, and the river is lazy, and Natsume makes as much sense here as they do.
Natsume’s friends are used to him, and the strange magic he wears like a winter coat. Shibata wants to be used to him, too.
That night, laying in a futon next to Natsume’s in his bedroom, while moonlight pours through the window and insects gossip outside, Shibata whispers, “Are you awake?”
“Hmm,” comes the sleepy reply, which could be a yes or a no.
“Do you remember when we were little?” Shibata asks, staring up at the ceiling. “When we went to the same school, and I was cruel to you?“
Natsume is quiet this time, but he moves; from his periphery, Shibata sees that dusty blond head tip over to face him, his eyes shining like Nyanko-sensei’s in the dark.
“I was just thinking,” Shibata goes on, the quietest he’s ever been, “how impossible it is that we could be friends now. How lucky I am, that you – that you’re you.”
Natsume’s confusion is so heavy it might as well be sitting next to them. “What does that mean? That I’m me?”
“You’re good, that’s all,” Shibata mutters, unable to explain it any better. “How many people would have talked to me, helped me, the way you did? I threatened to spread rumors, but Nishimura and Taki would have beat me up if I tried. That can’t have been the reason you did. It’s just – you. You know?”
Shibata can feel himself flushing. The inadequacy of the words is killing him, given how long this has been on his mind, how long he’s wanted to say it.
Doggedly, he goes on, “And because of that, we can be friends now. I can come visit like this, and – and it’s nice, that’s all. You can go back to sleep now, I just wanted to – “
“You’re the only person who came back for me,” Natsume interrupts him to say. “It’s because you needed help, but still. You remembered me and the – the lies I used to tell, and you thought I could help you, and you found me. No one else has ever done that.”
His voice is warm and shaped like a smile. Looking at him now is something Shibata isn’t brave enough to do, but the smile is probably a nice one.
“You think I’m the reason we’re friends,” Natsume says, in that soft, stubborn voice that could probably convince a mountain to move for him, “but we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t showed up that day. It’s all thanks to you.”
“Oh,” Shibata says, the only thing he can think of to say. For some reason, his eyes are hot. “Um. Okay.”
“You really are lucky, brat,” Nyanko-sensei says into the silver-lined dark. “Don’t take it for granted.”
Shibata covers his eyes with his hand and waits until his voice won’t shake to say, “I know that, you stupid cat. Next time catch us when we fall or I’ll shave your tail.”
Nyanko-sensei squawks in outrage, and somewhere beneath that, Natsume muffles a laugh against his pillow, and Shibata knows he’s lucky to be here.
Oh !! If you’re doing those little fic things for TSBS, could I ask for one about hunk and what he left behind on earth if that’s okay ??
There’s a box under his bed full of his most prized possessions. The first science fair blue ribbon he ever won when he was seven, the collar of his family’s dog that passed away when he was ten, the first birthday card Lance had ever made him the first summer they’d been friends, the first picture ever taken with his Moms on the day of his adoption. There’s a tiny robot he constructed when he was twelve, its arm broken, and the first wrench he ever bought with his own money. There’s a cool rock he found on a trip to the beach with his and Lance’s families, the only English essay he ever got an A on, an apron he outgrew once he hit puberty folded up near the bottom and cushioning everything else.
When homesickness hits him hard, Hunk curls around his pillow and tries to pretend it’s the slight, squishy edges of that box, that if he could have one thing in space with him from home, that would be it.
Still, though, Hunk knows the one thing he would give more for than that box, would be the ability to tell his mothers he was still alive.
Saint Isidora is my favourite because of the crux of her story, her modesty in comparison to others who were thought to be modest by holy nature. And even after being crowned, she still retained that modesty that, whilst many others would have taken, she chose not too and became a hermitress. Most likely to stay closer to God, but it really inspired me when I was younger.
thank you for your answer! i’m going to have to look into her :)
gonna be honest with y’all,, i don’t read enough poetry to have a favourite. I think the last time i read some was in highschool?? if y’all have any rec’s though feel free to shoot them my way! :)
when Guinevere from Masquerade was fourteen, she got obsessed with the occult for about a year. she hoped that it would help her get rid off the demons that plagued her. however, none of the things she tried had any effect, and by the end of the year she had given up and reconciled herself to the idea that she was doomed. this is when she stopped caring and became bitter and cruel.
when Ianthe from Crystal Hearts first came to the earthly plane, around 150 years before the start of the novel, she only brought two spirit companions with her. the other four joined them throughout the years for varying reasons.
Amber from Falling In Reverse strongly believes that there is something influencing everything that happens. she believes in fate - that things happen for a reason, that they have meaning. often, she finds herself thinking in terms of symbolism and foreshadowing in real life, as though she’s a character in a book and the author is trying to communicate with her. (I mean. she’s not wrong.)
