#mandelene's drabbles

[mandelene]

Fruk where Arthur tries to propose to Francis, but things keep going wrong so he had to keep trying. Also Francis is oblivious to what Arthur's trying to do, so he's surprised when Arthur finally proposes and starts crying because he's So Happy

Sorry for taking so long to post this. I got sick after I asked for drabble prompts and it took me a while to pull myself together, but now I’ve written it! No COVID-19 yet! xD I have two more drabble prompts in my inbox that I’m going to write as well. :) Enjoy! Also, I changed it so Francis is the one who keeps messing up. I hope that’s all right! That’s just what came flying out on the keyboard. 

Clumsily In Love 

Word Count: 706

“And so I bloody told him no because if something had gone awry, I would have been held responsible for a job that was not mine to do in the first place.”

He looks stunning against the moonlight glistening on the pier, even when he’s ranting like this. Stormy green eyes, wild blond hair that refuses to be tamed, lips dancing across his face with each heated word – how could Francis not be completely enchanted by him? Picking a restaurant on the water was a good choice. Quaint and romantic.

“Maybe those tricks work on the interns, but I refuse to implicate myself in matters that don’t concern me. I have my own duties to fulfill,” Arthur goes on between a violent sip of red wine. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Francis smiles at that. “No, you certainly weren’t. You’re too proud to allow yourself to be bullied in the workplace.”

Arthur furrows his brows, seemingly trying to decide whether he should feel flattered or insulted. “Yes, well…”

“It’s a good thing you aren’t afraid to speak your mind. That’s a quality I’ve always lov–”

“Oh, dear. You have pesto on the corner of your mouth,” Arthur interrupts, reaching across the table with his handkerchief.

Francis flinches, and his fingers fall away from the velvet jewelry box waiting innocently in the pocket of his dress pants. “Ah…”

His heart gives a small flutter as Arthur wipes his face ever-so-gently and casually returns to his meal.

Arthur checks his watch, frowns, and says, “Is it that late already? We really should be on our way soon. I’ll flag down our server for the bill.”

Do it now. It’s now or never.

“Before you do that, I wanted to ask you something…” He lifts his arm, intending to take Arthur’s hand in his from across the table, but manages to knock over his own glass of wine instead.

Arthur makes a tutting sound, quickly stands, and attempts to help. Fortunately, the glass did not shatter.

“It’s all over your shirt now…No need to worry, I should be able to get the stains out. Hydrogen peroxide and detergent will –”

“It’s all right. I’ll buy a new shirt,” Francis assures despite being completely flustered.

Just then, their waitress arrives, and Francis apologizes to her over and over, feeling horrible. Her understanding smile and friendly tone do not calm him, and when she returns with the bill a minute later, he wishes he could restart this entire dinner.

Arthur hands over his debit card before Francis can argue or stop him. He wants to make more of a fuss, but Arthur simply helps him into his coat, places a featherlight kiss on his cheek, and tells him it’s no trouble – he can pay the next time.

“I’m sorry for being an absolute horror this evening.”

Arthur chuckles and thanks the waitress one final time when she brings his card back. “Oh, stop. Come, it’s beautiful out. Let’s take the scenic walk back to the car.”

The boardwalk is serene. The quiet lull of the night is palpable, and the swans in the bay look like they’ve been meticulously placed there for a Hollywood movie.

“I had a wonderful time tonight. I’m sorry for going off on that nonsensical rant.”

“I had a wonderful time as well, and I’m sorry for spilling the wine.”

Now? Try again now?

Arthur stops walking suddenly and pulls Francis into a kiss, catching him off guard.

It feels so right. He can’t explain it.

When they separate, Arthur carefully takes his hand and gets down on one knee.

“Francis, will you marry me?”

The tears are instantaneous. He’s overwrought in seconds, and poor Arthur thinks he’s done something awfully wrong.

“You…You don’t have to say yes,” Arthur reminds, face blanching.

“No, it’s not that! I’m just so…so happy. Yes, yes! Of course I’ll marry you as long as…” Francis takes the opportunity to lower himself to one knee and finally pulls out the box in his pocket. “You’ll marry me, too?”

Arthur laughs, clearly surprised that they’ve both decided to propose on the same day, and kisses Francis once more. “Yes…as long as you let me clean that shirt for you.”

“It’s all yours.”

[mandelene]

Could you write about a doctor Kirkland who's worried about/fussing over his silly pretty french husband who's gotten himself either sick or injured?

I sure can. 😉💕 Enjoy! 

The Good Patient

Word count: 1087

“Where is your mind, if I might ask?”   

“It was just here a moment ago – couldn’t have gone far.” 

“Hilarious. Truly,” Arthur snaps, shaking his head in disapproval from the doorway. He moves closer to their bed, where a glassy-eyed Francis is cooped up, and tucks a soft cotton blanket around him. “When did you plan on finally notifying me that you weren’t feeling well? Did I really have to find out via text message from your concerned co-worker?”   

“You were on call at the hospital. I didn’t want to bother you,” Francis lamely explains, trying to suppress the urge to cough. 

In his defense, he felt all right this morning. The lethargy didn’t start until noon, and he only began to feel feverish during his lunch break. He managed to make it through the rest of his shift at the bistro, but just barely. Driving home was a challenge given his massive headache, and he may have gone a little over the speed limit, but he made it safely nonetheless. 

After that, he took a painkiller and went to bed. He didn’t even consider calling Arthur. It didn’t seem serious enough to warrant it, and besides, Arthur can’t just drop everything at work and come running anyway…

It wasn’t long before he found himself being roused by the sound of the front door opening and an irate Arthur interrogating him about his condition.

“You could have at least sent a text, so I would have known to check in on you. What if you had collapsed? I would have had no idea that you were even ill to begin with,” Arthur fumes, but his anger lacks any real bite at this point. He sets his briefcase down on their dresser and starts pulling out his medical supplies. “Have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror?” 

Francis huffs and refuses to offer a more eloquent answer. He doesn’t see how any of this is his fault. 

“Silly frog,” Arthur grumbles as he picks up a thermometer and presses it between Francis’s lips. “Under your tongue…I should have known something was amiss when you barely touched your breakfast this morning.”   

Now that Francis has been sufficiently scolded, he can enjoy the nice part of his husband’s doctoring—the fussing and doting.  

“101.8,” Arthur reads when the thermometer beeps, sounding exasperated. “That’s quite a fever you have…It’s a good thing I had the sense to bring a rapid strep and flu test from work.”   

“I don’t think that’s necess—”   

Francis’s pleas are ignored as Arthur sits on the edge of the bed and brings out his otoscope. “Open and say ahh…Hold still, I’m going to take a swab.” 

“Argghhh…”   

“Shh, don’t whine. It’s for your own good,” Arthur chides, prepping a long cotton swab, a testing kit, and a tongue depressor. “It’ll only be uncomfortable for a second…”   

When Francis feels the swab brush against his aching tonsils, he gags. It’s the twenty-first century, so why hasn’t anyone discovered a better way to test for strep yet?  

“All done. Thank you for indulging me,” Arthur says, giving him a reassuring pat on the jaw before sticking the swab into the testing kit waiting on the bedside table. He adds a few drops of solution to it and swishes it around. “In the meantime, let me see your ears.” 

“My ears are fine,” Francis insists, but Arthur brings his otoscope to each of them anyway. 

“Okay. Nose, next.” 

“That’s enough.”   

“I’m almost done,” Arthur promises as he places a hand on Francis’s forehead and tilts his whole head back to look into his nostrils. 

“How bad?”   

“You’ve managed to make yourself properly ill.” 

“Magnificent…”  

Arthur turns back to the strep test, squints at it, and says, “It’s negative. Let’s do the nasal swab for flu.”   

“You said you were almost done.”   

“I am. Now, tilt your head back.”   

Francis groans. He should have thought twice about marrying a doctor. He didn’t fully understand what he was getting himself into.  

“I’m sorry, love. This may be a bit uncomfortable again,” Arthur warns before the swab gets pushed into Francis’s left nostril. It feels like it goes so far up that it’s in danger of puncturing his brain.  

His sinuses immediately burn and ache in response. A yelp escapes him, and Arthur murmurs more apologies and sweet nothings before it’s over at last. 

“All right, darling, I won’t torment you any longer.”   

“Thank you for having mercy on me, mon cher.”   

Arthur chuckles and gives his arm a warm squeeze. “Thank you for being relatively cooperative.”   

“So, are you going to make me all better, Dr. Kirkland?”   

“I think you’re a lost cause, to be frank.”   

“Hey!”  

“I’m not allowed to give false reassurances.”   

The strep test gets replaced by the flu test, and while they wait for a result, Arthur hands Francis a glass of water and a tablet of acetaminophen for his fever.   

“Bed rest and plenty of fluids—doctor’s orders,” he prescribes, petting his hot forehead. 

“And your love?” Francis asks pitifully.  

Arthur smirks and gives a firm nod. “And my love, but no kissing until you’re better.” 

“Not fair…”

He inspects the flu test just like he scrutinized the strep test several moments ago and lets out a heavy sigh. “Positive for influenza type B. You sir, have the flu, and I’m afraid you’re going to be in this bed for at least a few days, possibly longer.”  

“Will you take care of me?”   

“No, I think I’ll just leave you here,” Arthur jokes before rolling his eyes. “Of course I’m going to take care of you, idiot. Is there anything I can get you? Something to eat perhaps?” 

Francis purses his lips in thought before mustering a devilish grin. “How about a hot night in bed with the doctor?” 

“Right, a cold compress for your head and some soup then.”   

“Arthuuuur.”  

“No, you’re ill. You’re going to stay put and take a nap.”   

“Can you take a nap with me?”  

“Maybe later.”   

“But Arthuuuuuur. I’m fraught with illness right now.” 

“Oh, yes, I’m aware. In fact, you’re so ill that you should be left in peace to rest.”   

“Arthuuuur!” 

“All right. One kiss on the head. That’s all you're getting for now,” Arthur concedes, pecking Francis’s brow. “Better?”  

“Much better. Merci, mon amour. Will I get more later?” 

“If you behave yourself, I might consider it.” 

“I promise to be a good patient.” 

“Uh-huh, that’s what they all say. And it’s almost never true.” 

[mandelene]

Oh! A prompt if you want it! What abouuuuut Francis and Arthur taking the kids to the store so they can write Christmas lists but one of the boys goes rogue and they lose them in the toy store! Every parent’s worst nightmare!

(This prompt has been sitting in my inbox since I wrote my last wave of drabbles, but I told myself I would eventually get back to it. And 4 AM is as good a time as any to work on it. Enjoy!) 

A Christmas Surprise

Word Count: 972 

“I want a new baseball, and a scooter, and Mario Party for my Nintendo Switch, and Hot Wheels, and --” 

“Alfred,” Papa interrupts him, setting a firm hand on his left shoulder and forcing him to take a breath. “I don’t think Santa Claus will be able to carry so many presents all by himself.” 

“Sure, he can! That’s what he’s got his reindeer for and a big red sack to carry all of the heavy toys in,” Alfred clarifies, clearly more educated on this topic than his parents are. Santa is magical -- there’s nothing he can’t do. He can make a bike fit through the chimney with ease!

From beside Papa, Dad lets out a heavy sigh and says, “But Santa Claus certainly can’t afford all of these gifts. He needs to save his resources for the other children in the world as well.” 

“Santa doesn’t spend any money on toys -- his elves make them in the workshop in the North Pole.”

“But he has to buy the parts required to put the toys together,” Dad continues. 

Honestly, does Alfred always have to explain everything? Adults can be so clueless. They’ve been on Earth much longer than he has -- they should know how things work by now. 

“That’s right,” Papa readily agrees with Dad, rubbing the stubble on his chin in thought. “So, why don’t you pick two toys instead?” 

Alfred instantly deflates. His shoulders slump forward, his arms droop, and he whines, “But it’s Christmas. You’re suppose’ta get lots of presents.” 

“Supposed to,” Dad corrects without hesitation. “Enough of this -- pick two toys to go on your Christmas list and let’s get a move on. It’s nearly time for dinner.” 

“Can we get McDonald’s?” Alfred asks, even though he knows what Dad’s answer will be. 

“No. There’s dinner at home...Hurry, now. No more whinging.” 

It’s cruel -- what did Alfred do to deserve this? He’s been extra good this year, in his opinion, and there’s no reason Santa should be rationing gifts. He’s supposed to bring joy to all children, but right now, all Alfred feels is the sting of sorrow...and a bit of envy. 

“Where’s Mathieu?” Papa suddenly says, alarmed. He spins around on his heel, looks down both ends of the long aisle of toys, and pales. 

“He was just here. He was standing right next to me a few minutes ago,” Dad says, eyes widening. “Matthew!”

“Mathieu!” 

Dad rushes to one end of the department store while Papa seizes Alfred by the hand and runs with him to the other. 

“You guys lost Mattie again,” Alfred notes, but Papa ignores him as he frantically pokes his head around every corner, searching with greater fervor each passing second. Alfred can feel Papa’s hand growing sweaty in his own. 

Dad must have made it to the store’s security because a moment later, an announcement comes on over the intercom system. A man with a deep, hoarse voice grumbles, “Attention shoppers -- if anyone sees a three-foot seven child with blond hair and a toy bear, please escort him to the front of the store. His name is Matthew. Last seen in aisle seven. His parents are looking for him. Thank you.” 

Alfred shakes his hand out of Papa’s clammy grasp and wipes it against his jeans in disgust. “He’s probably just looking at clothes or something.” 

And sure enough, after several more panicked minutes, Matthew emerges from aisle 15 -- the apparel and watch aisle -- carrying a small notebook in which he’s been drafting his letter to Santa.

He finds his way to the check-out registers, and Dad grabs him with both arms and hugs him tightly. “Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland, what possessed you to wander off on your own and worry us to no end?” 

Realizing he’s caused quite a scene and upset his parents, Matthew bursts into tears, apologizes, and feebly explains, “I didn’t want to bother anyone...You were all talking...” 

“You are not allowed to walk away without telling us. What if a stranger found you and tried to kidnap you? You are to stay right by our side at all times, understand?” 

“I’m sorry,” Mathew sobs softly, and Dad and Papa stop being so angry with him and start rubbing his back, trying to console him. 

“My heart just about stopped,” Papa says, visibly calmer than he was a few moments ago.

Matthew dries his cheeks with the sleeve of his coat and mumbles, “I won’t get any presents this year, since I made you worry?” 

“Santa has a very forgiving nature, I’m sure he will still bring you your presents,” Papa assures before lifting Matthew into his arms and placing a kiss on his forehead. 

“Just don’t ever, ever, scare us again.” 

Matthew nods and buries his head in Papa’s scarf, sniffling. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise...I wrote to Santa what I want him to bring you and Dad for Christmas.” 

There’s a brief silence as Dad and Papa take a second to let this information sink in. 

“Mathieu, you don’t have to ask Santa to get us anything for Christmas. We’ll manage,” Papa says, petting the back of his head. “Besides, your father and I already sent out our letters to Santa, so it’s all right.” 

“Really?” 

“Oui, really. Your father knows he’s on the naughty list and is getting coal, so he needn’t have bothered.” 

“Oi!” Dad cuts in, crossing his arms while Papa smiles at him in a funny kind of way. 

“Now, let’s help you boys finish those lists. We can’t keep Santa waiting any longer -- he has many letters to sort through.” 

Just like that, everything is okay again. 

Alfred goes back to admiring an action figure he’s had his eyes on. 

He can always add some extra items to his and Matthew’s lists when Dad and Papa aren’t looking. 

[mandelene]

⭐️ Put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. It’s time to spread positivity! ⭐️

Thank you, anon! 💕

[mandelene]

I don't think death is the way to go, and please don't push yourself into something traumatic for you :( usually I write fics to cope with bad things happening in my own life, and I assumed it would be the same for you, so I'm sorry for my first ask! (Has been to the er for my breathing anon) while I would love to see your take on an angstier face fic with Mattie at the centre, (love how you write him snarky) remember we love you and don't want you getting upset with the subject matter! ❤❤

It’s okay! 💖 You don’t have to apologize! I draw on negative personal experiences all of the time for my writing. There would be no Dr. Kirkland if I didn’t do that 😅. That said, I guess there are a few things that are more emotional. I have no problem writing stories about asthma or talking about it in general, and my longtime followers will tell you I’m very open about it most of the time (probably too open lol). I constantly joke about it. 

But when it comes to asthma + the hospital specifically, I always associate it with being on the verge of death lmfao. I was traumatized a few times and was in intensive care (which is why nowadays, I don’t go to the hospital for an asthma flare up even if I’m in status asthmaticus unless I have no choice -- aka only if prednisone is failing me, or my O2 is below 90% and I need an ambulance. I’d rather go to urgent care and do my best to ride it out at home. It takes a lot to convince me to go to the hospital for asthma. Even when my pulmonologist has told me to come and see him at the hospital, I haven’t gone out of a fear of being admitted. 😂 I have no problem going to the hospital for other things, and I don’t fear hospitals, but when it has to do with my asthma, you have to drag me lmao). 

But honestly, maybe writing a more severe, angsty scenario would be good for me. Idk. I haven’t tried it because I’ve always been hesitant.  

Love you guys, too! 😘

[mandelene]

You said fanfic requests fill you with dread. I have a suggestion. Write the requests people sent in before you closed requests (Mike and Dave, Blockers, Jekyll & Hyde, and Muppet Treasure Island) and then tell people you’re not taking any more requests in an author’s note at the beginning of the last request you write.

The thing is there are a lot of old requests, some of which were very lengthy and detailed, and at this point, it would take me months to get through them all. I apologize, but I just can't do that to myself.

Again, drabble requests are manageable, but fic requests are just too much and the expectations were very high.

[mandelene]

Thanks for taking drabble prompts again!! 😍 Would you mind writing something about toddler Alfred meeting his new baby brother Matthew?

My pleasure! And to answer the second anon, it’s more like, “*wink, wink, shoves Mandelene off a cliff*” xD I’m going to count this one as part of the “children” prompt for Fruk week. 

One Big Family? 

Word Count: 582 (a bit long, sorry)

“All right, Alfred. Today is a very special day. We’ve talked about this, remember?”

Arthur kneels down to be at eye-level with his three-year-old and hopes the gravity of this moment isn’t totally lost on him. Francis is out by the car, supervising their newest member of the family. Arthur thought it’d be wise to send Alfred’s babysitter on her way and mentally prepare his son for what’s about to happen. But the more he thinks about it and the longer he sees the blank expression on Alfred’s face, he realizes he shouldn’t have bothered.

“Wunch?” Alfred requests with great disinterest, sucking on his thumb.

“We can have lunch in a little while,” Arthur promises. “And what did I say about putting your thumb in your mouth?”

“It’s bad.”

“Yes, very bad…” Arthur notes before pulling Alfred’s thumb back down to his side. “As I was saying, we’re about to bring your brother, Matthew—”

“I wan’ watch cawtoons.” 

Arthur sighs, rubs his temples, and tries again. “Not now, Alfred. This is more important. Our lives are all going to change. Your brother—”

“I don’t wan’ a bwother.”

Yes, well, there’s that…Arthur and Francis have attempted to warm Alfred up to the idea of having a sibling by suggesting all of the fun things they could do together once Matthew’s a little bigger, but Alfred doesn’t seem very thrilled and has yet to show any sign of acceptance or tolerance toward sharing the spotlight that’s currently all directed solely on him. 

“But it’s lovely being a brother,” Arthur says with a tight smile. He isn’t really one who should be talking about this topic, given his own relationship with his brothers. “It’s also a big responsibility, so Papa and I are trusting you to be a good role model and be nice—”

Alfred lets out a disdainful shriek in response.

What a great start.

“Stop that! Or you can take yourself straight into the corner for a timeout,” Arthur warns. He isn’t getting anywhere with this. Francis seems to have lost his patience as well, because a second later, he comes in through the front door, holding their newborn in his black carrier. He sets him down in the foyer, and Alfred instantly toddles over to see—curiosity getting the best of him.

“Matthoo?” Alfred asks, looking down at the squirming, chubby-legged baby.

“Yes, Alfred, this is your new brother,” Francis says, trying to sound excited in the hopes that his enthusiasm will brush off on the boy.

“Mmm,” Alfred hums, thinking long and hard. He squints his eyes at Matthew, looks him up and down, and finally says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Arthur and Francis ask in unison, both a little flabbergasted, and relieved, frankly. They were prepared to have to deal with another several tantrums. 

“Can I has wunch now?” 

“Can I have lunch now?” Arthur corrects with another heavy exhale. “After we get Matthew settled in, we can eat.”

They worry it’ll take some time for Alfred to get accustomed to the baby’s presence, but when the boy innocently offers his peanut butter and jelly sandwich to Matthew during lunch, and they have to explain to him that he’s not old enough to eat solid food yet, they aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry tears of joy. Maybe both. 

They’ll be inseparable in no time.  

[mandelene]

You can take this as either a prompt, or just something to think about, whichever you prefer. What if Francis could see Arthur's fairies?

Faerie Funny

Word Count: 480

“You what?”

“I’m telling you—I saw a faerie!”

Arthur coolly sets down the cup of tea he has brewed for Francis on the nightstand, conceals the twitch of a smile creeping across his lips, and steadies a rehearsed frown at his husband. “Really, now? And what did this faerie look like, dare I ask?”

Francis, the poor man, has been cooped up in their bedroom for most of the evening because his catered lunch at the office didn’t seem to sit well with him—he’s down with a bad case of food poisoning, silly frog. He’s a clammy, green-tinged mess at the moment, and, admittedly, he’s quite cute when he’s needy and adorably confused like this.

“It…It looked like the one from that movie the boys watch all the time—the one based on that British novel that’s on the bookshelf in the living room,” Francis croaks before taking a tiny sip of lemon-ginger tea.

“Hmm,” Arthur says, pretending to be oblivious for several seconds. “…Are you talking about the film Peter Pan? Francis, are you really trying to tell me you saw Tinker Bell from Peter Pan? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

Francis flushes scarlet and fumes, “You talk to faeries all of the time! Don’t act like I’m the crazy one!”

“Those are just stories I tell the boys before bed,” Arthur lies with another practiced expression of disapproval. Maurelle will be upset if she finds out she’s been confused with a fictional character from a Disney film. “You know, I’m quite worried…Perhaps you need a hospital at this point. You’re delirious.”

“I DON’T NEED A HOSPITAL. I SAW A FAERIE. IT ZIPPED RIGHT PAST THE GARDEN!” Francis shouts, pointing to the window at the far end of the bedroom. “I’M NOT INSANE.”

“Oh, love…It’s going to be all right. I’ll bring a cold compress for your head. You were probably just dreaming and now you’re disoriented.”

“I AM NOT DISORIENTED.”

“Don’t stress yourself like this—it’ll only make things worse. Why don’t you finish your tea and take another nap? I’m sure you’ll feel much better once you wake up,” Arthur suggests, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to keep his mouth in a straight line.

“DON’T PACIFY ME, ARTHUR.”

“Honestly, you have quite the imagination when you’re ill.”

“ARTHUR KIRKLAND.”

“I’ll get that compress and leave you to rest, love,” Arthur says with exaggerated tenderness. Then, he places a kiss on Francis’s brow and hurries out before he can yell any further.

Before he goes to wet a hand towel, he jogs downstairs, opens the front door, searches the air in front of him for a moment, and sighs when he sees a twinkle in his peripheral vision and hears a high-pitched giggle against his left ear.

“What did I tell you about playing tricks on people?” he asks seemingly no one.

[mandelene]

Why do I keep accidentally closing my ask box? I’M SO ANNOYED BY MY OWN INCOMPETENCE LOL. I’m so sorry, guys. I just realized it was closed, and idk how long it’s been closed for both this blog and on @mandelenefitness xD. When I’m on Tumblr mobile, weird stuff starts happening and the app absolutely hates me. If you ever notice it’s closed again, please feel free to DM me about it or reply to one of my posts to scold me for it. My intention is to always keep it open -- so if it’s closed, something is wrong. 

Sorry, a million times. I’m a noob. 

[mandelene]

YOUR FUCKING FLUFF KILLS ME HAHAHAHAHA. MANDELENE, GODDESS OF ANGST AND FLUFF. For fuck's sake though, stop killing off your characters if you can make such excellent happy stories.

Never have I ever hurt a character. They hurt themselves. 

[mandelene]

I have 2 more drabble requests in my inbox, so I'll write those and then I think I'll end it there, guys. 💕 Thank you for sending the prompts and forcing me to write, lol.

Writing these honestly helps me in my journalism classes so much because I have to write under pressure lmfao.

I've been writing all day, so I'm gonna take a break to go to the gym and finish the other two drabbles when I get back. 😘 Thanks for being awesome. Gotta tend to my own fitness now. 😅

[mandelene]

I'll write the rest of the drabbles tomorrow night, guys. I have two more in my inbox currently, but I can't tackle them tonight because I have to go to bed so I can get up extra early again for work because there's an important event going on. In the meantime, feel free to send me some more prompts. I'm going through them in the order I receive them 😊

[mandelene]

hey have you read this fic called The Danish Slaughterhouse or sth? i've eard people talk about it and i was wondering what you think about it

I have not read it, unfortunately. 😭 Sorry about that! I have read Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut though, bahahah. 😅 Highly recommend that.

[mandelene]

Just a reminder that I'm still taking prompts and questions! 😊 So feel free to spam my inbox!

Okay, I’ve decided what I’m going to do for a 500 follower celebration! :D 

-Until Tuesday, April 7th, 12:30 pm EST (24 hours from when I’m making this post):

You guys can send me hetalia drabble prompts. No restrictions except it has to be an idea that I can feasibly finish within 1000 words or less (so nothing with a super complicated plot. Just 1-3 sentences on what you’d like to see), also nothing blatantly NSFW, but insinuated romance is fine. You can also re-send prompt ideas that maybe I didn’t get to last time and I promise to get to them this time. :) 

You can also send a headcanon prompt if you’d prefer to do that instead. 

You can ask me any questions you want, no matter how personal, as long as I don’t have to give out my address, full name, or do a face reveal 😅 (or anything else that I need to keep private for safety reasons lol)

Lastly, if you want to leave an ask commenting on stuff you like about my blog or dislike, as well as stuff you’d like to see in the future, that’d be very much appreciated, too! 

Thanks, everyone! You guys are awesome. 💕

[mandelene]

This blog is cursed now. 

But seriously, thank you so much to the new people who have started following me! I really appreciate it! 💖 My inbox is always open so feel free to ask me anything you’d like, Hetalia related or not. While this is a blog for my drabbles, headcanons, and other Hetalia posts, it’s also my personal blog. Personal posts are tagged #mandelene’s stuff so if my dumb rants and cringe posts aren’t your cup of tea, feel free to avoid those. 😅 I’m not currently taking drabble requests because I’m trying to get through the ones in my inbox first, but I will definitely make a post letting you guys know when you can send in more. 

Thanks again! 

[mandelene]

I just want to extend a warm welcome to the group of new followers I've gained over the past week or so. 😊💖 Welcome aboard the crazy train. I assume many of you are here for my hetalia drabbles/writing, but you should also know that I'm a gremlin who posts a lot of personal drama and baggage on here as well that you likely didn't sign up for. Those posts are always tagged "mandelene's stuff" so feel free to filter that tag out of your dashboard if it gets annoying.

Also, my ask box should always be open (if you notice it isn't, shoot me a message because I probably accidentally misclicked while on the Tumblr app and closed it without realizing -- it has happened before.) You're always welcome to ask me any burning questions you might have, hetalia related or not. Again, I'm pretty open about personal stuff so you won't be making me uncomfortable or bothering me if there's something you'd like to know. I originally made this blog to connect more with my readers who have read my fanfics on Ao3 or ffn.net (my username is also mandelene on both of those platforms if you want to read more of my fics, and my current WIP is called The Lessons We Learn).

I'll let you guys know whenever I'm taking drabble prompts. Usually once I announce it, I'll take prompts for about 24 hours and then post the drabbles over the course of a few days. I don't take prompts 24/7 because I would get way too many and never finish them all. My goal with the drabbles is to respond to every single person (unless the idea is NSFW; the only prompts I don't take -- or prompts that are too long or specific to finish in one sitting, in which case I'll let you know it's too much for me).

Thanks for your support! 🙏💕