What shall be the new name for the Drarry ship?
I did a post about this earlier, and I got quite many good answers in my opinion (because my suggestions were all shite I wrote them real quickly)! So I thought that a poll would be great to finally settle it. Here’s a list first:
• Doubleseeker They’re both seekers, so uh that’s that I guess, and I think it’s an interesting take)
• Dragonfruit (I have no idea where fruit came from but I love it, and we agreed that it would be great in Drarry fics so that whenever you read a scene where there’s a lot of the sexual tension that Drarry is famous for, you just go “The gays are being dragonfruity again” 💀🤚😭)
• Snakecharmer (Ahhhh I love this one ✨ The snake is Draco, and Harry is a Parseltongue so he’s the charmer! I seriously can’t get over how good this is!)
• Silversnitch (This one is all mine, I figured that I’d make a play of words on Golden Snitch and yk, Draco’s hair is silvery so… Silversnitch!)
• Pureheart (Draco is a pureblood as we all know so here’s my take on it!)
• Chosenblood (The Chosen One + Pureblood)
• Dragonseeker (Simple, but it totally works, doesn’t it?)
So. Here it is!
Vote honestly! And also, you’re all free to use any of these at anytime, and please please come up with your own suggestions! It’ll be so cool! Try spreading the names you like in tags here on Tumblr and so on, and see where it gets you!
I can’t wait for results! ❤️
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FIC: "Who Weaves Fate's Fate?" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)
@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list? We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?
Read on Ao3
01 September 2024
Prompt 49: Fate
“What are you working on today?”
She looked up at his voice, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the god of song. She beckoned him closer, her smile as warm and welcoming as ever, before turning back to her tapestry.
“Come,” she said. “See.”
His smile softened as he approached, but it left him in a rush as his mouth dropped open. The tapestry was beautiful, as beautiful as its weaver, but then again weren’t all her works divine? His grip tightened where his hands were clasped behind his back, fighting the urge to reach out and touch.
The slightest touch could change things irrevocably, in this state. Before she fastened off the ends and declared her work complete. He would never jeopardize her work like that.
She cared too much for her charges for him to ever do so.
“It’s amazing, Marinette,” he said, his voice reverent. Her smile turned shy, a faint pink dusting her cheeks as she bent her head. You’re amazing.
“Thank you, Luka,” she said, pushing her needle through the thick cloth.
“You never said what it was, though,” he said, smiling as the pink grew darker. There was a curl that had fallen loose from her headdress, dangling just behind her eye. He longed to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear, to let his fingertips brush along her cheek…he kept his hands firmly behind his back.
She was not his to touch, much as he wished otherwise.
“It’s a love story,” she finally said, pausing to brush her fingers along the couple she was so painstakingly stitching. That much had been obvious, from the embrace they were locked in, but he loved to hear her say it. To tell of the fates she poured so much of herself into. “Aren’t they always love stories?”
“They are your favorite kind,” he chuckled. She hummed in agreement.
“I’ll leave the darker ilks for my cousin,” she said, picking her needle back up. “Kagami prefers them, anyway.”
“How do they meet?” he asked, looking back to her tapestry. She shrugged.
“The usual,” she said. “Boy meets girl.”
“Boy falls hard for girl?” he asked, grinning.
“Girl makes him work harder than he probably should have to,” she giggled, glancing up at him. The giggle cut off abruptly as her eyes found his, and he wondered what she saw there to make the pink of her cheeks darken to red. If he was as obvious as he sometimes feared, though he had never intentionally kept the heart on his sleeve a secret. She swallowed, her smile wavering as she held his gaze. “I…should maybe be kinder to them. Sometimes.”
“You say that as if you aren’t always kind,” he said softly. As if she wasn’t the kindest of all of them. She shrugged, and whatever spell had been lingering between them seemed to break as she turned away.
“…I like stories,” she finally said, reaching for her needle again. “What good is any story without a few twists? I can’t make things too easy for them, can I? The work makes it worth it.”
“And what of you, Marinette?” he asked, his eyes still on her dark curls. They weren’t natural, he knew – he had seen her hair spilling over her shoulders in dark rivers. Had heard Rose tell his sister of the time it took for some of her updos. That didn’t make them any less lovely – or any less tempting. “What is your story?”
“…pardon?” she asked. She paused again and looked back at him. “What do you mean, what is my story? I am Fate. My story is to tell their stories.”
His smile softened as he chuckled, shaking his head.
“I envy them sometimes,” he said, tipping his head back with a smile. “How easy they have it. To have someone like you weaving their tales, watching over them all their days. But it does make me wonder. Sometimes.”
“…Luka?” she asked, her voice too quiet in the stillness of the room. There was a sprawling design on her ceiling, a mural she had painted eons ago of cherry blossoms just in bloom. Sometimes, if he stared at it long enough, he would swear the blossoms were dancing in some unseen breeze.
“Who weaves Fate’s fate, Marinette?” he asked softly, finally looking back to her. “How does her story go? Is it a love story, as well?”
She swallowed, her eyes locked on his for the longest moment. A century passed in that moment, he thought, lost in the swirling infinity of her eyes.
“…they are her favorite,” she finally said, as if her very words would break the spell that had seemed to settle over them. “Would it be anything less?”
He hummed as she turned back to her tapestry. He wondered, sometimes. If it truly could be.
. : .
She was working on a new tapestry the next time he came to visit.
“And what of this one?” he asked, smiling once she had invited him in. He was always welcome, he knew, but they both knew he would always wait for her permission to approach. The choice was always hers, in the end.
She was silent a long moment, and he let his eyes trail over the embroidery. There was something…familiar about it, though it was obvious the tapestry was still in its early stages. And yet…there was something about it that spoke of years, lifetimes, of love and care. Of careful thought, maybe even some hesitation. Of hope.
He could see the faint outline of another couple sketched onto the cloth, the man holding the woman close as she bent her head back towards him. The moment before the fall, he couldn’t help but think, just before the first kiss that would change everything forever. Before he could take in any more details, she was standing, holding a few spindles of blue thread up to his face. He blinked at her, startled.
“…Marinette?” he asked, his brow furrowing at the way her eyes darted between his and the thread.
“This will never work,” she huffed, shaking her head. “I’ll need new blue. None of these are right, and it won’t work if it’s not right.”
His eyes widened as he glanced back at the early tapestry, suddenly realizing why it had all felt so familiar. He reached up, finally allowing himself to catch her wrist, and swallowed as he looked at her.
“Marinette?” he asked again, his voice breathless. “What…what are you working on today?”
She bit her lip, the spools tumbling from her fingers as she broke his grasp – just to thread her fingers through his instead.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, smiling shyly as she stepped closer. He felt himself leaning in, his eyes drawn to the perfect bow of her lips. An eternity passed between one breath and the next as he held back, waiting for her permission.
…he would always wait for her permission. The choice was always hers. In the end.
“…it’s a love story.”
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