#Prompt 35

[promptsbytaurie]

prompt #35

"You don't know how much you've been changed until you look in the mirror and flinch at the shadows under your eyes and the scars etched into your skin."

[lire-casander]

#35 'your problem is my problem'

'your problem is my problem' original prompt list here

Carlos shakes his head as he kneels down on the floor, looking underneath the couch.

"Lou," he calls out. "Come out of your hiding spot, buddy. C'mon, don't do this to me today, please."

But the stubborn lizard refuses to show up, making Carlos’ existence a little bit more difficult by the second.

"Lou," he repeats, leaning forward and reaching below the couch. "TK will be home any minute now. He'll have a heart attack if you're missing."

Carlos gives up his search underneath the couch and moves to the realm of the kitchen, even though the mere thought of Lou The Second chilling out on a lettuce leaf gives him the hives.

He realized Lou was missing after having showered, when he was getting ready to cook dinner. Carlos hadn't given it much thought when he'd first seen the empty terrarium, believing that maybe Lou was sleeping in there somewhere. But when after a few moments the lizard hadn't even approached the glass to greet him, Carlos had known something was wrong.

And this time it's his fault.

He's always complained about TK being absent-minded and not paying much attention to where Lou was, so his fiancé had dared him to take care of Lou for a whole week. Confident in his abilities, Carlos had accepted the challenge.

Two days into the week, he's managed to lose Lou. And TK's about to come home, he realizes when he checks the clock. He freaks out, swiftly lifting everything on the surfaces of the kitchen's counters with no success, when the door chimes and TK enters the living room.

Belatedly, Carlos realizes how bad the situation might look — the living room is a mess, and the kitchen is halfway to becoming an amusement park of spatulas and pots scattered on the floor and the counters.

"Carlos?" TK greets him, but it sounds like a question. "What's going on here?"

"I, ehm, I might have, how to say it—"

"You've lost Lou," TK says when realization dawns on him. "Oh my gosh, this is hilarious."

Carlos’ face lights up beet red, embarrassment filling up his soul. He simply nods.

"Well, lemme change real quick and I'll help you with the search."

"You'd do that?" Carlos sighs. "Even when it's me who has caused this problem?"

"Oh, babe," TK says softly, chuckling. "Your problem is my problem. It's going to be like that officially on Saturday, so I might as well start practicing."

Carlos smiles at him, while TK continues. "He can't have gone far, and he can't get out of the loft. Besides, I have a really good trick to lure Lou out of wherever he is."

"Ah, do you? And what would that be?"

TK laughs out loud but doesn't say anything. He rushes to the shower and gets out in record time, helping Carlos in his search. It turns out that TK’s trick is to call Lou with the softest voice possible, which Carlos hadn't tried.

And it works, because the lizard gets out of his hiding spot in between the leaves of the plant they have decorating the foyer.

[winterspiderpurrs]

Happy never forgets a face. Never. It's what makes him extra valuable to someone like Tony Stark. Tony Stark, who runs Stark Industries. Tony Stark, who is head of the Carbonell Italian mob; though, while there is some speculation, it's never been proven.

Happy had a system. He categorized people into color groups.

Green for these people are no bodies and didn’t touch the crime world and were safe to interact with.

Yellow for people who are some bodies but won't cauae trouble but have connections.

Red are people who have connections and could cause trouble.

Then their were Black. Those are the unknowns, and they could be as bad as the reds. People a little too clean. Or people who maybe could be someone undercover. Not enough information on them.

Before every convention, Happy makes a point to do background checks on everyone. He memorized all the photos of the people attending. Sure, maybe Friday helps break into the databases to get the photos, but he is just trying to protect Tony.

So when Happy saw Tony talking to someone, he was already going through the catalog in his mind to place the person. Catching Tony's eye, he touched his black tie to silently signal the group the person falls in. Doesn’t mean it's gonna stop Tony, but it just means he is gonna be a bit more cautious. Hopefully.

Peter Parker. 20 years old. Just finished with his masters at Columbia University in Biochemical Engineering. Mother was a scientist as well. Mary Fitzpatrick. Irish. No father listed on the birth certificate. She married another scientist 4 years later, Richard Parker. Both deceased. Plane crash. Italian Aunt and Uncle raised him. Uncle died later. Shot at a Bodega. Not their area, so not tied to them. Trained as a gymnast. Big brown eyes, wavy brown curls. Smart. Cute. Flexible. Just Tony's type.

But something nags at Happy as he watches Tony and Peter talk.

He glances around the room when he spots them.

The Winter Soldier leaned against a wall, looking around the room on the left side, looking a little too casual. At the refreshment table section was The Captain. He worked for the government but has ties to the Irish mob, though, like Tony. Couldn't be proven. He was staring at Peter and Tony with a frown, not subtle at all.

Then it hits. See, there were rumors that The Captain had a kid. Had them young before he was involved with potential mob connections. And he recalls another rumor going around that there was a small riff between The Captain and The Winter Soldier, a love interest that was not approved.

He has to get Tony away from this Peter Parker.

Peter Parker, who potentially could be the kid of The Captain Steve Grant Rogers.

Peter Parker, who potentially could be the love interest of The Winter Soldier James Buchanan Barnes

[dcscavengerhunt]

Find a depiction of a comic book.

See pinned for details.

[whumpers-monthly]

Issue no 35:

Best of 2024

Send me your favourite post of this year. And because I know it can be hard to decide you can send me up to three posts. There are only two rules; the posts must've been posted this year and they have to be whumpy. So go on and share to posts your most proud of.

Tag your posts with #whumpers-monthly and #issue no 35   If you make a gifset for the prompt, please also add the tag #whumpedit  

If you already made a post that fits this prompt, reblog that post and tag @whumpers-monthly

Please add the name of the whumpee and the movie or show your content is from.

[harmlessmessages]

WARNING: SMUT

Careless by harmlessmessages. All rights reserved by the author. 

“Careless” tells the story of two strangers who meet at an open mic in Manhattan. She’s a vibrant musician determined to perform even as her body resists her every move. He’s a mysterious young man weighed down by debilitating, chronic pain and a secret as dark as the mask that hides his face. 

Through alternating perspectives, their chance encounter evolves into a night of raw connection and unguarded intimacy. As their stories intertwine, their personal struggles and unexpected likeness surface, revealing the solace and heartbreak of finding hope and relief in one another, even if for one night.

Each scene is paired with a song, making “Careless” an immersive experience where music mirrors the characters’ journeys and the poignancy of their bond.

Song: Fake Plastic Trees, Radiohead

34/41

“I want you to cum inside me.” She begged him. Fuck, fuck, he could not think. She felt too good, he felt too good inside her. He wasn’t thinking at all. He wasn’t thinking from the moment she rubbed her knees against his at the bar. From the moment she sang on stage. 

“I’m so close.” He moaned into her ear, not stopping, his dick drumming and filling with his desire. 

He could feel her clench onto his cock, unmistakable twitches that grew into hard, heaving contractions, almost pushing him out. As she howled, he dug deeper, plunging himself through the crashing waves of her orgasm.

Now, now was the time. He could do it. He would do it. He wouldn’t let the pain stop him. Not this time. 

35/41

Every tendon of her body ignited, the flooding and fire between her legs whirling, rising, her toes twisting and curling. She burned, she burned and it felt so good, his dick pummeling into her, his mouth hard against her neck, kissing and gnawing and sucking as her vision blurred and she squeezed her eyes shut so tightly that bright, shooting colors bounced against the blank dark. 

She came hard, she came so hard that she nearly cried. He reached down to kiss her, breathing her cries into his throat and she gasped so heavily that she felt dizzy, dizzy with pleasure. 

Before she could gather herself, he pulled out, and she moaned from the shockwaves that radiated up to her heart. Her cum dripped from him and her, glistening on his cock. 

He picked her up from the bed, standing her on her feet so she stood as he was, her body still shaking and now facing forward, his dick rock hard and wet against her ass. He reached his hands in front of her, one on her breast, and the other sliding over her clit as he softly kissed her neck from behind. 

“I’m not done yet.” He urged into her ear, electrifying her skin and nerves so the hair on her arms and neck stood up. 

She angled her head, looking to the ceiling and moving her hair for him, allowing his tongue to slide up her with ease. Slowly, she closed her eyes and focused on his hand softly massaging her below.

She then turned around to meet his lips with her own, standing on her toes so his dick now pressed directly against her legs still convulsing with excitement. His mouth was sweet, his tongue warm and dancing with hers. He gently guided her back onto the bed, placing her head on the pillow, his lips never leaving her own.

36/41

He willed her eyes to open and locked onto them with his own. It would hurt, he knew. But he wanted this. 

She spread his legs for him one last time, and he entered willfully. Slow, deliberate, keeping her gaze. 

She giggled. She’s still nervous, he noted, even after all of this. He laughed into her, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her passionately, then leaning back to hold her eyes once more. 

She was beautiful. She knew that, didn’t she? 

“What?” She whispered, searching his eyes time and time again for something he failed to speak.

“You’re beautiful.” He kissed her lips.

She smiled. “So are you.” No squinting, no rolling her eyes, no scowl. Instead, she reached up to kiss him, and he accepted her invitation wholeheartedly. He began to push faster, deeper, and harder as she twisted below him, rocking and swinging her hips and holding him inside her. He felt her latch again, clenching and releasing onto his cock as she moaned, louder and louder.

It built up quickly, the excited pressure in his dick ready to erupt. She wrapped her legs around him, locking him in, as he groaned, feeling the sharp stabs in his groin radiating into his legs and lower back. 

She grabbed his face and forced him to hold her stare as he cried out. He kissed her, kissed her again and again and licked her lips and squeezed her tight as he came deep, deep inside of her. 

37/41

She could not speak, she could barely catch her breath as she folded her arms around his body. He slowly pulled out — and he took his time — his thick, steaming cum leaking out of her, marking her thighs and and trickling down bit by bit.

He fell to her side, breathing heavily, never letting go of her. She turned to him, swathing her legs around his, her fingers trapped in maze of his curls, her eyes lost in his soft, dark brown gaze. 

She laughed, and he joined her. It wasn’t nervous laughter, or that of doubt, or trying to hide anything. She just laughed at how funny this was, because it was funny — strangers in the night, two lonely people. 

[camillathe6th]

7 for the kiss prompt and anything you’d be willing to share about una and nadeem 🥺

klghsklhglhg thank you! I'm answering you and @kittlesandbugs for this one, this is our chance, this is the moment I write some mouth action as I promised more than 24hours ago.

(Before that, a few details about Una and Nadeem, thank you for asking!! They're ex-partners who worked for the same organisation as partners for ten years, and then Nadeem defected in a bang--they're both convinced that they, themself, are working for the greater good (one of them at the very least is wrong), and that the other betrayed them for not choosing to remain at their side. At the moment the story happens, they're reunited and have to work together against their will. They're supposed to gather information on each other, but they're a little busy dreaming of killing each other and finally taking that sweet, sweet, normal-amount-of-obsessive, we're-not-over-our-strictly-professional-break-up revenge. Una is a still a huge asshole in this one, a trained assassin and what amounts to a child soldier (don't tell her that, she doesn't agree). Nadeem is an asshole and a bitch and a very good honeypot. When they worked together, she was the muscle and he was the infiltrator.)

OKAY, THE PROMPT. this is way too long and really dumb? I'm sorry, might be my dumbest yet.

7. (A kiss)... to shup them up

2088. (UNA)

Babble, blather, gabble, tattle. Prattle, jabber, yapper. It never stops. Of course he’ll tell you he never wanted a cochlear, of course he’ll tell you he never wanted to hear the world, but the truth is he’s so in love with the sound of his own voice he simply never shuts the fuck up.

“I’m surprised you even dare break into Reyes’ office,” he throws over his shoulder, not without catching a satisfied glimpse of himself in the chrome lampshade when he thinks you’re not looking. “What will daddy say if they catch you?”

“They gave me access,” you mutter, opening another drawer, coming up empty—the files aren’t here, which means the files are hidden, which means your “access” is tenuous at best.

He snorts.

“Bullshit. You have viewing rights on empty folders and censored scatters, that’s all. Just enough for you to gnaw on and keep the blinders up. You know that, right?”

Beyond the babble, blather, gabble, tattle, prattle, jabber, yapper, you catch it: at the end of the corridor, the sound of machinery gliding, of doors gliding, the same sound that accompanies your forbidden unlocking when you slide inside this corridor you don’t have security clearance for. Just a hush, hushed up, hush-tight sigh as bodies wait, enter, then walk, flashed inside in the wink of a biometric reader.

“Don’t you see? Una. You can’t even put your hands on SEER’s file—don’t you s—"

“Shut it,” you snap, and push him fast under the desk, heart in your throat.

This can’t happen. This can’t happen. Not here. Not when you’re close. Not when you haven’t had time to—think, to think, to hear yourself—to dismantle it, to unravel it, the many-stranded knot of your mind. You can’t be found here. You can’t be found guilty, here, here and now. Why did you listen to him?

Why did you. Why did you listen to him?

“I wasn’t finished,” Nadeem hisses, because to your endless torment he’s still here, and so close now that his whisper hurts like a scream. “Why are you so scared? I thought you had access? Is it because you’ll be punished for your offence, conscript Mhmh–?”

You clasp your full, dirty, gritty hand onto his stupid, sunlike, sourflooding face.

“Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth,” you enunciate, eyes inside his eyes, your body taut and your ear perked, as the steps echo closer—two people, one of them heavy, heavier than skin, heavier than muscle, too heavy for biomaterial, and its slow-purposefulness a tempo you’d know anywhere: they’re coming.

Coming, but not before your endless TORMENT slides his disgusting tongue all over your palm, lapping its grime, wiping its sweat-salt, slipping between your fingers with aggressive slaver, the shock of his mouth a jolt, a thunderstrike, and wet and warmth and AUGH—

“Are you twelve?” you snarl as low as you dare, and WIPE your drool-full palm against his fucking fuckface, so he gasps, so you pull his hair, so he catches your wrist, so you bite his free hand, so he slaps your free cheek, so you twist his ear, so he knees you down, so you push him back, so the DESK trembles, and the DESK whines, and your bodies stop and your eyes stare

                                                                  and silence falls.

Inside of it, your mirror-pantings are almost as loud as a moan, enmeshed.

“They’re gone,” he whispers then, turning up his implant with a finger at his scarred ear.

“You think, you stupid asshole?” you bark, slipping out from under the desk before you succumb and strangle him dead.

Other prompts here.

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

"Ah, ah, ah I wouldn't do that if I were you"

But I don’t think it’s a good idea.

Nobody wants you.

Ted and Ari’s words rattled through Jamie’s head like thunderclaps as he walked from the Crown and Anchor. 

He should have known it was too much to think that one pass would’ve been enough to show Ted he had changed. Apparently, Ted meant all that winning isn’t everything shit he tossed around last season or he would have known Jamie would help them end their series of draws. Or maybe it was just more mind games. Or maybe Jamie just wasn’t good enough. 

Good enough on the pitch.

Good enough as a teammate.

Good enough as a person. 

Maybe he didn’t deserve a team. 

Maybe he was useless.

Maybe his father was right. 

Jamie hastily wiped a tear away he felt fall from his eye and willed his eyes to stop stinging. Too soft to take rejection of his own creation. 

“What the fuck did you think you were doing running off like that? For an ickle tv show? You think they’re going to sit around and wait for you? You think they’ll keep your seat on the bench warm? Christ, Jamie, you only played because they already had the title sewn up. You know you had to work harder to make it, but instead, you fucked off to Ibiza or wherever the fuck you were. What a waste of what little talent you have.”

That was the first voicemail. He shouldn’t have listened to it. And it defintiely shouldn’t have listened to the second.

“You think you can last one week working like I do? Cause now that Manchester City kicked you to the curb, you’re gonna need a real fucking job. All you can do is kick a fucking football around, Jamie. Too dumb, too weak to do anything else. Pathetic, that.”

He didn’t listen to the other fifteen messages his father had left for him. There probably would’ve been more but the mailbox filled before his father got a chance. Jamie regretted not blocking his father’s number when he left for Lust Conquers All, but part of him wanted to hear how angry Jamie made him. 

He should probably block it now that he was back in England and his father wasn’t a safe distance away in another country. Now that he was kicked off Lust Conquers All too. Jamie couldn’t even fuck right apparently. His strategy gone up in flames after jacuzzi sex with Denise. 

Now, no other team wanted him. Not even relegated Richmond wanted him. They would rather stay in the Championship than let Jamie Tartt back into the changing room.

Jamie couldn’t blame Ted. He only makes things worse. His Mum’s life, Keeley’s, hell there was no one at Richmond that was better for having spent time with him. His Mum would be better off without having to worry for him, without him holding her like an anchor, forever connected to James Tartt. Keeley was successful and happy without him.

“Watch where you’re going.”

Jamie hadn’t noticed the pair of men he bumped into until he bounced off the solid form of one of them. 

“Yeah, sorry, mate,” he mumbled, without looking up. 

“Aren’t you Jamie Tartt?”

That got his attention and his head snapped up to scan their faces. 

“Nah, just look like him,” Jamie deferred and tried to step around him. 

“Nah, I’d know that fucking face anywhere.”

Jamie tried again to step around to no avail, one forcibly moved his body in Jamie’s path. 

“Ah, ah, ah I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jamie was so fucking sick of these two, of this night, of this week, of this fucking year, of his fucking life. 

He was done with it all.

“What the fuck you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” the other said, shoving Jamie roughly with two hands.

Jamie should’ve taken the time to realise both of these men were bigger than him in height and pure body weight. He’d lost muscle mass and strength already during his time on Lust Conquers All; he was skinner than he had been in years. He should’ve taken the time to realise he could turn heel and run, and neither of these fucks could have caught up with him. 

But Jamie didn’t take the time to think about any of that. 

Jamie punched one of the men instead. 

He was quick, dum dum one stumbled back caught unawares by the attack, holding his bleeding nose between his fists. Jamie was fast, but the other man was faster. Dum dum two’s fist connected with the side of Jamie’s jaw before he had time to react. His head whiplashed to the side, and the man followed it up with a punch to Jamie’s ribs. Jamie reared back an elbow, connecting with a crunch to dum dum number two’s nose. Jamie grinned, even as pain shot through his jaw. 

Dum dum one though was just reorienting himself and swung out at Jamie, who ducked it easily. Jamie came back up swinging, connecting with number one’s mouth, Jamie’s ring stinging as it bit into his skin, but Jamie knew from experience it would inflict more damage on the person on the other end. Dum dum two though had recovered enough to lower his body weight and tackle Jamie, american football style. 

The move startled Jamie, and he hit the pavement with an oomph as the air was violently pulled from his lungs. He was still coughing when a fist connected with his face, forcing his head to bounce forcibly off the pavement. A rough kick to his ribs had Jamie trying to curl in on himself, but the weight of number two was enough to keep him firmly on his back. 

“Take his wallet,” Jamie heard vaguely through his ringing ears. 

His hands instinctually went to his pocket, and he fought for hold with dum dum two. Eventually, he was overpowered, his wrists held in vice-like grips of number two as the other pulled the wallet roughly from his jeans. 

“Fuck off,” Jamie said, spitting at the one holding him down. 

A kick to his ribs met his futile act of resistance. Two, still straddling him, wiped hastily at his face. 

“You’re gonna pay for that, prick.”

Jamie spit at him again, bucking his hips, trying to throw the man off him before dum dum one plated a boot painfully on his shoulder. “Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

And as the rest of the hits rained down on him, like a downpour on a hot summer day, Jamie had just enough time to think at least he wouldn’t have to explain this to a coach before he lost consciousness.

(Outnumbered in a fight)

[midnightsnaq]

Almost done with my mp100 fic. It's around 18k words. Which is one of the biggest writing works I've done. I'm going to upload it on ao3 and wattpad

[selfcarecap]

The group photos in dating apps make me so mad I can’t even explain it. Why do men think that’s a good idea ???? 😭😭 why are men so….men (I fear I still love them 🤭)

I really don’t know, the worst is when they exclusively have group pics because how do I know he’s not the ugliest one? I wonder if they get anyy matches lol. I have one group pic on my profile too but I’ve covered my friends faces like it’s my profile 😭 (I fear still love them too🤭😭)

[gunebuggiesprompts]

Word of the Day dpxdc Prompt #35

September 12: Fallible

For a long time, most people idealized Phantom as perfect, having never truly lost a fight and yet was known to be merciful.

Then he disappeared, and rumors began flying high about what could have happened.

Perhaps Phantom wasn't as perfect as they thought...

Though Danny always knew that, the expectations placed on him unwillingly were too much. It's why he decided to lay low in the most unassuming universe he thought of, so that he could restart everything and be him.

How was he supposed to know that his assumption and expectation of this universe were wrong? Oh, the irony.

[schittscreekdrabbleblog]

This week's word is...ponder!

Don't forget to tag @schittscreekdrabbleblog when you post! Happy writing!

I have an additional announcement this week. Due to a major life change coming in the next few months, I have decided that I will need to put this blog on hiatus while I work through some of the busy and chaos surrounding this change. I wish it didn't have to be this way, but I feel it is necessary. I wanted to give all of you a heads up before this happens so you could be prepared. The first day of this hiatus will be May 8, 2023. I unfortunately am unable to put an ending date on it at this time. I plan to post something, a small list or a bingo sheet or something, of words that can be used while I am gone. Thank you to everyone who writes, reads, leaves likes and comments. You are much appreciated!

[wigglebox]

.

[true-blue-sonic]

Me: "Okay Flufftober time you've got a prompt you have a nice idea for, time to go and counteract the misinformation that Silver is taller than Espio :> :>"

Me: writes the story

Me: forgets to put the WHOLE-ASS PROMPT in the story

[spookydingus]

according to Tumblr, a single grey hair places a character in their late forties to fifties, regardless of how the rest of them looks.

By this logic, I have calculated that I am incorrect in my own age and must be somewhere in my late seventies.

[baradhiblue]

lil last minute prompt list cobbled together from looking at existing lists and some personal insights on what i want to draw/write

feel free to use it too and remix it as it suits you