#angst prompt minific

[verfound]

MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 1: Autumn (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

...I was gonna do these, and then I wasn't gonna do em, and then work life flipped off creative life and here I am, joining the fun at @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers's late. Using the Ghostober 2021 prompts here. Just having fun. 👀

Read on A03

To Feel Alive Again: Day 1: Autumn

A chill breeze whispered through the street, nipping at the edges of exposed skin peeking out from coats and scarves.  Marinette pulled her own coat – a lumpy, gray thing she had lifted off a reap a few weeks back – and tried not to scowl.

She used to love this time of year.  Before.

The changing of the seasons meant a new wardrobe.  Layers of material, vibrant splashes of color, boots and hats and scarves – so many accessories.  She used to have the cutest peacoat, made from a deep burgundy wool that always kept her warm on the coldest fall days.  She had embroidered a swirl of leaves around the hem in a rich gold thread, and she had even found golden buttons shaped like maple leaves to line the front.  She had been so proud of that coat.  She’d lived in it every fall for years.

…she hadn’t died in it, though.

She’d died in the spring.

When it was too warm for such a heavy coat.

She supposed it was funny, in a way.  Before, the fall – a season marked by death – had always brought a new life to her, but the spring – the season for life and renewal – had brought with it her death.

Now she saw it everywhere.

It was hard to love things anymore.  In the After.

“You’re still allowed to love things,” Théo had said, not unkindly, one morning over breakfast.  It was a rare moment of seriousness for him, and if she hadn’t been in such a foul mood she might have appreciated it.  Instead, she hunkered down deeper in the gray coat she hated and stared – glared – out the window.  She hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing.  She didn’t see the way Luka glanced up at her from his coffee, a small frown playing at the edges of his mouth.

She did see the large, chunky sweater folded on the foot of her bed when she came home a week later, though.

“…Fred, what…did you leave this here?” she called, her hands trembling as she held the sweater up.  It was obviously handmade – not as good as she could make, but absolutely perfect in its little imperfections.  The stitches pulled just a little too tight or a little too loose, the slightly uneven ribbing along the neck, the braiding that hadn’t been blocked properly zigzagging down the front…it spoke of time, and care, and things Marinette hadn’t let herself think about in far too long.  And it was soft, the yarn used to make it obviously high quality.  She knew just how much a sweater like this would cost – more than she could dream of affording these days, when she was still struggling to hold down an after-death job.

“Hmm?” Fred called, popping his head in the room.  When he saw the sweater, his eyebrows lifted.  “Ah, that?  No, it wasn’t me.  Luka dropped it off while you were out.  Said something about pink suiting you?”

Marinette’s head jerked up, surprised, but Fred was just smiling at you.

“You’re still allowed to love things, Marinette,” he said, inclining his head towards her.  “You’re still allowed to feel.”

She looked back at the sweater, her lips pursed and her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed, and didn’t answer.  Fred sighed and flipped his hat onto his head, nodding at her.

“I’m off,” he said, tipping his hat at her.  “Make sure you eat tonight, kid, all right?

…he probably hadn’t meant a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of macarons, but as she hunkered down in the nicest sweater she had ever worn and watched her old favorite sappy movie on the cracked tv…well.

At least when you’re dead you don’t have to worry about calories.

[raccoonfallsharder]

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷ day five machinery✷.⁺⋆˚₊

semi-romantic angst & fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | minific | word count: 1,946.

Ka-chunk-hnk. Ka-chunk-hnk. 

Rocket scrubs his knuckles against the fur and flesh that have grown over his metal sternum. His ribs strain like creaky bellows, lungs splitting and bruising against the bones. It’s been like this sometimes, since before he can remember — but lately it’s a chronic condition. 

Ever since the High Evolutionary’s voice had echoed over the comms on the Bowie, lethal and shrill. 

Rocket sits at a table across the street from Nebula’s offices, and waits. His fingers drum on the pretty, dusty mosaic surface. 

Ka-chunk-hnk. Ka-chunk-hnk. 

You step out of the doorway, back arching as you stretch. Nebs must’ve had you hunched over datascreens all day — a waste of eye candy, he’d think, if he’d let himself tap too far into his old jackass-habits. Not that it matters — he’s already been preparing to be an absolute, unforgivable dickhead to you, ever since he woke up the rotation before last and decided he couldn’t bear the sound of it anymore.

Ka-chunk-hnk. Ka-chunk-hnk. 

“Hey,” he calls out, voice low and carrying. “You. New kid. Buttercup.”

Your eyes swivel, wide and startled. Shimmery. He kinda hates that about you, except no he doesn’t. He scowls when you look at him and tap your chest, brow creasing in confusion. Who, me? he imagines you uttering, voice perplexed.

Yeah. You. 

He points at you with two fingers, then slashes them toward the chair opposite him. He can see you hesitate — then you’re drifting across the street like a leaf in a stream, eddying around little obstacles and whirlpools as they arise. It takes too long, but you’re finally sinking into the seat across from him.

“Captain?” you say politely, and he tries to hide his scoff. Nothing says new kid on Knowhere quite like deference. Still, it’ll be useful for him today.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I gotta job for you.”

You blink those gorgeous eyes of yours. “Me?”

He rolls his eyes and tries not to let himself feel bad about exploiting you — all that kindness, that generosity, sitting right there on the surface, ripe for manipulation. “I need you to get me something outta Pete’s old place.”

You blink those starry eyes again. He really needs you to stop doing that, ‘cause it’s killing him. “Pe — Star-Lord’s apartment?” 

He grunts and flicks his eyes back towards Nebula’s door. “Yup.” He lingers on the y, and pops the p. “Super-confidential, very-official, super-frickin’-secret Guardians-mission. Can you do it?”

“I — what do you want me to do?”

Ka-chunk-hnk. Ka-chunk-hnk. 

And this is how you end up slipping through the barely open door of the legendary, absentee Star-Lord’s bedroom: all for a captain with pretty, heartbreaking almandine eyes. 

You’re such a sap.

But Rocket had given you an override hex for Peter Quill’s rooms, and you don’t see how you can refuse him anything, so in you go, even though you know he’s fucking lying about — well, everything related to this so-called mission, you’re sure. No-one has touched this room since Star-Lord left a few cycles before you’d arrived — other than to fix the Warlock-shaped hole in the wall and window, anyway.  Kraglin, Groot, and Nebula all insist he’ll be back soon, and so the apartment remains as he’d left it. 

You glance around, and sure enough, there’s the treasure Rocket had sent you to find, sitting on a rickety high shelf: a dense ball of bulging white tissue, pressed like dough into a silvery, skeletal cage. 

You pick up the sphere. It’s heavy in your hand, like it has its own field of gravity — and you suppose, in a way, it does. Turning it, you recognize the OrgoCorps logo, and it’s the final confirmation you need. You slide the sphere into the pouch on your belt, and you slip from the room, shutting the door behind you. 

“Don’t let Nebs see you,” Rocket had warned. “Don’t let anybody see you.” He’d muttered something your translation chip had haltingly tried to identify as fuckin’ narks. “She’ll be all over my ass if she finds out.” He’d looked up at you, those almandine eyes suddenly narrowing shrewdly, and had said, “You understand what I’m asking you to do, right? You’re the frickin’ fall-guy.” 

“Got it,” you’d said mildly, unbothered. So now here you are, tapping with raindrop-light fingers on Rocket’s apartment door. It swings open and you slide in off the street seamlessly, and he’s got his hand in the pouch at your hip before the door’s even closed behind you.

You jolt at the brush of heat and his intrusive nearness, but he’s already got the record-sphere in his hand, turning his back to you and striding toward the… bed? It’s a slab of cold metal with a ragged blanket and no pillows, and you do a double-take around the room. Nope, that’s definitely the closest thing the poor guy has to a bed. 

The Captain’s fucking miserable. 

Still, you’ve decided that light-hearted sarcasm is the best way to engage for now. 

“Geez,” you snip playfully. “Buy a person dinner first.” 

He startles, tossing you a wide-eyed look over his shoulder that’s too shocked and vulnerable to allow you any satisfaction. But then he rolls his eyes and huffs out a disgruntled sound of annoyance, and begins connecting the ball of white tissue to a handful of datapads and small machines he’s got set on the bed. 

“Sit,” he rumbles with a gesture at the hunk of scrapmetal masquerading as a mattress. He already got his eyes locked on the numbers and letters as they  scroll up on the screens, and he’s glaring at them mutinously. “Or get out.” 

You hesitate. But the fact that he’s opened a spot for you in his apartment at all feels like an indicator that he doesn’t want to be alone, even if he’s too frightened to bring any of… whatever-this-is to his friends. Instead, he stands beside the bed, typing shit into his datapads and screens, and you perch on the spot beside them, facing him. You take him in as he works: the furrowed brow, and the crinkles along the sides of his nose as he tries not to grimace or snarl. His ears — one alert and forward-facing, and the other swiveled into a half-flattened scrap of fur and flesh. Even his tail looks a different than usual: tensed and bristling, tucked tight against his inner calf. 

“There it is,” he mutters, and his eyes scan the screen. They jump and widen, then scan again. His brow drops and now both ears lay flat, and he reads it all again. The fur on his neck and the backs of his forearms rises.

Then he hisses a curse that the translator can’t pick up at all this time, and he shoves himself away from the screens, pacing back and forth in front of you thrice before throwing himself onto the bed at your other side. Your eyes follow him, wide and startled, as he keeps up the steady stream of indecipherable swearing.

Slowly— cautiously — you turn sideways, pulling one leg onto the bed with you, away from the pile of ramshackle tech so you can study him while you chew your lip. You want to ask what it is he’s discovered, and if he’s okay — but the words stay trapped in your throat, meaningless and hollow. You hesitate, and then sigh, and lower yourself onto your back beside him.

The two of you stare up at the ceiling for what feels like ages. Outside, the lights of Knowhere grow gold, signaling the end of the second wake-shift. Topaz light slants in through the frosted windows at the head of the bed.

“Your bed is a chiropractic nightmare,” you say after a moment, and he whuffs a startled laugh. 

Silence falls again, but it feels easier, curling comfortingly into all the crevices of the room. Maybe it’s because of your comment, or maybe it’s because you aren’t looking at each other. Maybe it’s because you’re no-one at all to him — just Buttercup, the New Kid, Hey You.

But he speaks.

“Ever since — ever since we got back,” he mutters. “Ever since the Arête — my heart’s been acting weird. I thought maybe it was — I thought maybe it had been injured worse that we realized, or maybe—“

His voice crackles away, and you don’t chase it. You just wait in the fake sunset-light, watching it warm the shadows. 

“It sounds awful,” he says at last. “Like, yours—“ he lifts a hand above you both and taps out a rhythm on the air with deft fingers. “—thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.” You can hear the grimace in his mouth. “That’s a good heart. That’s a healthy, normal-person heart. But mine—“ He curls his clawed fingers into a strangling fist, and twists viciously. “Ka-chunk-hnk. Ka-chunk-hnk.”

He drops his hand to his abdomen.

“It’s not fuckin’ good,” he mutters, and his voice is so desolate that your belly suddenly twists and that space behind your eyes tightens. “It’s not… I always knew it didn’t work right.” He makes a tortured noise in his throat that sounds like it’s trying to be a laugh. “But the records say everything’s operating like it should be, so I guess I’m just a messed-up little—“

You roll suddenly. If you’d been thinking clearly, you never would’ve moved so quickly, and later you’ll be grateful that he didn’t lash out at you with startled, defensive claws. But all you can think is to offer him some sort of solace, some sort of peace. 

So you press your ear to his chest.

On the other side of the Indigarran cotton, you feel heat and fur, flesh and metal. He stiffens— frozen beneath you, and then shivering with an uncertainty you’re sure he’d never let show on his face. He smells like fireworks and whiskey and forests in late autumn, and beyond that — a touch or two faster than yours — you can feel the quiet thump of his heart. It’s a little quicker and jumpier than you’d expected, but the longer you lay with your cheek to his chest, the steadier it grows. 

Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

“It sounds like a good heart to me,” you murmur. “I don’t hear what you hear in it — not at all.”

There’s a crackling, staticky quiet, and then he makes a wounded little sound deep in his chest, and you feel it rumble up under your cheek. His hand shifts from his abdomen and his fingers are suddenly cradling the back of your head, holding you against him. 

“You don’t hear it?” His voice is agonized. Desperate. “You really don’t—?”

You can’t shake your head with the way he’s wrapped around you, his other arm coming up to join the first, almost clinging. And you — well, you don’t want to give him any reason to think that you’re not perfectly content to stay like this. “Definitely not,” you tell him. “I’m no doctor, of course, but �� it sounds beautiful to me. It sounds like it works far better than you ever realized.”

Your head shifts as he lets out an exhalation so long and splintered that you suddenly wonder if he’s been holding his breath ever since he got back from CounterEarth.

“I thought—“ His words are all hushed and creased, puffing into the air and then tumbling to the metal cot around you like crumpled balls of paper. “I thought maybe it wasn’t a real heart,” he says raggedly. “I thought maybe it was just a — a broken machine.”

You pull your own hand out from beneath you, and you tap out the rhythm just below his collarbone. 

Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

“I promise,” you tell him softly. “I can feel it. It’s real.”

lol whatever i'm under 2k words sooooo i am still very cool. (this was a scene i'd had in my brain for like six months. it's the core component of the oneshot i was writing called real but thanks to this "drabble" (i don't think 2k counts as a drabble whateverrrr) i have a new title in mind (broken machinery) and at least part of the main scene written so YAY

day four. family ✷ day six. bite rocket prompt week masterlist ✷ main masterlist rocket raccoon prompt week list

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

[littlelostmabari]

Complete Fic List

Hi everyone, I'm LittleLostMabari and I write fics for Dragon Age and Baldur's Gate 3. I'm also a fangirl for other things, and I take minific requests / asks!

Find most of these on AO3 @/LittleLostMabari.

(Dividers by cafekitsune)

One of The Good Ones

Fandom: Dragon Age 2 / Dragon Age Inquisition x D&D 5e / Forgotten Realms Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x OC. Background F!Hawke x Anders, Isabella x OC, eventually others. Rating: M (Canon-typical violence & behavior, check tags) Updates on Tuesdays.

To Kirkwall, By Accident (Ch 1-3)

Champion of Men and Druids (Ch 4-7)

Breaking Faith and Other Things (Ch 8-9)

To the Gallows, the Long Way ‘Round (Ch 10-13)

For Want of a Moment's Peace (Ch 14-16)

The End Begins (Ch 17-20)

Smaller fics under the cut.

Other Fiction:

Dragon Age

#Veilguard30 Complete Fic List (October 2024)

Baldur's Gate 3

Wine and Kisses [Gale x f!Reader post-game fluff, Rating: T]

Touch of Darkness [Gale x f!Tav angst, Rating: M, Work in Progress]

A Firm Kiss [Gale x gn!Reader, Rating: T (w/ CW)]

BG3 Pride Prompts (June 2024)

Day 4: Eating/Cooking Together [Shadowheart x Halsin x gn!Tav fluff]

Day 9: First Meeting [Wyll x m!Tav fluff]

Day 12: Journey Together [Lae'zel x f!Tav, post-Act 3]

Day 20: Festival [Aro/Ace Tav + Tadfools fluff, post epilogue]

Poetry:

Sweetness of Mortal Love [Gale x Tav, Act 3]

A Worthy Path [Gale x Named!Tav, Act 1]

At the End [Gale x Tav, Act 3]

Tell Me What Happened [Original]

Gifts / Requests:

A Note To Fenris [Fenris x mage!Hawke, Rating: G]

A Firm Kiss [Gale x gn!Reader, Rating: T (w/ CW)]

Not Going to Happen [Cullen x gn!Reader, Rating: T]

[hedgiwithapen]

harry wells + pat dugan, "you don't know what it means to be a father." :)

(What's the context of this? in grand Angst prompt minifics... that's up to y'all, lol, I'm not doing an entire fic of lead up but I'm sure there is one)

The two men stared at each other. 

"You can't be serious." Pat said after a moment. "You've been helping that kid--" he can't called Barry Allen the Flash. That's Jay's name. " and you're just going to, what. Throw him to the wolf?"

"You don't know what it means to be a father." Harry dismissed. "I would do anything for my daughter. My Jesse."

Pat couldn't help the chuckle. "Wow. That's some excuse you've got there."

"And if Zoom had your children," Harry shot back, "What, you'd  just let him kill them? No wonder you're just a sidekick. You're a coward."

Pat's blood ran cold. "You're the one who doesn't know what he's talking about," he said, his voice low. "I get that it's a tight spot you're in. But you don't just trust something like Zoom to keep his word. You want to save your daughter, betraying the only people willing to help you is about the stupidest plan you can make. And trust me, I've seen some really, really dumb plans. But the thing is, they work sometimes. When you've got enough faith in your people."

"Allen, Snow, Ramon? They're not my people," Harry dismissed again.

"And there's your other problem." Pat said. "You asked what I'd do if Zoom took my kids? That's how we got here in the first place. I can tell you--as a father--I wouldn't just give him what he wants. I'd put him down. But you're not interested in the hard fight, are you, Wells?  You'd rather let other people pay for your mistakes, let other people do the fighting because you can't be bothered. That's the difference between us." He turned.

Harry reached for his arm to grab it.

Pat swung back, hard, blacking Well's eye. For all his talk and his gun, he wasn't much of a fighter. "I'm going to do you a favor, Wells. I'm going to go tell this team what I saw, so we can make a plan to save your kid. Because that's the right thing to do. Join us if you think you can handle that. Otherwise? Back off. And don't bring up my kids again."

[birgittesilverbae]

AAAAA THANK YOU FOR THAT BEA ANGST I LOVE IT! Now how about ava cradling Bea's limp body🌝

Ava can't help but hold her breath as firmly as she holds Beatrice, lying slumped against her chest. She can't corral her hands, though, and one reaches out, still wet, to stroke up and down the curve of Beatrice's back.

Beatrice stirs groggily, tension coiling in her limbs, and mutters something that might be a question into Ava's collarbone; Ava brushes the hair out of her face so she can kiss her forehead and whisper, "you kinda passed out after the second one, babe."

shoot me a minific prompt

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BBU Community Days - Day 2

@bbu-on-the-side prompt: * {Day 2: Questions} What's an open question you've always asked yourself about the BBU? Ask it, and see if other writers have found answers to it!

One thing I've considered but haven't ever really taken the time to do much with has been households with children. I've touched on it, briefly, here and there, but never really centered a story around it. But it's something I've seen a few BBU writers touch on and enjoyed!

Also, the impact of real-world racism on the kind of dystopian future that the BBU built! It's not something I feel comfortable really working out in much detail, although writers like @angst-after-dark have written some really great considered takes on how they see the human pet system interacting/intersecting with the racism that would already be in existence before the system ever came into being.

Basically, those really heavy world-building questions!

As for a question I've actually worked on, I like to think about/write about how the system fits into the everyday lives of people. There's a lot of criticism of the BBU that tries to posit that this sort of thing couldn't happen, people wouldn't allow it, etc - but I think history (chattel slavery and the transatlantic slave trade as well as the history of using incarcerated individuals as a form of legalized slave labor even into the present day, plus present-day existing human trafficking) proves not only that it can happen, but it has happened, it was justified by other people - even those who did not directly involve themselves in evil.

One of the things I've touched on is that the system is "just how it's always been" for a lot of people, and there is a growing and vocal movement against it but they are often dismissed or derided by others, subject to violent repression, etc. I have WRU as a powerful corporation that lobbies heavily to keep what it does legal, and people who more or less shrug at it. "Well, it sucks, but what can you do."

I think people, historically, as a species, are pretty good at focusing on getting through life and not moving too far out of their comfort zone into doing anything about even the pretty fucked-up stuff that happens outside their front door.

But, yeah. So that's just a few world-building questions I've considered when working on my WRU pieces.

I've touched on the idea of the societal viewpoint on this, and how people handle it, in a few pieces:

The Safehouse Raid arc touches on how regular everyday working class people think about and deal with the aftermath of a WRU raid on a safehouse, as well as the way law enforcement is in collusion with WRU: Come Back: Safehouse Raid | Safe in the Dark: Antoni and Leila | Shut Up, Slut | Interrogation, Part One: Jake | Just Right: Chris | Interrogation, Part Two: Jake | Stubborn As Hell | I’ll Die First | (Guilt: Antoni) | If They Knew: Chris | Interrogation, Part Three: Jake | Promise Kept | Trust (featuring @deluxewhump’s Alex) | Jake Passes Out |Jake Has Trauma, Too | Come Home, Part Two | This Isn’t About Dad

Chris revealed as a former pet to his friends in a series of very veyr short minifics: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen

This Isn't Hypothetical for Chris - involves an in-class argument over the ethics of pet ownership that gets out of hand and sends Chris spiraling

Chris, years after rescue and recovery, sees another pet with his owner at a coffeeshop.

Speak Out Arc: Akio’s Idea | My Answer is No |Worth the Risk | You Want to What? | Hello, Liam Harker | You Don’t Have to Look | I Did Not Sign Up For This | Any Questions?

[ao3feed-newsies]

Minifics

by, a_very_confused_emu by a_very_confused_emu This is a collection of one-shots I’ve written past an acceptable time to be awake. Some of them are based on prompts or memes, others on interesting dreams I’ve had. Enjoy (if you want, I guess. idk I don’t make the rules) Words: 1490, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Newsies - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Jack Kelly (Newsies), David Jacobs, Smalls (Newsies), Les Jacobs, Sniper (Newsies) Relationships: Jack Kelly & Smalls (Newsies), David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Smalls/Sniper (Newsies) Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Modern Era, The Refuge (Newsies) read : https://ift.tt/xgtmD45 - February 14, 2024 at 05:04AM

[kalira]

Toshi POV! I am looking forward to trying that fic, tbh. . . And honestly, Toshi has such a great perspective on Kei-and-Sho (in any incarnation that takes >.>).

I should probably like . . . actually make notes on the blood bond thing somewhere outside my head. I guess. >.> (Funnily, I haven’t got any specific plans for the pair-bonding meta theme anywhere where they are both vampires. . . Not yet, anyway. Hmhmhm. . .)

Well, it’s not like we’re lacking in Other Things to discuss thoughts on while that one percolates. ;)

Angry, protective Kei is delightful! (And you might be why that particular one is lingering on the metaphorical ~list~. . .) I also delight in how pouty Sho is with Kei (and just with Kei), and maybe sometimes overemphasise it to be sure, but-!

I should definitely do something with my board, I’ve had it for ages and actually finished and posted like . . . two stories. ^^; *coughs* But! True, true, they . . . fit well for Bad Things and whump and angst. >.> Ah, Moon Child.

(I looked at my board again - heckies I never remember what’s on it very well X’D - and the first one that jumped out at me as probably being Quite Fitting for Moon Child was “Wiping the Other's Tears Away“ *ahem*)

Whumptober! *claps* Well, it’s a lot of fun and I mean, *gestures at Moon Child*, but don’t overstrain. >.> I want to try and do another completionist Whumptober this year, and with proper stories rather than minifics (what I did last year), but we’ll see. . . Also perhaps somewhat dependent on whether I finish stuff for my September deadlines by like, end of August, so I can start on Whumptober at the beginning of September when they release the prompts. . .

:0 So many Moon Child WIPs! *eyes*

Inception AU??? *eyes* Sex talk I am Intrigue. . . Co-sleeping *claps* ohh yes, I am very *eyes* at this list. Cold fingers? Baby vampire? *chinhands* I love baby vampire feels, aa~ (’Kei has issues with the way-’ I am very curious about that cut-off. XD)

Sleep in the Space Between

T; 620 words Kei & Sho

Kei slips in to bed, sharing a quiet, close moment on the cusp of rest as Sho relaxes, balanced between peace and worries worn soft by years.

A sleepy introspective Sho moment the idea for which was sparked by some conversation with @penguinmusings a while back!

[louiszeastronaut]

“𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎... 𝙸 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞” - Tom Riddle x y/n

Note: So basically, I took the dialogues from a scene in Little Women, when Laurie proposes to Jo, but she rejects. Then I replaced the two characters with y/n and Tom. I tweaked some sentences in the dialogues, and wrote the sentences outside of the dialogues with my own words just to make it fit the story... I haven’t finished it (3/26/21 I guess I finished it?) because I wanted to know if you all think I should continue or not. Idk what this is man lol.

Warnings: terrible grammar and punctuation mistakes :)) Word Count: 1,447

March 19, 2021

    “Penelope married” you said aloud.

    “Nanette of to Europe.” there was a brief pause between you and Tom.

     “And now that you’re a graduate you’ll be off on a long holiday” you continued, panting as you walked down the sloping hill.

    “I’m not good like Padma, so I’m angry and I’m restless.”

    “You don’t have to stay here y/n” he suggested

    “Why?”      “Should we run off and join a pirate ship?” You joked, turning your attention back to him, grinning at yourself. You peered at him just after laying your eyes on the orange and red maple trees that lie so vibrantly, and vastly ahead of you. Then you saw his solemn face. And yours fell into a yearning grave of its own.

    “No. No…”  you stared blankly at him, knowing what he’s hinting at.

    “It’s no use y/n” he reached for your hands, but you neglected it and pulled away “Y/n we’ve got to have it out…”

    “No please don’t-

    “I have loved you ever since I’ve known you y/n I couldn’t help it!”

    “Tom… no-

    “A-and I tried to show you, and you wouldn’t let me, even though I struggle to show it to anyone-

   “But I must make you hear it now, and give me an answer because-” he said through a weighted sigh, “Because I cannot  go on like this any longer y/n!”

   “No..”

  “I gave up the dark arts, I gave up everything you didn’t like, I’m happy I did. It’s fine. And I waited and I never complained!” He cried aloud, spectacles of tears starts forming in his eyes, then rolling down his pale cheek.

    “Cause I-“ he paused, face angry and flustered that he’s showing his rather pathetic side to you, and letting the fact that he’s showing this just to profess his love, is absolutely harrowing and ludicrous! Even for him. But he can’t seem to hinder himself away from it, nor does he feel like he has to, because at this point he had to finish what he didn’t originally appointed to say.       “Cause I figured you’d love me y/n!” He yelled.

    “A-and I realized I’m not half as good enough-

    “No! Yes you are!” You exclaimed back.

     “And I’m not this great man, and-

     “No! No Tom, yes you are!” “You are.” He stopped talking, catching his breath so you finally had your turn of say.

     “You’re a great deal too good for me” you say as you pointed your finger on his chest, nudging it reassuringly. “And I’m so grateful to you. And I’m so proud of you and- and I just don’t see why I can’t love as you want me to“ you pleaded. “I don’t know why”

       “You can’t?” Tom asked in a whisper, his eyes darted away as you hear the echo in his voice.

       “No… I can’t- I can’t change how I feel. And it would be a lie to say that I do, when I don’t”

       “I’m so sorry Tom-“ your eyes still fixed on him, you could see him thinking, biting the insides of his cheek. “I’m so sorry” you repeated more imploringly. “But I just can’t help it…”

        “I can’t love anyone else y/n I only love you” he admitted

         “Tom it would be a disaster if we were married, okay?”

         “It wouldn’t be a disaster!” He argued

          “We’d be miserable-

          “GOD BE A PERFECT SAINT!” He yelled

           “I CAN’T! I can’t! I’ve tried it- and I’ve failed!” you exclaimed, your words trembling in the end. You realized you were staring directly through his cold grey eyes, used to be full of depth and sudden rupture, but now clouded with his blinded feelings that you can’t help but hopelessly deny. Both of you let the words hang over the air for a while...

           “Why does everyone expect it then?!” He continued, “Why does your family and my friends expect it?!”

           “Why are you saying this?! Say yes-“ he nudged his hand forward, offering you something you have stubbornly refused many times in this feud “And let’s be happy together.”

          “I can’t say yes truly. So I’m not gonna say it at all. And you’ll see that I’m right eventually and you’ll thank me for it“ you explained grabbing ahold of both his freezing hands in front of you, making sure he understood where you’re coming from. Your clutch loosened as he writhes away from hands.

         He breathed out more heavily than before, head shaking, headspace nowhere to be found. He was tired of rambling and letting his words foam out of his mouth. It was quiet for a brief moment that it felt like everything around you suddenly vanished, and you two were left alone with only your souls crying out to be heard by the other. The air was taut and quiet, that you noticed his uneven breathing patterns, and only then you recognized that your heart was beating the same way. Beat. Breath. Beat… Breath… Beat…..

       “I’d rather hang myself then realize this y/n.” He broke the silence.

        “Tom-“

       “I would rather be dead.”

       “Tom don’t say that!” you bellowed wearily. He put his hands in his pocket and started walking away. You could see his jaw clenching, you’ve learned from your time spent being with him that he does this only when he’s angry. But, not like this. He’s still trudging even more further down the hill, his shoulders bouncing as gravity pulled him down, so you had to catch up.         “Tom, listen...” “You’ll find some lovely accomplished girl!” you say as you flailed your arm in the air, then reach up to grasp his shoulder from behind, while resting your other hand on his tensed back. Only to find him tearing his arm away from your touch, rather harshly. You felt his hurt. You felt guilty for ever making anyone feel this way. Especially if that ‘anyone’ is him.

        “Who will love you and adore you, and- and she’ll make a fine mistress for your fine house! But I wouldn’t alright?!” 

        “Yes you would y/n...”

        “Tom. Tom- look at me!”  ���I’m homely, and I’m awkward, and I’m odd!” 

         “I love you y/n....” Tom said in a monotone voice, watching you play out and degrade yourself as what you think your negative qualities are, just so that you could point out to him why you think you two shouldn’t be together. 

         “And you’d be ashamed me of me-” you added

         “I love you y/n.” He interrupted, repeating the same words but more clamorously this time.            “And-and we would quarrel, we can’t help it even now!!!” you shouted, later noticing how unapologetically you sounded. You wanted to keep talking but you decided to stop to catch your breath first. You could feel the burn rising in your throat from yelling, but you continued on.           “I’d hate elegant society, you’d hate my scribbling... and we would be unhappy, and we wished we hadn’t done it! And- and everything will be horrid-” You ranted. You opened your mouth again to say something but decided against it. Now, you’re looking down at the ground as you think how you might’ve made the situation even worse. You can’t imagine what Tom’s feeling right now... for all you know this was the only time he has ever confessed his bigger emotions that you didn’t know he had.                  “Anything more?” He inquired, laying his eyes upon you after looking away for a few seconds.            “No...” you answered,“Nothing more...”

          “Alright.” He whispered while nodding simultaneously, clenching his jaw again. He hiked up the hill slowly, dragging his feet along the sharp grass.

           “Except that-” you appended, not knowing what choice of words you should declare next. As you searched your thoughts, asking your own brain to form the correct words, Tom shot his head back quickly. Bobbing his head along as he approached you again, as if he was waiting for you to say that you might feel even the slightest bit of devotion that you are willing to give to him in that tethered heart of yours. Unfortunately for him, still, that’s not what you’re after.

       “Tom...” you started “Tom- I don’t believe I will ever marry...” you dismissed through a forlorn scoff, admitting this to yourself and to him for the first time because you believed that that’s where your fate have destined you.         “I am happy as I am, and I love my liberty to well to be in any hurry to give it up”

       “I think you’re wrong about that y/n...

       “No...

        “I think you will marry y/n.” 

        “I think you’ll find someone and love them, and you’ll live and die for them because that’s your way and you will...

        “And I’ll watch”

(Finished?)

[chimicalbomb]

Hi! I don’t know, can I still ask for mini-fics from a recent post with numbers? They look pretty angst... can i ask you for 17 and/or 20 for Bell and Simpson? If you still have the mood and inspiration to write about them :) ^^

17. things you said that i wish you hadnt

          Simpson was a quite a cold individual,maybe almost as cold as the waters he was sailing on. He avoided conversations,and kept to himself most of the time.

   Though,as if through an unspoken rule,Bell and Simpson remained toghether. They didn't talk to much,not even when they were younger. But they knew eachother as their own palms. Together through stolen glances and warm hand shakes.

    Nothing was supposed to be,and nothing was,as if not talking about it made it invisible . As if the nights under adrenaline fueled lust never happened.

   But once things took a turn for the worse,they couldn't deny that staying apart wasn't a choice,and for once, once in their cold lifetimes,Bell said words,words crueler for the sick heart of Simpson, even though they were supposed to be so sweet,they froze Simpson's soul for a second,scaring him. Scaring him that he was finally conscious of his value,and how much he was emotionally involved with Bell. 

    He wanted to talk now,but his whole body was crashing upon itself,not being able to even open his mouth.

      "i love you..you know i do..,please,get well,would'ya?"

20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

       "You up for tonight?"

Bell heard a familiar voice in the bar. The brunette turned his head around with an unexpected enthusiasm,just to find the taller blonde none other than Simpson,talking to a shorter man.

      He hadn't seen Simpson around Liverpool for a long time, since he was away two years in the Pacific waters. Nevertheless,he missed him very much,worried lots for the harponeer who risked his life more than him..

    Was he the one in the wrong?

       Bell looked at the two,furrowing his brows and asking the sleazy bartender for another drink.

   Feeling as if a thick blade was stuck into his back,he drank the second drink,leaving the bar and wandering around like a child ,trying to find a meaning to some words that he wasn't supposed to hear.

[raccoonfallsharder]

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷.⁺⋆˚₊ masterlist 2024

back to main masterlist.

day one. explosives. ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

spice | rocket x f!oc | drabble | word count: 187. excerpted from a future chapter of ꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

rocket smells nice. pearl has questions.

day two. hurts. ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | drabble | word count: 626.

a quiet moment of comfort after a battle with badoons. rocket sees a ghost (it's you). [ao3 link for hurts]

day three. emotionalistic. ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | drabble | word count: 570.

bubbles & other intangible barriers. or, rocket cries during midnights on knowhere. [ao3 link for emotionalistic]

day four. family. ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

semi-romantic fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | minific | word count: 1,274.

one year ago today, the star children were liberated from the arête. the people of knowhere celebrate. [ao3 link for family]

day five. machinery. ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

semi-romantic angst & fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | minific | word count: 1,946.

rocket manipulates you into stealing something for him. what wouldn't you do for a pair of pretty almandine eyes? [ao3 link for broken machinery]

day six. bite. ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

low-grade spice & fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | minific | word count: 2,266.

you run into a familiar stranger at your place of work and end up flirting madly. or, a raccoon walks into a bar. [ao3 link for bite]

day seven. home. ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | drabble | word count: 661.

rocket has always considers home to be a place he can never reach. until home reaches for him. [ao3 link for home]

[dream-beyond-the-fantasy]

Bobby. Johnny. 14, please! <3

A Bonny (Bobby/Johnny) minific

You just got your ass handed to you by Ali.  Despite our already ill-advised drinking and partying, you were already back at it.  I understood.  You were nursing a broken heart.  You were hitting the bottle pretty hard.  I tried to take it away from you.

“Hey, Johnny.  That’s enough, man.”

“I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.”  You ripped your arm away from me.  You were so wasted that you stumbled.  You couldn’t even hold onto the damn bottle.  Beer sloshed out and sprayed Tommy in the face.

“Hey, watch it!”

You were already moving to grab another beer.  Fuck that.  I refused to let you do this to yourself.  I grabbed your arm in a firm grip and pulled you out of the room.  “You’re not about to crawl into a bottle and drown there.  Not on my watch.  We’re leaving now.”

Surprisingly, you didn’t put up much of a fight when I dragged you out of there and shoved you in the car.  I didn’t want to take you home like this.  I knew your stepdad would be on your ass.  And your mom would cry and the fighting would get worse.  I know you hate that.  So, I took you to my place to sober up and sleep it off.

We sit on my bed, you slumped against my pillows and me perched on the edge as I toss our shoes to the floor.  I laid back, trying to get comfortable, which was hard to do with you sprawled out and taking up most of the space.  It grew quiet and I started to drift off to sleep.”

“Hey, Bobby.”  You nudged me back into consciousness.

“Hmm?”

I turned to see what you wanted.  Before I could comprehend what was happening, your lips were on mine.  Warm, wet, urgent, and soft.  That last part was unexpected.  Your scent surrounded me.  Drakkar Noir mixed with sweat and Coors Banquet.  It was overpowering.  I closed my eyes and started to reciprocate the kiss.

But somehow, my senses came back to me.  I pulled back, sat up, and turned away from you.  I didn’t want to, but I had to.

“What’s the matter, Bobby?  Don’t you like me?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, gritting my teeth.  Of course, I do.  I’m in love with you, you idiot.  Instead, I said, “Of course, I do.  I’m your best friend.  I have to like you, despite the stupid shit you pull.”

“So, you think what I did was stupid?”

I didn’t know if you were talking about the kiss or everything else you’ve done since Ali broke up with you.  I didn’t want to talk about the kiss.  Not like this.  As much as I wanted it, wanted you, it wasn’t right.  You were drunk.  You probably wouldn’t remember in the morning.  And I wasn’t about to be a rebound.  So, I dismissed it.

“Johnny, you’re drunk.  You do stupid shit when you’re this wasted.  It’s part of why Ali broke up with you.”  I winced.  I didn’t have to look at you to know that mentioning her was twisting the knife.  I didn’t want to hurt you.

Your voice was broken and bitter when you spoke.  But there was also fear.  “I lost Ali.  I’m not going to lose you too, am I?”

That’s the moment that I turned back to you.  I smiled in what I hoped was an encouraging way.  I took your hand.  No matter what you do, you’re never going to lose me.  You’re my brother.  We’re Cobra Kai and Cobra Kai Never Dies.  I said it because I care about you.  I don’t want you to fuck up anything else that’s good in your life.”

Then you gave me this stupid, beautiful, drunk sleepy smile.  “You’re a good friend, Bobby Brown.”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh.  I let go of your hand, placing it on your chest.  “You better believe it.  Now, go to sleep, asshole.  You’re going to have the worst hangover in the morning.”

Then you rolled over and surrendered to slumber.  And I laid awake beside you for hours.  I couldn’t get those things you said after you kissed me out of my head.  Nor the feel of your lips against mine.  Did you only kiss me because you were hurt and hammered?  Or is there a part of you that is attracted to me and you’re too afraid to lose me as a friend?  Would you ever see me the way you saw Ali?  Would we stand a chance if you did?

At some point, sleep overtook me.  But the questions and feelings remained.

[loveofshows]

Kara and Brainy getting into a fight after he comes back from the dead

I have been avoiding this conversation for so long. Also this is more so after he gets his soul back.

——

"You shouldn't have done it," a voice startled her out of her sleep.

It wasn't even morning, and Kara was surprised to find Querl awake.

Sitting up straight, Kara glanced over to see Querl sitting down, avoiding her gaze.

"How much did you hear?" Kara couldn't help but ask.

"All of it." There was a pause before he continued. "You didn't have the right to do what you did."

"I know," Kara whispered.

"Then why did you do it?" Querl asked. Kara flinched at the harshness of his tone. "And don't say it was because I deserve a second chance. I already had that thanks to Nura."

She didn't say anything, she wasn't sure what to say.

"It's unnatural to bring someone back from the dead. You shouldn't have done it."

"And what? Go back to life and move on?" Kara snapped, Querl flinched but nodded. "I couldn't. I killed you Querl. No one can move on from that."

"So you brought me back purely because you felt guilty?" he asked in disbelief. The thought of toying with life and death made Querl sick. And the fact that Kara went and did the unthinkable, well he wasn't sure what to think about that.

"I love you, Querl."

"If you really loved me, then you should have left me alone Kara," Querl said, turning his attention back to his hands that were formed in a first. He just wanted her to go away, but he couldn't quite say the words.

"You would have done the same." It was a murmur but Querl still hear it. Turning his head to face her, he rapidly shook his head.

"No, I would not have," he stated, "I would have let you rest and we would have moved on. I wouldn't have forced you into something you didn't want to do. Which you did by the way. I rather be dead then be alive knowing there's always this monster inside of me.”

"Brainy..."

"No, you took something from me, you've betrayed my trust Kara. I don't think I can forgive you Kara. I think I need some space."  Nothing hurt more then hearing those words from someone she loved dearly.

With a nod, Kara slowly stood and made her way to the door. "Okay," she whispered, hand on the door. "If that's what you want." With that, Kara left.

Querl plopped down on the bed and covered his eyes with his arm. He wasn't going to cry, not yet. He knew how this conversation was going to go, but nonetheless it still hurt.

Once Kara was alone in a room she didn't know, she curled on in a ball and cried. She should have listened to Oliver and left Querl alone.

What's done is done, and now all Kara could do was live with what she's done. And if Querl hates her for the rest of their life, then shelol just have to move on.

[hedgiwithapen]

2, 3, 4, 11 for “Can’t Live in Dreams” because it rewired my brain chemistry

2: what was the first scene you put down? the very first scene i put down was the on we where Cisco finds out that Barry died in the reverse flash's attack on his house. I had been contemplating the fic concept while getting read for work and literally leaped from the shower to scrawl it on a sheet of paper before it escaped. then I went back and wrote everything around it.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration? I mean. I'm very found of that hastily scribbled line. " Cisco weeps that night on his bathroom floor for something he didn’t know he’d lost." and also of " There is only wind, and wind, and words torn from a raw throat until Barry’s hand meets Cisco’s. Real and warm and there." 4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? oh, gol, there's really... not much dialog? so I guess "I like your shirt" wins by default :) 11: What do you like best about this fic? I think it really kickstarted what I'm known for. like it wasn't my first flash fic, or my first angsty flash fic (that honor belongs to 'Wild Card' a fic I wrote about Eddie's death) but it was the first one to earn a 'dammit hedgi' and it was the first time I allowed myself to "just write the good parts" which I then put to very good use with the Angst prompt minifics a few weeks later and those became the basis for dammit hedgi day... so yeah. and damn! I am good at a gutpunch in 6 words or less! The Timeline moves on without them! fuck yeah! I'm the worst! :) thank you so much for the ask! feel free to ask another!

[el-gilliath]

Michael Guerin and D, please!

(I’m just gonna apologize for my angsty ass brain straight away. I’m so sorry.)

Michael knows he can be selfish. He knows he can get lost in his head, he knows he can lose his grip on reality. He knows he’s not always the nicest. It’s more of a mask, than anything now. A way to make everyone believe they know him, so he can hide his true self. He’s always done it, he’ll always continue doing it.

He can admit that he doesn’t want them to know. He doesn’t want them to know about how volunteers at a shelter in Albuquerque whenever he has the time. He doesn’t want them to know of the food he brings to the homeless when he has extra. He doesn’t want them to know about the stray animals he feeds in the junkyard.

He won’t number the things he fixes for free on the Crashdown, nor the handyman work he does at the Pony. He won’t give you a number of the projectors he’s fixed, nor the amount of wood he’s chopped at the cabin when he knows it’s about to get cold.

He doesn’t want them to see him differently. He’ll never tell them about his subtle kindnesses. He’d rather be the bad guy, so others can be good.

[samanddeaninpanties]

“Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Sam gasps and bolts upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. If it's possible, he's even more tired than he was before his nap. He blinks a few times, glancing down at the hand on his arm. Dean's hand.

“I heard your cry,” Cas says, voice whisper soft - but Sam jerks anyway, heart pounding rabbit fast. “Is there anything we can do for you, Sam?”

“No, I'm good.”

“Dude, no you aren't.” Dean bends down, gets on his fucking knees so he can catch Sam's gaze. “You stink, for one thing. And you need a shave. So don't tell me you're good. It's not true.”

Shame seeps into Sam. It heats up his face. “I don't really have the energy to get out of bed right now. I'd shower if I could.”

Dean thinks it's Toni, thinks she's traumatized Sam and is giving him nightmares. But she's nothing compared to Lucifer. She could never brand him and live beneath his skin the way his ‘bunk buddy’ did. Toni is nothing next to the voices of the dead that ring in his ears. She's nothing compared to the people Sam failed to save over the years.

Useless. You're useless.

“Sam? Is it okay if I touch you?” Sam nods and Cas places a gentle hand on his other arm. After a few more beats, he brushes his lips against Sam's temple. “You don't have to walk alone.”

“We can go together,” Dean adds, in full-on Big Brother Mode.

Sam nods again. It's not much but it's all he has to offer at the moment. “Okay.”

----

For: @starryeyedsamwinchester

Prompt: “Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Check out the list of prompts here and send an ask with a # and ship. If those don't interest you, feel free to write a prompt of your own design.

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