#random drabble prompt

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

⁶¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹⁸⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[eleanore-delphinium]

The Voices: Bullies

@jiafei-my-beloved & @djbunnie gave me the bullying idea. Thanks btw!

Then I just borrowed existing kids that are plaguing me. You might see this AU, been working on it for a while.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Damian frowned as he stared at his two young children. His daughter had messy hair and his son had scratches. Both their uniforms were disheveled. 

“What happened?” He asked with arms crossed.

The sun had already set and so they stood in a dark hall in their big cold mansion. The children had even come home later than they should have. Which made his wife anxious.

“They called mother crazy.” His daughter carefully confessed.

Damian’s hand flinched and he pressed his lips.

“They pushed her, so I fought back.” His son added.

Damian inhaled sharply, “I will deal with this.”

He studied his six-year-old twins. They were rather mature for their ages, a result of the circumstance of their environment. 

“Your mother–”

“Damian?” Raven’s voice cut him off from finishing his sentence. 

He turned to look at his wife who wore a white long sleeved, floor length silk nightgown. The neckline was low but it was quite conservative. A clothing choice she wore in consideration of their children.

Her eyes flickered at the sight of her young children. 

She was shaking, “What happened?” 

Damian’s lips parted but his daughter cut him off, “We were having too much fun, mother.”

“I tripped.” The son added.

Damian looked at his children, his pensive expression hidden from his wife.

He sighed, “Why don’t you let your mother put some ointment on those wounds son?” He gently urged.

The son nodded and walked to his mother, reaching for her hand. 

Raven quietly accepted his hand and his excuse.

“Why don’t you two sleep with us tonight?” Damian smiled warmly.

Raven looked delighted with the suggestion. Her and her children nodded with smiles on their faces.

Damian approached his wife and cupped her face, “Why don’t you all settle down first while I make a call to their school?”

He patted his children’s head. 

“I will deal with this. You don’t have to worry about anything, beloved.” He kissed her temple. 

She pressed her lips and replied “Alright.”

~.~.~.~.~.~

Raven settled the kids on the bed. She patted her son’s hair while his sister slept on his other side, eyes closed but facing Raven.

She watched them sleep peacefully.

“What really happened?” Her son stirred awake after hearing his mother whisper softly. 

He heard the inaudible whispers that came after, making him open his eyes.

A red figure with white hair almost pressed his lips against his mother’s ear as he told her something he couldn’t make out.

He felt his twin sister’s hand squeeze his hand that she was already holding. He knew his sister was awake and could hear them too. But she kept up with the appearance of being asleep.

They both knew their mother was not crazy. After all, they see them too.

Raven’s son pressed his lips, behind the red figure was another one by the wall, looking at him with a smile and an index finger pressed on it’s lips. 

They all look the same. But they knew there were a lot of them. And one of them was bigger than the rest. 

Their mother called him Trigon.

And he was the one by the wall.

He squeezed his sister’s hand back.  FIN.

[emmalouisefanfiction]

Read it on Twitter/X.

Read it on AO3.

A collection of drabbles based on prompts from the Dramione Prompts 2.0 Twitter account. The drabbles in each chapter will all be dramione of course. Varying ratings and content warnings: so be warned I'll be updating the tags as we go, as needed. But I do intend this all to be mostly light-hearted. No dead doves, if that's a worry, so no worries. I will be posting new chapters as the daily drabbles inspire me. Just on a whim, so not daily.

.

Prompt: Deep breath.

Enjoy. :3

.

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could do this. It was going to be fine.

"Ah."

She started pacing again, shaking her arms out. Stretching her fingers like they were overworked and cramped.

You can do this, she told herself. It's simple.

Just a few words. No harm, no foul. Best to get it over with.

She paused, looking at the door in front of her as she frowned. No, it was too hard. She'd never done this before. Ever.

Fuck. This was so hard. And he wasn't even back yet.

She returned to pacing and started mumbling under her breath the words she was trying to psyche herself up to share.

Quick and easy like a bandaid. Rip it off. Endure the pain of the stinging, sticky adhesive. Yeah, just like that.

She stopped and took a deep breath again.

"It's fine," she said to nobody in particular. "It's fine."

It was late and the ministry workers in this department had already gone home. Coming to his office now made Hermione grateful that he was almost as much of a workaholic as she was.

There would be nobody around to witness her absolute horror.

But no, it would be fine. There was nothing to it. She was brave. Brave and reckless. Okay, she was too logical to be completely off the rails like many of her former Gryffindors. But Hermione knew how to  be impetuous when the situation called for it.

Like right now. As in right now, as she heard the Floo in his office go off. Which meant he was back. Finally. Fuck! Her nerves were already shot.

Couldn't get any worse, right?

Okay Hermione, she told herself. Deep breath.

She inhaled, closing her eyes for a moment, and then let it out softly. Good. She had stopped trembling.

Hermione lifted her chin defiantly and knocked on Auror Malfoy's door.

"Come in!"

She strode in confidently, smiling widely as she always did when she saw her boyfriend and felt her body warm at the attention he suddenly gave her.

Sitting behind his desk already, he'd looked up and smirked, now interlocking his fingers together in anticipation.

It was just three words.

She'd never uttered them before to any man. He was waiting.

"Yes, Granger?"

That smooth drawl almost made her trip over herself. Damn him and his ability to make her stutter like a first year with a crush.

"Draco." She took another deep breath and cleared her throat. It was easy. People had been saying this to each other for thousands of years.

"I love you."

[chopping-block]

Patellar

CW: cold, broken bones, failed escape

—

Red staggers up the embankment, boots slipping in the damp leaf litter, hands leaving gouges in the snow and soil where he scrabbles for purchase. He ends up half-crawling, half-climbing, dirt and detritus getting all up in his clothes as he drags himself up the slope, inch by agonizing inch. He hates the delay but he’s terrified of backsliding, of ending up back there. So he crawls.

By the time he makes it to the top, the scrapes on his hands no longer register over the numbness from the cold. With a burst of energy he hauls himself up and tumbles into the road, and then just lays there for a minute catching his breath. Above him the full moon shines into his eyes. It’s too bright after the forest. The one-lane dirt road cutting its path through the dense woods is functionally the only clearing for miles. The inch-thick layer of snow that coats it is pristine; no one has been this way for hours, at least.

Red closes his eyes. He’s just resting for a moment. He’s a long way from civilization, but at the same time, he’s so close to freedom. A road goes somewhere. All he has to do is ration his energy, follow the road, and not freeze to death in the process.

A faint rumble catches his ear and he sits up. It’s deadened by the trees and snow and distance, but it’s unmistakably the sound of a car engine, and it’s getting closer. Red tenses—he can’t see anything yet, not even the flash of headlights, as the road curves out of sight just ahead. He shifts onto his feet. Who is coming? Could they help him? Could they be dangerous? He should probably keep low, stay out of sight, until he can tell. But before he can move back down the embankment, the vehicle swerves into view with a roar, headlights flooding the road and blinding Red. He throws his hands up to shield his face.

The car lurches to a stop only a few feet from Red, who has fallen backwards in shock. This close, Red is surprised to realize that it’s an unremarkable sedan, an older model, in a light color he can’t make out between the headlights and the darkness. The engine continues its idling rumble as someone opens the door and steps out, a thick woolen outer coat settling around their calves, and a straight, black cane hanging from their hand.

Red freezes. He should run, he needs to run, he has to run, but he just—stops. He had never considered what car they drove.

He has to run because it’s Carrasco, of course it is, and just like that they have found him, sitting pretty by the side of the road like he didn’t fight through his restraints and trudge through miles of forest to get away from them.

Carrasco steps in front of their car, partially blocking the beam from the headlights, enough for Red to see their slight smile when he cranes his neck to look up. “There’s my little runaway,” they say. Red always thought that their voice, lilting as it is, doesn’t match their broad, tall appearance, but a voice doesn’t really matter when they can lift him by the neck with one arm. Their figure is cloaked by their heavy coat but Red is familiar with the strength underneath.

Carrasco steps closer and Red starts trembling, rooted to the spot. “What are you doing all the way out here? Not walking alone, surely? You’re going to freeze. It’s snowing!” They’re making an effort to sound sincere, but it just comes off as mocking.

What do they get out of this pantomime? Red is suddenly angry, frustration breaking through the fear. “Stop pretending like you care about my well-being. Just take me back already if that’s what you’re going to do,” Red snaps as he scrambles to his feet.

Carrasco’s smile instantly drops. So does Red’s stomach.

“Is that what you want,” they say, musingly. They swing their cane between their hands, the heavy leaden head hitting their palm with a solid smack. They don’t use it to walk as they take a step forward, then another. Red backs up but doesn’t get far before his heel slips backwards into air; he’s run out of road. Hastily he pivots and starts backing away from Carrasco down the road proper. They don’t vary their advance, unhurried, inexorable, unconcerned by Red’s retreat. Their long stride eats up the gap as Red can only stumble backwards. They reach him in only a couple of steps and easily, almost casually, they lash out with the head of their cane and club him in the knee.

Red’s knee explodes in pain. He shrieks and collapses, clutching at it, rolling onto his back even as the movement sends lances of agony shooting up and down his leg and deep into his brain. It’s broken, they—they—broke his leg—

An extremely casual twirl of the cane, and then—crack!—another vicious swing to the same knee. He screams.

His screaming dies down to pained wheezes as Carrasco takes a leisurely step forward over him, standing over him with their legs framing his body as he clutches his shattered knee. Their expression is inscrutable, backlit by the sharp moonlight. Red tries to fight down tears and bile, tries to gather himself, but it hurts so much. They look at him, look down on him, and he feels the tears roll out of the corners of his eyes.

“You aren’t going to run. Ever again,” Carrasco says simply, light words landing like stones in the snow-deadened landscape. This time they’re not mocking, and it’s even worse.

His leg hurts so much, and he’s so, so scared.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

promptfill for @clearlyclairesblog!

P.s. I don’t know if this is the direction you wanted, but here is what I ran with…

++

Mercado lestappen Rated G for general audience vibes (and a bit of angst) Minor mentions of drinking 1.2k words (Also readable on ao3)

The supermarket is playing a mariachi cover of a radio song that Charles doesn’t know the name of, nor does he particularly care to. In the last year since he’s been to Central America he’s been racing in what the newspapers would call “beautifully”, “at a level that hasn’t been seen in over seven years” — and if the Twittersphere is also to be believed, “b for big slay”. But apparently it still, still! isn’t enough to beat the number one two nights ago at the Autódromo.

Charles swats away the thoughts. This is not time to dwell on the bad race. He is here to try and forget the bad race. He rubs his eyes and holds a bottle of what he thinks is tequila, the words abstract on the amber bottle. The lights are too bright in here, and the aisles too colourful. Driving on the track suits Charles because he can expend his energy hyper focused on what he needs to do, where he needs to go. It gives his anxiety a channel of relief, where high octane and being rabbit-quick serves a glorious purpose.

Here, in the real world, sometimes he is not so sure.

There are too many soda options that could go with the bottle that he's holding. (It behooves him, a son of Monaco, to at least have some kind of chaser. To keep this nominally classy, to make this self-pity show not entirely pathetic. Even Charles when sad has standards. Maybe grapefruit jarritos would make a good accompaniment for tequila and depression?)

Andrea would probably kill him, but whatever. There’s a reason Charles left the whole team at the hotel, wandered off with a cap and big hoodie in search of quiet time. Besides, abstinence from indulgence, in all its forms still hasn’t gotten Charles any further in the standings compared to last year. So he deserves a little boozy soda, non?

Of course, to add insult to injury, Max Verstappen’s face stares at him from a can of Red Bull. And of course Charles can’t help but laugh. Of all the endorsements in the world, of all the people to see now, it is the cause of his despair, Satan on hot wheels himself who deigns to make an appearance to haunt him in the Fresko.

That is what breaks him. It starts as a giggle, ends with his face buried in his hands, and Charles wonders what the world would make of him having un petit meltdown in the middle of a suburban supermarket.

“What the hell?”

The voice knocks him right off kilter. He would know that voice anywhere. No, it could not be.

But when Charles looks up, there he is. His rival, in the flesh. Equally in a cap and dark hoodie, holding a loaf of bread and a six-pack of Corona under one arm.

“Is that bread?” Charles says. He doesn’t know what to say, really. They do not share much off the track, him and Max. They live in the same city, but don’t cross paths. They are born sixteen days apart, but besides racing have almost nothing in common. They carted together for over a decade, fought in F1 together for almost another more and somehow Max has over quadruple the WCs and Charles has nothing to show for it except a couple of podiums, and maybe a lot of shame. (He tries not to think too much about the shame.)

Max, to his credit, doesn’t seem particularly ruffled about any of this. These days, Max has mellowed out, grown from defensive boy to assertive man, relaxed in his shoulders, laughs a little more easily. In contrast Charles finds himself trying not to sink into his car, to tell himself to smile more genuinely for the cameras that are now starting to feel more and more like a burden rather than anything fun, because years of expectation and being told you’re a winner, and for it to never be true, can gnaw at your self-esteem like that.

Slightly further down the aisle from him, Max tilts his head. “I was hungry.”

“That’s fair.”

“And thirsty.”

“Me too.”

Charles doesn’t miss the way Max’s eyes flick down to the shopping basket and back up.

“That bad, huh?”

That bad? Charles fumes to himself. Max doesn’t know what it’s like, he couldn’t possibly imagine what it’s like, to always be second, to aim for something and fight for it so hard, only for it to still fall out of reach—

“You raced really well.” Max says, factually. As if the sky were blue, as if the supermarket did not at all intellectually or spiritually affect his cognitive functions like it already has thrown Charles for a loop. Max pronounces his assessment as if it were an absolute, which is Max’s power, you see. To take destiny by it’s teeth and force it to heel.

“Evidently, what I did was not enough.” Charles says.

“You took every line that was needed.”

“I did.”

“Your tyre management has been the best I’ve ever seen it.”

“Thanks. But you were better.”

“Yes. I’m not going to apologise for that. You know well, how it is.”

Charles laughs, low, a little bitter. Yes, he does know well, how it is. “The rest of us are mice. Scrambling around the ankles of an elephant.”

Max, for his part, seems to chew on this. Shifting the bread a little higher in the crook of his elbow, eyes glancing but not really looking at the cans in the aisle. The music plays on for a few moments in the background, a cheery tune with lots of fast strumming. It’s a minor miracle that they’ve not been spotted, but this late at night, it seems the only person around is the disinterested cashier who is filing her nails at the checkout.

Somewhere in the distance the cashier coughs. Max taps the side of his thigh with his index finger, once, twice. Neither of them seems to know what to say.

Finally, Max yanks a Red Bull can off the shelf, closes the distance, and drops it right into Charles’s basket. This close, Charles can see the proud tilt of Max’s chin, the brown flecks in the other man’s eyes.

“A chaser.” Max says. Both of them aware of the double meaning. The drinks, their history.

Charles swallows. So fine, maybe it because it’s 2am, or maybe it’s the desperation. Here, face to face with Max, away from the cameras and the rest of the world, they can slow their strange dance, and Charles is able to say what he has really wanted to say. He wills it into his mind with more iron and fury than he truly feels.

“I will beat you one day, you know.”

His blood swims with it. He wills it to settle, to become familiar with the feeling, asserting himself in this way, speaking what he really means.

In turn, Max smiles. Genuine, this time, crinkling to the corner of his eyes. The rare ones he grants to the rest of the competitors on the couch after a good race, when he’s come off the track with fantastic pace. The one he has when he waves to his nephews.

Max doesn’t back off at all. He leans even closer. (Charles could count every lash. Tucks it away somewhere secret, somewhere with sharp edges that he can’t look too closely at, yet.)

“Absolutely, Charles.” Max says, all conspiratorial. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

[writemeagoodprompt]

"I loved you!"

"You didn't love me enough."

[hisuian-history-makers]

Infi-Map to Anywhere, Anywhen, and... Anywho?

—For the record, Danny and Sam wanted to say this was all Tucker’s fault. He just had to make a joke about them facing Phantoms of the Past.

While handing the Infi-Map back to Frostbite.

———————————————————————

They didn't expect it to react to a joke.

Once Mayor Fruit-Loop was iced, Tucker said something offhand about them being fully-fledged time travelers. The three had gone to a really dark future and now the distant past.

(Jazz kept saying he deflected by making jokes about what he went through.)

Phantoms of the Past. He couldn’t have said ghosts noooooo—it had to be the hero name.

Now they were in a castle that resembled Pariah’s Keep albeit wintery, with a Dan-looking Danny who had the Crown of Fire on his head.

Several Dannys, Sams, and Tuckers joined them on the castle grounds. There were a few other people that got dragged along but Danny was trying not to hyperventilate into fainting. A handful of his alternates(?) chatted with Dans.

Two versions didn’t even seem to be human! It hurt his brain looking at them. Alarmingly, a majority of the Dannys had the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage. The kingly outfits kinda hinted at why they even had those artifacts.

He swore he saw DC comic book characters alongside several alternates. Danny had trouble keeping track with so many people here.

—

Sam and Tucker weren’t doing much better.

Several versions appeared more ghostly than normal. They explained what being Liminal and having ecto-contamination meant. Like being a quarter ghost rather than the half Danny was.

Various Sams were part plant. The Tuckers had kept the odd past life abilities although their strength in them varied between timelines.

Danis, a majority who went by Ellie/Elle, made references to them being in a relationship with each other! Not just Sam dating Danny, Tucker dating Danny, them dating each other, but the three dating altogether! Each corresponding Jazzes tried to explain how preferences were pretty fluid amongst different timelines. So they shouldn’t think about it too hard.

To make matters more heartbreaking. The Dan-looking Danny who ruled as a King seemed pretty overjoyed despite the chaos. As it turned out—for him, the Zones natural portals shut off so it could focus on healing. Leaving him forced to be alone without his family indefinitely.

He had tried to leave. To open new portals.

(It never worked... His throne was hollow.)

This left Danny feeling unnerved because the possibility of being crowned Ghost King was pretty strong. That or being caught by the GIW and experimented on. His future sucked...

------------------------------------------------------

[Otherwise Canon! Danny, Sam, and Tucker meet some of the AU versions. Takes place in “Infinite Realms.” Infi-Map might be able to take them to someone specific. Anywhere, anywhen, anywho. Just say the name.]

Edit: Why is this my most popular post so far?

Edit 2: Seriously, why did this become my most popular post? In just a single freaking week! I posted this as a joke! A well thought out joke but a joke nonetheless.

Edit 3: It went past two hundred notes!

[voctorianwriting]

〃And we sat there,

me, leaning forward from the bench behind and, you, turning yourself ever so slightly, just so our eyes would meet as we talked, engrossed in each other's words, until the professor called out "Eyes on the board lovebirds!"

When both our heads whipped around, until our eyes met again, as the symphony of our giggles was lost in the cacophony of the whistles and laughter from our classmates, when we realized,

it wasn't us who the teacher was talking to, for when we're together, we're truly in our own little world,

subtle enough for only the other to notice... 〃

♡

[janeykath318]

Bucky x Reader Royalty AU +soulmates

“I have found the man, your highness,” proclaimed the captain of the guard. “He has an incredible knack for hiding.”

You gave a pained smile. The stunningly handsome, but glowering man standing before you dressed in all black over chain mail certainly looked like like he could disappear if he wished. It was a little demoralizing that he’d chosen to disappear almost immediately after the moment of recognition of your shared soulmarks.

“Thank you, Steven,” you told him gratefully. “Will you give us a moment alone, please?”

“Of course, your highness,” Steven bowed, and having giving the man a warning glance, marched out of the room, with your other attendants following. You were alone with your soulmate.

You sat and looked at him unspeaking for a moment. He didn’t move a muscle, and returned your gaze steadily. The man had nerve, you admitted to yourself. Rising from your throne, you approached him and got right in his face. Up close, he was even more attractive and you noticed the blue of his eyes and the dimple in his grouchy chin in full detail.

“Why does such an exemplary knight turn tail at meeting his soulmate?” You queried, circling him slowly. “Surely I am not so terribly objectionable, am I?”

The way his eyes followed you as you suggested the complete opposite, which you took as a hopeful sign.

“In no way, your highness,” he finally spoke. His voice was deep and as majestic as the rest of him. “It is simply because I do not feel my soul is worthy to matched with yours. If you knew me, you would be disgusted at how black it is.”

“Sir James,” you sighed sadly. “I know. I also know what you suffered and sacrificed for our country. Life has not been kind to you, but you DO deserve to find happiness, and I deserve to have a choice in the matter, do I not?”

“Of course you do,” Sir James sighed after a moment. “But it could stir up trouble for you.”

“I can deal with that,” you told him. “Just trust the universe knew what it was doing when it matched us. I’ll never forget that look we shared that day. I felt something. Did not you as well?”

James’s eyes softened as you drew closer again.

“I did,” he admitted. “Very strongly.”

You took his marked right hand in your own so that the two soulmarks touched.

“In that case, Sir James, I am making the choice to try to win your heart. Despite what you think, it IS a good one.”

James stared at the joined hands then back at you.

“Who am I to turn down the queen?” he said finally, relaxing from his stiff posture.

“That’s better,” you encouraged. “Shall we adjourn to a more comfortable area for conversing? I wish to learn more about you.”

“Lead on, my queen.”

[maybankgotbank]

welcome 😏

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[candiiicanes]

“You did this.” She said soullessly, laying in her own pool of blood. Her eyes terrifyingly black, face bruised. “You ruined my life.” Her voice got shaky all of the sudden, as if she was going to cry. “It’s your fault. I’m not here anymore, because of you—” My eyes snap open as I jolt up, covered in sweat. My hands were shaking, I felt my heart was beating so loud I wondered if it was in my hands instead. Shit, it happened again? I look around my room, attempting to steady my breathing, still trying to convince myself that it was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real right? No- no, I'm home….it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real this time. I look at my alarm clock, wondering what time it was. 6:16. I sighed as I rubbed my eyes, I was supposed to wake up soon anyway. 

©candiiicanes

[astrodances]

Olympics prompt

So I may end up regretting this, taking a long time, or maybe not even following through (fair warning XD), but I like learning about different Olympic sports, so, in an effort to do so, I thought of a prompt idea:

give me a character (or two) [for a fandom I know] + an Olympic sport, and I'll try to draw or write something for it! 😄⚽️🏊🏃🥇

[storms-corner]

001. the seaside, as the sun is setting

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Water laps at their bare feet, toes buried in the wet sand. Seagulls make noise, soaring in circles overhead, large and annoying and look, birds! Oksana’s voice is bright and full of wonder, because as a child she never saw the sea. Sand sticks to her legs all the way to her knees and there are tiny fragments of seashells stuck to her damp skin, too. Her pockets are full of shells and sea glass.

The sun sinks lower and lower, turning the sky into blooming waves of pink and red and orange. Everyone else had gone home. It was just the two of them left.

“Come on,” said Eve, hand in hand with Oksana. “Before it gets too dark, baby.”

They walk back to their spot. With no one around, Eve simply helps Oksana out of her bathing suit. Oksana enjoys the feeling of the breeze on her body for a moment before Eve tugs her long sundress over her head. When Oksana’s head pops back out, she giggles and Eve kisses her freckles.

“Mommy,” Oksana coos. She taps her forehead. “Kiss.”

Eve tenderly kisses the girl’s forehead. She wrings the water out of Oksana’s bathing suit the best she can and stuffs it in their bag. Oksana lays down, head on her pink duffel bag, and looks up at Eve. The older woman is blurred by the glare of the setting sun. The waves make a loud, repetitive noise. If Oksana were to close her eyes, she thinks it would sound just like mommy’s hand when it brushes through her hair. She rubs at her tired eyes and watches sleepily as Eve steps out of her bikini and tucks her wrap dress around her body.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart,” Eve helps Oksana up on her feet and the little girl clings to her side. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

[emmalouisefanfiction]

Read it on Twitter/X.

Read it on AO3.

A collection of drabbles based on prompts from the Dramione Prompts 2.0 Twitter account. The drabbles in each chapter will all be dramione of course. Varying ratings and content warnings: so be warned I'll be updating the tags as we go, as needed. But I do intend this all to be mostly light-hearted. No dead doves, if that's a worry, so no worries. I will be posting new chapters as the daily drabbles inspire me. Just on a whim, so not daily.

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Prompt: Is that for me?

Enjoy. :3

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The slow dance kicked up a notch as Draco extended his hand and Hermione smiled, accepting it without question. It was their final night as Auror partners.

Their last chance to say what hadn't been said before.

Fingers clasped, hands pressed to hands. They started their dance. Hermione licked her lips, trying to not notice as he did the same. Swallowing as his Adam's Apple bobbed. He was as nervous as she.

Their cover was as lovers. The target was the last member of a drug cartel that had been hounding the ministry for over a year. An elderly Bulgarian wizard.

Hermione inhaled Draco's cologne and resisted the urge to lay her head on his chest. She desperately wanted to just rest against him, moving to the music, and enjoy this last time together.

Tomorrow, he'd be leaving the Aurors to take over the family business, in the wake of his father's untimely death.

Tomorrow she'd be assigned a new partner. Someone wet behind the ears for her to train. It was an exciting new challenge. And Hermione loved challenges. Being Draco's partner had been the most exciting one in years.

But she didn't want this challenge. She wanted to continue working with the man who was currently holding her close. Tightly. Like he was afraid to let her go.

She wished.

Hermione pulled back slightly, determined to do her job at least. Their target was in the room. She had to keep an eye on him. Her current dance partner was making it difficult tough.

Through his robes. Through her dress. She felt it.

Hermione suppressed a gasp.

Is that for me? She wondered.

Either he was hard or Draco had transfigured his wand.

Hermione looked up into his eyes. Darkened. Intense. Pupil dilated. She swallowed heavily again. Something had to give. She wanted to reach up and pull his mouth down to hers. She wanted to grind against the obvious erection and fuck him on the dancefloor.

Just one time. If that's all the deities above would allow her. She decided to be bold and pressed a hand to his hip, digging her nails in. He groaned, very obviously turned on as she ground herself against him.

"Is that for me?"

Her voice was breathless and needy.

"It's for you," he whispered, and captured her lips.

They swayed to their own music. Held onto each other in quiet desperation. A culmination of months of dancing around each other. A promise for more. Tonight. Tomorrow. It didn't matter. This was something to hold onto.

Fuck. She was gone.

And, apparently, so was their target.

Damnit.

[missmouse43]

Jiara Ficlet #1

Word prompt: Obedient (Read on AO3)

Thank you random word prompt generator. You’re allowing me to do the Lord’s work 🙏

Dom/sub dynamics, Pushing that top!kie agenda

333 Words

❗️Smut ahead❗️

–

“Ah, ah, ah. No touching.”

The scolding comes with an impish grin and a light swat at the hand JJ had instinctively reached out to tangle into a mass of dark curls. Not to pull, never to force, but to hold back out of consideration—wayward strands getting in the way tucked affectionately behind an ear.

JJ’s hand flexes, checking himself, then curls into a tight fist and joins the other pressed firmly against the outer part of his thigh. A low whine vibrates from his throat, involuntary and strained. Not a protest, no. He accepted the terms of their agreement, thrilled by the shift in dynamics.

He was disciplined. Obedient. Just the way Kiara liked him.

Kneeling between his legs on the hardwood floor, the girl nods approvingly, honey-streaked mane falling loose over her shoulders as she descends on him again. Soft pink lips, plush and spit-slick vacuum sealed around his cock. Seductive mocha eyes holding his gaze steadfast and hungry, commanding his full attention.

Up, down, up, down, up, down.

JJ couldn’t look away.

She pulls off of him once again with a slow, indulgent drag, her tongue flat and wide against the popped vein throbbing on the underside, taking her time to tease the slit with several kitten licks just to watch her boyfriend’s eyelids flutter and his head tip back into the cushions. A strangled groan of satisfaction pulled from parted lips.

She wraps her hand around him as she speaks, long, delicate fingers pumping silky skin, just as capable as curling into a fist to throw a pretty decent right hook as they were at turning JJ into a bumbling pile of mush right there on the old pull-out couch.

“Are you going to keep being a good boy for me?”

“Jesus, Kie. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good,” Kiara giggled, pearly white teeth flashing up at him in amusement. Her smile dazzling, dizzying. And then she’s swallowing him whole and JJ’s seeing stars for an entirely different reason.

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

To cope with my writer’s block, I've decided that I want to do some drabbles!

To make this fun for me, I decided to do 'playlist prompt' drabbles. So, if you'd like, please send me a lovesquare pairing and a number between 1 and 144 and hopefully I'll write a drabble based on the corresponding song in my playlist to that number

My inbox is open, so please feel free to send requests!