a-drabble-a-day

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #21

In the Moment (Write about living in the present moment)

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The sea air and the gulls.

The crashing of waves and gentle glow of the rising sun.

The dancing breeze caressing his hair, enveloping him in the delicate winter chill of Barcelona, so different from the harsh cold he was used to. 

“Viktor Nikiforov is dead.”

Viktor smiled.

Yurio was right.

Viktor Nikiforov died a long time ago.

Drifting from competition to competition. Jump to jump. Emptiness to emptiness.

But, right here, right now.

Someone else stands in his place.

Someone whose life is filled to the brim, spilling over with happiness.

He never knew love could be like this. How it brings the world back into sharp focus. How he no longer wants time to glide past him. How it makes him want to embrace every moment, savour every touch, cherish every word. How it brought him back to life and made his heart so full that it may burst.

Even Yurio sees that I am no longer who I used to be. 

Who am I, now? And what will I be?

Viktor took one last look at the vastness of the sea shimmering in the sun, the smile on his face content.

Does it matter?

~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #20

First Kiss (Write about your a first kiss)

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Yibo glanced at the accolade in his hands. A hefty chunk of glass, awkwardly artistic, the outward reason for his presence on this stage.

Before him was a sea of people and the flashing of lights. The voices of the host and hostess boomed across the large auditorium, inciting the audience to thunderous applause.

Yibo gave a crooked half-hearted smile. 

The prize, the fame, the adulation— none of these were his reason for being here tonight.

His one and only reason stood further down on his right, along the row of recipients. Zhan-ge, with his radiant smile, beaming at the cameras and the audience. His eyes wrinkling at the edges, his thin red lip lifting to reveal brilliant white teeth, his mole proudly on display.

Zhan-ge, who felt Yibo’s unswerving gaze and boldly returned it with a smile that only grew in brilliance, the smile reserved only for him. Him alone.

Yibo’s half-smile immediately transformed into a dopey grin that lit up his face.

Years and years of hard work, of secrecy, of job after job after job. Of missing each other, of hiding, of slowly gaining a foothold, of slowly building a stronghold. Of being there and not being there. 

And now here they stand, almost together, on the same stage, looking directly into each other’s eyes.

The other recipients began leaving the stage. Zhan-ge alone remained, deaf to his ushers, gaze still transfixed, smile still unwavering, 

How many times have they joked about this? And how many times has Zhan-ge warned him never to put it into practice? That they had their careers to think of, their lives, their reputation, their staff. 

But, it was different last night. 

Last night, when once again they’d joked and bantered, a curious look had appeared on Zhan-ge’s face as he said instead, 

“I’ll leave it up to you, Wang Yibo.”

With long, slow strides, Yibo began walking towards Xiao Zhan.

If it was up to Yibo, then he had an answer, has had an answer for many years. The same one since they first met.

Three paces.

Two paces.

One.

Zhan-ge was only a breath away. 

Without hesitation, Yibo reached his hand behind Xiao Zhan’s neck and gently drew him in until their lips met. 

Deeply they kissed, a single moment drawn out into eternity, softness mingled with passion. To Yibo, it felt like home, the familiar contours of Zhan-ge’s lips aligning perfectly to his own.

All around them, the crowds exploded with screaming and shock. Reporters were shouting into their microphones. The very earth beneath them began to shake.

But, to them, there was no one else.

Only them. 

Alone.

Sharing their first kiss before the world.

~~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #19

Underground (Imagine living in a home underground and use that as inspiration for writing.)

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Primula Brandybuck clutched Drogo's proferred arm with an uncharacteristic nervousness, eyeing the green door perched at the top of the hill with suspicion.

Feeling the slender fingers tighten further around his arm, Drogo smiled at her and gave her clutching hands a reassuring pat.

The exterior of Bag-End appeared unremarkable, even under Primula's keen scrutiny. A perfectly respectable residence for a Shire-hobbit, boasting no trace of its occupant's alleged adventures. Perhaps Primula expected to see, maybe, a dragon on the door knob? Or maybe-- or maybe some runes carved into the frame? But there was a complete absence of outward signs, just an ordinary gate, with normal steps, leading to a simple, plain door, which although eased some tension in her, also stirred up a small ripple of disappointment.

After meticulous inspection, Primula finally concluded,

"It's smaller than I was imagining."

Drogo bellowed with laughter.

"My dear, this is not Brandy Hall. And the only hobbit who lives here is possibly three times richer than all the Brandybucks combined."

His words seemed to prickle the Brandybuck pride in her, and her wariness was immediately substituted by indignation, as she primly replied,

"That is all hearsay, Drogo Baggins. Besides, riches are not the only measure of a hobbit's standing. Are we visiting?"

The question took the tone of a command, causing Drogo to quickly swallow whatever witty reply that was already forming on his lip. He obediently pushed the small wooden gate open, allowing the pair to ascend the steps leading up to the green door.

Drogo gave the door a sharp rap. They heard the patter of light steps, and the door swung open to reveal a head of curly brown hair nestled atop a sprightly face, beaming with an approving smile.

"Ah, Drogo! Perfectly on time. Very good, very good. Do come in." He gestured them inwards with a welcoming sweep, pausing briefly to greet Primula before closing the door,

"And this must be the young lady you mentioned. Come in, come in. Have some tea."

Primula was ushered to the large table in the front parlour, already laden with cakes and pies for the usual afternoon tea. But, here, she noticed the first oddity--- a strange-looking teapot decorated with delicate yellow flowers unfamiliar to her, into which Bilbo was already pouring boiling hot water for tea. All through his bustling, Bilbo nattered in a constant stream about this and that, mainly directing his questions and remarks at Drogo, but occasionally to Primula as well, which she responded as appropriate.

She settled at the table, tucking into a pie while sipping some tea (both really very good), but also observing and listening.

As she looked and listened, she began to notice that while the general furnishings were all as expected from a respectable hobbit, there were also maps of strange places hanging on the walls, books with strange scripts lying strewn on the tables and floors, trinkets of unknown workings dotting the cupboards and shelves. But above all else were Bilbo's words, news and tales that sounded wholly peculiar to her, yet uttered with such ease that one couldn't help but believe in their truth.

The more she observed, the more she listened, the more she understood why Drogo absolutely adored the old hobbit, eccentricities and all. Even she herself began to feel a budding fascination, and found herself asking a few questions out of genuine curiosity, which immediately sparked animated, lengthy answers from the old hobbit.

At the end of the visit, Bilbo clasped her hands tightly in his, beaming at her with a bright twinkle in his eyes.

She responded with a radiant smile, and clasped his hands in return, before taking Drogo's arm and departing in the usual smattering of farewells and good evenings. Bilbo saw them down the lane with a cheerful wave.

As the pair sauntered down the winding paths back to Buckland, Primula thought with a lingering smile: It is entirely possible that she may grow quite fond of the old hobbit on the hill.

~~~~~~~~

Note: Primula Brandybuck and Drogo Baggins are Frodo's parents.

I know this is not wholly canon but my vague thought here is that Bilbo really liked them and their company, but then he stopped talking about them after the accident so everyone starts to forget how close they were. And then he adopts Frodo.

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #18

The Curse

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Harry laid flat on his back, unable to move, unable to speak. 

Only the tips of his fingers remained under his control, and nestled within their dubious grip was a bright red rubber ball.

Above him, a cascade of silvery blonde hair fell across the evil smirk on Malfoy’s face, his palms pressed heavily into Harry’s chest, as he held himself perfectly still.

“How do you like my curse, Potter?”

Harry’s eyes flared with indignation, but his futile attempts to struggle only made the red rubber ball slip ever so slightly out of his fingers. Panicked, he crushed it with disproportionate violence.

The smirk on Malfoy’s face widened, his voice full of glee,

“Remember, Potter. If you drop the ball, everything stops. And I’ll leave you here until the curse lifts itself. But,” he drawled, as he dug his fingers deeper into bare flesh, “If you’re very, very good, we can break the curse together. When you come.”

At those words, Draco began moving again, slowly but surely, lifting and lowering himself on Harry’s needy cock, moaning indulgently as he set a maddening pace. 

Harry groaned inwardly, unable even to voice his frustration, his breathing ragged with lust as he was brought closer and closer to the edge, then abruptly drawn back again each time. 

Again and again, he was toyed with and teased, Draco pleasuring himself above, as Harry laid helpless and motionless, all his need channelled into gripping the red rubber ball with all his might, because if it stopped now, he would go mad.

Finally, he felt Draco beginning to lose control, his pace becoming faster and harder, unholy noises falling from his lips. With abandon he fucked himself deeply and roughly on Harry’s cock, until Harry heard his own voice screaming with release and felt Draco collapsing on his chest as he was plunged into darkness.

The curse was lifted.

~~~~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #17

Tear Jerker (Watch a movie that makes you cry. Write about that scene in the movie)

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I'm sorry I know this is supposed to be a drabble blog, but you can't make me watch a tear-jerker AND THEN expect it not to be a rant.

That tear-jerking scene for me (today) is in The Untamed (CQL), where everyone is trapped in the Burial Mounds, and the corpses are attacking, and Su She has escaped, and most of them are without power. In the midst of this chaos, Wei Wuxian once again steps up, without saying a word, takes his outer clothing off (Lan Wangji immediately ascends to heaven) and draws a target talisman on himself. He then says, I'll be the human target, I'll draw the corpses away, Lan Zhan will kill them. Leave it to the both of us, and shoos everyone away like a mother hen.

I don't quite know exactly why. but THIS SCENE. This scene always gets me. It has seared itself into my soul. It breaks my heart and makes me so proud every time I see him do that. And you can literally SEE Lan Zhan feeling the same thing. This is someone with every reason in the world to feel bitter and resentful, and somehow SOMEHOW still sacrifices himself to save others. Not just others! The very people who wanted him dead, and who immediately went (upon being saved) let's do a runner, they're probably both dead already! INGRATES!!! Only the ducklings + Jiang Cheng start flapping their wings and going What the Hell?? Guy just saved you and you're just gonna LEAVE???

I feel like this scene just captures the very essence of WWX. He happily throws himself in danger for others. And I mean, happily. Willingly. As long as he thinks it's the right thing to do, he will do it. And he truly asks for nothing in return. But BUT he is also not foolish. The risks he takes are all very calculated. He fully intends to walk out of whatever danger he walks into with as little damage as possible. He weighs the risk and goes I can deal with that (but heh..his idea of what constitutes an acceptable risk is very very skewed), and usually HE DOES deal. The things that go wrong are often out of his control, things he can't possibly account for. And I think this quality is probably EXTREMELy alluring to LWJ. A perfect mix of brain and heart, enticing him not only physically and intellectually, but also drawing him in with a pure and innocent soul, a soul that truly wants to eliminate evil and protect the weak.

CAN YOU BLAME the poor guy for falling helplessly in love??? REALLY???

And just. URGH.

ignore me again. imma lie on the floor and think about them over in this here corner.

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #16

Limerick (Write a limerick today)

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There once was a Master Jiang Cheng

Who chased every maid in Yun Meng.

“But your hands are so small!”

The maidens would squall,

“The daintiest from here to Bai Feng!”

---Anonymous (bathroom stall grafitti in Cloud Recesses, most likely scribbled by Wei Wuxian)

~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #15

Animals Against Humans

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Deep, in the deepest of the deep, a Council was summoned.

One by one, they arrived. Slowly, gradually, unhurriedly, they descended. To depths that would crush a terranean skull. Far, far beyond the limits of a human's fleeting, miniscule imaginings.

In circles they gathered. Their songs rising and falling. In unison, in contradiction. Family squabbles mingled with arcane debates, all blending within the cacophony of waiting, impatience, restlessness.

Then. Sudden silence, reverential. Not even a chirp from the smallest of calves.

The Eldest had arrived. 

A gargantua the size of a small mountain, altering the currents as they passed. All heads were bowed in veneration as the Eldest took their place.

The Council began. 

The Eldest held sway in the centre. Their song as old as time, as deep as the ocean, but as gentle as an eddy.

They heard the cries from the outer circles, from the younger ones with hotter heads. They heard the laments of the mothers, the despair of the fathers. They heard the waves upon waves of anger and indignation. The call to action. Now. Now. Now. Death upon the humans.

And then They called for silence.

Silence fell immediately.

My kin.

They said, a serene voice that pierced the soul.

My kin, be calm. 

I hear your cries and your anger. 

May it gladden your hearts to know that the time to act is indeed upon us.

The human world burns. They poison the very air they breathe. The very water they drink. The very soil upon which they grow their food. 

They have not a sanctuary as we do here below. 

The winds have torn through the lands, the rains have buried their cities, the sun has cracked their earth, and the oceans have risen.

We rise with the ocean. 

A deafening wave of fervent clicks and whistles washed over the gathered circles in frantic approval. 

Slowly, the circles unravelled with planned intricacy, pods breaking off and swimming with deadly precision.

From land, all over the world, frenzied reports broke out of giant shadows rising from the deep.

~~~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #14

Someone Screaming For Help

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No, no, no! What are they doing? This can't be real. Dianxia! 

"Gag him. I can't take his screaming." "Hold him down." "Form a line. Wait your turn." "Don't miss. You can't go again." The little ghost fire flickered and burned. Watching, panic rising, helpless. What can he do? What can he do? He needs to do something. To stop this. To end this.

STOP! STOP! You cannot do this! He screams and screams at them. But they hear nothing.  SOMEONE PLEASE HELP! SOMEONE HELP HIM! HELP HIM!

He screams into the void. For a god, a demon, heaven or hell. For somebody to come. Somebody to save him. Somebody. Anybody.

They run him through over and over and over again. Through the neck, the abdomen, the heart.  "You deserve this!" "I'm sorry..." "I have to live." "I'm sorry."  A river of blood flows from the altar, small streams of bright red that gushed across the temple floor and into the fields. 

Dianxia! His body rigid with the spasms of pain. Gaping wounds opening across his body. 

DIANXIA!! DIANXIA!! DIANXIA!! Hong'er heard a screaming. A scream that consumed him. 

STOP! STOP! STOP!  It was the voiceless scream on Xie Lian's contorted face. It was his own soul crying out in pain at every skewer, every gush.  A cry of desperation, of rage, of helplessness.  STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!! STOP!!

His despair exploded outwards, an immense inferno that annihilated everything around him. He needed to make it stop.

Finally, the screaming turned to a sob.

But it was already too late.

~~~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #13

Betrayed!

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The Owner stood facing the Perpetrator.

Both sullen and silent. 

The air between them electric with tension.

The Owner clutched the carton in her hand and swiftly crushed it.

“I said half. Why is this empty?”

The Perpetrator watched in continued silence. Her sullenness growing like a rising shadow.

“I said half. Why is this empty?” she repeated, her voice growing louder.

Was there a fleeting remorse that flitted across her face?

Maybe. But short-lived or well-hidden. 

Neither was sufficient to quell the rage that boiled in the Owner’s eyes.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

The carton was flung onto the floor between them, with such force it rebounded and landed close to the Perpertrator’s feet.

The Perpetrator glanced at the carton, and back at the Owner. Lifting her chin slightly in a show of firmer resolve.

No remorse. No regret.

The absolute betrayal was too much for the Owner. Her breathing heavy, she lifted an accusing finger, as if directing the full force of her righteous fury at the obstinate figure, and screamed in her shrillest voice,

“I’m never, ever going to share my winter melon tea ever again with you!!”

Her declaration complete, she swiveled and stormed off.

This is a grudge that shall be held for decades to come, nay, for a lifetime.

~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #12

Two More Days to Live

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The room was silent. Peaceful. 

The cool light before dawn flitted through the windows, gently lifting the darkness.

Viktor was on a chair beside the bed, holding Yuuri’s hand.

When the first rays of sunlight fell across Yuuri’s slumbering face, his lashes fluttered, like the beating of tiny wings, which slowly gave way to lazy blinking.

As soon as he was awake, Yuuri turned towards Viktor and said with a sleepy smile,

“Viktor, you’re here.”

“Of course I am,” Viktor replied, squeezing his hand gently.

“How many?” asked Yuuri in a croaky voice, his throat painfully parched.

“Forty seven”

Yuuri nodded and closed his eyes again, sinking back into the pillows.

Forty seven. 

Forty seven hours till freedom.

It was what they both thought, but never said out loud.

Yuuri would be free from pain, and Viktor would be free from seeing him in pain.

Could anybody say with certainty which was worse? “Viktor,” Yuuri breathed, opening his eyes again, with a smile forming on his lips, “Let’s talk.”

“What about, Yuuri?” 

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“Which time?” Viktor teased softly, “At the onsen? Or when you humped me at the banquet?” Yuuri laughed. Slightly winded, but merry nonetheless.

“What about when I refused to take a photo with you?”

“I prefer the banquet,” said Viktor with a smile.

“Me too,” Yuuri agreed with a sigh, “And do you remember our first kiss?”

“Again,” Viktor grinned, “Which one? The one at the banquet? Or that night under the stars?”

Yuuri laughed again. 

And so, they talked. Reminiscing every detail. Revelling in their memories. Weaving a cocoon with the past. When visitors came, they brought new colours and embellishments to the stories, a harmony of different voices. When visitors left, their voices became more intertwined, sharing in secrets only they knew. And when Yuuri faltered and slipped into slumber, Viktor waited by his side, waiting to carry on where they left off.

And so, they talked. Until– 

“How many?”

“One.”

~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #11

Magic

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The fire crackled in the hearth.

Draco was lying stretched out on the chaise longue, an ornate tome too esoteric even for him laid open across his lap, its gilded letters straining his eyes.

He looked up from his research. Across the room, a tousled mane of black hair was hunched over a table strewn with papers, each carrying a different handwriting, and yet the same spidery scrawl appeared in green over each one.

Sitting here across from each other, both deep in their work, it suddenly struck Draco how intertwined with magic their lives were. How he sought to understand its intricacies, whereas Harry imparted its intricacies to the young. How occupied their lives and minds were with it, every day, every hour. And yet…

“Potter,” he chimed.

“Hmm?” came the distracted reply.

“Potter,” he repeated more loudly.

The mane of hair lifted to reveal crooked glasses and eyes glazed over from reading the many writings of teenagers. A moment passed before Harry returned to his senses.

“Yes, love?” he smiled.

Draco’s heart still melted at those words.

He returned the smile.

Yes, we study it and we teach it. And yet… And yet…

“It’s bedtime,” he said.

Harry glanced at the clock, surprised by the late hour as he began gathering the students’ scripts.

Draco closed his own tome and set it aside, unfolding himself from the couch and taking slow steps towards Harry.

We theorize, we experiment, we poke, we pry. And yet… And yet...

Here lies the true magic. An unsolvable mystery. An inscrutable enigma. A simple truth.

That my name to him is beloved.

That I should smile, and he should smile.

That I should call, and he should answer.

That I should reach out my hand, and he will take it.

~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #10

The Stars (Take inspiration from a night sky. Or write about a time when the "stars aligned")

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The sky was clear and full of stars!

The lovers clambered up the rooftop, away from the army of staff below.

Xiao Zhan laughed loudly and freely, almost giddy from the excitement and illicitness. Yes, he was stealing Yibo away. But, who cares! It was Yibo’s special day, they deserved a sliver of privacy.

Side by side, they sat on the roof. The air was crisp, a gentle breeze sweeping away the summer’s heat.

It was just them and the stars, almost alone.

Xiao Zhan looked back, and saw an indulgent grin on Yibo’s face, mixed with a slight embarrassment, presumably from all the fuss that he was making over Yibo’s birthday. But…there were no real complaints.

Xiao Zhan grinned back.

“So, Yibo,” he asked, “Do you have any birthday wishes?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What is it?”

A sudden tightness appeared in Yibo’s lips, and a hesitance in his face. He stole a quick glance at Xiao Zhan and then quickly averted his gaze again.

After a pause, he replied tentatively,

“Zhan-ge…I think you know what it is.”

Xiao Zhan felt a sharp rise in the pace of his heartbeat, what playfulness he had dissipated immediately. 

A strained silence hung between them.

“Yibo-” he began. But what could he say? 

“Yibo-” he began again and sighed, “I don’t know. I really don’t. There’s just so many things…I just…I don’t know if we can make it work.” He wanted to ramble on, to explain, to cajole, to delay.

But, suddenly, Yibo’s voice rang out,

“We can.”

Xiao Zhan felt his breathing stop. The resolution, the stubbornness shook him to the core.

“Can we?” he asked breathlessly, feeling faint from Yibo’s absolute certainty.

“Yes, we can.”

There it was again. The resolution. The stubbornness. The immovable certainty.

Silence returned. 

And in the silence, Yibo felt a small hand slip under the long and voluminous folds of his sleeve and into his own, fingers interlocking. 

Just them, and the stars.

~~~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #9

Losing Your Memory

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What day is it?

I look around.

Shouldn’t I be at the office? I spot a hanging tea towel. The bright yellow one with the sunflower, from the arboretum.

I must be home, then. In the kitchen. Is today a Sunday?

I feel a warmth by my elbow, and look down.

Oh, a cup of tea. Freshly made, with steam still rising from it.

Did I make that?

I frown and look up. 

Oh, John’s here. In his chair, right across from me.

I smile at him.

He smiles back.

He must have made the tea. It must be tea time.

But where are the biscuits? I hear the scraping of a plate being slid across the table.

Biscuits! I beam. 

Custard creams and bourbons. My favourites.

I take one and dip it in my tea.

If it’s tea time now, it means…

“Are we going for a walk later, John?”

I smile at him.

He smiles back.

But his smile looks sad. And a little tired.

“Yes, dear,” he replies.

“Is everything ok?” I ask, a little worried. John is never sad, or tired.

“Of course”, he replies simply and lowers his gaze to drink his tea. It is clear that he will not say what it is.

“Well,” I reply primly, “Whatever it is, you’ll feel better after a walk.”

“Absolutely, dear.”

I munch on the biscuit. Custard creams are my favourite.

I look around the kitchen again. Sunlight streaming in from the windows.

It feels so peaceful in here.

I like this.

I smile at John again.

And he smiles back.

~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #8

Going Where You're Not Allowed

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He panted heavily, chest heaving with ragged breathfuls, trying to still the violent thumping of his heart as he unclenched the sheets.

Immediately, shame, deep shame, rose from his core to burn his cheeks a fiery red.

He knew what he’d done. Could feel the dampness against his abdomen from his failure to resist. Could sense the judgement boring into him.

Timidly, he opened his eyes.

Before him, stood his Mistress. Fury embodied, arms folded. Her riding crop gripped tightly in her fingers. Her red lips drawn tight with dissatisfaction.

“Did I say you were allowed to?”

He shook his head meekly, lowering his gaze as best as he could in his attempt to crouch while tied spread-eagled to the bed.

“Then…why did you?” she asked in a slow, dangerous tone.

“Because I- I couldn’t-” he felt his throat run dry, words trailing off into pitiful silence.

“Because you couldn’t stop yourself?” she tutted.

Her words felt like a lash across his back, and he shook his head again.

“So, tell me,” she purred, her voice dripping with a sadist’s glee, “What do disobedient little subs get?”

He looked up at her, eyes glazed over with panic and desire, his breaths picking up pace once again.

A wicked grin formed on her lips.

“Since this little sub likes going where it’s not allowed to go, shall we see how many times it gets there before it passes out?”

The vibrations returned in full force, and he let out a strangled cry, his body humming back to life with blinding pleasure and pain.

He was in hell.

And heaven.

~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #7

Opposites (Write a poem or story that ties in together two opposites)

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"Lan Zhan! Look, look! They even have fugu fish! And wagyu with garlic rice!!"

Lan Zhan deftly replaced his knife and fork beside his empty plate, dabbing the corner of his mouth as he looked up to see what else Wei Ying had uncovered in the buffet.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of his beloved cradling four dinner plates and a stone bowl, somehow managing to clatter everything on the table without spilling a drop of oil or sauce.

Wei Ying sat before his bounty, spread open like a delectable fan, surveying it manic animation, his fingers nearly sparking with electricity at the urgency to dig in, but his eyes whizzing with indecision.

"Oh, Lan Zhan! This place is amazing. I'm so glad you suggested it. I had to queue up for the wagyu, but really for the others. And I still can't believe they have fugu! Do you know how toxic it is? But I looked up the..."

With Wei Ying's commentary running in the background, Lan Zhan observed the feast between them with slight awe. Fugu, wagyu, six oysters, the entire sashimi spread, spring rolls, a mountain of noodles, garlic rice, tiny sausages cut up to resemble mini octopi, and also a real octopus, chicken wings, steak again but western....the list went on (but hidden from view by the more surface-level items).

Wei Ying shot him the most beautiful, indulgent grin in the world (a sight Lan Zhan would never tire of seeing), his eyes sparkling as he reached for five things at once.

Lan Zhan smiled mildly, pushed his chair back, and stood up. Beside his plate was a piece of paper, and on it was a list. It was a list of dishes offered by the restaurant ranked by his personal preference. He marked one item off his list, and looked at the next. Then, neatly, he picked up his empty plate and headed towards the area where the item was located. He left his husband at the table, as Wei Ying tried to wolf down his own weight in food.

A small chuckle escaped his lips.

How different they are, and how wonderful that is.

~~~~~

[a-drabble-a-day]

My intention is to write a drabble a day based on random prompts drawn from a tub of many many prompts. This is almost like a warm-up for the main writing sesh, or a mini exercise to keep the writing going everyday.

Here's my tub of prompts.

My partner in crime (sister) shall not follow this strict regimen due to work-hell and will illustrate whatever prompt tickles her fancy as and when she likes.

Feel free to use the prompts for your own inspiration in writing or art :) They appear to be truly random!

[a-drabble-a-day]

Prompt #6

Pick Me Up (What do you do when you need a pick me up?)

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Zhuang Zhixing was having the worst day of his life.

The aches, the pains, the endless gruelling training, the constant mud caked on his face, his arms, his clothes, his legs. The humiliation of being the Duke’s son.

He knew why he was here, and the promise that he’d made.

But it still didn’t make days like this any easier.

He collapsed onto a bench in his quarters, too tired even to pour himself some tea.

There was always the temptation, wasn’t there? To give it all up and go home. Forget his revenge, his mother, his hatred, his ambitions. Go back to what he was.

He covered his eyes with his hand. Maybe this time—- 

“Zhixing, you have a visitor.”

He sat up, surprised. “I do?”

“He’s in the guest tent.”

He dragged himself out of the chair and out of his quarters. No time to rectify his bedraggledness now, whoever it was will have to make allowances.

He parted the door curtains to the guest tent.

A man was seated primly at a table, his hands folded neatly on his lap, a lacquered food box by his side, and a mild expression on his face.

“Xian sheng!” Zhixing exclaimed, as he bowed in greeting.

Instantly, the skies seemed to brighten, and a smile formed on his lips.

Maybe one day he would give up.

But not today.

~~~~~