#bittersweet prompt

[seaside-writings]

Prompt #1,142

"What do you see when you look at me?"

[queereldritch]

Was listening to a song and came up with this.

It's cheesy af.

"As I happily damn myself against you, insane in my own darkness and light and existence, know I have always have, still, and always will love you with everything I am, have been and will ever be."

[kay-elle-cee]

[chococrystal]

Made for @ammo0648 's DTIYS !! Congrats !!

[ogdoadfates]

Fanfic Prompts: Bittersweet

For both romantic and platonic ships! Bittersweet is one of my fav categories~

 “We aren’t blood related but you’re the most important family member of mine, you know that right?”

“Can you stay with me just a little longer?”

“I’m doomed to be lonely for the majority of my life, but I’m glad we’ve made the memories we have”

“It’s going to be a long road but I’m content.”

“How about one last adventure?”

“I know we didn’t talk much but either way I just want you to know, you were a big part of my life and I’m thankful for every second we got to spend together.”

“Can you stay up with me?”

“Can you just please listen to me! Just this once. Please.”

“We won’t grow old together will we?” “No, but we made memories that’ll outlive even us.”

“You’re only a memory to me now, but you’re my most cherished memory.”

Bringing the other out to watch the stars on a sad anniversary

Helping the other stop people pleasing because it’s destroying them. 

Happy hangout/date that turns sour due to one of them having a medical emergency.

Staying up late to finally see the other who’s been over workings and falling asleep before they come home, they only getting home way later then expected and just seeing the other asleep with food wrapped up waiting for them.

Watching the other try to power through a event but their slowly cracking under the pressure, being unable to help them till after.

“Some day the world will forget us, yet I find myself oddly content.”

Helping the other through a bad day but it’s slowly breaking you down as well till they notice.

[theinsomniacindian]

I will never get tired of the "If they're going to die, it's going to be by my hand" dynamic

[difeisheng]

Fang Duobing wakes up with the dawn on the five thousandth morning since his life fractured, then restarted, and there is silver in Di Feisheng's hair.

"Go back to sleep," he feels Di Feisheng rumble, where Fang Duobing's chest is pressed to his back. His hand doesn't pause, continuing to feel through the long river of Di Feisheng's hair. He can't help it, that it's still striking even after these years since the first hint of grey appeared. Early light glows through the window, glinting off the streak woven in through the dark strands. Vein of precious metal set in stone.

Di Feisheng has survived four decades of defiant existence in this world, and now he wears something proud to show for it.

"You're getting old," Fang Duobing says, and smiles into the back of Di Feisheng's neck. "What happened to rising with the sun to train every morning?"

"You and your sleeping in happened, you spoiled brat." The words are softened by the fact that Di Feisheng doesn't counter the hand Fang Duobing moves from his hair to his waist, only letting out a deep sigh. "And now you won't even let me do that."

"It's called having variation. Keeps you sharp."

"Keeps me tired."

"You'll start getting slow next if you settle into your ways like this, lao-lang."

"If you insist on calling me old, then you should have some respect for your elders," Di Feisheng declares, and now Fang Duobing can hear the glare in his voice. "Be quiet."

Fang Duobing has cheerfully never listened to this particular request, and isn't about to start now. "I show my respect for you nearly every day. Maybe you'd even call it appreciation." He lets his hand on Di Feisheng's waist drift lower, under the blanket thrown over both of them. "I could demonstrate again though, if you'd like?"

This time Di Feisheng catches him, gently dragging his hand away before Fang Duobing can reach for his trousers. "Later," he says, and the words are low enough to be a growl. "Go. Back. To. Sleep."

"Fine." Fang Duobing replaces his hand, arm reaching over Di Feisheng's torso instead. Di Feisheng's own hand stays curled overtop his, stilling as Fang Duobing settles down again behind him, sword calluses rough against his knuckles. "But I'll hold you to it."

It's impulse that causes Fang Duobing to brush at Di Feisheng's hair one last time, sweeping the silver aside to touch his lips to his neck.

Di Feisheng is, seemingly, by the fall of his breath and the curve of his body into Fang Duobing's, already asleep once more.

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!!

wctober day five - dreaming

mr sandman, bring me a dream

[seaside-writings]

Prompt #1,189

"Just make sure this is what you want, what you truly want,"

[nelkcats]

Box Bat

Fear him!

Batman is Box Ghost, the only reason he's obsessed with boxes is because he died in a warehouse explosion, and it's the last thing he remembers next to glimpses of his children.

He was undercover as a box deliverer to investigate the arms shipments that were arriving in Gotham, when he woke up in those clothes (the same ones he died in), and with no memories, he assumed that had been his job and committed to the bit.

Danny as a blue-eyed black-haired kid brings forth some feelings but he uses his perfect repression skills to ignore those feelings and commit harder on "Box"

The "fear me" is a mockery that he unconsciously makes to the Joker, even if he doesn't remember him.

[kay-elle-cee]

wip word ask - question

Thank you Doe! 💕

Instinctively, she reached for it. Miraculously, she caught it. Her eyes went from the crudely wrapped package to the boy in front of her, brows furrowing in an unasked question.

Ask me a word!

[serene-cinders]

A Caretaker adopting a pet Whumpee from a shelter out of pity. Whumpee’s been abused. Maybe they can’t, or won’t speak, so their pain is a mystery, but it shows in their empty eyes, maimed form, scars running criss-cross all over.

Maybe Whumpee’s on the older side. Maybe they’re not conventionally attractive. They’ve been abandoned by the world, they’ve been at the shelter for years, and they’re slowly succumbing. Dying.

Caretaker never agreed with this ‘human pet’ business. They find it despicable, and wouldn’t support it. But… that wretched husk, so rigorously broken down, brings tears to their eyes. And they can’t bare the thought of somebody dying alone in this unfeeling, underfunded shit hole.

So, Caretaker makes the choice to give them the kindest few weeks of their life.

[ezdotjpg]

Supply Run

Hello here's a fic I wrote about Loft taking a trip back to Skyloft, pre the plot of bonus links. 1381 words!

Link’s favorite errand, head and shoulders above the competition, is making the trek up to Skyloft for a supply refresh. It’s why Zelda continues to ask him to do it, despite the fact that he always takes roughly 6 hours longer than he’s strictly meant to, and forgets at least one item on the list more than half the time. He should remind her, for the millionth time, that he loves her very much. 

“Thanks again, Luv!” he calls behind him as he makes to leave her stall, satchel full of all the necessary elixir ingredients they’ve been running low on. He double checked the list this time. Triple checked it, even. 

“Fly safe, now!” Luv shouts back, and even with his back turned he can imagine her shaking her comically large ladle after him. “I see you out there pulling stunts, you’ll give us all a heart attack one day!”

Link thinks he flies perfectly safe, thank you very much, but he promises to be very careful, and makes his escape from the Bazaar. Sunshine warming his face against the chill, he continues down the ramp, over the bridge, and into the residential quarter of the island. Few of the island’s older adults have agreed to make the move down to the surface yet, so while the area’s quiet, there’s still life in the buildings. He makes his rounds, popping in to each home to say hello and listen to the latest news, often several times over. 

“You’re looking thin again,” Henya frets, giving him a once over with a shrewd eye. “Are you sure you kids are growing enough food down there?”

He assures her that this year’s harvest was the best one yet, but she sends him off with several flasks of soup anyway, enough that he has to wedge them haphazardly in the satchel to make it all fit. 

“You look tired,” Batreaux tells him. He’d been overjoyed by the somewhat wonkily carved Keese Link had made to dress up the windowsill of his new home on Skyloft proper. Now, his brow is furrowed as he putters through his kitchen cabinets. “I’ve got a tea that might help, where in the world did it run off to?”

The packet of tea takes the Keese figure’s place in Link’s pocket, and as the door closes behind him, he tries to remember how many minutes Batreaux told him to steep it for. He never gets it quite right.

With all his visits finished, he lingers in the village square, pointedly not looking at the docks. He walks back to the neighborhood and checks on the island’s pumpkin crop, which looks fine. He catches a few sky stag beetles, and then lets most of them go. He sits by the waterfall and munches on a stamina fruit, kicking his legs over the side and getting his boots all wet. 

He’s half finished formulating a plan to break into his old academy room for no reason in particular before he finally, painfully decides that actually, it’s probably better to return home. Before the sun sets, and Crimson won’t fly anymore, and he’s forced to spend the night. Again. What a tragedy that would be. 

Back at the docks, he makes sure the satchel is buckled securely, briefly laments the ache in his knees, and takes off at run. At the last second, he twists his body around, launching off the edge with his arms out and his back to the land below. 

Link closes his eyes against the glare of the sun, and lets himself enjoy the freefall. His stomach swoops, his body weightless. Crisp air fills his lungs, the same air that tugs at his clothes and tickles his face with his hair. Falling on the surface is never quite this peaceful. Over the course of his quest, he learned what it meant to truly hit the ground, to feel flesh bruise and bones crunch. He made enough wrong footed steps, took tumbles off edges so high he thought they’d be the end of him, scrambling for the sailcloth.

Down below, there’s no failsafe, no guarantee that someone will catch you. The ground rushes up to meet you so fast. But here in the sky, he knows no one will ever let him fall too far. 

Speaking of, the couple of knights that still circle the island are probably getting antsy by now. He gives himself two more counts, taking them slow in his head, before bringing his fingers to his mouth. He whistles one sharp, clear note, and flips himself over into the proper position. It’s only a few seconds more before a familiar call answers. 

He grabs onto Crimson’s harness easily, though the rapid change in speed as she pulls up sends a painful zap up his bad arm. Crimson clicks her beak in apology, like she knows. He pets the soft fur of her back to soothe her. It’s his own fault, really.

It’s getting late. Batraeux was right about one thing: he is tired. He really shouldn’t do much besides simply flying home. 

But he sees Crimson so rarely these days, and her joy is a warm flare in the back of his mind. They circle around the islands scattered around Skyloft, making twirls and loops until he’s breathless from a combination of laughter and exertion, and the sun is beginning to hang dangerously low. Crimson begins her reluctant descent. 

As she hovers high above his front yard, Link gives her a hug around her neck, careful not to squeeze too hard. 

“Thank you,” he says. “See you next time.”

The jolt that runs through him as the sailcloth catches his weight certainly doesn’t help his arm, and he grits his teeth against it. Like always, Crimson stays in sight until his feet touch the ground. He stays rooted to the spot as well, waving after her until her form disappears over the treetops. 

It’s like a spell has broken. He lets his left hand drop, and all of a sudden, his limbs feel so heavy. It’s possible he’s overdone it a little. Every muscle in his body has a complaint it would very much like to lodge. The altitude change sticks in his lungs, makes the air feel thick enough he almost wants to cough. But he’d still call it the good kind of exhausted, the satisfied kind. With any luck, he’ll sleep so well tonight he won’t even dream. Dead on his feet, he shuffles his way onto the porch and inside the house. 

He kicks his boots off by the door, dropping the satchel as gently as he can manage it. Zelda looks up from where she’d been writing in a notebook on the couch, eyes crinkling as soon as she spots him. The house is full of warm, spiced smells and sizzling sounds, which implies that Groose is busy making dinner in the kitchen. If Link listens close, he can almost hear Groose humming.

“Welcome home, love,” Zelda says, setting her notebook aside. She doesn’t comment on his lateness, her smile knowing. He thinks, maybe, that it looks a little sad, too. That he misses it so much, that he lingers so long every time he gets the chance. Everyone on the surface misses Skyloft, but it’s different for him, isn’t it? It’s different. He can’t hide anything from her. 

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he makes a beeline over to the couch with the last of his energy, and flops over to join her. His head lands in her lap, and he can feel her body shake as she laughs at him. 

“That good, huh?” she teases. He makes a vaguely affirmative noise, curling up comfortably as her hand comes to rest on his head. He feels every ache and pain acutely now that he’s no longer standing, but it’s easy to ignore with Zelda’s fingers combing through his hair.

“Did you get everything on the list?”

“Mhm.”

“Double checked?”

“Mhm.”

“Hey, was that Link just now?” That one is Groose’s voice. It sounds closer when he speaks next, like he’s poked his head around the corner. “Babe, no sleeping yet! Dinner’s gonna be ready soon!”

“Don’t worry,” Zelda says. He’s already failing at Groose’s request. “I’ll wake you.”

[linwritesif]

could u make another a list of prompts? i really love it!

yeah, sure thing <3

so, this is a

List of Prompts 2

part 2 to this list

HIT THEM WHERE IT HURTS. for those who enjoy a little pain.

Enemies to Lovers

Assassin prompt starters

Lifespan Angst Prompts

Angst

Death/dying

Goodbye to the dying

Whumpy prompts

Breaking your character

Broken trust

Heated argument starters

Angsty lyrics prompts

Betrayal

SOFT AS A FEATHER. for those who prefer the gentle approach.

For a lover's reassurance

Domestic fluff prompts

Friends to lovers

Fluff

Idiots in love

Domestic intimacy

Different ways to say 'I love you'

Cuddling prompts

SPICY. for those who like things to be a little hotter.

Smut dialogue prompts

More smut dialogue prompts

Smut prompts

Smutty meme prompts

SUGAR AND LEMON. for the bittersweet experience.

Jealousy

Broken relationship

Enemies to lovers

Love confession starters

Betrayed over a forbidden relationship

Bandaging a friend's wound

Hero x Villain

Sparring/Training

[gregorovitch-adler]

Romance

After Holmes had arrested Jefferson Hope, and I had had a discussion with him that I was going to publish the story in The Strand - to let everyone know who had really solved the case - Holmes had agreed.

A better explanation would be that Holmes did not care. It did not matter to him who received the credit for solving the case in the newspapers. However, it did matter to me. Very much, in fact.

In what world was it fair for the police officers at Scotland Yard to take help from Holmes to solve the case every step of the way and not even thank him publicly? It simply could not happen. Not on my watch.

After having published the story, I decided to show it to Holmes. I was quite enthusiastic about it.

However, I had not expected Holmes to react so badly.

When I brought up the conversation, whilst he was consuming his damn cocaine - with his long and thin legs stretched out on the coffee table - he shook his head ruefully.

“I glanced over it,” said he. “Honestly, I cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked a love story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid.”

“But the romance was there,” I remonstrated. “I could not tamper with the facts."

I had feared that this conversation might be going in a dangerous direction. Holmes was not insinuating the obviousness of my feelings for him - that had developed over time - was he?

Well, if he decided to spell it out, I would not hesitate to remind him about how much he had blushed after listening to my compliments about his detective work.

I could not say anything for sure, but as time passed, I had a feeling that there was something between us. A connection, of sorts. One that went beyond what a couple of flatmates usually had.

Holmes may have a habit of pretending that he preferred to be unemotional, but I was his closest friend. I lived with him. I might not be as brilliant as he was, but I could tell that he did not mean it.

"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from effects to causes by which I succeeded in unraveling it.”

I was annoyed at this criticism of a work that had been specially designed to please him. Moreover, I was hurt to know that he would deviate this much from the truth.

Maybe I had miscalculated. Probably it was only I who felt the connection between us. Not him. I frowned at the thought and swallowed as I stopped pacing and took a seat on my armchair across from Holmes in the sitting room.

I was willing to speak up this time, though.

I inhaled deeply and held my breath as I spoke. "And why, pray tell, do you want to suppress the facts, specifically about romance? Is it because the same facts hit too close to home?"

Holmes came out of his dazed state, dropped his legs on the floor, and sat up straight with his grey eyes widened.

"What are you getting at, Watson?" asked Holmes cautiously.

"We have not been friends for that long, but for what little time I have known you, I've developed a profound respect for you and your work. There is more to it, however. I have grown to have feelings for you. Romantic feelings, in particular."

Holmes leaned forward in his chair and pinned me with an intense gaze. Fortunately, he did not try to interrupt me.

"I think that you have, too. Although I could be extremely wrong on that part, it makes little sense for you, of all people, to want to suppress the facts and events that happened for real. So, I want to know: Am I right about the real reason or not? I would certainly understand if I am completely off the mark and you do not feel the same, but I need to know."

I breathed deeply after having blurted all that out, hoping to dear Lord that I had not messed up everything and ruined our friendship.

"Oh, dear Watson," Holmes breathed. His long and thin fingers were tapping on his sinewy lap vigorously. "You are so exactly on point sometimes. Everything you said - all of it... I feel the same way."

My heart fluttered with excitement and happiness. A ridiculously wide smile spread across my face. It looked as though he wanted to say more, so I let him.

Holmes continued. "And yes, I do not wish for the whole world to know about it through your stories. I see I was a bit too harsh about it, moments ago. I apologise."

Holmes got up to make sure the door was shut and the window curtains had been drawn. They were. Holmes then walked across the room to approach me. I was still sitting, so he looked down at me with the same intensity as before.

I looked up to meet his gaze and locked my eyes with him.

He held out his pale hand to me in an offer.

My heart pounded as I took that hand and got up to meet his eye level.

His eyes were filled with longingness and pain. His brows were furrowed. "The world will never forgive us. They will never acknowledge that we are just two people in love who happen to be men."

He was right, as always. My eyes welled up as I gulped. I was still holding his hand, which felt warm and dry in mine.

"I know. Do you think this is a bad idea, then?" I tried to be prepared for the worst. 'Tried'.

Holmes placed his other hand on my waist and pulled me close. Our faces were just inches away. "I never said that, Watson. I was never the one to go with the rules, was I?"

We both shared a short laugh. Without another word, we leaned in and I captured his bottom lip with my mouth.

He made a desperate sound and we deepened the kiss with our arms wrapped around each other tightly. The dam had broken, and we were unable to let go for a whole minute.

I pulled away reluctantly. "Holmes, I-"

"Sherlock."

My ears had been aching to hear that correction. "Sherlock, I was saying that we need to deal with this in a practical way as well. I will not forgive myself if we were to be arrested because of this," I said with my brows furrowed.

"You are right," he said, holding my face in his hands.

"I suppose we would have to confine our relationship to the rooms of this flat." My heart was heavy.

My lover's ethereal grey eyes lit up with a mischievous glint in them. Christ, the effect those eyes always had on me.

"I have a plan."

Of course, he did. I was now looking at him with expectation and pride.

"You are going to have to marry a woman."

"What the deuce are you -"

"Shh." Sherlock placed a long finger on my mouth. "Just listen. That woman is a distant relative of mine. She is going to be our next client too. Her name is Mary Morstan."

I still did not get what was going on. Was he already pushing me away?

"For God's sake, do not look so heartbroken," he said and pulled my face close by my chin to press another kiss on my mouth.

"Her situation is just like ours. She has fallen in love with another woman too. Only I knew about that until now. She is in a constant state of having to look over her shoulder, trying to keep the prying eyes of this cruel world away. It occurred to me just now that if you married her, we would not have to worry about society anymore. It would be helpful for all four of us."

I sighed in relief and gave this whole thing a thought for a moment. "Excellent plan, Sherlock. This is brilliant!"

Sherlock smiled and looked down as he blushed.

"Just remember to never be on a first-name basis in public. John."

I grinned from ear to ear like an idiot, before pulling him in for a slow, drawn-out kiss again.

I knew what I had to do next. I just had to twist the facts in my next story to make it look like I was in love with Mary or whatever her name was.

Now, nobody would speculate a thing about Holmes and I, would they?

***

Sherlock September Challenge

Prompt Romance by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @lookingforlifeoutthere @clueless-mp4 @missdeliadili @curlyjohnlock @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @kettykika78 @calaisreno