#prompt sets of three

[midwrites]

How about 28 for McDiarmid/Fraser 🫶

McDiarmid/Fraser 28 (exes, candy-wrappers, and a twin bed)

“Put it out.”

At first, Jock thinks he’s imagined the words. Part of a late post-coital bliss and all, their room still hazy with the pink light that precedes dawn. Children are running outside, down in the parking lot of the resort, surely about to leave for the day and not stuck here until a new truck is driven their way, or they get sent money for the bus fare, far lower South than any London fire brigade should venture. It’s stupid that none of them was carrying their wallets with them. Even stupider still that Stirling was able to get them a room, but no news of a drive back home were in the horizon just yet.

Not like Jock is complaining. He takes another drag of the cigarette, ponders for a moment staring at the yellowing ceiling if he’ll be able to go for a run before,they have to make their way back—and immediately gets slapped in the arm about it.

“Put it out!” Fraser snaps, blue eyes wilder than they should be this early in the morning. Not Fraser, Jock corrects himself; Bill. He had asked Jock to call him Bill when they were two kisses into the room and their mingling breaths still reeked of ale and the artificial tasting strawberries of their dinner ice-cream. “You’re a fireman for chrissake, you precisely should bloody know about the dangers of smoking in bed.”

Jock slowly blinks as Bill snatches the cigarette out of his fingers, watches the cigarette die a hissing death in the half full coffee cup that’s still lying in their nightstand along with the honey caramel wrappers Jock has seen leave Bill’s pockets many times before. Bill seems to relax a little after this small victory, his long wiry body curling underneath the comforter, preserving the infinitesimally minute gap that he had decided to establish in between their bodies the moment his pale lashes had fluttered awake.

“So…we’re not speaking about it,” Jock says, his decision of breaking the silence becoming an almost immediate regret.

“What’s it?” Bill dignifies the question with one of his looks, one that speaks more of sleep than annoyance.

“This,” Jock insists, waving a finger in between their faces. “Us”

“What’s there to speak about?” Annoyance creeps back in, so does the guarded look that Bill usually carries about himself. Jock needs it to go away, for now, needs to speak to the Bill that melted against him last night, the Bill that almost cried when they managed to get a kitten out of one of the burning bungalows unscathed before their truck broke down.

“Dunno,” Jock shrugs, thinks about his words for a second. This would be easier with a fag, and oh, does the thought make him laugh. “Jus’ wandering if you’d want to give it another go when we’re back home.”

“Ta, but no thanks. Already had enough Jock McDiarmid for a fortnight.”

Jock ponders his possibilities for a moment. Which words will get him kicked out of bed, which ones will give way to a possible future where he’s kissing Bill Fraser against his kitchen counter in a week or two.

“Does this have anything to do with that weird toff that tried talking to you before we left yesterday?”

Bill’s face contorts into something ugly, rage and utter misery flashing across his features before he gets out of bed with a sudden tug at the covers, leaving his pale body bare for Jock to gaze at while his voice breaks and composes in the same sentence. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

Bill slams himself shut inside the bathroom, a quiet pause that lasts for more than five minutes elongating until Jock finally hears Bill turn the shower on. For a moment Jock thinks about lighting himself another fag. For a moment he imagines how Bill must look under the water, wonders if he will be looking for the marks that Jock had left the night prior and regretting them. Or perhaps pressing his fingers to them, like Jock would.

Jock McDiarmid sighs in self-inflicted abject misery, still hearing the shower run. There’s no way he’s leaving the bed with how fucking stiff his prick just got.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 334

So. Danny has discovered he might erm, might be technically a necromancer. At least as far as magic is concerned. Like even if it’s just via resurrecting himself the magic side of things (god, he’s more scientist- sided dangit) count it as such. 

Which means that half the time someone tries to summon a necromancing-esque being, he’s the one who gets tugged if he’s even a centimeter within range. It was annoying enough in high school, it’s no less annoying in this world they’ve all moved to. 

On the bright side, thanks to also being half dead himself, the summonings and other rituals can’t actually drag him somewhere. It just causes him to feel like someone was crushing a lung or two, which honestly nothing new. (Gosh were those days of vigilante work really that violent? Huh, guess they were)

What he wasn’t expecting was for a tiny child, a living child, to track him down despite him not existing legally or anything similar in this world, to revive their previous local child vigilante. Which like, hey, first of all, he has a few questions? Just a couple and yeah sure, he’ll shake on it- can he have your name first there kid…? 

Tim, on the other hand, is getting a little concerned when he realizes a lot of the questions the probable-fae keeps asking are in line with the stuff CPS asks. (Unknown to him, that is exactly where Danny is getting several of his questions about this scrawny vigilante kid. Erm. He might have to take the kid, for like, his own safety- hey Frostbite he needs your help he has some questions-) 

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ safehouse prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “this place doesn’t look like much. i suppose that’s by design, right?”

²⁾ flinching at every gust of wind and rumble of tyres, thinking that the worst is finally about to happen

³⁾ having a nightmare so fitful about the events that’ve led them here that their protector runs to their side

⁴⁾ “nothing’s able to hurt you here.” “yeah. i’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”

⁵⁾ “i know you’re supposed to keep a close eye on me, but i think this is a little extreme.”

⁶⁾ growing faint from having been too anxious to eat for long stretches of time

⁷⁾ “so, how badly did you piss off your boss to get landed with this assignment?”

⁸⁾ trying to sweet-talk their protector(s) to allow them to leave the house, if only for a few minutes’ escape from their reality

⁹⁾ playing the same comfort movies and songs on repeat, to the point where everyone else becomes familiar with them

¹⁰⁾ “i’m here to protect you, asshole- stop making my life so goddamn difficult!”

¹¹⁾ becoming increasingly comfortable around their protector(s), to the point that they don’t realise it when lines start getting crossed

¹²⁾ sharing a bed out of necessity

¹³⁾ alternatively, sharing clothes out of necessity

¹⁴⁾ “when i came here, all i could think about was the day i’d get to leave - but lately, i’ve been avoiding thinking about it.”

¹⁵⁾ self-defence lessons borne out of boredom

[sthilarions]

(We’re working in a slight AU where cats can see ghosts but can’t talk because otherwise this would get weird. I considered a bunny or a ferret to avoid the issue but - whatever. Anyway)

Charles faced Edwin’s empty chair behind the desk, addressing it, in the empty office. “Edwin. So - I know you’re going to be kind of mad. And I know about the Puppy Debacle. And that was bad all around, you were all the way right that time, I’m not saying you weren’t. But after the case at the shelter today - it’s just, he reminded me so much of you, with that little head tilt, yeah?”

He paused. “And we have Crystal and Niko around now anyway so it’s not like we’re still keeping the no living rule, at this point, and, he’s got this little marking on his neck like your bowtie, and he came right up to me to play but then this big guy came in and he curled up against the wall and he looked just like you did in - and there’s no version of this where I don’t come get you, is there, even if you’re a cat, and - ”

He smacked himself, hard, on the head, with his free hand. “Fucking stupid, Charles, why would you even say that? You’re gonna have to come up with something way better than that. Fuck.”

There was a sound from behind him and Charles jumped violently and hid his cargo in his coat. He did not turn around.

“Charles,” Edwin said, from behind him. “You are not stupid, fucking or otherwise. However - ” he paused. “I don’t suppose you could turn around?”

Charles shook his head. “I’d rather not just at the mo’, mate,” he said, holding his coat shut.

“As you wish. As I was saying, to you instead of to an empty chair, I will note, I, ah, I know I was the one to initially stand against the Infamous Puppy Debacle of ‘94, but it has been thirty-one years since then, and our lifestyles have shifted, and the circumstances are rather different now than then. She’s not a hellhound, to start with - ”

“Wait, hang on,” Charles said. “Whaddayamean, ‘she’?”

Edwin took a deep breath. He was getting better at doing that without being told. “When we were separated, at the shelter. And I was looking in their Special Care area. They said she had been - ” Edwin broke off.

“Hurt,” he continued, “for a while, but she’s ready to adopt now, they just hadn’t moved her out yet to keep things familiar for her. And she came up to me immediately, even though she looked so scared when I walked in, and you know dogs can’t see our disguises so she must have had a near-death experience before, and she licked my hand, which was a very slimy experience but we can find a way to protect the books and ingredients and other items, I’m sure there must be an anti-drool charm somewhere, and when the poltergeist started attacking she tried to get in between it and me even though she was trembling, you may have heard the barking before I got back to you? And they said that Saint Bernards are actually quite good in flats, so long as they get walks, and - ”

Sometime partway through that monologue Charles had spun around. He wasn’t quite sure when, because he’d immediately had his brain go almost completely blank at the sight of the absolutely massive dog standing, jowls in what looked kinda like a loose grin, dangling long trails of drool, at Edwin’s side.

Edwin finally cut himself off, looking down towards Charles’s chest, where his coat had fallen open when his arms loosened as a result of his shock. “And they said she’s very good with cats,” Edwin concluded. “So that’s all right.”

Charles bent over in delighted laughter, careful not to squeeze the cat in his arms. “Well,” he said, after getting the laughter under control a bit, “they told me this little guy was very good with dogs. So I guess that works out.”

Charles looked at the dog for a minute, and Edwin looked at the cat for a minute, and then they both spoke at the same second. “Crystal’s going to be furious.”

[pyrepostings]

Conditioned whumpee, whose caretaker is trying to convince xem it's ok to take off the collar now that whumper's gone.

Whumpee decides, in xeir head, that xey could explain to whumper if xey are recaptured that xey downgraded xeir collar because whumper wasn't there to give orders. See, xey still wore a collar, it's just made out of leather instead of gold. See, xey didn't think for a moment xey could be free.

And this way, Caretaker can be satisfied about aer "progress" in the meantime.

[bewitchingbloom]

same ghosts in a new home

I've been trying to find some writing prompts to turn to when I want to write but don't know what, and when these prompts passed by my dash earlier I knew I found the list to pull from. I used a random number generator to pick which prompt to write. Up first we have:

same ghosts in a new home (961 words)

Fandom: Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous

Rating: T for implied sexual activity (nothing graphic)

Ship: The Commander/Daeran/Woljif

Other notes: Second Person POV

In some of the books you’d read in the past, you’d run into descriptions of the lingering effects of an argument. You’d always dismissed them as poetic hogwash. But now, as you stand in the middle of the sitting room of our new home, you could swear there was an echo, the last vestiges of heated words and raised voices falling back through time to haunt you. 

Truthfully, you're not sure what you said to set Woljif off, or why I was upset with your refusal to apologize. We knew what you were like by now, and you thought you were being nice. Though, if you're being honest with yourself, you know how your words can land more like poisoned barbs than playful jabs. This fight might not be entirely your fault, but you're not completely innocent in it either. 

With a sigh, you turn towards the liquor cabinet, situated right next to the stairway you once sat in waiting for us to join you in. You remember the soft words and the heated embraces, reminders that your melancholy was as ephemeral as it was unfounded. Even now, the memory brings a small smile to your lips. “You will never pale into insignificance.” “You're stuck with us, Your Excellency.” 

To the hells with it. Abandoning your original trajectory, you turn towards the door. Judging by the light filtering in through the window, you have a couple hours yet before the sun goes down. Perhaps you have a plan, perhaps you just want some fresh air. Either way, you’re out of the house before you even realize it. 

****

Now, as for you, Woljif, you had stormed out of the house into the backyard. It was still mostly an overgrown ruin, a choking tangle of weeds and debris that I intend to one day transform into a garden bursting with life. The only thing of note was the small part of the Sellen River that flowed through it, a sliver of pure, bubbling water that you once spent an evening frolicking in with Daeran and I. The memories are pleasant, and the guilt that pervades you at their arrival is entirely unwelcome. 

With an aggravated sigh, you pull one of your daggers out of its holster. Even now it’s a habit to make sure you’re armed. Maybe there will come a day when you don’t feel the need, and when it comes, that’s how you’ll know you’ve truly lost your edge. With a frown, you toss the knife at a nearby stump. It sticks with a loud thud, not unlike the sound the door made when you slammed it come out here. 

Your edge…that’s what this about. Just two years ago you were still running with the Family and scrabbling to get by day to day. Now, here you are, married to two of the most prestigious people in the country and the beginnings of a home to call your own. This is something you should be happy about, and you are! But there is a part of you that feels like you’re betraying everything you’d ever known, stabbing the boy you once were in the back for the first shred of kindness and love that had been shown to you. 

You pull the dagger free, all the anger in your veins dying as the blade comes loose from the wood. Daeran didn’t mean anything by it, but the quip had been phrased just right, careless in the way only someone who’d never faced such hardship could be. Now you know that the wounds of your past still stung.

Taking a deep breath, you flop onto the stump, staring out into the sunlit water. Just a few more minutes, then you’ll be ready to go back inside. Whether it’ll be to make amends or fan the flames again, you’re not sure. But judging by the loose grip you have on your dagger, you are so much more tired of holding grudges than you realized. 

****

At least, I want to believe these are the thoughts that ran through both of your heads. Earlier, when Daeran’s comment landed poorly and led to the most explosive fight I’d seen you two have since the Crusade, I’d felt perfectly useless. All of us still carry the ghosts of our past, and we’d spent so long trying to bury mine that I’d forgotten that you two still had yours to deal with. Words cannot describe how inadequate I felt as a partner in that moment.

Now, the three of us are lying on the floor of the living room, my shortcomings only still plaguing my own mind. You two had made up hours ago, and we carried on our evening in the way newlyweds are wont to do. But as you two drifted off to sleep, I found myself lying awake, haunted by my own, brand new ghost - the one borne of fear that one day I’d lose both of you. I’d been so wrapped up in the tangible ways that could happen, I didn’t realize all the other ways it could happen. 

The two of you lie on either side of me, your hands clasped below my breasts as your breathing evens out. The floor is far from comfortable, and the throw pillows from the couch aren’t much better, but just being here with you two…it doesn’t make it more comfortable, but there’s no other place I’d rather be. The crackling fire wants to lull me to sleep, and I know I should rouse you two before morning comes and the housemaid finds the three of us lying here naked. But for the moment, I am just savoring this moment, and thinking of ways we can help our ghosts to play nicely together in our new home.

[pencap]

it seems I am a little too rusty and out of the habit of regular writing to spontaneously produce poems very often. so i'm re-opening prompts! three word prompts are traditional around here, but feel free to send me other types of prompts as well if you'd like

[ruvviks]

"The outer reaches of space remain unexplored by humankind to this day, but its greed is relentless. We grasp and yearn and hunger for knowledge— answers to questions we cry out into the endless void expecting to understand, expecting the stars to respond. The stars will not, but one day something else will— and we will not like what it has to say." — Rome Solomon, Beyond the Exosphere (1965)

taglist (opt in/out): @shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart, @vvanessaives, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman, @celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister, @killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

[claitea]

wait hey hold on. were there multiple heroes of truth and ideals over time or were they immortal because why is there a 500 year difference between the establishment of the relic castle and the abyssal ruins

edit: post cancelled no actual proof for the heroes to have been around 3000 years ago. my tags are still relevant though i think

[midwrites]

18 for armisolving (damn your wife universe if possible) 🥰🥰

Armisolving—(18) broken windows, waist high grasses, and lit matches.

A fat crimson droplet blooms over the pale skin of his thumb where the glass has sunk in. Sol drops it reflexively, hears it fall into the deep grass in a low murmur.

“Ah, fuck,” he tsks in between clenched teeth before he puts the finger into his mouth.

This year spring has caught up to them too. The grass is overgrown in the back of the house, the path that leads from the yard to the forest barely suggesting where one should tread, engulfed by the weeds and wildflowers that John had so carefully put him to trim in the front weeks ago. No wonder a fox can sneak into the henhouse unseen. No wonder they have already lost three of the girls to the red devil.

Sol pities the poor thing, knows that in a day or two the grass will be lower, the undergrowth visible, and that John will have him or Tommy out with a shotgun at dusk the moment they go out for a smoke or a piss. Sol has never been good at not pitying the underdog.

The match he lights sparks dangerously close to the dry grass, the fag he’s holding between his teeth suddenly a stupid sacrifice to make for a scorched backyard. Nothing happens, though. The cigarette ignites. The match dies. John Irving’s grounds remain unscathed.

“Gonna get into trouble if you keep that up.”

Sol treats the lad with a wolf whistle, followed by an appraising look to disguise that he had not heard Tommy coming. He is wearing that long blue dress John had rescued from a half-hidden cupboard in his London estate, a crooked little bow tying his black curls back while keeping some ringlets astray to frame his pale face. Tommy looks nice like this, very nice.

“Going to town? Can’t imagine a lass like you would do herself this pretty jus’ for me.”

The compliment makes Tommy blush, her hands fisting the hem of the skirt as he protests with a low. “Sol… stop that.”

“Just speaking things as they are, no harm in calling my favourite lass pretty, is there?”

“I’m gonna tell him you called me your favourite.”

The threat makes Sol laugh, his hands coming up to encircle Tommy’s waist as if he were cinching her stays, pressing just enough to make the lad gasp.

“Will you now?” Sol can’t imagine John would mind, might even make him pull out that pretty long dress of his instead. “Might need to do something more about it,” Sol exhales a little smoke from the corner of his lips, watches Tommy’s baby blue eyes lock on the cigarette, on his mouth. “Make our mistress truly have something she can complain about.”

[arecaceae175]

Fairytale! I think that could be fun as either being set in a fairytale or maybe someone isn’t feeling well so one of the others tells them stories to feel better.

Prince Sky sighed to himself and let his head fall forwards to rest against the door. His hand was on the knob, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door.

Knock knock

Sky gasped and stumbled backwards.

"My prince?"

"Yeah," Sky said, clearing his throat. "Come in, Wars."

Sir Warriors opened the door and quickly pushed it shut behind him. He looked at Sky, then his face slid into a sly grin.

"Were you-"

"Don't worry about it," Sky interrupted, smoothing down his clothes.

Warriors shook his head with a smile, which Sky returned.

"Are you ready, your highness?" Warriors asked.

"Again, Wars, Sky is fine. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," Sky said.

"Is something wrong?" Warriors asked.

"Sun and Groose are taking the horses out today. I just... would much rather be out with Aepon. Instead I'm stuck in knighting ceremonies all day," Sky said.

Warriors bit his lip and glanced to the side. Sky's back straightened, intruiged. Warriors would never show so much expression in front of others, but was lucky enough to know his friend's tells.

"What? Is there going to be drama? Something interesting?" Sky asked.

"No one's supposed to know, but... the Oracle predicted that the next Hero is in the castle today," Warriors said.

Sky gasped. "The Hero... here? Today? Does my father know?"

Warriors nodded. "His Majesty is prepared. The Oracle will be in the ceremonies today to find the Hero."

Sky clasped his hands together and bounced with glee. He had to get all his feelings out before the ceremony, where he had to play the part of a perfect Prince in front of the Royal Court.

"This means we could finally put an end to the Warlock! Oh, I can't wait! The people could know peace again!" Sky said.

Warriors smiled, and gave Sky a look he couldn't quite decipher.

"What?" Sky asked.

Warriors' smile grew. "You're a good Prince. You'll make a fine king, one day."

Sky blushed madly, and cleared his throat. "Um. Thank you, Wars. Let's go."

[rooolt]

no harder curse to bear than having a favorite character that the writers stopped caring about two years ago

[cepheusgalaxy]

Chat we may have a Problema

[hadesdancehall]

also as an early hint for tomorrow…

[bwabbitv3s]

Danny just is in a coffee shop relaxing as he finally finished his last exam and now can relax into winter break. As he lets his brain melt into a happy caffeine reward bliss the battered TV in the shop cuts to breaking news. There is no sound as old 80s lounge jazz CD coming out of an ancient sound system plays. Just a little odd but familiar sight living in a city this close to both Gotham and Metropolis.

Instead it is his subconscious brain that perks up thinking, "Huh, the news people don't normally report on the GAV, it should be the weather guy." that catches his interest in it. Long sip of his drink while his brain trickle back into working again at the familiar yet unfamiliar sight. Hmm, he better make sure Jazz knows about this. Looks kinda like they are getting close to her university campus.

~ Hello, this is Jazz. I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message and I will get back to you. ~ BEEP ~

"Hey, Jazz. Mom and Dad on the news in some high speed chase near Gotham. I know your exams are not done yet, but it looks kinda near your university. Wanna give you a heads up in case they are trying to surprise you for finishing exams."

~ Hello, this is Jazz. I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message and I will get back to you. ~ BEEP ~

"Jazz, please call me back. The news lost track of Mom and Dad like 30 minutes ago and started a hotline to report sightings."

~ Hello, this is Jazz. I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message and I will get back to you. ~ BEEP ~

"Jazz your exams have to be over by now. Please tell me you know something about Mom and Dad tearing around Gotham then disappearing."

~ Hello, this is Jazz. I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message and I will get back to you. ~ BEEP

"Jazz, I am at your apartment building. Buzz me in please. I know you hate it when I get in the other way."

~ Hello, this is Jazz. I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message and I will get back to you. ~ BEEP

"Jazz, please tell me you are okay and just at a friends. Your apartment door was open and it looks like you might have been robbed. Or better yet please tell me you are down at a police station filling out paperwork on the break in."

~ Hello, this is Jazz. I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message and I will get back to you. ~ BEEP

"Jazz, please answer."

~We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.~

Jazz gets kidnapped by a meta trafficking ring due to her inhuman features caused by ectoplasm exposure. The kidnappers, not knowing that they just directed the full wrath and might of Jack and Maddie Fenton towards their illegal business.

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <33