#prompts and drabbles and other things

[ofmermaidstories]

fun au thing where you go to sleep in the uncomfortable bed of your first apartment when you’re twenty-one, and when you wake up the next morning the bed is bigger, way better in a completely different room and also you’re like, old now (you’re thirty-six) and why the fuck are you wearing a wedding ring and also why the fuck is that man (that you vaguely recognise as that kid from when you were a teenager who y’know, stopped the whole war-in-japan thing, deku) coming out of the bathroom, also old, also shirtless, and calling you sweetheart???

[pipedreame]

I am such a slut for Danny having supernatural strength and being able to kill someone with a single slap because he’s used to fighting ghosts who are built Sturdy (and literally can’t die, that is very helpful in a sparing partner) so he has to learn such meticulous control when he moves to Gotham where he starts regularly getting into scuffles with humans who think he’s an easy target (he looks like he has the sturdiness of a wet newspaper) and the whole time he’s more stressed about not drawing the Bats attention by being too good or accidentally killing someone so he has to walk that fine line of acting like a scrawny loser and dipping out at his first chance without being clocked as a meta.

Danny, laying on the ground and getting kicked repeatedly by a thug: *tries to angle himself so the guy can kick out a knot in his back*

Danny: *deadpan* oh, ow, stop that hurts, oof

Robin, watching from the rooftop and recognizing the dramatics from the Supers: father there is a meta

Batman, also watching and having flashbacks to Clark’s earlier days: *so so tired and already mentally getting the adoption paperwork ready*

[sisterdivinium]

She was never one to shy away, so Mother Superion sustains every glance.

Jillian is curious. Even her perfect education cannot occasionally avoid a more pointed glare, a little intrusive, a little indiscreet.

Superion can read the questions shooting restless within her mind, feel Jillian’s attention trace her entire body, looking for a way into the nun, the fortress. She doesn’t look away at the suggestion of indecency, though the scientist does.

It should bother her.

But it’s been too long since the sword has glowed in her grip and Jillian’s eyes shine brighter and bluer than divinium ever did...

[tetzoro]

me: i’m not going to write for kuroo or zoro for a bit

also me: writes a coworker!kuroo drabble

[ana-cantskywalker]

sabezra + start over again by new hope club for the drabbles?

I try to respond to an ask in a reasonable timeframe challenge (level: impossible)

Legally this isn’t a drabble (I only very recently learned what a drabble technically is and this ain’t it) I don’t even think it can be considered a microfic anymore. It absolutely got away from me and is kinda massive considering the prompt.

Anyways, I hope you like it!

Setting: Modern au, they are in college (idk the details just college)

-

He was an idiot.

He’d been told that before but now he was sure of it because only an idiot would do what he’d done yesterday.

It had started out going extremely well for him, after taking nearly three years to work up the courage to do so, he’d finally told Sabine how he felt. How he saw his best friend as more than just a best friend, how he wanted them to be more.

And she hadn’t killed him surprisingly enough.

He thought such a heavy confession would ruin what they already had, which is why he’d taken so long to admit it, but she took it well. She didn’t hate him for one, and she even agreed to go on a ‘date’ with him. Not a real go to a nice restaurant type of date, but something slightly more intimate than their usual hangouts, to see if it would be a dynamic they might want to pursue.

He didn’t really know why she’d agreed, he wouldn’t dare hope it was because she reciprocated even if she wouldn’t admit it, but maybe…

They’d agreed on a picnic in the park near his house, casual but not anything like what they would normally do together. All their cards on the table, but without the pressure, the stage was set to be a perfect day, and he’d been thrilled.

That is until he had to go and kriff it all up.

His first mistake was being chronically late, not on purpose of course, but late nonetheless. She had to wait for him for nearly half an hour, it was a miracle she hadn’t just left, and maybe she should have. And then he had to go put his foot in his mouth when he tried complimenting her, he couldn’t even remember now what he’d said, just that it had sounded like a borderline insult.

He should’ve just told her she was beautiful, because kriff, she was.

Then, the cherry on top to the disaster of a date was when he knocked over his drink and spilled it all over her dress. Like an idiot.

It hadn’t ended with her yelling at him like he probably deserved, but it had been three days ago and she hadn’t so much as texted him. They usually talked every day. She was rightfully upset and he didn’t know how to fix it.

He needed to, his relationship with Sabine, friend or otherwise was one of the most important relationships he had. Also if he didn’t Tristan was going to kill him the next time he saw him.

The sound of a door closing snapped him from the doom spiral he was having face down on the couch. Looking up he saw his roommate Zeb walking in. The older boy gives Ezra a disapproving once over, “You still moping?”

Ezra doesn’t dignify him with a response, so he keeps going. “You know moping here on the couch isn’t going to fix anything.”

He rolls his eyes, “Thank you for that astute observation, Zeb.”

Zeb pushes through their tiny living area towards his room, “Fine, if you want to sit here in your misery then do it, just don’t bother me about it. But, if I was you, I would go apologize.”

With that he’s gone and Ezra sits up, he was right and Ezra hated it. He’d known for the past three days that was what he needed to do, he was just terrified of the response he might get. What if she chewed him out and never wanted to see him again.

Well, maybe that was a little extreme, she had every right to be upset but he might have been making the situation more drastic in his head. He had been known to be dramatic over things on occasion.

As he is pondering the extent of his dramatization of events, his eyes land on a picture stuck to the fridge, he could barely make it out from where he was, but he knew what it was of. It was a picture he and Sabine had taken when they went to the amusement park outside town last Summer. It was one of his favorite memories, not just with her, but ever. Was he really going to ruin that over his stupid cowardice?

No. He wasn't.

He was going to make things right.

-

The trip to the coffee shop where Sabine worked was quick. It was the prime spot to run into her for two reasons. One, because it was currently her work hours and he didn’t want to wait. Two, because if he risked waiting till later and trying to go see her at her and Tristan’s shared apartment, there was always a chance he would be there and she wouldn’t, and he didn’t fancy getting punched in the face today.

However, that still wasn’t out of the question with Sabine.

The bell above the door rang as he entered, and he was greeted by the familiar smells of coffee and pastries. It was quiet inside, only a few customers sitting at tables and no one in line at the register. Behind it sat Sabine, hunched over what he could assume was a sketchbook, golden eyes narrowed in concentration, purple and pink hair framing her face. She really was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

He cautiously approaches the counter, and she doesn’t look up, even when he reaches it, clearly not noticing it was him. Without so much as a glance she asks, “How can I help you?”

He clears his throat, pushing down the nerves in his stomach. “Could I have a hot chocolate please… and a second chance?”

Her head snaps up, eyes locking with his, shock written on her face, “Ezra-”

He cuts her off, which probably wasn’t the best idea in terms of trying to make it up to her, “Sabine, I’m really sorry about the other day. I messed up completely, and I know you’re probably really mad at me because I was a total idiot.”

It all comes out as one big word vomit, and he looks at the ground, embarrassed both because of why he had to apologize in the first place, and also because of his delivery of said apology.

“Yeah, you were kind of a total idiot weren’t you?”

When he looks up, instead of the disapproving scowl he’d been expecting, he finds a mischievous smirk. He could cry from relief at the fact that she apparently didn’t hate him.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Could we start over?”

[player1064]

kate for someone reason thinking jamie is homophobic not sure why or how but she does (sara has me obsessed with the idea that they can’t stand each other now lol) and then him introducing her to gary and she’s like 🤯 ft. micah in the corner like you didn’t know he never shuts up about him???

god Kate and Jamie literally CANNOT STAND EACH OTHER!!! I'm OBSESSED with that dynamic tbh!!!!!!! As always. this one is much longer than intended...

Also, don't need to have read it but this is technically intended to tie in to my fic Happy wife, happy life (but tldr Jamie regularly calls Gary his wife partly to keep their relationship under wraps but mostly bc. he finds it funny to call Gary his wife.)

---

“Obviously we’re done for the season right before pride month kicks off,�� one of the CBS producers is saying, eyes darting over something on an iPad. “And since you four have been pretty popular we were thinking of including you in some of those ad campaigns, so if I could just get some dates off of all of you –”

“No,” Jamie says immediately.

All three of his colleagues snap their heads up to him, but only Kate looks at him coolly and says “no?”

Micah, because he’s Micah, chuckles and slaps Jamie in the shoulder, trying to diffuse some of the new tension in the air. “Not like you to turn down extra cash, Carra.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, pretends not to notice the way Kate’s eyes are burning into him. “Check my contract. Wish I could, honest,” he says to the producer, feeling very very glad that he had a clause added to his contract specifically so that he doesn’t have to take part in things like this, “But it just wouldn’t be do-able. You lot ‘ave fun, though, with yer rainbows and yer glitter.”

Kate just looks at him incredulously. “This is one thing you decide to take a stand on, mister ‘I don’t care about politics’?”

Rainbows just don’t really suit Jamie, is the thing. Nor does the extra scrutiny that comes from wearing rainbows.

Doesn’t really matter to him what Kate thinks of him, though, so he just shrugs and continues packing up his stuff for the day.

*

“Jamie – Jamie, I finally got onto Raya, can you have a look at my profile?”

Jamie looks up at Micah with a frown. “What the fuck is a Raya?”

“It’s a dating app,” Kate says from her end of the desk, in that unimpressed tone of hers that makes Jamie wonder why she’s bothering to insert herself into the conversation at all.

“An exclusive dating app,” Micah corrects, wiggling his phone in front of Jamie.

“Weren’t you already seeing someone?” asks Jamie, but he accepts the phone with a sigh and puts his glasses on. “I don’t – I’ve never used one of these things, what am I meant to be lookin’ at?”

Micah shrugs. “Didn’t work out,” he says breezily. “How have you never used a dating app, you’ve not been married that long. And look at yourself, you can’t tell me you weren’t a player before Mrs Carra came along.”

Jamie had got around a bit, in his playing days. Not much, mind, because he’d had to be careful, but he’d done alright. Unfortunately – and this is not something he’ll ever admit to anyone, even under duress – any thoughts of that had gone out the window the moment he’d walked onto the Sky campus after retiring.

“You’re right,” he says with a wink, “look at me. As if I’d need an app to find myself a bird. Why’d you want me to look at this, I’m not exactly your target audience. ‘less there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ us,” he adds, elbowing Micah and waggling his eyebrows.

Kate looks on unimpressed as the two of them double over in laughter. “Not that any of us would have a problem if you were, right Jamie?” she says haughtily.

Jamie catches Micah’s eye and has to fight back another bout of laughter. “Dunno,” he says, “I can think of one or two problems I’d ‘ave if Big Meeks here suddenly tried hittin’ on me.”

Micah bursts out laughing again, his hand clapping to Jamie’s forearm, and Jamie can’t help but join in – it’s infectious, okay?

“God,” Micah says, wiping a tear from his eye, “can you imagine how your missus would react. I’d never be able to work in television again.”

“Nah, she’d prob’ly send you a fruit basket, thank you for taking me off ‘er hands.”

Kate clears her throat and the two of them sober immediately at the sight of her raised eyebrow. “Maybe cool it with the outdated banter,” she says, “or do I need to remind you boys that you’re not in a dressing room anymore?”

She storms off, he heels click-clicking away as Jamie and Micah look at each other and try (and fail) not to start laughing again.  

*

“You didn’t want to bring your wife to the end of season party, then?” Kate asks politely, looking slowly around the room.

“Huh?” Jamie says eloquently, because he’s had a couple of glasses of prosecco and he’s not thinking as quickly as he usually might. “Oh, the missus. Yeah, she’s here but  – I dunno, she’s a bit shy, like. You didn’t invite Malik?”

Kate rolls her eyes, the way she always does when Jamie mentions her boyfriend. “Well, he lives in America. So.”

“Carra,” an annoying voice calls from just behind him, “Carra, come over ‘n meet Schmeichel? I’ve not seen ‘im in years, d’you know, I think I’d forgot how tall he was.”

Jamie puts a hand on the small of Gary’s back to keep him from bouncing around too much (the man is such a lightweight, it’s embarrassing), and says “I’ve already met Peter, you dolt. I work with ‘im, remember?”

Gary squints at him for a second. “You drag me all the way down to London, and then y’can’t even be bothered to –” he finally seems to realise that Jamie had been talking to someone, because he quickly shakes his head around a bit and holds a hand out to Kate with a smile. “You’re Kate, right? I love what you do on the show, honest, I’m always sayin’ people need to be meaner to James here.”

Jamie thinks he sees Kate blush a bit, like she hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed her dislike of Jamie, but she takes Gary’s offered hand anyway. “And of course you’re the famous Gary Neville, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she greets. “But aren't you still with Sky? What brings you to our little operation here?”

“Scopin’ out the competition,” he says with a wink, then turns back to Jamie. “Carra – Peter?”

“I said no! I’ll talk to him later, stop badgerin’ me.”

“Did you two travel down from Manchester together?” asks Kate, “You know, Jamie seems so invested in my relationship but none of us have ever met his wife, do you know where she’s got to?”

“Ah, his fuckin’ wife,” Gary mutters, smirking up at Jamie. Jamie winks in reply and slips his hand down a bit to pinch him on the arse.

Micah comes over, his tuxedo strained against his biceps, and he pulls Gary away from Jamie to throw an arm around his shoulder in a half-hug.

(Gary squirms a bit at the unexpected contact, but he still gives Micah a friendly pat on the chest.)

“Big Nev! It’s been ages, man – Jamie told us you were coming, but he’s promised that before and not delivered.”

“Been pretty busy, up in Manchester,” Gary says with a shrug, carefully extracting himself from under Micah’s arm and returning to Jamie’s side. “But I’m obliged to do the plus one thing at least two –” (“Three,” Jamie corrects,) “—fine, three times a year, and I figure there’re worse places to be.”

“Aw, you love it really,” Micah says. “I’ve always kind of wondered what it’s like to be a WAG.”

Gary rolls his eyes. “It’s a thankless job, to be fair.” He pokes Jamie in the bicep and adds “I’m going back to talk t' Peter, you miserable old twat. Honest, I’m always talkin' to Scousers fer you.”

“I already know –” Jamie starts to protest, but Gary’s already wandered off. “Ugh. Sorry about ‘im. You can’t take Mancs anywhere, can ya?”

The two Mancs he’s talking to look at him, unimpressed.

“He seemed nice,” Kate says carefully.

“He’s not,” Jamie replies.

*

“Good summer?” Micah asks, their first show back after the break.

“Brilliant,” Jamie replies with a grin. “It were my turn to choose the destination, so –”

“Ibiza?”

He nods. “Ibiza. The house was done just in time, too.”

“You know, I can’t really imagine Gary in Ibiza.”

“Oh, he hates it. Complained the whole time, but he does that wherever we go.”

He becomes aware that Kate is watching them from across the desk, not trying to hide that she’s listening to their conversation with curiosity. Jamie nods to her, all polite like. “Hows about you, Kate, good summer?”

“It was fine, I –” she shakes her head. “Sorry, you’re saying you go on holiday with Gary Neville?”

Micah scoffs. “Who else would he go with?” he asks, and Jamie points to him in agreement.

“I dunno, his wife?”

Jamie blinks.

He thought he’d got all this out the way, dragging Gary along to the party a couple of months ago. Apparently not.

“Gary is my wife,” he says, then suddenly feels very stupid saying that to someone who’s not already in on the joke, so he corrects to “my husband, I mean. Obviously he’s not – he’s a man. Obviously.”

Kate’s eyes are wide, unblinking. She looks between Jamie and Micah, lips pressed together while her brain seems to be buffering.

“You’re married to a man?” she says eventually. “But you’re not gay, I mean – you’re –”

Jamie, who last time he checked definitely was gay, raises an eyebrow, amused. “I’m what?”

“You’re a footballer,” she attempts, and oh, this is far too easy.

“Bit ‘omophobic, that, sayin’ footballers can’t be gay,” he replies, holding back a smirk.

“Oh shut up, you know what I – you’re a lad! You’re always with the banter, and the…”

Thierry wanders over, freshly brewed cup of tea in hand. “What have you two done this time?” he asks, looking pointedly at Jamie and Micah.

Jamie raises his hands to protest his innocence.

“Thierry,” Kate asks, reaching a hand out towards him, “did you know Jamie’s married to a man?”

Thierry rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fucking Neville,” he replies, and goes to sit down.

[cybercravat]

"You're going to love this one!"

Guilt ran over me once more. This time not from the scandals slipped from your lips, secrets not meant for our amusements; no, but from the anger that clenched my fists, the pursing of my lips as I yearned for more, a more that I didn't deserve. Couldn't you lean in just a little closer, hold my shoulder and mutter sweet nothings instead of the rumours you picked from others?

"How do you know this?" I don't voice my thoughts, for this is more than you ever intended to give me.

[good-beanswrites]

Ahh ive been reading some of your writings and they're just so warm and fluffy to read (if that makes sense??) Though i cant really express it in the tags ;; also if its alright, may i please request blanket with mikoto or tears with fuuta? - @erimnar

Omg thank you -- I've been so grateful for your tags! :)) And thanks for the requests, I had a lot of fun with these woo! I went with a real fun one for Mikoto/Blanket (once again, picture T1 minigram vibes) and I'll post a slightly angstier one for Fuuta/Tears soon 👍

“Mikotoooo, just share with Muu,” the girl pouted. “I mean it!”

He scooted out of her reach. “What are you gonna do, stab me about it?”

Muu’s jaw dropped, but there was no real horror behind it. “Maybe!” She lunged for him again. 

After a strange rattling from the walls had woken some in the middle of the night, all the heat in the prison had seeped away. Es had left to fix it immediately, and no one had seen them for hours. In Mikoto’s opinion, they seemed better versed in law than plumbing and mechanical fixes. He had no idea how long they’d all be shivering like this in the winter chill.

The prisoners walked around all morning in a mismatch of spare layers. Mahiru giggled inside one of Shidou’s extra doctor coats, far too big on her. Mikoto hadn’t stopped laughing that Shidou owned extra doctor coats in the first place. Yuno’s stylish hats could be spotted on several of the prisoners, Mikoto included. (He’d given his own beanie to Kazui, earlier.) Fuuta had handed out a concerning amount of sweatshirts, and Muu had some fashionable scarves that gave enough warmth to be useful.

In addition to the ridiculous getups, they each carried their bed sheets around their shoulders. Mikoto was surprised to find himself the envy of the group.

A while back he’d requested a weighted blanket; he remembered finding one helpful when work got too overwhelming. Milgram had provided a fairly large one, though he felt it hadn’t worked as well here. He didn't expect it to cause a stir until Shidou pointed out that its weight would make it even warmer than his own. Following that, it didn’t take long to attract the small army of murderous children that were after him. 

As he stepped away from Muu, Yuno leapt at his other side, ready to snatch the blanket off of him. Although Haruka and Amane were too nervous to make a grab at him, they stood anxiously nearby rooting for his loss. Mahiru had jumped in as well. Her quick movements forced Mikoto to spin around and draw it even closer around his shoulders. Caring less about the blanket, but always ready to tackle someone, Fuuta joined the scuffle.

It wasn't like Mikoto cared about the blanket, either. He had no issue sharing it with the others. He knew the attitude in the prison had been dropping recently. Despite the brief camaraderie from sharing articles of clothing, everyone’s mood had been especially bitter today. As physical discomfort added to their mental strain, things could go south quickly. The place needed to liven up a bit.

He stepped back from the blanket thieves, flicking the corner of it from Fuuta’s hands. 

“Not so fast!”

Fuuta fumed. “You asshole…”

Yuno, meanwhile, seemed up for the challenge. “You’re quick!”

“I’ve had a bit of experience…” He flashed a wicked grin. Mikoto didn’t talk about his family much, but a few of the others knew he grew up on fairly good terms with a younger sister. His big brother instincts had developed just fine.

He darted this way and that. He faked and sidestepped and spun. As his opponents grew bolder, he ended up sweeping the blanket off his back. He swung it around the room with less effort than expected. He was stronger than he looked, and easily kept the girls at bay while wrestling Fuuta for the blanket. He let out a laugh as he fought back against all the grabbing hands. Taking advantage of the height difference, he lifted it directly over his head.

The position wasn’t the most secure, though. His taunts were quickly replaced by feigned cries as the others dragged him to the ground. As they pinned him down, a cheer erupted from Haruka before he covered his mouth. The others joined in the celebration as they claimed their prize.

Mikoto lamented, “you’re so cruel… you’re all so cruel…” It was good, he thought, hearing them all laugh.

The loss of his blanket wasn’t his only punishment. Heaving an exhausted breath, Yuno flopped down directly on top of him. She tucked herself and Muu into the blanket. Then Mahiru wiggled in, beckoning to Amane and Haruka. By the time they all nestled in, there was just barely enough room for Fuuta to squeeze in with everyone. 

Mikoto wheezed from under the pile of prisoners.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “You win. Fuck -- let me breathe...”

Mahiru just made herself more comfortable. “But you’re so warm!” The others muttered their agreement. Not one showed any sign of moving. The prison was far too cold to give up heat like this, after all.

“That’s because you all made me work so hard!” He huffed. “Come on.”

“What are you gonna do?” Muu giggled, doing a poor impression of his voice, “murd--”

“-- Aw, shaddup…”

[idk-i-want-mcl-content]

lol

[halfmoonism]

where the fog meets their fingertips

tgaa, susato & kazuma || major spoilers for literally all of tgaa2

a stolen moment with two battered siblings after the 10-year case lifts its haunting from london’s sky.

from plantober day 2 on twt: mugwort (rain, fog, thunder)

The only light that reaches them stems from remnants of the 221B Baker Street party at their backs, which makes the whole scene more surreal: Kazuma-sama’s arm in hers, her own fingers shakily framing a long scar, the thick fog narrowing the world down to her and the brother she never dared to hoped to see again.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Kazuma-sama says. When Susato looks up, he’s watching her face with a stern intensity she can scarcely remember seeing; it’s then, in the shadows pooling underneath his eyes, that she recalls her own horrified conviction at the way he carelessly slung all warmth and empathy out the window, that she sees their shared ghosts loom over their hands and finally begins to understand.

Still, she bends down to press a feather-light kiss at the edge of the scar as he used to do for her whenever their more reckless spars in their childhood ended in new scrapes, and when he flinches, she composes herself and says, “That may be so, but I will never stop worrying, Kazuma-sama.”

It pains her, truly, to see the surprised look he shoots her, not at all dimmed by the fog. Though she’s accepted him as family for years, she supposes he felt unsure at their current standing given… prior events… but the truth of the matter is this: whether he has changed or not, the entirety of him isn’t an irredeemable monster. The Kazuma-sama sitting with her now is every piece of the brother she lost a lifetime ago, simply… tilted very far in the opposite direction, but made up of the same. So it is her job to worry for him, reckless nature and all, because if she could draw any lighthearted conclusions from the past week, it’s that his stubbornness certainly makes for interesting stories. If Gina’s grumbling is anything to go by…

“I’m proud of you,” Kazuma-sama says abruptly. She cannot help the flinch, or the way her hands fly to her mouth, but he isn’t even looking at her. It���s not as if he’s never expressed it, but to do so verbally is… ah, well, it is new. “You’ve grown up much wiser than me, Judicial Assistant Mikotoba.”

“We aren’t in court,” Susato points out, lowering her arms. Smiling has come easier with his return. “There is no need to refer to me so formally, Kazuma-sama.”

He raises an eyebrow. She laughs a little. Perhaps the stubbornness runs in the family, after all.

[ofmermaidstories]

fantasy au idea where your village is razed to the ground in the middle of the night by soldiers. you escape, just barely, half-crazed—but there is no where to run. your village is bordered by the ocean, by mountains and the hilly pastures that are now burning bright as the screams from the homes in the village follow you out into a dark copse of trees, hoping for cover.

you don’t see the archer, but he sees you, leaping over clumps of grass and dirt and stumbling like a drunk. his aim is true, and you gasp as the arrow pierces you.

you drop to your knees, the pain of the rocks you fall against, dull. vaguely, you’re aware of cold, fast water, soaking through your woollen skirt and weighing you down and if you had sense, still, you’d realise you’ve fallen into one of the creeks that vein through the forest—but you don’t. your face is wet, warm salt, and the last thing you think of, strangely, is the loaf of bread your neighbour had broken with you, just that morning, as she cackled over her own joke.

and then you pitch forward into the shallow water, already gone, and somewhere in the dark woods, a single owl calls out; the shadow of it cutting across the golden-hot light your village’s destruction as the edge of your skirt brushes against the submerged rocks.

(when the answering contingent of knights arrives in the village a few weeks later, it’s to scorched, blackened earth: the foundations of the buildings that had been here left like charred bones, picked apart and appealing to the sky.

kacchan is scowling, already barking out orders for the others to find what remains they can, to gather them, for graves to be dug—izuku sickened as he lets himself drop from his horse, his boots sinking into soft ash.

“even out here?” he asks, helplessly. uselessly. of course even out here. the capital’s army had marched through the land easily, without resistance. kacchan, who doesn’t spare him the pity anymore, frowns at him.

“take some of the others!” he says, but izuku is already walking away with a wave as he crosses over into the burnt fields, rising up from the woodland that reaches back to the mountains. it’s only when he gets to the edges of the trees that he pauses, his hand on the hilt of his sword—it’s quiet, in the trees. a lone whistle of a bird falling into silence as he approaches. izuku waits; the bird doesn’t regain its song, something about the silence, the air, paused but before he can decide if its a trap or magic there’s the crack of a branch, and the sudden, startling flurry of a flock of birds taking flight at the same time, izuku shielding his face from the frantic brush of their feathers and air as they dart past. his heart is pounding, with the surprise. he waits a heartbeat, a hard thump, and then another and another and when he at last lets his arms drop and looks up he’s startled again: you, standing there before him, grim.

“Who—” he starts to ask, but your face twists and before he can react the earth itself upturns itself; rocks at his feet where there were none, throwing him off balance as the ground shifts, trees bending down to protect you, to push izuku back.

GET OUT, he hears—he feels. it burns like a tight pain, across his mind and startled again he cries out before he lands on his ass, back out in the black earth of the burnt field, the forest crackling and creaking as somewhere, just beyond his sight, things rearrange themselves back to order again.

a survivor? he wonders, half in fear, half in hope. or something else?

and you—

your feet are muddy, sinking into moss as the ground where the knight stood fills itself in, marshy at first before it drains, green and undisturbed once more. at your back, an owl calls out, and you wait a moment—watching the treeline, waiting, but then the call sounds again and you turn, obeying.)

[allylikethecat]

I feel like causing myself pain. Gatty #28 a kiss as a lie

Hi! I want to apologize, first because this took me so long to finish, and second, because I don't think this is as pain causing as you were probably expecting. 😂 I hope you still enjoy it though and thank you so much for sending in this ask! I think this is one of my favorites that I've written so far!

❤️Ally

28. Kiss…as a lie

“Phoebe and Bo want us to meet them for a drink,” said Matty, not looking up from his phone. He was sitting on the arm of the couch in the studio, trying and failing to keep himself entertained while George worked on their new track. He was playing a new racing game, and he was exceptionally bad at it. He had finished his part ages ago, but through some kind of loyalty had decided to stay and keep George company instead of leaving with Ross and Hann. George wished he had left with them. He loved Matty, but he was an unnecessary distraction, especially when he was bored. George would have finished up an hour ago if he didn’t have to keep stopping to entertain Matty, he was like a toddler or a puppy, dangerous and destructive when he was bored.  

Matty had woken up in a mood that morning, a restless edge to his actions that implied that if he was left unsupervised, he would burn the world down. George sighed. Maybe it was a good thing Matty had stayed at the studio with him, George could keep an eye on him there, who knew what state he would have found their home in upon his return if Matty had left without him. 

Last time he had gotten like this, Matty had impulsively repainted half their kitchen before he got bored, then taken absolutely everything out of their closet, then lost interest in his reorganization plans. He had left George to put everything away three days later when he couldn’t take it anymore. They had to hire someone to finish repainting the kitchen, and to fix the section Matty had done. Turns out acrylic paint, and interior paint were not the same thing.  

“I thought we were going to watch the new season of Bake Off,” George said, spinning around in his chair so that he no longer had his back to Matty. That had been the plan, they were going to order takeaway, put on their pajamas and watch The Great British Bake Off. Matty loved criticizing the contestants as if he was capable of more than boiling water, and George loved watching how passionate he got about it, googling recipes that he would never actually attempt. George knew it was silly, but he had been looking forward to the quiet night in. 

“We still can,” said Matty, still fiddling with his phone. “We meet them for a pint, then get back home by eight at the latest, and have the rest of the night to watch Bake Off.” 

George knew it was intentional, that Matty was changing tactics, they were no longer meeting for a drink, but a pint. Matty didn’t drink beer unless it was an absolute last resort, he hated the taste and hated the way the carbonation and yeast made him feel heavy and bloated. George on the other hand, loved beer, it was his drink of choice and Matty knew that. 

“I don’t know,” George said, trailing off, he really didn’t want to go. He loved spending time with their friends, but it was never just one drink out when it came to Matty. He got caught up in the atmosphere, in the excitement of socializing, one always turned into two, into three and suddenly Matty was behind the bar harassing the bartender into letting him “help” or having commandeered a guitar and put on an impromptu performance and George was left to drag both their drunk asses home, then listen to Matty complain that he was dying the next morning. They were in their thirties now, they couldn’t just puke and rally like they used to.   

“It will be fun!” Matty said, “just one pint for you and a single glass of wine for me.” George wanted to argue that they had wine at home, probably better wine than Matty would find at whatever divey pub they ended up at.

“I’m tired,” George tried, “I was kind of looking forward to a quiet night,” he said trailing off. He had a feeling that he was going to lose this argument. 

“Just one, I swear,” said Matty, standing up to cross the distance between them, plopping himself down in George’s lap, straddling him. 

George knew he was lying, even if he didn’t realize it himself. He had that glint in his eye that in their youth meant George would be waking up in a bin. 

“Please?” He asked, batting his eyelashes at George, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout that he clearly thought made him look seductive but really just made him look ridiculous. George sighed, hating how far gone he was for the man that he always found himself bending to his whims. 

“One drink,” George said, holding up his pointer finger to drive his point home. “One drink then we’re going home.” 

Matty let out a little squeal of happiness that made him sound ridiculous and leaned in to kiss George, a sweet and quick press of the lips. 

“One drink!” He parroted, and George sighed. At least they both knew he was lying.

[jon-withnoh]

“There.” I glanced over her shoulder at our reflections in the mirror. I had pinned up her hair in a crown of dark braids. “You look so different.”

“Are you sure?” Danny asked doubtfully.

“I am. You might as well be a different person.”

“If only it were that easy.”

“Hush.” I wrapped my arms around her, bringing my head close to hers. “I love you.”

Danny’s expression softened. “I love you.”

Disentangling herself, Danny rose from the bed and picked up her bag.

“Ready for another journey?”

I cast a look around our empty room. “Ready when you are.”

— Prompt 33: I love you

[companionwolf]

pride month drabble challenge fill #1

prompts: 15. Transmasc + 9. Moonlight + 7. "Do you ever get afraid?" (prompts)

fandom: XCOM 2 (gen verse)

TWs/CWs: none

---

They're standing on the flight deck with Central, the cold moonlight turning them both silver black blue. Beside them, their XO stares out over the railing toward the distant glittering night shine of a city center.

His breath fogs in the air, and the Commander wishes they had those stupid sweaters still. They itched but they were warm, and the wind that rushes over the deck is frigid enough that they'd be willing to wear the damn thing again.

The Commander studies Central's face. He looks like they've always wished, no longer the clean and proper young man he was, more rugged and just--

Their stomach twists.

Masculine. Almost stereotypically so. He has it so effortlessly. They never will-- they don't know the state of gender affirming health care now and frankly? They'd rather not; it'd make them cry more than everything already does.

But they look at Central and they're envious. They look at him and they want to wear his skin. They look at him and mourn what they can't be.

Their capture did nothing to help. They guess it's nice that they didn't age, but... that's time they've lost. They'll never get it back. Time they could have--

Could have what? No time for transitioning when the world's on fire, they think bitterly.

Central looks over at them.

"You're looking awfully pensive," he says. "Something eating you, Commander?"

"Do you ever get afraid?" they ask.

Their central officer's mouth drops a bit in a frown. "Not sure I'm following," he says. "Of the aliens? The war? The Chosen? What's next? You're gonna need to be--"

"Of -- of not getting --"

Their voice trails off. What does their dysphoria matter, in this time? So meaningless admist the horrors. They shove their hands in their pockets and look at their feet.

Central's eyes are on them. "Ohhh," he says as they try not to meet his gaze. "Ohh, you think you don't deserve to talk about whatever it is, I see."

He scoffs. "Well, I think you do," he says, looking back out at the city center. "Even if it seems small to you, it still means something. You should get to talk about it."

"Thanks, Central," they say.

"So what is it?"

They take a long breath of the crisp cold air, feel it burn in their chest. "I'm not who I'm supposed to be," they say, hesitantly. "And I probably won't ever get to be."

Central's looking at them again.

Their stomach churns under his soft gaze. "Stop," they say. "Stop, you're pitying me."

"I am not," he retorts. "I still don't even really get it but maybe I don't have to. This is a trans thing, right?"

They nod.

"I won't ever know what that's like," Central continues. "I won't claim that I would or will, but..." He pauses. "I don't know, if I can help somehow, I'd like to."

The Commander shifts weight from foot to foot, is still avoiding eye contact. "I don't know what you could even do," they say. "I mean, besides what you do already, with pronouns and..."

"Yeah, but that's just being a decent human," Central says.

"Maybe that's all I can really ask, all you can really do," the Commander says. "Not like you can just manifest a surgeon or HRT or whatever."

"If I could I would," he says. "I could... someone has to be helping folks in the resistance transition. I'll look around."

The Commander smiles a little, shuffles a little closer to Central.

"You're right," they say. "There has to be somebody, something." They hesitate. "I just...sometimes I feel like I'm alone, and that it'll never happen, and that I have to settle. That's what I mean."

"You shouldn't ever have to settle," Central says. "Not on something like this-- when it's about yourself and your life and..." He struggles a second. "You should get to be happy."

The Commander wants to reach for his hand. They don't. Instead they say, "You should too."

He looks away, back toward the cityscape and its neon lights. "I've got mine," he says. "Your turn now, Commander."

The Commander closes the distance between them, leans on him. "What if we both got ours? Got to be happy?" they say. "What about that, Central?"

Central stiffens under their weight, and then relaxes a bit. "I'd like that," he says, his voice quiet, slow. The Commander can feel his body rising and falling with each breath under their ear.

"Me too," they say. "Me too."

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Drabble List #14

75 prompts to write drabbles or longer stories.

"I didn't ask for your help."

"We're in this together."

"You have to let me go."

"I won't let them take you."

"We need to stay focused."

"All day, every day."

"They underestimated us."

"We have to keep going, no matter what."

"I can't let you go."

"This is our chance to make a difference."

"We need to think outside the box."

"I'm not afraid anymore."

"You can't silence the truth."

"We're stronger together."

"We can't ignore the signs any longer."

"Every decision has a consequence."

"Why did you choose me?"

"I can't pretend everything is okay."

"You're not who I thought you were."

"What happens if we fail?"

"I wish things could be different."

"You need to trust yourself more."

"This isn't just about you and me."

"We have to stop running."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You know what's at stake."

"I can't believe you lied to me."

"It's time to face our fears."

"We have to do what's right."

"I'm not backing down."

"This is our fight."

"You can't control everything."

"We need to take a leap of faith."

"I won't let them break me."

"This is our destiny."

"We have to trust each other."

"I'm not giving up on us."

"We can't let them win."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I need your help."

"We have to stay focused."

"This is our moment to shine."

"I'm not afraid of the truth."

"I can't believe you lied to me."

"We have to make it right."

"What are you willing to sacrifice?"

"You can't change the past."

"We have to face the truth."

"This is our only chance."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"We can't let them win."

"I never wanted to hurt you."

"You have no idea what you're asking."

"I spent Sunday in bed."

"You have to trust me."

"We can't let them destroy everything."

"I can't do this alone."

"You need to believe in yourself."

"This isn't just about survival."

"We have to keep moving forward."

"I never meant to hurt you."

"You can't keep running away."

"We need to think clearly."

"I can't let you go."

"You know what you did."

"You have to see it for yourself."

"This is our destiny."

"We need to find a way out."

"I can't let them hurt you."

"You have to make a decision."

"This is just the beginning."

"We need to hold on to hope."

"I can't believe it's come to this."

"You have to be strong."

"Want to hear my alibi?"

"This isn't just a story."

Drabble Masterlist

Have fun creating and writing!

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well! Your account has been such a comfort for me these past few months and I’m so grateful for you! I was wondering if I could request a poly!marauders drabble where one of them calls the reader a pet name but they’re still really new to the relationship so they don’t realize that he’s talking to them?

Thanks for requesting!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 598 words

You take quiet, giddy pleasure in the chaos of all four of you in the boys’ kitchen. It’s not the tiniest of kitchens, but small enough yet that you can’t move about without brushing or bumping various body parts into each other’s. Honestly, you wouldn’t want to. 

You find yourself deeply enamored by the sound of your knife hitting the cutting board in time with James’, by the way Remus touches your back to reach into the cabinet above your head and Sirius sneaks little bites of your unfinished dinner and slips you some too. Your voices overlap and intertwine, making requests or directions while you dice potatoes at a steady pace. 

“Would you call these finely chopped?” 

“Yeah, I’d say so.” 

“Give that a stir for me please, love.” 

“Where do you guys keep the spices?” 

“Jamie, I’d say that’s more than enough cheese.” 

“Spices are right in that cabinet above you. See? Yeah, there you go.” 

“If, in theory, I forgot to get paprika at the store, would cayenne be a decent substitute?” 

“Do we have chili powder?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Use that.” 

“Would you pass me the thyme, sweetheart?” 

“Sweetheart?” 

You turn only when the kitchen is silent. Remus is looking at you, kind eyes kindly prompting. He nods to just above you. 

“It’s in the spice cabinet there,” he says. “The dried thyme.” 

“Oh.” You blink, reaching for it. “Sorry, I didn’t think you were talking to me.” 

“That’s alright,” says Remus. He takes it from you, a bemused smile playing on the edges of his mouth. “Thank you.” 

“Why wouldn’t he be talking to you?” Sirius asks. 

“I don’t know.” You return to your potatoes, knife thunking against the wooden cutting board. “There are four of us in here, so.” 

Sirius makes a humming sound you know means trouble, and then his arms are needling underneath yours, winding around your middle. His voice is saccharine beside your ear. “Do you not think you have a sweet heart, my love?” 

You laugh. “Don’t,” you say, though you let some of your weight lean backwards into him. Sirius takes it happily. 

“You know you’re our sweetheart.” You may never get used to this, how Sirius can go from teasing to earnest in a second. You can’t always tell which is which, either. He seems to find something worth notice in the crook of your neck, resting his lips there in a long, funny kiss. “Don’t you?” 

You roll your eyes. James shoots you a grin. “I just thought,” you say, “that he might be talking to one of you.” 

Buried beneath your jaw, Sirius makes a noise of disapproval. 

“What?”

“You knew he could be talking to you too, though, right?” James prompts. 

You shrug, moving your eyes back to your work. “I guess.” 

“You guess?” Sirius sets his chin on your shoulder. 

“It just didn’t occur to me in the moment,” you admit. Your potato pieces are getting smaller and smaller. 

Remus laughs. “That won’t do, dove.” 

“See,” you point, smiling, “that one I know.” 

James laughs, too, bumping your hip. “I’d hope so! We’re going to need to start calling you things more often, get you used to it.” 

“I just wasn’t expecting it.” You’re shrinking in on yourself a tiny bit now. Sirius only holds you closer, cooing. 

“Start expecting it,” Remus advises you. 

“Let’s practice.” James raises his eyebrows at you pointedly. “Angel, would you pass me the salt?” 

You huff a laugh, grabbing it for him. “Sure.” 

“Such a quick study!” Sirius praises, mushing another kiss to your cheek. “That’s our girl.”