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#june prompts
shorukarts · 9 months
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@frans-monthly June prompt: healing
Au: Flowerfell
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head-in-the-shrouds · 4 months
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366 Prompts For 2024:
One word prompts for 2024 (all 12 months) and some alternatives. These are mostly horror / fantasy aimed.
January (31):
Behold
Justice
Oak
Weave
Hook
Waggon
Torch
Jinx
Prey
Must
Lit
Keep
Vanquish
Yarrow
Intended
Tomb
Marsh
Leather
Blanket
Kin
Lordling
Promises
Heath
Rot
West
Under
Sworn
Rusted
Transformation
Quest
Pond
February (29):
Midwinter
Oath
Croak
Blush
Nimble
Malady
Deal
Roots
Willow
Orders
Moss
Lantern
Portent
Lovelock
Mourning
Horned
Keys
Earn
Remedy
Bog
Yearning
Lace
Trunk
Coiled
Linger
Soothsayer
Revenge
Oleander
Revered
March (31):
Metal
Pride
Gunpowder
Inheritance
Master
Brandish
Enchanted
Path
Sacrifice
Tailor
Crypt
Remain
Toad
Understanding
Legacy
Archway
Mirror
Omen
Home
Fur
Dust
Bow
Necklace
Sly
Permanent
Grin
Aim
Nest
Hex
Church
Valour
April (30):
Masonry
Inquiry
Ledge
Years
Hospitality
Clay
Priestess
Sunken
Lavender
Trust
Waters
Guilt
Dusk
Protection
Musket
Castle
Flee
Ancient
Value
Charm
Fever
Penance
Silk
Foxhole
Ornament
Tradition
Meld
Hare
Well
Pest
May (31):
Moonrise
Sea
Wander
Absolution
Bark
Ridge
Crackle
Sacred
Bind
Frozen
Thatch
Naming
Elder
Wealth
Dappled
Reading
Father
Cathedral
Tent
Grey
Payment
Enshrine
Tales
Velvet
Cell
Guide
Dawn
Mines
Riddle
Falling
Clock
June (30):
Vixen
Stolen
Worth
Tar
Alchemy
Fickle
Barrell
Harrow
Pyre
Chest
Worship
Steps
Armoury
Tear
Den
Ladder
Ruins
Bargain
Snake-leaves
Corn-doll
Garnet
Eccentric
Telescope
Antler
Stone
Break
Laden
Tower
Chain
Rook
July (31):
Masquerade
Pines
Mother
Herbs
Limb
Prize
Rescue
Scales
Melody
Shore
Tempest
Appease
Queen
Hermit
Separated
Bear
Righteous
Chimney
Storm
Manipulate
Boots
Apple
Rings
Crafted
Trail
Bleak
Dear-heart
Sanctify
Feast
Gathering
Door
August (31):
Luck
Display
Greed
Autumn
Found
Wildfire
Sleep
Grandfather
Watch
Hidden
Lookalike
Whimsey
Thicket
Runes
Horseshoe
Smoke
Awaken
Gargoyle
Wig
Poison
Thousand-fur
Shatter
Barrow
Tempt
Flag
Mercy
Web
Beast
Candle
Hunt
Serpent
September (30):
Belladonna
Magician
Birch
Reflection
Sight
Elaborate
Captive
Rope
Glass
Decades
Blade
Sorrow
Finickity
Carving
Stag
Fairy-tale
Spark
Blackthorn
Mountain
Century
Fury
Question
Claws
Fangs
Decay
Gift
Shipwreck
Blessed
Harvest
Crown
October (31):
Troll
Vines
Scattered
Prayer
Hatchet
Coat
Fireside
Grim
Sealed
Walled
Healing
Cobbled
Secure
Forest
Blind
Constellation
Shroud
Regal
Helm
Shadowed
Ward
Sinking
Hills
Goldsmith
Silver
Entwining
Soldier
Courtship
Guest
Defy
Crone
November (30):
Bones
Fear
Talisman
Song
Witness
Cloak
Plague
Hearth
Returned
Testament
Ceremonial
Yearning
Written
Silhouette
Gilded
Boundary
Hunger
Stranger
Fiend
Dungeon
Huntsman
Want
Birdsong
Wish
Hierophant
Favour
Dreaming
Coal
Brother
Fields
December (31):
Bottles
Curse
Horizon
Supplies
Wallowing
Hodge-podge
Thorns
Wisdom
Trinket
Warmth
Timber
Honest
Ritual
Welcome
Branches
Disguise
Bound
Gallows
Shield
Window
Finality
Tinder
Starlight
Winds
Bridge
Fortune
Tracks
River
Guardian
Summon
Warmth
Alternative Prompts:
Cunning
Puppet
Hound
Brambles
Eldritch
Garden
Eldritch
Cosmic
Bells
Tainted
Sleigh
Sect
Glowing
Coven
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hb-writes · 4 days
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Summary: When the Cullen family goes on a hike, Mia's fear of heights presents a bit of a problem, but Carlisle is there to help her through.
Prompt: Please number 65 (“I volunteer myself to go last.”) with Mia and Carlisle?
Characters: Carlisle Cullen, Esme Cullen, Jasper Hale, Edward Cullen, Alice Cullen (mention), Mia Cullen (OC)
Content Warning: Fear of heights, excessive fluff.
Twilight (Mia Cullen) Masterlist
Each breath in and out seared as it passed through Mia’s lungs and throat, the sound of her labored breathing matched only by the pounding of her heart. She knew her parents—and her brothers and sisters, too—could likely hear her struggling up the hill. They were too far ahead on the trail—or what had likely at one point resembled a trail, so much of it washed out by heavy rains and melting snow—by now for Mia to hear the steady conversation of her siblings as they walked ahead, but she knew they would still be able to hear her, able to easily pick out the sounds of her strife from the sounds of the forest around them. 
It hadn’t taken long to realize why the trail had technically been closed for the season, categorized as too dangerous for human visitors. Mia was proud of herself for getting this far without succumbing to offers of assistance, even with the difficult trail that went back and forth between a mostly drained out river bed and the forest, causing Mia to be constantly scaling the suddenly steep inclines only to be bracing herself with exposed roots and rocks as she slid back down a few moments later.
None of it gave the others any trouble, even with the muddy conditions caused by the spring thaw, but Mia was already exhausted, some part of her screaming to turn back, or simply give in. To let someone carry her on their back for a bit, allowing her feet and legs and lungs the rest they clearly needed. But Mia knew if she did accede, even if only for a moment, that would be the end of her hike. Once her body had a moment of rest, it would only protest her walking again. 
And despite the growing part of her wishing for reprieve, Mia didn’t want to give in, not really. She had known what to expect coming into it. Emmett had gone through the logistics with her and Carlisle beforehand, ensuring the hike was doable, ensuring there wasn’t anything she’d have too much trouble with, and even though Mia was nursing a stitch in her side and barely able to control her breathing or will her feet to pull her forward, she knew the worst was still yet to come. 
Her heartbeat spiked at the thought of what still lay ahead, another thing she was sure everyone picked up on, especially Esme and Carlisle, whose gentle footfall was still sounding just behind her, intermingled with their occasional quiet conversation, all of it a deliberate effort made to remind Mia that they were still there, just a step behind if she needed anything. 
Mia had tried her best not to need anything though, and she had accepted little more than her father’s hand extended down to help her up one particularly steep incline. He hadn’t even pulled her up, allowing her to use her own muscles to close the distance between them, his hand in hers little more than a bit of leverage. Mia was near certain she would be so sore she could barely walk in the morning—she could already feel the pain settling in—but that was a problem for tomorrow.
One thing at a time, Mia thought to herself as her muscles burned anew, the sudden thinning of the forest’s canopy above her and the faint sound of quiet conversation between Edward and Jasper reminding her that there were more important things to focus on, more imminent concerns. 
“Doing okay?” 
It was only the third time Carlisle had offered the question throughout their hike, and she knew it was an effort on his part to avoid the temptation to ask after her wellbeing, just as he’d been repeatedly stifling the urge to offer his hand to pull her up steep inclines and to offer his back to give her tired legs a rest. She knew it was an effort for Carlisle to allow her to struggle, to allow her to do things on her own, especially when it so clearly caused her pain. 
Mia turned towards her parents, nodding as she briefly met Carlisle’s eye. Her chest was tight enough with each breath that Mia knew if she were to try speaking, any words would only come out as a strangled gasp without the air necessary to support them. 
Carlisle nodded in return, and Mia turned around, trudging up the path toward the clearing. Jasper and Edward glanced at her as she arrived, subtle smirks on both of their faces as she dragged her feet to close the final few steps between them. 
Mia let out a ragged breath, leaning over with her hands on her knees as her body caught up with the fact that she was no longer walking, no longer plodding up a hill, no longer pushing her limits. 
Carlisle held out a bottle of water, which Mia took as she straightened back to her full height. She felt a sharp pain in her side with each big inhale, and she focused on breathing just enough that she avoided the pain. 
“The others already went ahead?” she asked, hoping the words sounded at least a little normal and not as though it was a great effort just to speak. 
Edward nodded, watching as Mia took gulp after gulp from the water bottle. 
“Alice is just crossing,” Jasper said, and Mia pulled the bottle from her lips before following his gaze to the far side of the suspension bridge where Alice was twisting and twirling as if she were on a stage and not a glorified bundle of wood slats held together by cables, all of it a staggering 156 feet above the surging waters below. 
Alice, as per usual, seemed entirely unbothered by the risk. 
Mia's gaze traveled to the waters below. Even though she had looked at the pictures online…even though she had known all she could know about the trail and the bridge and the river before agreeing to come along, seeing it in-person was something different entirely. Her mouth dried out despite allowing another gulp of water to slip past her lips.
“You want to go next?” Jasper rocked on his feet, leaning over to nudge Mia’s side with his arm. She took a step back, away from the edge that she was nowhere near to begin with, her body responding to some subliminal call to retreat. 
“Can I go in the middle?” she asked. 
Edward leaned back, revealing a small brown sign with white lettering affixed to a post near the bridge's entry. 
RECOMMENDED: ONE PERSON ON BRIDGE AT A TIME.
“Great,” Mia muttered under her breath. “I volunteer myself to go last, then,” she added as she took a few steps before lowering herself to sit on a large rock she imagined had been brought there just for this purpose. For the people who were too scared to cross to have a place to sit and watch the braver members in their party go forge ahead. 
“Are you sure?” Jasper asked. “I could—”
Mia cut off the suggestion with a glare and a shake of her head. Anxious as she was about the crossing, she didn’t want Jasper’s brand of help. She didn’t want him to soothe her nerves or sway her mood, tempting as that all was. Jasper didn’t fight her on it, offering a shrug before he turned to begin his journey across.
"See you on the other side." 
Mia propped her elbow on a knee and let her head slump into her hand as she watched Jasper disappear over the bridge. 
“You sure you don’t want to go next?” Edward asked. “Get it over with?” 
Mia shook her head once before turning her attention to pushing her hiking boot through the mud, making a gouge in the ground with the force of it. 
“I’ll go next,” Esme said, pressing a gentle hand to Mia’s shoulder as she passed. 
Mia watched her mother go, not pulling her eyes away even as she felt Edward’s gaze on her.
“I’m sure you’re making it worse in your head than it’s actually going to be.”
“And how would you know what I’m thinking?” 
The words snapped with more force than Mia intended as she turned to look at her brother. Mia knew that she had her mind locked up well enough that Edward couldn’t get in, couldn’t really tell what she was thinking though she was sure he had attempted. Mia had made sure her guards were up and secure today, almost as much of her focus settled there as it was on making sure she didn’t trip and fall. 
“My thoughts are none of your business.” 
Edward snorted, and Mia waited for either the pseudo lecture or sarcastic comment she could tell was on the tip of her brother’s tongue, but when she looked up, it was clear he was already mid-conversation with someone else. 
Carlisle—she presumed—knowing that the two of them frequently engaged that way, especially where she was concerned. 
“Fine,” Edward said in response to whatever Carlisle had expressed through his thoughts. “I’ll wait for you on the other side," he added, glancing down at Mia, but Carlisle shook his head.
“I believe your mother would like to walk with you for a while,” Carlisle answered. He nodded toward the other side of the gorge, where Esme indeed still stood, waiting, and whether Esme truly had any particular reason for wanting her son’s company, Mia was grateful to her mother for occupying him, and grateful to her father for suggesting it. Grateful that Edward wouldn’t be permitted the opportunity to follow up on any of their conversation just now.
“You two go on ahead.” 
Edward didn't bother responding before he headed out onto the bridge, his feet making swift work of the crossing.
“Your brother means well,” Carlisle said as he slipped down onto the rock beside his daughter. 
Mia rolled her eyes, her gaze shifting from her father to watch the brother in question. Edward had by now joined Esme on the other side of the bridge, the time it took seeming impossibly quick, but Mia knew Edward could still hear them. 
“I know,” she answered. And she did know. As much as Edward and Mia sometimes grated on each other's nerves, Mia knew her brother meant well. She knew he wanted what was best for her. 
Mia pushed her foot through the mud, focusing her gaze there as she spoke. “It’s just amazing how they’re all so overprotective until it’s something I have reservations about, and then they’re all ready to push me off the side of a cliff.” 
Carlisle chuckled, knowing that it was partly true. 
“They do realize I’m a human being, right?” she said. “Unlike the rest of you, if I fall off that bridge and break my neck, I’m dead.” 
Carlisle sighed, and Mia felt the weight of her words. She’d meant it as a joke, or a sort of joke, but the mention of her ever present mortality was a heavy subject. Somewhere along the line, she’d realized that it was heavy for all of them in different ways, but it seemed to be heavier for her father more than any of the rest of them. Mia understood why. She knew that if anything like that were to happen…if her existence hung in the balance somehow…it would be her father’s decision on how they would proceed. It would be her father who changed her or let her go. 
Mia released a sigh as she leaned her head against his shoulder, an apology of sorts.
“You’ve done well today.” Carlisle snaked an arm over her shoulder. 
Mia snorted, glancing up to him, eyebrow raised. “So have you.” 
Carlisle reached for the water bottle she’d discarded beside the rock, holding it out for her as if the compliment she’d spared him just now was akin to giving him permission to dote on her a bit. Mia didn’t fight him on it, accepting the bottle and taking a swig. 
“It’s nice here,” Mia mused as she stretched out her legs in front of her. “Maybe we should just sit here and relax and…”
“Is that really what you want?” 
Carlisle would’ve been happy to sit there with his daughter for hours, enjoying nature and the peace and quiet. And he was certain that the longer they lingered on this side of the bridge, the better chance they had of letting the others hunt at a more leisurely pace without concern for Mia’s presence, but he could feel the tug of war within his daughter. Could feel that there was some part of her that wanted to face her fear of heights. 
Mia shrugged and stood up, taking a step toward the bridge. There was supposedly a small, easy hike to a beautiful view on the other side of the bridge, but…
“It’s a big fall,” she said. "Quite a ways down..."
“It is,” Carlisle agreed, “but the bridge is safe,” he added, as if he knew she was questioning it. 
Mia nodded. She knew her father wouldn’t allow her to traverse it if it wasn’t safe, but intellectually knowing that fact did nothing to quell the anxious hormones rushing through her blood stream. 
“But it wobbles,” Mia said. She had seen the bridge swaying while the others had crossed. “And it’s very…open.” It was far more open than she had expected, the cables and wood slats offering far less protection and safety than she had expected.
Mia glanced back at her father, waiting for him to contest her observations, but Carlisle only nodded. He wouldn’t lie to her. He wouldn’t deny the truth of her observations. The validity of her concerns about the structure. 
But more than Mia was concerned about the structure, she was concerned about her role in crossing. She was afraid that her clumsy nature would somehow result in her falling between the wooden slats. Or that she would somehow succeed at propelling herself over the cable rails. 
She knew both were unlikely scenarios, but she couldn’t stop the fear from settling in her stomach. 
And she couldn’t stop herself from imagining the most likely of scenarios—that she would simply freeze, stranded somewhere in the middle of the bridge and paralyzed by fear.
She knew she didn't have to do it. No one would force her to cross, and with her siblings gone, no one would taunt or tease or try to convince her either. And Mia knew that deciding that crossing the bridge didn’t serve her and not crossing because of that decision…that could be a form of courage. Standing up for herself in that way would be just as courageous as forging ahead.
She could almost hear her father saying as much though he remained quiet and waiting, not wanting his words to influence her choice. The quiet between them seemed to last an impossibly long time while what seemed like a million thoughts raced through her head each one louder than the last until Mia took a hasty step forward and her mind quieted. She her breath as she moved out onto the bridge. She didn’t want to think about it any longer, or allow herself to claim the courage of saying no to something she didn’t want to do, because though it was easier to stay on this side, deep down she wanted to cross the bridge. She wanted to see the view on the other side. She wanted…
Mia looked down at her feet as she placed the third and fourth and fifth steps down, and with each step it became more difficult to focus on her hiking boot and the wood slat beneath it, her eyes drawn to the rushing waters of river below. 
She closed her eyes, hands settled on the cables to her sides, willing her body to still the shaking that had started, willing her foot to take another step, but she was frozen, every part of her resistant to any idea of movement. 
Even to get back, she would have to walk. She would have to open her eyes and turn around and…she gulped, her body ramping up at the thought of those things, the doubting thoughts once again growing louder and more insistent.
“Dad…” 
The word was barely a whisper. Barely a plea, but Carlisle was there beside Mia in just a fraction of a second, guiding her to breathe, his voice and hands on her shoulders steadying her as her eyes remained squeezed tight. 
“I can’t do it. I…”
“You don't want to?” 
Mia took a deep breath, her eyes still shut as she considered her father’s question, the way he had effectively sidestepped her assertion, letting it fall away without comment, both of them knowing it wasn’t true. 
Both of them knew that there was little truth to Mia’s ‘I can’t do it.’ Crossing the bridge wasn’t a matter of ability, but a matter of desire, and Mia knew her father wouldn’t push her one way or the other. Carlisle would let her decide.
“I don’t know,” Mia answered, taking another slow breath to help loosen the tightness in her chest.
“I’m with you either way,” Carlisle answered. “We can go back or cross together. It's up to—”
“I thought only one person was allowed at a time,” Mia interrupted, remembering the glaring warning sign, as she glanced over her shoulder to look at her father. 
Carlisle’s face held an easy smile, a hint of mischief gleaming in his eye as he shrugged.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” 
Mia let out an uneasy chuckle, pulling her eyes from her father to look across to the far side of the bridge. 
“Together,” she said, more to herself than anything, as if the word would convince her bones and nerves and muscles to cooperate, but it was Carlisle’s echoing of the word that had Mia taking a hesitant step forward and then another.
“I’m right here,” Carlisle said, his hand finding Mia’s shoulder when she paused a few steps later.
She looked over her shoulder briefly, offering him a nod before she continued on across the bridge, Carlisle's father’s comforting presence just a step behind. 
Twilight (Mia Cullen) Masterlist
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cabezadeperro · 7 months
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oooooooh I’m so excited to catch you open to prompts!
I’d love to see jangobi + “I love you so much it terrifies me” (from this post in your inspo tag: https://www.tumblr.com/cabezadeperro/718494931255263232) if that happens to spark anything 😁
hello!!!!
established relationship, vaguely canon compliant/canon divergent. T, ~830w.
---
Obi-Wan pauses half-way to the laundry room, blankets piled high in his arms. The cotton is cool and smooth against his cheek, and the bedclothes are heavy and uncomfortable to hold. He resettles his arms around them, clumsily trying his best to accommodate the weight and the shape, and breathes in.
It’s weak, but it’s still there. His soap and shampoo, his aftershave, the specific brand of blaster oil he uses on his weapons. Obi-Wan closes his eyes, perfectly aware of the fact that he’s standing in the middle of the ship’s corridor with his face buried in a pile of dirty laundry, and not quite managing to care. 
Jango just left. He spent a day, two days, two days, three days and two nights. They spent most of that time together, arguing about everything and nothing at all, talking around all of Jango’s many secrets, but they also shared a bunk, and now he’s gone again and Obi-Wan doesn’t know when—if—he’ll ever see Jango again, and the knowledge has just begun to sink in.  
Obi-Wan has cared about people before. He wants to believe it’s always been like this, that he has always been like this: feeling too much, too strongly, to the point of distraction. But now the longing hits him like a wave, and he finds himself inhaling two nights of shared sweat, and his feet feel like they’re rooted to the shitty metal sheeting of the ship’s floors, and he wants nothing more than to travel back in time to that first morning, to two mornings ago.
He makes his way to the laundry space tucked in a corner of the galley and dunks everything into the old sonic washer. He has to jiggle the cover in place, and then he’s watching his own fingers moving across buttons, and the small room floods with the rattling of the machine. 
He could call him. They’ve never been the kind of people who call each other—too dangerous, too busy, too honest—but he could call Jango, and Jango would reply, and he might even be happy to hear Obi-Wan’s voice, to talk to Obi-Wan or argue with him or just listen to him ramble. Obi-Wan can picture the bemused expression on Jango’s face, that one he no longer knows or wants to hide, half-way between charmed and amused, and Obi-Wan should know better but this happened to him anyway and now and then he doesn’t quite know how to deal with any of it, or if he wants to. 
But he could call Jango, and he’d pick up his comm, and he might be annoyed or baffled or rattled or all at once, but he’d listen. Obi-Wan’s felt him reach out, hands still and eyes hot and something coming to life from behind his mental shields, blooming and reaching out.
It scares him: Obi-Wan knows very well that Jango has made it as long as he has by not caring, by keeping his soft parts well-protected. Obi-Wan has tasted his fear in his dreams and in his nightmares, and he’s felt it, well-hidden as it is behind Jango’s teeth and under his breastbone.
Anakin’s in the cockpit, nominally keeping an eye on the nav computer, in reality doing Force knows what. He’s occupied and happy about it, his usually buzzing mind as still as it gets. 
He thinks he knows everything there is to know about Jango and Obi-Wan: he’s met some of Obi-Wan’s previous liaisons, and he knows what to expect. He left them the main bunk room on the upper deck and slept in one of the crew bunks on the hold, and he complained about it all the while, but he didn’t care that much.
Obi-Wan waits until the washer’s done and then he takes out the clean bedclothes and makes the bed again. They smell of nothing. Afterwards, he sits down on the thin mattress and breathes out, closing his eyes. It’s a small, narrow space. The first night they slept there together, Obi-Wan woke up in the middle of the night cycle, freezing, half-hanging from the bunk bed, Jango hogging all the blankets and curled around himself, his back tucked against the wall. Obi-Wan can still feel him in the room—his Force signature is well-known, cold and sweet like snow or metal or cooling blood on the back of Obi-Wan’s tongue. 
His comm unit is in his trouser pocket. It digs into the meat of his thigh a bit, and Obi-Wan shifts on the mattress until it doesn’t. He closes his eyes and reaches out as far as his mind will go, the galaxy all around their Order-issued shuttle crowded and very empty at once. Jango’s there, one of many little lights, small and getting smaller. Obi-Wan can’t see him or touch him, but he can feel him, like the shadow of a faraway star, and it used to be enough, but knowing him has changed Obi-Wan, and now it’s not.
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aetherdecember · 11 months
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anouri · 10 months
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ii. pigeon
june prompts from @nosebleedclub
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sapphicmicrofics · 10 months
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HP Sapphic Microfics: June Prompts
Prompts are written out at the bottom of the post
There is an optional extra challenge for this month, explained below!
Just like last months, these prompts can be taken and interpreted every which way you want, including changing the tense or pronouns or order of any dialogue. You do not have to stick with what might be the most straightforward association, and every individual prompt post will include a few suggestions to get you started.
All these prompts can be combined with other events (as long as they also allow you to combine prompts), such as @sapphicmarauding and @juneofdoom!
You are still allowed to write for any of May's (or even April's prompts, too!
The rules for this event can be found here, the previously submitted fics are all here and in this collection on AO3, and if you want to search them by ship you can do so here!
Extra Challenge: Ship Assignment
For this month, we are going to run an extra challenge within the event. This does not change how the rest of the event is run, if you don't participate nothing changes. The rules are simple: fill in this form that asks for your likes and dislikes, and I will send you three rarepair femslash ships to choose from. You are challenged to write one microfic for this event (for the June prompts) for the ship you choose. Additionally, you can select within the form to roll a d20 (a 20-sided die) and whatever number it lands on is the amount of microfics you are challenged to write for the chosen ship(s). For that die roll, you may choose to divide the number of fics over multiple chosen ships (chosen from the three I send you). This is all for fun and to introduce even more rare femslash ships to the fandom: if you don't manage to complete the challenge after signing up that is completely fine, there are no hard feelings. For any questions: don't hesitate to reach out!
Sapphic Microfics is hosted by @hpsaffics, whose discord server holds a specific channel where these prompts and the incoming fics are excitedly discussed, so if you’re looking for people to talk about these and the rest of April’s prompts with, check them out! (The server is 18+, keep that in mind!)
The prompts:
Darling
Skinned Knee
Piercing
Damned
Vampire
Bath
"Don't marry him"
Petting Zoo
Rules
Beg
Pride
Butch
Footsteps
Knife
"You could stay the night?"
Reputation
Lilies
Music
Endless
Park
Praise
Claws
Alone
Safe
"I want more than this."
Professor
Stimming
Grief
Corgis
Welcome
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zazuprompts · 10 months
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Tip the mod?
Picture ID under the cut:
[ID: A list of prompts in three columns. The background is a desaturated photograph of pink and yellow honeysuckle flowers growing on a branch. The bottom corners have credits on them. The right corner is the credit for the background, which is to Townsend Walton @ Unsplash.com. The left corner is the credit/signature of the blog, Zazu Prompts. The title and prompts are as follows:
June 2023 Prompts List:
Half
Repay
Dangle
Wafer
Corner
Hand
Inspire
Stamp
State
Explain
Tide
Brand
Body
Down
Meet
Spy
Side
Magic
Blue
Lodge
Crop
Day
Idea
Loyal
Out
Given
Press
Squirm
Free
Quiet
End ID]
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theladycarpathia · 1 year
Text
Steve Harrington in a suit should be fucking illegal.
“Canape, good sir?” Billy asks, in the most pretentious voice he can manage. Steve turns and Billy can see the exact second his expression changes. Which is damn offensive because Billy thinks he looks pretty good in this penguin suit get-up.
Alright, so they’re not friends. They’ve had a begrudging truce ever since they both beat the shit out of each other last year, something that came out of a good few months of competition and hating each other. And Billy has worked tons of these events at the Hawkins country club but so far, he’s never seen Steve here before. Although, he should have figured. He’s seen Harrington’s house, the pool, the Beemer. 
“Hargrove,” Steve mutters, eyes flicking warily across the floor to two people holding court in the center of the room. It’s almost instinct, like he can’t control it. 
“The elusive folks?” Billy asks, craning his neck to get a better look. Steve has a lot of Harrington Senior in him: the height, the frame, the strong jaw. Everything else is his mom though, from the doe eyes of the shade of her hair. He’s never seen Harrington’s parents before and it’s a bit like finding a unicorn that looks exactly how you’d expect it to look. Rich and pretty.
“Yeah,” Steve says, shifting from one foot to another. He’s clearly not comfortable, despite the expensive fit of his suit, the gleaming black polish to his shoes. Harrington doesn’t fit in anywhere anymore, not on the court, in high school and definitely not on the arm of Wheeler.
Billy should feel a little bit bad about that. He swept in and took whatever was left of King Steve. Not that there had been much anyway. He’d abandoned his friends and was flunking out and his girlfriend was half in love with someone else. 
But this looks more like the old King Steve, the one that Billy never got to see. Born into money and privilege, the kind of life that Billy would kill to have.
“Not exactly thrilled to have them back, huh,” Billy says and he doesn’t miss how the corners of Steve’s mouth twist. 
“So they can turn up, complaining about every facet of my life and vanish again?” Steve mutters bitterly. “Steven, shouldn't you eat something other than pizza? We have expectations for you, Steven. Nancy Wheeler was such a nice girl, why couldn’t you make it work?”
“That wasn’t your fucking fault,” Billy says, astounded. He missed some of the full story but he knows enough that it was definitely Wheeler’s decision. On the other side of the room, a portly gentleman with a thin mustache makes furious gestures at him. 
“Shit, that’s my boss,” Billy mutters, and then shoves the platter under Steve’s nose again. “At least look fucking interested.” Steve wrinkles up his nose and then squints at something made of puff pastry and covered in some green foam.
“What the fuck is it?” Steve asks and Billy chokes back laughter.
“I thought you were used to this shit, Harrington?” he says, because he’s common as muck and doesn’t recognise anything fancier than pizza and onion rings. He’d have expected spoon-in-his-mouth Harrington to be different. 
“I don’t do things that shade of green,” Steve says bluntly. “Or things in foam form. Got any sliders?”
“No,” Billy says, and points to the corner of the tray. “Try a salmon puff.” Steve takes one, looking dubious.
“Are you sure?” he asks, putting it in his mouth. Billy tries to not enjoy the immediate look of distaste that washes over his pretty face.
“I may have not been paying that much attention when they went through the menu,” he says easily, pulling back the tray. One of the waiters had a really nice ass but Steve doesn’t need to know that. “There were a lot of them. Something about goat’s cheese and asparagus and chives.”
“This isn’t salmon,” Steve says, from around his mouthful and there’s something about the horrified expression on his face that makes Billy’s stomach dip.
Oh no. That is not happening. He’s not going to catch feelings for Harrington because he looks hot in a suit and makes stupid faces. 
“Might have been shrimp,” Billy says, bluntly. He shifts his weight uneasily. He’d been fine irritating Pierre by loitering here but Steve’s tongue flicking out to lick a crumb off his bottom lip has made him realize that he needs to get out and fast. “I’d better circulate before I get fired. I’ll loop back around if I find out what the green foam is.”
“Sure,” Steve says, looking a little startled. There’s a confused little crease in his forehead that suggests he’s not all that happy about Billy taking off. Which is weird, after the fight they got into last November and their shared time in a jail cell. 
“See you around,” Billy says and then turns to vanish into the crowds of people. He offers the tray to a cluster of well dressed women. All it takes is a few well placed compliments and a grin for them to turn into putty, and it has the added benefit of them clearing his tray.
“Circulating, Billy?” Pierre inquires, mustache quivering with his own self importance. Billy pastes on a fake smile, because the man is an ass but this gig pays well. Nice rich ladies who like his eyes always tip and they get to eat the leftovers after. 
“Empty tray, dude,” Billy says, twirling it deftly on one finger. “Need a refill.”
“Hmm,” Pierre says, narrowing his dark eyes. He doesn’t seem to trust Billy an inch but also seems to recognise that there’d be riots from the middle aged, pearl wearing set if Billy wasn’t around to pour champagne. “Try and push the pesto wheels. We have an excess of them.”
“Pesto,” Billy mumbles, and has to stop himself from returning to the party to tell Steve. Instead he pushes through the swing doors and tries to get the image of Steve bent over one of the conference room tables out of his head.
“This sucks,” he complains, dumping his tray down on the side. Barb looks up from her bottle of water. 
“Well, yeah,” she says, doing up the bottle cap. She must be on her break and thankfully aside from the guy washing dishes, the kitchen is empty. Must be a smoke break. “What else is new?”
“No, it’s just…never mind,” Billy says, pathetically. “Load me up.” Barb raises an eyebrow.
“Whatever you say, Hargrove,” she sings and scoops up a tray from the side. “Here, take this one. You’ve been told about the pesto wheels, right?”
“Have they not considered that maybe there’s not too many, it’s just that no one wants to eat the weird green stuff?” Billy says, squinting at the offending snack. “It’s fucking foam.”
“It’s not meant to be foam,” Barb corrects him. There’s a fond glitter in her eye, which is a nice change from the ‘oh fuck, why do I get to work with the local asshole?’ expression that she had on their first gig together. They don’t hang out much at school but they gang up together against people like Pierre and hide all the best leftovers for each other. 
Billy hesitates. He’s well aware that Barb is in Steve’s circle, a fringe member of the kooks and weirdos that Steve seems to hang out with now. There’s a chance that anything he says might get repeated.
“You okay?” Barb asks, her eyes full of concern. Billy shrugs, deciding against it. One stupid frisson of lust isn’t enough to qualify a crush or for him to go babbling about it. He’s fine.
“Yeah, all good. I’m gonna head back out,” Billy fibs. “If you get a chance, hide one of those caviar things later, yeah?”
When he ducks back out, he’s swept up into a wave of people who all want to ask questions about the gluten free options and the calorie content of the cream cheese. Jesus. 
Interestingly, one of the women who scrutinizes the artichoke dip is the glamorous brunette woman he’d seen earlier. There’s something about the intensity in her eyes as she examines the toast points that remind him all too well of her son.
“Thank you,” she says, throwing the words back with a disinterested glance. Ugh. She may be Steve’s mom but he’d give all the money in his bank account to tip the fucking dip over her perfectly coiffed head.
“Your mom has shitty manners,” Billy says abruptly, catching Steve by the large French doors. Steve’s staring out into the pitch black of the manicured grounds, sipping a beer. He shrugs when he catches Billy’s eyes.
“I know the bartender. He sneaks me one sometimes when everyone else is too drunk to notice.” He looks down at Billy’s tray. “Please don’t try to feed me some of that shit again.”
“Hey, I think the bruschetta is safe,” Billy says, before taking a hesitant step forward. “Looking for something?” Steve gives a hollow laugh and shakes his head.
“Nah, it’s okay. My sanity? I guess. A time machine to take me to three days’ time when my parents leave again. The usual shit.” Steve takes another swig, cutting himself off as he remembers who he’s talking to. Billy looks over his shoulder and finds that Pierre is busy talking to a waitress. So he dumps the tray on the nearest table and grabs Steve by the elbow.
“Hey, you’ll get arrested again,” Steve says, although he lets Billy manhandle him through the billowing curtains and outside onto the patio.
“I’m not gonna fight you,” Billy mutters, and digs around in his shirt pocket. He finds his packet of cigarettes and pulls the lighter from his trousers. “Don’t tell Pierre I keep these on me. I don’t smoke during work hours unless he’s really fucking me off.”
“I don’t really smoke anymore,” Steve says, but he takes one anyway. Billy flicks the lighter for him, trying to ignore the color of Steve’s dark eyes under the light.
God, what’s happening to him? One look at Harrington in a suit and he turns into one of those girls that used to hang on his arm at parties. 
“Thanks,” Steve says, inhaling. Billy stows everything away again, just in case they get busted.
“Are they that bad?” Billy asks, although his own experiences screw up the curve. He works the pool and the catering gigs and shifts down at the garage to get the hell out of here. He’s nearing the end of his junior year and then he’s nearly out. 
“No, they just…they think they’re doing what’s best for me,” Steve says ruefully, and Billy watches the purse of his lips around the cigarette. “Which happens to be opposite of what I think is best for me. And they’re just a little…self-involved. Which is fine. I used to be too.”
“You mean you stopped?” Billy quips and then flashes Steve a grin to let him know that it’s a joke. But Steve only rolls his eyes.
“Haha,” he says flatly and kicks at the ground in his fancy Italian shoes. “Yeah, I was just…interested in parties and girls and all that shit, you know? Not a whole lot going on underneath. My future was all planned out so why work for it?”
“Sure,” Billy says, as though he gets it, as though he doesn’t have to fight every day to make sure he has a future. 
“Anyway,” Steve says, taking another drag. “Just so you know, if I’d really been King Steve, you’d never have had a chance.”
“Oh, really?” Billy asks, interested, because it would have been so much more fun to take the crown from someone who didn’t want to relinquish it. Interested, because there’s a strong line to Steve’s jaw that wasn't there before. 
“Yeah,” Steve says, blowing smoke into the dark night. Billy watches, fascinated, at the shape Steve’s mouth makes. “No fucking chance, Hargrove.”
“I’m so sure,” Billy rumbles, but honestly? He can believe it. Steve, for all his self deprecation and sarcasm, draws people in, in a way that Billy just can’t. Max never likes anyone, but she hangs onto Steve’s every word. All those little shits do, and Billy has to wonder why Steve prefers it this way.
Maybe it’s not a bad way to be. If Steve ever needed anything, those kids would run to him in a second. Wheeler, for her shitty treatment of Steve last year, still bites the head off of anyone who dares badmouth him. 
“It’s pesto, by the way,” Billy says hurriedly, because he’s apparently that idiot now. “The green stuff? Pesto.”
Steve wrinkles his nose and drops the butt of his cigarette to the ground, grinding it neatly under his heel.
“That doesn’t make it any better,” he complains and then sighs heavily. “Christ, do you think my parents would notice if I snuck out for a taco?”
“I don’t think your parents would notice much,” Billy says and then immediately hates the way that Steve curls in on himself. 
These people aren’t shit compared to Steve. But he doesn’t seem to know that.
It’s fine. Sometimes Billy doesn’t think he’s much better than Neil either.
“You’d better go back in,” Steve says, gesturing to the curtain and all those people no doubt dying for a sludge coloured appetizer. “That fuckwad might notice you’re gone.”
“He fucking hates me,” Billy says cheerfully, and Steve blinks at him.
“Great?” he says, looking unsure because no one has ever hated Steve Harrington fucking ever, probably. “I’m gonna go bother the valet for my keys.”
“Ass,” Billy grumbles, who ate a bag of Cheetos before work today and not a lot since. He doesn’t have the time these days. School, basketball practice, shower, work, go home and do homework. 
“I’ll bring you one,” Steve says, unexpectedly. “If you can find a cupboard to hide in to eat it.” It’s Billy’s turn to stare at him in surprise. He hadn’t expected Steve to bother coming back. The Harringtons look in their element, sipping their glasses of champagne and telling pointless stories from their trips to Chicago, New York, Washington. Even within spitting distance of their son, they seem to forget him.
“Thanks,” Billy mutters and then slips back through the curtain and grabs his tray, just in time to wave at Pierre making his rounds. Pierre. Billy will eat his fucking denim jacket if that’s the name on his birth certificate.
He wanders the crowds, smiling and making small talk, but his mind is anywhere but on the party. It’s on the look in Steve’s eyes, the curve of his ass in that suit, the wrinkle of his nose.
He can’t stay here. Not for anyone. Not for Neil, not for Max, not for Steve. Whatever the reason.
Steve is destined to be a king of a small town. His father will get him a good job, maybe buy him a house and eventually Steve will marry some cute thing that he meets at the club and spit out a few rugrats. It will all fall into place like dominoes and Steve won’t realize it’s happening until he’s got a beer gut and a back problem.
Nah, Steve’s staying here, the quicksand roots of a small town that won’t let him go. He’s not like Billy, just passing through. Because that’s all this is, some stupid two year pit-stop because his dad is fucked in the head. Enough money and a high school diploma and he’s out of here. Hawkins isn’t enough for Billy, no rolling waves, no glittering sunshine, all too confining in its quaint charm. 
No. No reason to stay at all. 
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ladyazulina · 10 months
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Day 16
“Oh. Ah… how long have you been standing there listening?”
June Dialogue Writing Prompts.
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jegulus-microfic · 10 months
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Welcome to the first full month of Jegulus Microfics! :)
You can find the rules here and the FAQs here.
Still need May's prompts? Find them here.
As always, feel free to send any questions or prompt suggestions to the ask box!
Prompts are written out under the cut.
June's Prompts:
Appearance
Swim
Domestic
Knife
Freckle
Holiday
Warning
Taking Chances
Roof
Comfortable
Smoke
Warmth
Tender
Boot
Camera
Mistake
Summer
Expose
Memory
Try Again
Authentic
Risky
Charm
Impatient
Blackmail
Ribbon
Letter
Plant
Nervous
Dress
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deathbyotpin123 · 2 years
Note
For the prompts, Eddie and Chrissy having a picnic :D
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Anon that was one of the cutest prompts I got ever. Here's the sketch but I'm absolutely planning to ink and color it at some point. ☺️
EDIT: It was brought to my attention that Chrissy, who I thought was 18 and about to graduate, is either 16 (medical records date of birth) or 17 (supposedly according to the actress) in the show. So for all intents and purposes, in this scene I drew, rest assured she is meant to be 18. Regardless of whatever it is that's canon.
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ship-ambrosia · 9 months
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YOTP for June! Yes, I know I'm two days into July... lol
I have been craving to write a Theonsa wedding fic for a while now. I find the wedding ceremony of the Old Faith to just be so beautiful & I adore the presenting of the bride first, and the announcing of the titles, and the exchange of the groom's cloak.
There's not a lot about Ironborn weddings unfortunately, so I'm electing to make them nicer than they probably are.
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hb-writes · 8 months
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Best Case Scenario
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Summary: Harvey discovers a bit of pot in the backseat of Ray's car and is on a mission to figure out who it belongs to—his wayward sister or his wayward associate?
Characters: Harvey Specter, Mike Ross, Donna Paulsen, Jessica Pearson, and Charlie Specter.
Request (from 💜 anon): Hello! For June requests how about, “I swear it’s the truth!” & “You have no idea what this is?” For The Punisher or Suits, you choose, pretty please 💜
Content Warnings: Talk about marijuana.
Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist
Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️
Charlie watched her brother’s hand and the discreet little baggie held out between his fingers. Harvey had said nothing, the baggie in itself a question, and he focused on watching Charlie’s reaction, cataloging every piece of evidence that might indicate his sister’s guilt. 
There was plenty of evidence already, and Harvey hadn’t even started questioning her. Though Charlie would swear it was the loudest thing she’d ever heard, Harvey couldn’t hear the nervous thumping of his sister’s heart. He couldn’t sense the heavy weight sinking in her stomach, but Harvey did note the lump that bobbed in her throat as she prepared herself to speak.
“Harvey, that’s not…I don’t know—”
Harvey let out a small laugh, swinging the baggie around once in his hand. “You have no idea what this is?”
“No…well…I…” Charlie stumbled over the words. Of course, she knew what it was. She had seen marijuana before. She had never tried it, but she had been around enough people who had. “I mean…yes, I know what it is, but it’s not mine.” 
“Alright.” Harvey nodded his head as if he was truly considering it. “Whose is it then?”
“How should I know?” She shot back. “You’re the one holding it. Why assume it’s mine?”
Harvey considered his answer, still not quite certain whether or not he believed her. It was the truth—He was the one holding the bag, but the weed certainly wasn’t Harvey’s.
Ray had given it to him after finding it wedged between cushions in the back seat. And Ray transported a very select group of passengers, so there were only so many viable options. He figured he’d start with his sister. Even if the drugs didn’t belong to Charlie, it was rather convenient that it showed up in the backseat of Ray’s car on the same day Charlie and her friends had used the car to go downtown after school. 
Harvey wasn’t stupid. He figured exploration of that sort of thing was likely inevitable at a certain point, but he hoped the conversation alone might scare her off that sort of thing for a bit longer. Worst case, the marijuana was hers. Best case, it wasn’t and they’d have a nice reinforcing conversation about his expectations.
“I’m holding it because Ray found it in the backseat of his car. You sticking with your story, Charlotte? You still don’t know where this came from?”
She cringed at her full name, taking a deep breath before answering. “Yes, Harvey. I swear it’s the truth.” Charlie willed herself to keep her composure as she delivered a set of words that were possibly, not exactly the full truth. “I don’t have a single clue where it came from.”
It wasn’t easy lying to Harvey, even when it was only a half-lie. The drugs weren’t hers—that much was true—but she may have possibly had a slight inkling of who they could have maybe, possibly belonged to and how they may have ended up in Ray’s car…but she wasn’t about to throw one of her friends under the proverbial bus Harvey was driving. 
“Right,” Harvey began, ready to pivot the conversation a bit, ready to push a bit harder, but Charlie pulled her eyes from her brother, the little baggie still in hand, as Mike entered the room, stopping a few steps away from them. 
“Bad time?” Mike asked, rocking on his back foot, part of him wondering why exactly Donna had allowed him to go in if Harvey was in the middle of a lecture. 
Harvey took a long moment to consider his associate, taking in his appearance—his clothes, his hair, his eyes. Charlie watched the look that passed between them, deciding it was best to keep quiet. 
“Not at all. Why don’t you take a seat, Michael?”
Mike snorted, but slipped into the seat beside Charlie. “Michael?” 
“Yeah,” Harvey confirmed. “Charlotte was just telling me she doesn’t know where this—” Harvey tossed the baggie at Mike, who caught it on top of the paperwork he’d come in with “—came from. What about you?”
“It’s not mine,” Mike said, reflexively, almost as if he’d been on the receiving end of this conversation many times before. He tossed the bag back on Harvey’s desk. “Look, Harvey…I swear, it’s not—” Mike glanced at Charlie as he fumbled for more words. “—I’m done with that stuff. I—”
“That’s what I thought,” Harvey interrupted. “I thought you told me you were done with all this stuff and we’d agreed that if you didn’t clean up, I’d fire your ass.”
Charlie took a deep breath. It went unnoticed as the tense moment between Harvey and Mike held, Harvey continuing to lecture his associate. Charlie cleared her throat and spoke out, but the declaration was barely audible over Harvey’s continued barrage of Mike. 
“What?” Harvey and Mike asked at the same time, both of them turning towards her. 
“It’s mine,” Charlie repeated, her gaze directed down at her lap as she straightened her hands out over her thighs. 
“Really?”
Charlie nodded, still keeping her head down. Some part of her knew that it was better for Harvey to think it was hers than Mike’s. Worst case scenario, she’d end up grounded, but Mike could lose his job over this. That was something Charlie wasn’t ready to have on her conscience…especially if there was a chance it had been one of her friends leaving it behind in Ray's car.
Mike needed this job more than Charlie needed freedom and her brother’s good graces. Mike had bills…his grandmother’s nursing home payments. It was not even a question in her mind.
“You’re telling me all the sudden not only do you know who it belongs to, but it’s yours?”
Charlie nodded again.
“Look at me, Charlotte,” Harvey said, and after a few seconds of delay he added, “Right now.” 
Charlie lifted her head. “Harvey, I swear. It’s—”
“No, it’s—” Mike interrupted, only to be cut off by Harvey.
“If you’re about to tell me she’s covering for and it’s yours, I—”
All three of them turned towards the door as Donna pushed it open, leaning inside. “Jessica’s on her way to speak with you,” she offered. “And in case you’ve forgotten, this wall is made of windows and you’re waving that baggie around like it’s Woodstock.”
Harvey rolled his eyes before pocketing the baggie. He turned to his sister and his associate. “Both of you, out,” Harvey said, pleased when they both stood up and moved towards the door. “Mike, get back to work. Donna, please take Charlotte’s phone and set her up with the most boring administrative—”
Charlie spun back towards her brother and opened her mouth to complain. If anything, she planned to follow Mike back to the bullpen and sort this out before they were called back in to finish the conversation. Harvey cut her short as he stood up, buttoning his jacket. 
“You really want to argue with me right now? You’re lucky admin work and a confiscated cell phone is all you’re getting.”
Charlie quickly shut her mouth, slipping out the door just as Jessica arrived. She muttered a quiet hello, avoiding eye contact as she took up her spot beside Mike just outside the door. 
Donna eyed the pair of them. They were trying to have some sort of communication, to gain some sort of clarity about everything that had just happened without actually speaking.
“I believe he said you can get back to work, Michael,” Donna said after a moment, nodding toward the bullpen. “And, little chick, you can follow me.” 
Mike and Charlie reluctantly separated as he headed back to his work. Donna smirked to herself as she led Charlie down the hall towards one of the file rooms. She almost felt a bit of pity for the little idiots. Mike and Charlie thought they were covering for each other—Harvey thought that, too…
Harvey was a great lawyer. He generally knew how to read people, but he wasn’t Donna. He had blindspots, so he would never suspect who the pot really belonged to, the only other person who had ridden in Ray’s car this afternoon. 
Harvey would never suspect that Jessica hadn’t actually shown up in his office to get an update on the case.
Jessica was managing partner.
Harvey’s mentor. 
Practically family.
So he would never suspect that Jessica wasn’t genuinely curious as to what trouble his sister was up to now either. After all, Jessica had always shown a special interest in his little sister and her progress, invested in her in a similar way that she’d been invested in Harvey and his future. 
He would never suspect anything was off when Jessica confiscated the baggie and suggested he let Jessica handle it. Charlie looked up to the woman. Her words held a different weight. 
It was the best case scenario—neither Harvey’s kid sister nor his associate were responsible, but Harvey would never suspect that it was Jessica Pearson, one of the city’s top managing partners, who had left a little pot in the back seat of Ray’s car.
And Donna wasn’t about to tell him.
Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist
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cabezadeperro · 7 months
Note
#11 laying their hand on the other's neck with cody/obi wan or cody/fox? love your writing <3
hi anon! thanks ❤️
i chose codywan, because it's been a while lol. established relationship, takes place during the war. T, 990w.
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Cody chokes on dust, heart beating hard within his chest, and vaults over the overturned speeder seconds before the mortar shell hits the ground. The impact rattles his brain within his skull, and he curses with gritted teeth, his back against the belly of the vehicle and the heels of his boots digging grooves in the overturned dirt of the street. He can feel the thump-thump-thump of the cannons against the hard-packed earth—they’re getting closer, making their way through the little town. Cody swallows thickly, trying to think his way around the problem, trying to put away his fury and his frustration—intelligence said Grievous had moved on from the sector, but so what. 
He can feel his men’s attention on him. Boil’s watching him from the alley on the other side of the street, the white of his armour turned dusty orange with dust, and a trooper whose name he doesn’t know is at Cody’s side. He must have followed when Cody jumped over the speeder—that’s the only reason he’s not dead. Cody looks around the felled speeder and sees a twitching pair of white boots, blood on the dirt, hands scrabbling at the rubble of what used to be a house. He’s one of the new kids, his armour clear of paint, the chest plate not sitting quite right on his thinner chest, and he kneels there, rifle hugged against his chest, shaking so hard his shell is rattling.
The general is—somewhere. He took three squads and a few speeders and took the mountain path. If everything went well, he should be on his way back, and the tactical droid should be gone, but that matters little. Cody has half a company and a couple hundred battle droids bearing down, and Kenobi might get there on time, or he might not.
He’s terrified. He’s sweating under his blacks, his heart beating so hard he feels dizzy, and it’s like his lungs have stopped functioning properly, oxygen not quite making it to his chest, to his brain. Cody licks his lips and starts barking orders, and when they move out, he makes sure the kid is behind him.
Cody gets them through. He shoots and reloads and keeps on moving, his HUD a riot of colour, his ears ringing with the noise of falling shells, with his men’s screams, with his own choking breaths. Later he will be able to recount every single choice he made, every single move, he will be able to explain everything he did and didn’t do, but it will feel as if he’s talking about somebody else. First, the horror; then, everything else, his mind doing its best to excise the horror, to save Cody from himself.
Cody gets them through, Cody gets himself through it and back to base, back to the tent he shares with the general. Kenobi’s not there—Cody saw him, a flash of tan crossing the camp towards the command centre; he knows he’s alright—but he’ll be back soon. His post-action debriefs to the Council are short, mostly out of necessity, and as much as the man enjoys talking he never talks to them long.
Cody exhales. He takes off his helmet for the first time in hours and blinks at the dim darkness within the tent, ears still ringing. He wants to sit down, but he’s disgusting, and he doesn’t want to get his bedsheets dirty: in the end, it occurs to him he can just sit down on the tarp on the floor, and that’s what he does. He leaves his bucket at his side and tugs off his gloves, his gauntlets, his bracers, and then starts it on his boots, leaving it all where it falls, a certain kind of spiteful pleasure in the implied disrespect.
Everything hurts. Cody wiggles his bare toes and scoots backwards until his spine bumps against his locker, and then he stays there, surrounded by armour debris. He leans back, looks at the ceiling of the tent, and thinks: I want a shower. I’m hungry. I should eat something and get back to work.
And he will do all of those things, but not yet. First, he closes his eyes and breathes out, sitting alone in his tent, his men talking and walking and working just beyond its thin walls, and he kind of wants to cry, kind of wants to get in bed and never come out again. 
“Commander?”
Heck. 
Cody lifts his bed. Kenobi’s back, looking as tired and grimy as Cody feels. His eyebrows are raised: he looks down at the armour pieces on the floor, at Cody sitting there, half out of his blacks, and he sighs.
He starts picking up the armour pieces and stacking up on Cody’s rack. He’s slower than Cody, than any of Cody’s brothers—he’s half-taking his time, his curiosity obvious in the way he holds the plastoid alloy, half-finding out where everything goes on the fly. Cody should stand up and tell him to leave it, but he doesn’t want to, and the general seems more than happy to find himself picking up after Cody, so Cody lets him be.
Once he’s done he toes off his boots and then goes to sit with Cody on the ground, shoulder to shoulder. Cody huffs and moves to the side, and when Kenobi raises an arm in invitation, Cody ducks under it, leans his head against Kenobi’s shoulder. Kenobi shifts under his weight, and they resettle, Kenobi with his right hand on Cody’s neck, right over his pulse, Cody wrapping tired fingers around a bony knee.
Kenobi rubs his cheek on Cody’s curls, brushes a kiss against the scar of his temple. 
“Cody. Commander mine. You stink,” he says. Cody can feel his lips moving against his skin, his moustache soft.
He pinches him, hard, in the thigh. Kenobi jumps and curses at him, but he doesn’t move away,  and Cody grins, and closes his eyes.
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severenightpersona · 10 months
Text
she had that dark hair
to make her look ominous and secretive
always a touch of vampyre and gothic
not too serious nor too frightening
yet making clear
she was not to be taken for granted
dark hair she had always wanted
it reflected her soul she said
no further questions
i did not object
whatever colour she wanted
they all suited me
i think she was relieved i did
not have any objections
@severenightpersona
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