prompt addicts

the drawing on the top left corner is something i tried to do looking at @artandthoughtss journals 😅

You have been following prompt guy for ages, addicted to his blog. One day you get a notification that he followed you back and before you can even process that you get a message notification
‘Sup Amigo
Me and prompt girl are looking to adopt a prompt kid
You in?’
Obviously you’re overjoyed but are you truly ready for to live the prompt life? It might be a lot more than you bargained for..

Movie Night - Bughead!College AU


Betty is sick of the substandard movies that are chosen to play at the makeshift college ‘drive in’ she decides she has had enough and on her mission to correct this injustice bumps into a beanie wearing student who is just as outraged.

Based on the following prompt:

You’re the only other one who voted for my favorite movie on movie night so do you just want to watch it in my room au

Author’s Note: I have been dying to do a college AU with these two and I came across this prompt and I couldn’t resist. This will basically just be a cute little two parter full of fluff. This is part one. Also I apologise to lovers of the film Twilight, it’s not my thing so it’s the movie I chose. The Lobster however is one of my favourite films and if you haven’t seen it I would highly recommend it (although I do feel like it needs a trigger warning for a certain scene). I was going to go with the classic Bughead film, Rebel Without a Cause but I have never seen it and would find it hard to have the two of them discussing it without seeing it myself.

As always sorry mobile users for the ‘Keep Reading’ cut.

Part One: The ‘Drive In’ Dilemma

“You have to be kidding me. Again! Everytime.” Betty threw the flyer that had been posted under her door in the wastepaper basket under her desk. Her roommate Veronica looked at her as if she had lost her mind, which wasn’t exactly a look she was unfamiliar with receiving.

Betty had braced herself for a year of pain when she first saw her roommate Veronica Lodge walk into their college dorm room with her pearls around her neck, designer dress and Louis Voitton suitcase. Not to mention the man who had arrived with her carrying another set of perfectly matched suitcases. He wore white gloves and was dressed in a uniform. The girl had servants for Christs Sake. But Betty being Betty had smiled politely and offered her first choice of the beds.

Veronica had not turned out to be anything like Betty had imagined. She was not stuck up, well she was, but not in an unkind way. She had been raised in privilege which had shaped her personality in some ways but she was still a good person, a kind person and the two of them had become fast friends.

“What did the piece of paper do to you?” Veronica asked as Betty only humphed in response sitting on her bed cross legged as Veronica continued to lay on her bed flipping through her magazine.

“The college drive in.” Betty spat out after she had tried to hold it in. She remembered her elation when she had first heard about the makeshift drive in that the student residences put on every month. Her older sister Polly had told her all about it t Betty’s eager ears. An old style projector, onto the side of the student hall, picnic blankets and cocktails in summer and everyone snuggled and cuddled together in warm blankets and hot toddies in winter. The idea of it had captured the imagination of the cinephile in her and she had bounded happily to her dorm room to let Veronica know. That was until she had received the slip of paper under their door the first time. You see they let the student population choose. And in Betty’s opinion they had no taste whatsoever.

“Who chooses Twilight?” She exclaimed throwing her hands in the air. “Twilight?” she repeated her face screwed up as she said the words.

“I chose Twilight.” Veronica admitted, casually looking up at Betty to see the plain horror on her face before returning to her magazine.

“It’s like I don’t even know you sometimes.” Betty said dramatically shaking her head.

“Come on Betty.” Veronica sat up on her bed, closing her magazine. “It’s not even about the movie. It’s about snuggling up to some college hottie with a multitude of blankets while sipping on mulled wine.”

“Maybe for you Veronica. But I take my cinema experience very seriously.” She glanced at the crumpled up piece of paper in her wastebasket and could feel her anger and frustration bubbling up again. She hopped up of her bed and stalked over to the basket pulling out the leaflet before smoothing it out. Veronica watched her cautiously.

“What are you doing B?” A hint of trepidation in her voice.

“I’m going to complain.” Betty announced as she started putting on her flats. She looked at herself briefly in her wardrobe mirror before smoothing down her sweater and pulling her ponytail that little bit tighter. She gave herself a reassuring nod before spinning around to face the door, Veronica who was still eyeing her as if she had lost it. “I’m taking this to the RA and demanding that they put something of quality on that screen.” Veronica sighed as she picked up her magazine again.

“Well let me know how it all goes.” She said as she started to look through her magazine again.

“Oh I will.” Betty said determinedly as she left the room slamming the door behind her. Veronica rolled her eyes as she left. She pitied the poor person who was about to encounter Betty’s wrath.

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Six Shots of Tequila

Prompt: “I’m your EMT and you keep telling me that I’m pretty when I’m concerned but you nearly DIED you idiot AU” mixed with a sprinkle of “You have a concussion so I told you we’re married and you have amnesia? Because I didn’t think you’d actually go along with it But you DID and now I don’t know what to do AU” READ ON FANFICTION

“Sirius hit me with a nunchuck.”

He was such a stubborn liar but she loved him either way.

“You jumped out the window onto the trampoline, Sirius told me.”

He was blinking interestedly at her through his glasses; probably waiting for her to say something other than the few profanities that she’d said while loading him into the truck. The thick black frames he wore were lopsided and partially covered in some of the blood that had dripped from the wound on his forehead. The EMS they were on bound for the Hospital bounced down the small English road. The truck sirens wailed overhead to warn passing vehicles to move to the side of the road. Up front, Lily’s partner Frank was updating the hospital on their arrival time.

“Are you mad?”

Lily was taking her patients blood pressure (it was elevated, go figure) and the man was looking at her like she was either his worst nightmare or best daydream. It was hard to tell what he was feeling since she was feeling so many emotions that night it was hard for her to process his too.

“Have you been drinking tonight?” Lily asked the man, James Potter, as she removed the cuff from his arm after deeming him alive (enough).

Lily knew the answer of course; she’d seen the shot glasses on the table in the living room. She could smell the drink on his breath. She hadn’t seen him this plastered in years, not since the night they’d met. James snickered when she stuck his arm for fluids and she longed for the moment when he was back to his righteous self and she could take the mickey out on him.

“Might’ve had a few shots of tequila.” He slurred, “Sirius brought us the good stuff from Nevada.”

“How many constitutes a few?”


“Holy Hell James.” Lily looked back up at his face, frowning, “Six shots of tequila?”

Keep reading

The Self-fulfilling Art of Escapism

Screen, silent
A rush of sticky-warm ice
Wake up with stardust
Shoved up your nose
Hit the earth
Like a feather-falling rock

Gravity pulls up, but
Shackled ankles weigh
And half-brain soars
Through thick, windy mud
Dividing each organ
In meager portions

Paper can’t glue
Your pieces
You aren’t found
In another’s
Torn-open skin

Stop trying to escape
To run away, to break
Your epidermic grave

The sun doesn’t rise
It’s always been a lie
You can
Stand still
Twist towards
The sun

Or you’ll bake
Your body into
A cage

Dean drove down the dark highway, the smell of the night air around him and the sound of Led Zeppelin in his ears. He sang along, drumming his hands on Baby’s steering wheel, practically dancing in his seat.

It’s been a long time, been a long time

Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time

There wasn’t much out here, on this empty, lonely road. No cars, no buildings. Sometimes trees, sometimes open fields. A full moon hung heavy in the sky. The track changed, Dean kept singing.

I’m waiting for the angels of Avalon

Waiting for the eastern glow

Angels, Dean thought. He shook his head to clear it, and pushed the thought down deep. No. No Angels. Just Zep, nothing more, he told himself. He let the music fill all the empty places inside him.

There’s a feeling I get

When I look to the west

And my spirit is crying for leaving

In my thoughts I have seen

Rings of smoke through the trees

And the voices of those who stand looking

Where am I going? Dean thought. I don’t even remember.

The road kept coming, the music kept playing, Dean kept singing. He wasn’t sure when it had become a prayer.

The sea was red and the sky was grey

Wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today

The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake

As the children of the sun began to awake

Then came the last song, and Dean was singing words that he hated, that he didn’t want to believe. His voice was hoarse, but still he sang.

Crying won’t help you

Praying won’t do you no good

No, crying won’t help you

Praying won’t do you no good

The tape ended. Dean pulled off the road, parked. He put his face in his hands, and was surprised to find his cheeks were wet with tears. He got out of the car and stumbled a few steps toward the treeline beside the road, trying to find his center, trying to find something. Finally he said in a strangled voice, “I always wanted to sing to you, Cas. I’m sorry I never did.”

(If you’re interested, Dean is listening to Zeppelin IV.)

Inktober with the Bunker || Day 8: Rockstar

Some people asked me for the journal prompt list I was following for my art journal entries so here it is! If you do want to start a journal based on this list it would be great if you could tag me in it @cheerychow and link back to this post so others can join in too! 💕

anonymous asked:

Dads react to a dadsona struggling with an addiction?

Like most religious men of the time, Joseph would pray for you. He prayed that your struggles would eventually stop and that you learned the path of sobriety. He prayed that, even on your bad days when you felt you would just fall back in your bad habits, you would find peace. On a regular basis, he praised you for staying healthy and even rewarded you with more attention. He himself didn’t understand the intricacies of addiction, but he knew it was hurting you. He knew the day you asked for help, it wasn’t going to be just another lapse. You meant it this time and this time, he would help you through whatever hell you had to endure. If he prayed hard enough, you were going to be okay.

He wasn’t sure what to do, considering he was suffering through his own addiction. He tried simple things, like taking you to the bar less frequently or only offering you just one shot of whiskey. You had asked him at one point if you two could try being sober together, but he had refused vehemently. Addiction for him was complicated and it required more than just giving up the bottle. But he honored you as best he could. Kept himself sober around you during the day, regardless of how badly he wanted to be drunk. He could see you were trying and that this meant something to you. He wasn’t going to be the one to drag you down with him,no matter how easy that would have been.

You couldn’t walk into the Coffee Spoon without being questioned. Mat would examine your face, ask if you had anything to drink lately and even took a whiff of your breath if he thought you had been lying. It was all good intentions, you knew that much. He was an anxious person and he had to make sure you were following through. It wasn’t always positive though, due to his surveillance. There were nights you found yourself in a screaming match with him, drowning out any sort of reasoning he offered, only because you didn’t want to admit you had just come back from a binge at the bar. He tried his best and you genuinely appreciated it but you knew he was in over his head. It was only going to be a matter of time before he walked out on you.

He would have been lying if Brian said he was prepared to take on your addiction with you. He wasn’t completely oblivious to the process, but he had never had to deal with it first hand. There was a lot of misunderstandings, prejudices and the only time he really seemed to get it was when Daisy explained certain nuances. She was only there to help out, but Brian couldn’t help but feel out of his league. He wasn’t stupid or slow; most people misinterpreted him that way. But perhaps he had been so sheltered in his own little bubble, that much more complicated issues alluded him. He often apologized to you, explaining why he felt scared that you wouldn’t get better with him around. You would hush him of course. It was silly to think that innocence was anything but pure.

It was as if Hugo had been preparing for this day. Not that he knew you would have fallen victim to such an addiction, but because the man was constantly surrounded by troubled teens. He had seen it take over a person, trapping them in a cycle of abuse and self loathing. He told you one of his fears; that one day he would lose Ernest to addiction. Despite their public relationship, he loved his son and everyday was another obstacle for the both of them. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, but hearing about that gave you strength to continue. Through your journey, you made it a point just to talk to Ernest. Not necessarily about addiction, but just to understand his thinking. You two would get along and everyday you waited for that kind of relationship for him and his father.

If anyone could understand you, it was your old college buddy. You had seen him go through the same thing so many years ago. He drank until he blacked out, spent all day recovering and would do the same thing the next night. His drunken smile was nothing more than a cover for how painful everyday was for him. You recalled walking in on him sobbing in your dorm one day, broken and helpless. Now, here you were, begging for his help just as he had done to you that day. He obliged of course, knowing the struggle to simply admit you had a problem. He never asked why you started drinking in the first place; that was something for a therapist to indulge. Instead, he focused on the everyday fight. He offered to exercise with you, taking your mind off of the bottle. He would visit and cook healthy meals and just be there. He would smile at you and you knew this time it was genuine.

You couldn’t ask for a warmer, more caring partner. Since the day you admitted your addiction, Damien had done everything in his power to make sure you succeeded in overcoming it. He researched techniques, praised you for your efforts and asked you how you were feeling. Some days you relapsed, coming home drunk late at night. It bothered him of course, but he understood the path to recovery wasn’t a smooth one. He would lead you back to your bed and when morning came, would offer you a remedy for your hangover. You always reminded him that he didn’t have to stay. You knew you were a difficult case and that he wasn’t obliged to stay with you. He would silence you, offering the warmest of hugs and kisses. He wasn’t going to leave your side and you believed him.

-Mod Auggie-


Prompt: Can you write an imagine where your childhood friends with Bruce Wayne? ( kinda like his relationship with Rachel in the dark knight rises) and he as fallen in love with you but you left Gotham to go travelling and then came back and he introduces you to the batfamily as his wife??

Words: 769

Fandom: DC

          It was the call from Alfred that pulled you back in. It had been nearly eleven years since you had seen him, had almost been rid of your addiction to him, and then Alfred had called. And of course you couldn’t say no. Walking through the manor, you nod to Alfred before heading into the study. The older butler follows you down and into the cave. You wait for him to fire up the zeta tube, and once his authentication has gone through, he gives you the go ahead.

          It’s a strange sensation to feel your molecules shifting. It takes a moment for you to shake the feeling off, after stepping on to the platform. You know the man standing in front of you, more often than not his picture is on the front of the paper. You extend your hand, doing your best to stay professional, to keep your distance, “Superman.”

          “Doctor Y/L/N, please follow me.” You do as he asks, and do your best to not stare at everything in awe. After all, you’ve never been in space before. You bypass the other superheros standing in the hallway outside the OR. You don’t make eye contact, you just listen as one of Earth’s greatest heroes explains that you have the best equipment in the world available to you.

          And then you get to work. You have a minimal staff to work with, but you’ve been in worse conditions. You’re ready to go, and then you see him. He’s beaten and bruised, and he’s on oxygen. You have to force your eyes away, and look at his chart. He has several broken bones, a collapsed lung, and internal bleeding.

          You get to work. You spend several hours in surgery. And then you spend time just staring at him. You pull your eyes away as people begin filing in. You watch as people surround him and you can’t help but smile. Bruce had always been a loner, since you were children. The two of you had been best friends, had grown up together. You had stood by him after his parent’s murder.

          But eventually he had begun to pull away. Then he had disappeared for several years, when he had come back he had been ready to try a relationship. You had been in your last year of pre-med. The whole Batman thing had come out when he had nearly died, and Alfred had needed someone to patch him up.

          You had been done after that. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch him kill himself. You had applied to med school on the other side of the country. You saw him occasionally over the years, and you had kept up with him through the papers.

          As people began talking to him, you slip out of the room. You stay for the next few days, and do your best to avoid people, but your timing had never been all that great. So, of course you’re there when he wakes up. And somehow through all the people talking to him, and clamoring for his attention he sees you. His voice is hoarse as he says, “I thought you were done patching up my stupid ass up.”

          “Alfred called.” You say, focusing on the chart, acutely aware of how quiet the room has gotten.

          “You said you wouldn’t save my suicidal ass again, even if Alfred begged you to.”

          You turn to meet his eyes; they’re exactly how they were when he was a child. “He promised to bake those peanut butter cookies I like.”

          “You were always a sucker for those.”

          You just roll your eyes as one of the younger men in the room asks “Father, who is this?”

You can see his response coming before it comes out of his lips and you warn him, “Don’t you dare, Bruce Wayne.”

          But he’s never been scared of you. “She’s my wife.” He says it so matter of fact that you want to strangle him.

          Your hands go to your hips and you voice reaches this slightly screechy pitch. “Bruce Wayne, how many times do I have to tell you to not say that?”

          He smirks. “It’s true.”

          “We were seven Bruce!”

          “My father walked you down the aisle, my mother did your make-up.”

          “It was your idea!” You point out.

          “Never claimed it wasn’t. You were beautiful by the way.” The two of you continue bickering for the next few minutes, until you storm out the room. And as you head back to your designated bedroom, you can’t help but feel that the addiction is back in full swing.

anonymous asked:

Are you still taking cuddle prompts from the list you linked to? Early season MSR, #30

Cuddle alert! Set in season 2 between Firewalker and Red Museum. 

“Mulder!” Scully’s voice screeches as she watches her partner being shoved into the tiny closet almost hidden in the wall; his broad shoulders bump painfully against the frame before he disappears inside. The door is slammed shut and the faceless man turns to her; she raises her gun, her hands shaking slightly, but she isn’t fast enough. The gun is kicked from her hand, she screams, she bites, and before she knows it the closet door opens again and she is thrown against Mulder.

“I don’t need you Feds getting in my way.” They hear their suspect laugh from the other side before his footsteps are gone. Scully pushes against the door in the pitch black darkness and feels Mulder behind her, much too close, much too warm.

“Let us out of here!” Scully hammers her fists against the wood, kicks it angrily, until Mulder’s hands settle on her shoulders gently squeezing.

“It’s no use,” his voice is soft and his breath tickles her; he is just too damn close and she can’t see anything here. Her hands pause, unclench, and she takes a deep breath. “Save your strength.”

“For what, Mulder? He’s not just going to come back.”

“Skinner knows where we are. They’ll find us. He’ll kick our asses for letting a suspect get away, but he’ll let us out of here.” Mulder assures her with his hands still on her shoulders; Scully knows she’s tense and with him so close, she knows he can tell.

“When, Mulder? How long do we have to be in here?” She can’t keep the quiver out of her voice. Scully leans forward, tries to break contact with Mulder, but there’s just no room. She closes her eyes; this darkness, her own, almost a comfort.

“You know,” Mulder clears his throat behind her and she swears she can just about feel it, “this kind of reminds me of playing seven minutes in heaven.” He chuckles and she definitely feels that, his body seemingly coming even closer, his warmth indiscernible from her own. Scully appreciates his attempt to lighten the mood, but this isn’t a game and it’s far from heaven. More like forever stuck in hell. Stuck being the operative word. She takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, Scully.”

“This isn’t your fault, Mulder.”

“I’m making you uncomfortable. I’d say that’s my fault.” He shifts behind her and for a short moment his body is no longer touching hers. It lasts not even a second before he’s back against her; his chest pressing into her back, his legs aligned with hers. “There’s not much space here. I’m sorry, Scully. I’ll try to uhm, behave. And shut up.”

“Mulder, you’re not the problem.” Her whisper in this dark, quiet closet could have just as well have been a scream. He is silent after that and Scully is convinced she can hear him think. He is going through their files in his mind, searching for any indication why this is so difficult for her; it takes him a while, longer than she thought it would, and she knows exactly when he gets it. His gasp is audible, sounds painful in her ears, and almost immediately his hand is back on her shoulder.

“Duane Barry.” It’s not a question. “He- when you – when he…” Scully nods, hoping to shut him up.

“I’m so sorry, Scully.” His apology is different this time and his hand leaves her shoulder, lands on her back, and gently starts stroking up and down; Scully is uncertain if he’s even aware of what he’s doing. Ever since she’s come back, he’s been invading her personal space, making it his own.  Touching her at every opportunity; just a hand on her shoulder, a lingering touch on her back. It’s as if he’s still not sure she’s really here with him and he needs to make sure it’s her and he can still touch her, feel her under his hands. It bothers her, sometimes, but not now. This, she realizes, is not at all like when Duane Barry kidnapped her, put her in the trunk. Her hands tied up then, unable to scream, to ask for help. She’d yelled for Mulder in her mind repeatedly. This time he is here. She is not alone in the darkness. He is here and he is not going to let anything happen to her. He told her to take time off, to get better and she assured him she was fine. She was. Until now. So she doesn’t try to get away from him any longer, his strength and his warmth. Instead, she leans back against him, hoping he understands her without having to say it, without having to ask him to hold her. For a moment they stand like this; back to chest, otherwise not touching. Then Mulder tentatively puts his arms around her, rests his hands on her stomach, engulfing her completely. His head comes to rest on hers heavily, pleasantly and a sense of safety spreads inside of her.

“Is this all right?”

“It’s more than all right.” Scully lets him know, her gratitude stuck on her tongue, and puts her own hands over his; this time it’s her who needs to make sure he really is there and not just a figment of her imagination.

They don’t move, don’t speak for the longest time. Until they hear voices, frantically searching for them. Mulder’s hands leave her body, but not her, as they both hammer against the door and when it finally opens, the light blinding them momentarily, Skinner helps them out.

“Finally. We got him. He wouldn’t tell us where you were. Are you all right, Agents?” Scully feels Mulder behind her; he is not pressed against her anymore, but he is there, ready to jump in, hold her, keep her safe.

“We’re fine, Sir.” Mulder puts his hand on her back as they leave, at last, but they never speak of what happened while they were trapped inside there ever again.