such a great ficlet

I did a writing sprint and managed this noctnyx nyxnoct in ten minutes. Now via unspoken rules of the drabble sprint I’m not allowed to continue it but I kinda wanna.

====================

Warp training is rough as balls. Half the glaives end up on their knees heaving up a week’s worth of lunches up after a full session, even after a few years on duty. Even Nyx, who’s taken to it better than most of the rest, needs a few hours of quiet and still after to recover. Weaving in and out of existence with everything you are in the precarious safekeeping of a blade? A human body isn’t made for that. It’s hard on anyone, any day of the week.

But gods, what it does to Noct.

Nyx opens the door to the sight of him plastered to Gladio’s side, more unconscious than not, in mid-calf fatigues, combat boots and a regulation overcoat with a blank ID badge, which means it’s an extra from the storeroom. He’s five foot seven of bird bones and just enough muscle mass to make him dense and cumbersome to carry, but going off the look on Gladio’s face it was Noct who insisted on making the trek on his own feet. Also going off the look on Gladio’s face, being allowed to make that bad call has served as punishment enough. It’s a mystery whether Gladio was born with that expression of equal parts irritation and concern in his arsenal or if it’s been cultivated especially over the years by too much time spent in the company of stubborn princes with no self-preservation skills.

Gladio says, “Hey,” and Noct croaks, “I’m fine,” and Nyx says “Right,” and helps Gladio get him inside.

Sometimes, it’s not quite enough.

It’s never enough, to be perfectly honest, but there are days when that longing is magnified, and the gnawing feeling of missing someone fills him until he can’t breathe.

There are the phone calls, text messages, hand written notes, snap chats, and skyping in the evening when Jack has the hotel room to himself, but some nights, the distance between them seems even longer than it really is.

It’s nearly morning, and it is quiet except for the hum of the plane engine and the snores of the passengers around him. Jack is awake even though he’s exhausted and more than a little bruised from the last game.

He turns on his phone and rereads the last message Bitty sent him before he’d boarded. It’s an enthusiastic text filled with entirely too many exclamation marks and emoticons followed by a selfie of Bitty’s bright grin.

Something settles in Jack, and he smiles to himself. Taking a steadying breath, he closes his eyes and holds onto the image of Bitty as he relaxes his shoulders.

The miles between them are shortening, and with every beat of his heart, it’s a step closer to home, to Bitty.

This is for @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, round one.

Tropes:

There’s Only One Bed and Castiel (for whatever reason) wears different clothes.

Set in season seven after Cas takes Sam’s Hell memories. Almost canon compliant but where Dean actually visits Cas at the hospital, plus Cas is a little less comatose and Dean is a little less mean.

He’s asking for you, she says. Even in his sleep.

Dean doesn’t know why he even answered the phone. Maybe because they had dick on Dick and he needed a distraction, but he regrets it as soon as he hears Meg’s jeering voice. Your angel needs you, she says. And I need a break. And just like that he’s on his way to Indiana.

Meg meets him outside of Cas’s room to brief him.

He normally just lies in bed, she says. He’s practically comatose most of the time so even you should be able to handle it. He’s not asleep. You’ll know if he is because if he’s asleep, he’s having nightmares. I mean, I’m pretty sure the nightmare thing is all the time. But when he’s awake he can stop the screaming. When he’s asleep, he can’t.

And that’s not all, of course, because it’s Meg and she likes to hear herself talk.

You better fuckin’ watch him, she continues. I did not sit here on my ass playing nurse for however many weeks just so you could fuck it all up.

And more.

If he wakes up, do what he says, she commands. Because if you don’t he will bolt, and if he bolts, you will not be able to find him. My advice: don’t let him out of your sight. He’s a danger to himself.

Why do I care, Dean mutters.

Meg just laughs. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here, she says, disappearing with a smirk.

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sem-dinheiro-e-sem-pa  asked:

Hi! Can i send two prompts? First: shatt, meeting again. And Shklance, incecurity. Love your writting, XO

Of course you can!

(reminder that these fills tend to be platonic :3 )

“You’re alive,” Shiro blurts, utterly stunned.

“You’re alive,” Matt overlaps, equally fast and joyful. “What the hell are you wearing?!”

The black bayard lays on the table in front of them, silent and waiting.

Keith swallows.

“You can do this,” Lance says.


(Send me a prompt and I’ll write a three-sentence ficlet!)    

anonymous asked:

I saw your post about Stan and Ford and the scenarios and I loved it! You got any other scenarios or headcanons?

Thank you! *rubs hands together* Glad you asked!

Might put this under a read more if it gets too long, which is more than likely. XD EDIT: I was right.

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I just got my wisdom teeth out yesterday, so naturally–as the Destiel trash that I am– I have written a wisdom-teeth!AU ficlet.

Disclosure: I am still on pain meds that tell me I’m not allowed to drive. Who knows if this is even good?

“Yes, Mrs. Winchester. Dean’s going to be very out of it for the next few hours, so just keep an eye on him and make sure he keeps taking his pain medication or he won’t be a very happy camper when the anesthesia wears off.”

The doctor–Donna, Castiel remembered her name–smiled at Dean cheerfully as she handed Mary the medication. Dean however, was busy staring at his hands with wide eyes like it was the first time he’d ever seen them in his life.

“Thank you very much,” Mary said, handing off the bag to Castiel so she could grip the wheelchair tighter. “Cas and I will make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble.” She smiled at Cas before running her fingers through her son’s hair, causing him to jump and look for the cause of the touch in a daze.

“Whoa!” Dean said through the gauze in his mouth. “That was…that was funny feeling. I think a–a thing was in my hair.” He murmured, leaning his head back to stare up at his mother.

A small chuckle escaped Castiel as he looked at his best friend. He knew how badly Dean had been hoping he wouldn’t react to the anesthesia after getting his wisdom teeth out, but it looked like that wasn’t going to be an option for him.

“Be sure to change his gauze in a few hours,” Donna said cheerfully, “but as soon as the bleeding stops he should be fine!”

Mary nodded as Castiel double checked the amount of gauze they’d been given. Looked like it would be more than enough. Castiel himself hadn’t needed nearly that much gauze, but he’d also been one of the lucky people in the world that was more or less lucid after after the operation.

Dean, however, didn’t seem like he’d be so lucky.

Mary took a deep breath and smiled at Castiel. “Thank you so much for coming, Cas. I’ll just need help getting him in the car and–”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Winchester,” Castiel assured. “I’m happy to–”

“Whoa, mom! Look!”

Castiel and Mary both looked at Dean who was staring at Castiel with bugged eyes and was pointing an unsteady finger in his direction.

Cas reached up to double check if anything was on his head or on his face that would be causing such a reaction, but nothing.

Mary frowned and leaned down. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Dean’s head lolled to the side as he stared, causing a little bit of drool to leak out from in-between his gauze.

“Mom he is so pretty.” Came the muffled response.

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lightshesaid  asked:

HMM HMM HMM. Shiro & Ulaz, stranded in space or on a planet or idk somewhere.

(slightly cheating on the definition of three sentences ;) )

“And this is going to get us all the way back to your - ship?” Ulaz says, doubtfully. The little jetpacks on Shiro’s back sputter against the vast darkness of space, bright blue reflecting off the ruined scrap of their original little pod.

“At least until Black finds us,” Shiro says. “Shouldn’t be long. Red does this for Keith all the time.”

(Send me a prompt and I’ll write three sentences! Help me stay awake!)

Fairy Lights

Fandom: Haikyuu!! 

Pairing: Kagehina

SummaryHow, where and why Kageyama got the idea of them ice skating eludes him but after much persuasion, Hinata had finally relented and that rare, genuinely beautiful smile that graced Kageyama’s face was almost worth it. Ok, it was definitely worth it.

A/N: this is a birthday gift for the wonderful @ainu . I know its not much, but its the least I could do for an artist as talented and a person as sweet as you. <3 Credits to @otpprompts for idea. 

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There were so many great prompts from Thursday, but the one that stuck in my head was from @lezbfrenz​, who asked “does dean consider cheesecake as pie?” That led to a 2-hour Twitter discussion and this 1.2k fic beta read by @pomegranatedaffodil​ and @areiton​. Established Dean/Cas + Sam.


Dean knew he should’ve ordered that second cup of coffee before they left the diner, but he was determined to reach the bunker tonight, and the longer they’d sat in the booth, the more tempting the adjacent motel’s neon vacancy sign had started to look. Ignoring Sam’s suggestion that they check in for the night, Dean had signaled for the check. He’d filled his quota of burned motel coffee for a few dozen lifetimes.  

He’d thought he was fine to drive–he’d gotten six hours last night after Cas insisted on rubbing his back–but with each mile, the monotony of the flat highway crept into his brain like fog, that out-of-body sensation that comes only with bone-deep exhaustion. He operated the car by muscle memory, spacing out between mile markers, and rubbed his eyes. If he could get them to water, that might revive him, but they were dry as charred bone. Normally he’d turn on the radio, but Cas was dozing in the back seat and Dean knew better than to wake him, since a sleep-deprived Castiel was only endearing in twenty-minute sprints.

Sam, though — Sam didn’t get off so easily. His head lolled against the passenger’s side window and his eyes were closed, but he repeatedly swept his tongue across his teeth in a manner that told Dean he was still awake.

“Hey.”

“What is it?” Sam yawned and belatedly covered his mouth. He pulled himself upright. “You want me to drive?”

“Just talk to me. Everything’s starting to look the same.”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment and said, seriously, “Actually, something’s been bothering me since we left the diner.”

Dean glanced at him. “What’s that?”

“Is cheesecake a cake or a pie?”

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to-a-merrier-world  asked:

I hope you know you've got me into shipping the tiny canoe of a ship that is Uliro..... *sigh* another rarepair. Would you want to do another 3 sentence fic for them? Uliro + dogs? (Or space dogs...)

WELCOME TO THE CANOE

“I do not understand,” Ulaz says. The little space puppy licks eagerly at his fingers.

“He followed me home,” Shiro says, “Can we keep him?”

(Give me a prompt and I’ll write a three-sentence fic!)

happy birthday to the super sweet rachesduncan!

Cas lay in Dean’s arms, warm and calm.

His head rested on Dean’s chest, and Dean’s arm was curved like an upturned mouth around his body, holding him in close. Cas was pressed along Dean’s side, their legs plaited together under the covers. Dean yawned.

They had been lying this way for hours.

Cas’ eyes were open and softly focused, tracing the same path across the room, round and round. He had every detail memorised, but still he went back over it, and back over it again, and back over it once more, slow and lazy and unending. He wanted the moment painted so indelibly into his memory that he never had to struggle for it, never had to patch in the fading parts with made-up colours.

His right hand was lying just above Dean’s waistband, his fingers moving gently back and forth. The tiny movements were like the whispers and rustlings in a library, enough to ease the silence without breaking it. Every now and then Dean took a slightly deeper breath, which Cas answered with a little extra pressure in his fingers. These days, as always, they did most of their speaking with their bodies.

Cas’ mind was a blissful blank. He needed no wants or wishes to while away the time. Everything that he could possibly want or wish for was right here, in this room, in this moment. Somewhere in the bunker, through the slightly-open door, Sam could be heard cooking dinner.

A sharp trill sliced through the room, suddenly enough to make Cas jump. On Dean’s bedside table, his phone was ringing. Dean sighed, making a little grumbling noise in his throat, and tightened his hold on Cas as though protecting their shared silence from the interruption. After a moment, Cas shifted, tilting his head to look up at Dean.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” he asked. Dean looked down at him, the skin under his chin wrinkling slightly, his mouth turned gently upwards like the arm curved around Cas’ back.

“No,” he said. “It’s not you.”

They settled down again, and the phone fell silent. Cas allowed his eyes to close.

Good day!

This is my answer to @gcintia’s prompt on the song ‘Gravity’ by Sara Bareilles.

Thanks for your great support as always. Hopefully you will find my ficlet delightful.

Take care,

Nuchamae

**********

The Gravity

Molly’s flat, Monday - 03.35 hrs.

Molly had heard some strange noises outside her bedroom and walked out with a tennis racket in her hands. The famous Sherlock Holmes was lying on her sofa with hands under his chin. He had once again broke into her flat and used her place as his bolt hole.

Molly: Sherlock?! ! What on earth are you doing here at this late hours?!!

Sherlock: Could you get me my violin, Molly?

Molly: Hmm? You brought your violin here with you?

Sherlock: I usually play it when I think.

Molly: So you are to stay here tonight?

….No response….

Molly: Alright, where did you put it then?

Sherlock: Somewhere in your kitchen.

*******

Molly’s flat, Tuesday - 7:04 hrs.

Sherlock: Why in the name of God would I want to know what Prince George was given by a President of the United States when he was born? Who is this Prince George anyway?!

Sherlock grumpily slammed the morning papers on the coffee table. Molly took a look at the crossword that the genius detective had been grumbling about all morning.

Molly: You don’t really know who Prince George is? How un-British of you?

She then put a bowl of cornflakes and milk in front of him

Sherlock: (pushed the bowl away) Cornflakes and milk? ‘Very’….British of you, Molly, the Queen will be proud.

Molly: (Smirked) So you know that we have a Queen? What a surprise! Anyway, do you want to know the answer or not?

Sherlock: Yes….

Molly: Yes what…?

Sherlock: (Puffed) Yes, please……..

Molly then told him the story of the Prince and about the last visit to the U.K. of the U.S. President. Sherlock put the word into the puzzle. The fact that the letters fitted perfectly into the white boxes brought him a satisfying smile.

********

Molly’s flat, Wednesday- 13.43hrs.

Text messages between Sherlock and Molly

Your coffee maker is broken.- S.H. 13.44 hrs.

What are you doing at my flat, Sherlock? Don’t you have a murder to solve?-Molly 13:45 hrs.

I solved it. How exactly does this bloody thing work? - S.H. 13.46hrs.

See the green switch, genius? Push it. -Molly 13.48 hrs.

And the sugar jar is in the top cupboard to your right.-Molly 13.50 hrs.

You can read minds??!- S.H. 13.55 hrs.

Very funny, Sherlock. Very funny.-Molly 13.57 hrs.

*********
Molly’s flat, Thursday - 20.30 hrs.

Sherlock took a close look at a cut on Molly’s finger. She had accidentally cut herself while preparing dinner for the consulting detective.

Sherlock: (Frowned) You are a very capable pathologist; you dissect cadavers for a living. How could you possibly cut yourself with a cooking knife, Molly?

Molly: Dead bodies and tomatoes are not the same, Sherlock.

Sherlock: They are no longer alive, are they not?

Molly: (Sighed) No, genius, but cooking has never been my area of expertise.

Sherlock: Why bother then?

Molly: Because you…I mean…we deserve a home cooked meal once in a while.

Sherlock: (Grinned fondly) You love me too much, Molly Hooper.

Molly: (Sighed) I know….

*******
Molly’s flat, Saturday - 02.30 hrs.

Molly opened her eyes and found Sherlock snugged into her bed. This was not the first time that they shared the bed. It often happened on the nights when both were too tired or too sleepy to bother.

Molly: You look more than exhausted, Sherlock.

Sherlock: Once I close this case, Mycroft will owe me big time.

Molly: Get some sleep then, just don’t steal all my sheet, thief.

Sherlock: Have I ever done such horrible thing, Molly?

Sherlock snuggled into the pillows and shifted closer to her.

Molly: (Grinned faintly) Always, Sherlock. Always…

*******
Sherlock’s flat, Sunday - 12.05 hrs.

Sherlock looked around his flat, under the armchair, inside his slippers, even in Billy the skull for something he had lost. John entered the flat with Sherlly in her carry cot.

John: At last I found you, Sherlock. Where have you been? Mrs.Hudson is complaining about you not coming home at all lately.

Sherlock: Not now, John. I am busy.

Sherlock lifted Sherlly’s cot up from John’s chair and looked under it.

John: What are you searching for, Sherlock?

Sherlock: Molly’s phone….I borrowed it this morning but don’t remember where I left it. She will play hell.

John: Molly? So you have been with Molly the whole time? (Smirked) Anything important you like to share with me and Sherlly?

Sherlock: (mumbled) The law of universal gravitation, John.

John: What?!?

Sherlock: (Rolled his eyes) Gravity, Jawn; every object attracts every single other object by a force pointing along the line intersecting both.

John: (Grinned broadly) So you are attracted to Molly then.

Sherlock: Something always brings me back to her. This couldn’t possibly be anything else but gravity, John.

John: (pretended to cough) Love…perhaps?

*******

anonymous asked:

3 sentence fic: hunk gossips to allura about what happens with the paladins

“You can’t be serious,” Allura gasps, delighted. The mice cluster around her elbows on the kitchen counter, squeaking their own versions of Hunk’s story (for his part Hunk’s absolutely grinning). “Then what did Keith do?”

(Send me a prompt and I’ll write a three-sentence ficlet!)

Merlin | Swanchester AU: In a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young sorceress, born to protect the once and future king of Camelot. Her name: Emma. Arthur!Dean, Merlin!Emma.

“Do I know you?” the young man asked, walking up to Emma who was standing in front of the poor lad he’d been torturing.

She crossed her arms and shook her head, “Emma.”

“So I don’t know you. But you called me friend,” he pressed, taking a few steps closer.

She smirked, “That was my mistake.”

“I think so -”

“Yes, I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.” The crowd around cooed, eye brows rose and mouths were covered.

The young man scoffed. “I could throw you in jail for that,” he threatened, despite the amused smile playing at his lips.

Emma rolled her eyes, “Who do you think you are, the king?”

“No, I’m his son - Prince Dean.”

lookforanewangle  asked:

Dear Miss Onions, you are the light of my life. 💕 May I ask for three more sentences for your lovely nightmare scene daemon!au? (I'll stop after this if you really want me to, I swear.)

because I apparently still have no self-control, here is another six seven. <3

(continuation of this, in the daemon!AU ‘verse)

It’s dark in their room, in the bunk where the two of them co-exist. The blue strip lighting of the Altean energy illuminates the walls of their little room; chases away shadows, maybe. There’s still a nightmare lingering in the corners of Shiro’s mind, one that won’t leave, one that won’t tear itself away. Rielle presses closer, humming deep in her throat.

I’m still here, she says, with nuzzles, without words. They don’t have me.

Shiro clings tighter to his daemon and breathes.

(Give me a prompt and I’ll write a three-sentence fic!)

archiveofourown.org
Outdoor Limits - Chapter 1 - randomramblesff - The Great Indoors (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

A selection of one-shots, ficlets and prompts all based around The Great Indoors. Prompts accepted via harryspaceshipmchale on Tumblr.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: The Great Indoors (TV)
Relationships: Jack Gordon/Rachel
Characters: Jack Gordon, Rachel, Brooke Huxley, Emma Cho, Clark Roberts, Mason
Additional Tags: I only write for Joel fandoms I’m sorry, from Season 1 onwards I guess, Prompt Fic, ficlets


I put my prompts for The Great Indoors up on AO3! Go ahead and bookmark, add kudos, comment etc… and prompt more if you wish. All ships/relationships/scenarios accepted, yo!

anonymous asked:

storm

FICLET/HEADCANON PROMPTS.


          Storms had always brought him great comfort.

From the time he was little, they were something he looked forward to. When it stormed, the attic was cooler, not quite as stifling. Sometimes, he could open the window, and enjoy the day without the risk of being hurt. When it rained, the water seemed to cleanse him, washing away the dirt and grime of his prison.

Years later, stormy days were still what he ached for.

Even out in here, several thousand miles away from New York and the prison he’d once called home, just the first rumbling of thunder seemed to brighten his spirits. Texas received very little rain, especially in these dry months, and the sun was always so hot. But as soon as the thunder rolled, he was outside, sitting in the shade and watching as the storm clouds made their way to him.

Logan would grumble whenever it rained. Old bones, Caliban joked. The old man had to get inside and nurse his aching joints. But not him. As soon as the sun was gone, he removed his coverings. He sat in the open junkyard and waited. 

Rainy days were the only times he felt human. And there, sitting in dark mud as El Paso’s latest storm blew through, Caliban almost felt clean. He almost felt forgiven. Like some sort of twisted baptism, he craved the thunder, the lightning, and the rain. Even a monster needed his sins washed away. 

2

Right when I saw him in that form in ep. 12 I HAD to draw him!
He’s so cute!
I want the fandom to call him hedgehog!Boros xD


Ah and before I forget
I want to promote 2 scenarioblogs which I really adore!

@opm-writing and @opm-monster-ficlets
Keep up that great work!

(follwing you guys with my trashblog trashforthetrashgod :P )


Please do not repost, only reblog! Thanks ♥

sterek ficlet: derek and stiles go on a not-so-great first date.

*

“Here?” Stiles asks, scrunching his nose as he looks around. When his eyes fall on Derek, he catches a glimpse of a look of disappointment, and perhaps even hurt, before Derek quickly covers it up. Stiles mentally kicks himself. Fucking mouth. “I mean, this place is great.”

 Derek rolls his eyes. “Right.” He turns his back to Stiles and follows the hostess further into the restaurant. Stiles sighs and runs a hand through his hair, forgetting about the half hour he spent getting it to look just right. This was not the way he wanted their first date to go.

 The thing is, this doesn’t feel like a date. Derek had picked Stiles up at his apartment, like he had a hundred times before, and then brought him to the same sushi place they ate at with the Pack probably once a month.

 Stiles flinches when he sees Derek sitting at the table, back and shoulders rigid, that little crease between his eyes which Stiles knows means he’s unhappy. Great, he thinks, I went and ruined our first date. And probably screwed everything up.

 “Look, dude, I’m sorry,” Stiles blurts as he slides into the chair across from Derek. “I just…didn’t expect to come here?”

 The crease deepens as Derek’s ears burn pink. Stiles really just wants to start this entire night over again.

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