#june prompts

[hb-writes]

Together

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

#twilight #the twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #edward cullen #jasper hale #mia cullen #we intertwined #june prompts #cleaning out my inbox

[shorukarts]

@frans-monthly June prompt: healing

Au: Flowerfell

#fransmonthly #june prompts #healing #frans #sans x frisk #frisk x sans #frisk #sans #flowerfell frans #flowerfell frisk #flowerfell sans #flowerfell #undertale #undertale au #undertale art #myartstyle #digital drawing #shorukarts

[head-in-the-shrouds]

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

#writing #writing prompt #prompt list #january prompts #february prompts #march prompts #april prompts #may prompts #june prompts #july prompts #august prompts #september prompts #november prompts #october prompts #december prompts #horror #horror writing #horror prompts #creative writing #fiction writing #short stories #fanfic

[cabezadeperro]

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.

#jangobi #kenfetti #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #maría writes #june prompts

[aetherdecember]

#encanto junicorn 2023 #encanticorn2023 #encanto #junicorn #writing prompts #art prompts #june prompts #donkey unicorns

[anouri]

ii. pigeon

june prompts from @nosebleedclub

#i actually do think this every time i walk past the pigeons near my apartment #there's something sad there in the way that they linger #pigeons are domesticated yknow #just waiting for human companionship #it's just humans decided that we don't want them any longer #words #mine #june prompts #it's time for me to dump my journal entry onto my blog then run away #(i will be catching up and it will be out of order)

[sapphicmicrofics]

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

#harry potter #hp femslash #hp wlw #microfic prompts #femslash prompts #sapphic prompts #marauders era #bc lbr most of the submissions include marauders era characters and i love it #monthly prompt list #june prompts

[zazuprompts]

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]

#montly prompt list #June prompts #artblr #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr #drawing exercise #writing practice #drawing prompt #writing prompt #art prompt #prompts #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writeblr #writing #write

[theladycarpathia]

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. 

#harringroveweek #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #june prompts #june harringrove week #hawkins country club at a benefit #billy catches feelings #pining #barbara holland #billy's an idiot #because steve will go too #I missed June harringrove week so I did a few prompts #not as many as I'd like #so maybe a future project?

[ladyazulina]

Day 16

“Oh. Ah… how long have you been standing there listening?”

June Dialogue Writing Prompts.

#june dialogue prompts #june prompts #dialogue inspiration #dialogue snippet #random dialogue #dialogue prompt #writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing community #writing #writers of tumblr #writerscommunity #writing prompt #Metherion

[jegulus-microfic]

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

#june prompts #hpevents #jegulus microfic #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus #james potter x regulus black #regulus black x james potter #james x regulus #regulus x james #james potter #regulus black #harry potter

[hb-writes]

A Girl's Best Friend

Summary: Harvey's already said that Charlie can spend the evening out with her friends, but he gives her a hard time when she asks him to pass the evening with her best friend as well.

Characters: Harvey Specter & Charlie Specter (OC)

Request (from 💜 anon):  Hello! For June requests how about, “You live to annoy me, don’t you?” & “Hard cash is a girl’s best friend.” For Suits pretty please 💜

Content Warnings: N/A

Lines to Live By (Suits) Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Harvey glanced up from his work, his eyes moving to her outstretched hand as his face remained slightly lowered, facing his laptop screen.

"Can I help you?" he asked, acting as though he hadn't heard her request the first time, as if he hadn't already processed the perfectly clear words she'd recited after she made a production of packing up her things over the last few minutes, finally slipping back into her shoes and pulling herself up off the couch and coming across the room to his desk.

Charlie had been something close to silent for hours now, settled in various uncomfortable-looking positions on the couch in his office and reading either for a school assignment or for pleasure—Harvey honestly couldn't be sure which it was and he didn't really care, either. She was being quiet and behaving herself and not pestering anyone, and that was all that mattered as far as he was concerned. Charlie was a good kid, but she annoyed the heck out of him when she wanted to—most frequently when she was at the office with him than anywhere else, almost like Charlie thought he and Mike and Donna didn’t actually have any work to do other than to entertain her. Harvey idly wondered if she was only doing it as a reward for agreeing to let her spend her night, a school night at that, out with her friends.

"Harvey," she groaned, retracting her hand.

"I need money for tonight," she repeated. "A twenty should do it, or forty, I guess…just in case."

Harvey continued typing, his eyes back on the computer screen. "Just in case what?"

"I don't know."

 Charlie shrugged and started fiddling with one of Harvey’s fancy pens. Donna had been complaining that he had been going through more and more of them recently, and that they were constantly missing from his desk. As Harvey watched Charlie twirl one in her fingers, it dawned on him that he probably wasn’t misplacing them and they were more likely to be ending up in his kid sister’s bookbag. 

“An emergency, maybe?” Charlie offered.

Harvey snatched the pen back, settling it on his desk and out of her reach. “I thought you were going to the movies. What kind of emergency—”

“I don’t know,” Charlie interrupted with a huff as she settled into the seat across from his desk.. “I’m not planning on having one. I said it was just in case.” 

“Yeah, well, I certainly hope you’re not planning an emergency,” Harvey offered. 

“It’s an expression—” she started, but Harvey wasn’t listening, his own thoughts and voice interrupting and drowning Charlie’s half-hearted argument out.

“And don’t you have your own money?” he asked.

“Yes…” Charlie answered, occupying her gaze with some imagined imperfection on the hem of her skirt. “But I’m being…responsible…I’m saving it.”

“Right,” Harvey snorted, shaking his head as he closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair. “So you mean to tell me you’re saving your own money and spending mine?”

Charlie threw her hands in the air, clasping them down over the arms of her chair as they came down. “You’re the one who said I should save my money!”

“Yeah,” he said. “And maybe try saving some of mine, too, once in a while,” he teased, a thin line differentiating his playful sentiment from his heavy sarcasm, so thin that Charlie didn’t pick up on it.

Charlie glanced at Donna through the glass, praying for some type of intervention. She had heard the entire conversation—Donna heard all that went on in Harvey’s office, but she still had her back to them now as she worked on the computer, apparently too occupied by her actual work. 

“You said I could go, Harvey.” 

“I did, and the door’s right there, kiddo.” Harvey nodded across the room. “No one’s stopping you.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Harvey. It’s $40, that’s it. You’re being—” 

“What happened to $20?” he asked. “And what are you complaining about? I’m letting you spend the night with your friends when you should be home in bed.”

“Yeah, but you’re keeping me from my best friend.”

Harvey chuckled, shaking his head. “Though I imagine he’d love nothing more than to spend his evening with a bunch of teeny boppers, Mike has work to do.” 

“I’m not talking about Mike, Harvey.” She held her hand up, rubbing her thumb against her fingers. “Cold hard cash is a girl’s best friend.” 

Donna snorted as she set a stack of papers on Harvey’s desk, suddenly appearing at their side. “Haven’t I taught you anything, little chick?” she asked, both eyebrows raised. “Cash is okay, but it’s your brother’s platinum card that’s a girl’s real best friend.”

“Yes, of course, even better,” Charlie said, turning back to her brother. “Can I borrow your—” 

Harvey held up a hand, cutting Charlie off before turning to Donna. “You live to annoy me, don’t you?” 

Donna shrugged. “You’d be lost without me.” 

Harvey rubbed his hand over his face. “I wish you’d both get lost.” 

“Well, I can do that for the low, low price of…” Charlie considered it, holding out her hand once again as she plastered the sweetest smile on her face she could muster. “Letting me borrow your credit card?” 

Harvey let out a faux-frustrated breath at the same time as he reached into his pocket to retrieve a credit card, holding it out to Charlie and retaining his hold on the card as she clasped her fingers around the plastic. Harvey reached out for the pen he’d taken from her at the beginning of their argument, holding that out to Charlie as well. 

“You better sign the back,” he said, turning the card so the name and credit card number faced up, CHARLOTTE SPECTER written out above the long string of numbers. He had opened this particular line of credit months ago, hoping to help his sister establish some credit before she turned 18, and he’d been holding on to it, some part of him not quite ready to admit that his kid sister was old enough for that type of responsibility, but now seemed just as good of a time as any to give it to her. 

“It’s mine?” Charlie asked.

“It’s yours,” Harvey confirmed, nodding his head. “For reasonable things…and emergencies, not that you’re planning any of those.”

Charlie raced around the table to give her brother a hug as Donna picked up the ringing phone on Harvey’s desk, interrupting the hug to inform them that Charlie’s friends were downstairs pestering security. Charlie thanked her brother again as she rounded up her things and promised to be home at a reasonable hour before passing through the glass door. 

“Looks like Little Chick’s all grown up, Harvey,” Donna said as the door fell shut and Charlie’s image retreated down the hall. “Before you know it, she’ll—”

“Whatever you’re about to say Donna, don’t,” Harvey groaned. He didn’t want to think about what Charlie would be doing before they knew it. He had enough of those unprompted thoughts without Donna’s imagery. 

Donna held up her hands, conceding whatever comment she was about to make and instead gesturing towards the papers he needed to sign. It took him only a few seconds to realize Charlie must’ve taken the pen with her.

Harvey didn’t know where Donna had been holding it, but suddenly a pen appeared between the fingers of her well-manicured hand. He took the pen and signed the documents, watching as Donna returned to her desk. 

They were the two closest women in his life, two of his best friends, and they annoyed the hell out of Harvey, but at the end of the day, he didn’t know what he’d do without Charlie and Donna. 

And he didn’t ever want to find out.

—

Lines to Live By (Suits) Masterlist

#suits usa #suits fanfic #suits fanfiction #harvey specter #donna paulsen #charlie specter #specter!sister #june prompts

[deathbyotpin123]

For the prompts, Eddie and Chrissy having a picnic :D

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.

#eddie munson/chrissy cunningham #june prompts #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham

[ship-ambrosia]

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.

#original post by bree #bree writes #game of thrones fanfiction #theonsa #theon x sansa #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #year of the otp 2023 #june prompts #wedding #love confessions #fix it fic #bree ships things

[cabezadeperro]

#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.

---

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.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #june prompts #maría writes #aaaand. we're done with this batch of prompts lol #i'll probably open prompts again sometime this weekend

[renee-writer]

June Prompts Chapter 27 Letter

AO3

How do I even go about this? How do I tell you all you need to know? All I won’t  be around to tell you? So much is left unspoken despite all the advice I have given you over your life.

 

I can see you reading this, with a chuckle. You are probably recalling all I said to you. All the little pieces of motherly wisdom. Don’t go outside with wet hair. Always carry money for cabs and pay phones. It is easier to tidy as you go. Don’t get fat. All this and so much more I have already said.

 

So, my darling Brianna, let me say this. I love you. You are and shall ever be, the best part of me. I regret nothing I have sacrificed for you and would do it all again.

 

You have his strength and stubbornness. They will serve you well. Be open to love but not a fool. Let no man treat you any less then the magnificent woman you are.

 

My daughter, I will miss you terribly. Don’t grief for me. Picture me alive and ever so happy.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #june prompts #chapter 27 letter #claire's pov #claire and bree #mostly cannon compliant #outlander fandom