Here you go! Good luck!

1.

“Well, this is new.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m pretty sure this is the only time I’ve ever been bored on a mission with you.”

“I’m boring?”

Nat’s voice isn’t quite harsh nor quite teasing, floating within the ambiguous space between curiosity and displeasure.

“No, not you. The - never mind.”

Clint sighs. Natasha’s lips just barely crease into a smile, one so small that perhaps only Clint himself would be able to tell that it was one at all.

“I just thought spying on socialites might be more exciting than spending...however long we’ve been in this god-awful goddamn club,” he explains with no conceivable purpose other than to distract himself with his own voice.

“God-awful goddamn?”

“Don’t judge me, Nat.”

“Oh, it’s long since too late for that.”


2.

His fingers drumming out a nonsensical pattern on his jeans, Stiles approached the abandoned railway car that Derek called home. What was the worst thing that could happen? Derek turning him down? Been there, done that with Lydia Martin for years. He’d feel like sinking into the ground, but he’d live.

Derek was leaning against the metal frame when he came in, clad in his customary leather jacket ensemble, and he didn’t look surprised to see Stiles. Annoyed, yes; potentially murderous, maybe, but not surprised. Stupid werewolf hearing and stupidly attractive werewolves.

“Hi, Derek.”

Derek gave a slow blink, like he didn’t quite understand what was going on. At least he no longer looked like he wanted to rip Stiles’ throat out with his teeth. Or slam Stiles into a wall.

Here you go! Good luck!!

Page 32:
Jacob woke to a middle of the night, self-help type infomercial. He didn’t remember falling asleep but considering the TV was on, obviously he had. The self-professed expert was touting the benefits of letting go of all the wrongs done against you saying it would make for a happier, healthier you.

He clicked off the TV and chucked the remote to the side. The trouble was as he tried to go back to sleep the words kept haunting him. He knew he needed to let go of the hurt and finally forgive Cassandra, especially considering how much he liked her.


Page 12:

Blair angrily flings her phone across her room, barely taking the time to swing around to shove her door shut before collapsing down at the seat of her vanity. She sighs shakily, haunted by the image of her with mascara streaked down her face.

How dare that bitch!

She rattles with what she’d like to think is anger, but she regrettably knows that some of it is fear.

First her father, now her, and Gossip Girl would reap the spoils of the Waldorf’s secrets as usual...except that nothing is at all usual about being a Queen Bee tripping over your goddamned heels for a princess half as rotten as you are, right?

Of course! Here you go, and good luck!

Page 13:
Matt has never really been bothered by the sight of blood. He finds it rather fascinating, actually – the texture, the smell, the changing colour depending on the depth of the wound. He supposes it was a matter of necessity – as a gangly pre-teen he was more than accident prone, and for a while scraped knees and elbows were the rule rather than the exception. Also cuts and bruises. And then there was the concussion. By the year he turned twelve he had been taken to emergency so many times that the ER docs just starting calling him "That Kid" – as in 'That Kid's back again' or 'What has That Kid done this time?'

And of course there was the spectacular wipeout over his handlebars that resulted in the tiny scar between his eyes, a bone sticking rather crookedly out of his forearm, a sheet of blood covering most of his right side, and a whole lot of weeping and wailing from his mother in the waiting room. He still cringes at the memory.



Page 44:

The flowers felt trite in his hands as he stood in front of the grave. When he’d gotten through customs with his fake passport, flowers had seemed right, fitting. Arthur shrugged and placed the bow tied irises and statice on front of the headstone. The card still felt right, regardless. He stepped back and thought about his memories of the man now dead.

It wasn’t five minutes later that his quiet reverie was interrupted.

“Darling, you arrived on the passport I made you. I’m flattered.” Eames stepped around Arthur. He squatted down, reaching forward to trace Miles’ name on the stone. “You knew I’d follow you.”

Thank you! I was trying to think of something that hadn't been done.

And here you go! Good luck!

Page 47:

It started out as a game, something to make Kensi smile at the end of a long day. Nate would scribble a note on a piece of paper, nothing salacious, nothing improper, just some observation about the day, something Deeks or Eric had said, something that had happened on the case. He'd fold it up, hide it somewhere on her desk and then she would have to search for it - search being the operative word, because sometimes even she couldn't find anything amidst the clutter on her desk.

She enjoyed the search though, and it always had the desired effect of making her smile. Then she would look up towards the stairs, see Nate standing there at his little perch, the spot that not coincidentally gave him the best view of her desk. She would smile at him and he would smile back and she would thank her lucky stars that no-one had noticed, or that if they had, they weren't saying.

But today there were no notes.

Here you go, bb! Good luck!

Page 16
He felt good. He felt damn good. The crappy mid-century modern (although Dean would deny he knew what the term meant) themed motel room had housed a surprisingly comfortable bed. He’d had a great night’s sleep.

He’d also had a damn good time testing out the bed springs, left him feeling tired in all the right places. Then he’d woken up spooning Cas. And Cas… he’d been damn good too.

Dean threw his bag in the car, started the engine, but kept the tape player turned off until he hit the highway. It wasn’t a song for in town traffic. Once he hit the open road with open windows, he turned the knob, let the opening guitar riff wash over him, nice and loud.

He felt damn good.



Page 30
"I watched them all, your friends gather around to let you go, to say goodbye but I refused." Spike closed his eyes against the fresh wave of remembered pain before he opened them and stared into her eyes. "I don't know how they had the strength to do it because I... They all said I should but what they thought didn't matter I couldn't say goodbye to you."

"Why not?" Buffy held her breath.

"Because if I'd said goodbye it would mean you were really gone and the thought of living without you was too hard for me to bear."


Page 86
Natasha had very little in her freezer. Mostly just several kinds of vodka.

Clint pulled out a bottle that was pinkish orange, not the normal color of the vodkas she kept. "What is this?"

"Give it to me," she demanded grabbing the bottle out of his hand before he could even get a look at the label.

"What was it?"

"Vodka."

"It was pink."

"It has blood orange liqueur in it."

"You don't drink flavored vodkas."

"I drink this."

Clint grabbed the bottle letting out a satisfied, "Ah ha!" Looking at the label, he raised his eyebrow and questioned? "Kinky?"

Leeeeeesa!!!!! Oh my gosh, I saw your name pop up in my notifs and I totally squeed! Welcome!!!! I'm so excited you're here!

And you can totally have prompts now. Here they are (and good luck!):

Page 1
It’s the middle of the day when Charlotte’s car decides to give up on her for no apparent reason. The sun is burning high in the sky, its heat almost blistering. Just her luck.

She has what she needs to generate some steam to get it up and running again, but when she tries, apparently there’s something more wrong with it than just a lack of fuel.

For this, she’s got to call the breakdown services.

“You want this transported back home, or you gonna get it sorted out nearby?” she’s asked after the car’s been examined for a bit.

Charlotte can hear her dad’s voice in her head, telling her to spend the big bucks and get the car home instead of just being stingy – it’s her car, after all – but honestly, whatever. The nearest place will do.




Page 104
“None of them start a fire?” Bruce was incredulous. Naked, wet, cold and incredulous.

“NO!” Hawkeye answered, not for the first time. “You want me to blow up half the island and start a fire that way?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes and growled.

“Hey, buddy! You’re not walking around with a lighter either.”

“I would need pants for that!”

Hawkeye kept prying with shaking fingers at the bottom of his quiver. “Why would you bring us all the way to Lake Champlain? And stop near an island rather than on one? I mean, I appreciate you pulling me out of the way of that tank, but the corner of 5th would have been far enough.”

Thank you! And here you go. Good luck!

Page 16
A sigh of longing swept through Hook as he stood silently watching Belle sprinkle the tracking potion onto the cloak. She wasn’t doing it for money but simply to help someone. That said a lot about her. He couldn’t help but wonder how she could be in love with Rumplestiltskin. She was all that was good and kind in the world and Rumple was... well not. It didn’t make any sense to him.

If she were mine... Hook shook his head to quickly dislodge that thought before it could take root. Belle wasn’t his, there was no point in him longing for what could never be.


Page 49
Cas held him, the unconscious form that was Dean.

Dean had been heedless. Bent on his purpose. His drive all-or-nothing. And Dean could never manage nothing.

Carding fingers through hair layered in grime and blood, Cas acknowledged that he hadn’t warned Dean as others thought he should. Beware of lurkers, shufflers and leaders hadn’t been uttered.

He smiled and willed more sedation into Dean’s body before the man woke to the pain. Pain Cas wouldn’t be able to ease. He’d known better than to mention caution. Dean ran pell-mell with a plan.

Beware of Darkness? No, darkness should beware Dean.



Page 103
Danny’s eyes were closed, his head resting against Steve’s shoulder. From the neck up he looked sedate, replete (the way he should as Steve made an effort of wearing him out); from the neck down he looked agitated, arms flailing to make his point.

“You just don’t get the romance of it. They were beautiful pieces of craftsmanship. Luxury on the go in a way you won’t find in an Italian sports car. You have The Bus here, nice go with the originality of that name. It just can’t compare to a Pullman.”

Steve smiled and soaked in the rant.

Here you go! Good luck!

Page 16
Rushing through the entrance of the emergency room, John was met with a cacophony that was Beacon Hills Hospital on a weekend in the summer. Locals waiting to be seen for various injuries as well as the influx of tourist who were in town for the annual roping and bull riding competition and wanted to try their hand at being a big shot cowboy – for a few seconds at least.

John peeked in a couple of rooms searching for his son before he heard his familiar voice and followed it to a triage area that had a curtain surrounding it for some illusion of privacy.

“I'm fine, Derek,” Stiles insisted. “The horse didn't get me too badly.”



Page 30
“You love me girl,” Trip said flashing a rather teasing grin on his face, “I know those puppy dog eyes.”

“I don’t!” Skye said biting her lip trying deny the truth. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him...it was just that….after falling for Miles and Ward she was going to fall into same bad luck she had when it came to love.

But Trip wasn’t them...was he? He was much different.

The person she was looking for all along.

“Fuck it,” Skye said.

Before Trip could answer took his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely.




Page 32
Connor felt like he was being torn from the inside out.

It was unfair. They finally worked things out. Oliver became the only person in the universe that kept Connor standing on his feet...and now he had to risk losing him to fucking HIV. His chest was on fire...body was shaking.

But when Connor looked a prone Oliver it clicked. It wasn’t about him. He pulled Oliver close holding him tight. Connor was not going to let this disease tear them apart.

And he was going to prove that by loving Oliver to the ends of the earth

Here you go! Good luck!

Page 16

“Holy. Shit,” Pepper declares, and now he knows it’s bad.

Well, he’d known it was bad before, but there was a certain level of badness required to bring Pepper to cursing.

“You know, when Friday said you hadn’t left the kitchen because your little experiment hadn’t gone as planned, this was not what I pictured,” she says, and Tony considers trying to muster a glare from where he’s gingerly sitting at the table, but decides against it.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a little experiment, Pepper,” he grumbles. It sounds like a whine, and he grimaces, but come on, he’s already covered in flour and sugar, and it’s Pepper, for fuck's sake - there wasn’t dignity to protect, was there?

“I know, I know,” she sighs.



Page 23
“We have flags,” Helena reports, coming over with an army of pride flags cradled in her arms, and a ball cap clapped atop her wild hair, emblazoned with a rainbow-filled lightbulb and the words ‘turn me on’.

Oh, Helena.

Sarah pulls the pair into a hug, and feels their differences acutely. Alison, so…for lack of better words, fucked up, yet donning a pristine ponytail, floral button-up, and an appropriately placed Pride pin. Helena, so mental even her hair couldn’t calm down, so easily capable of terrible things, but that gentle smile creeping across her lips, displaying the doting caregiver underneath.

Sarah wonders if she's the only one who notices their linked hands as the parade kicks off.



Page 42
It is tight, but not like an embrace. There is just enough to get done what need to get done, you don’t have two cents to spare. Thing that you can manage to be threadbare about you will hang on to, patching and mending until the fabric gives out. The necessities are covered, and while there are no frivolities you aren’t that concerned about that. The fear grips you tighter than the small funding itself is the knowledge that something big will give soon. The car, a tax, an illness. With a deep breath you just hold on tighter.

Hold on with both hands as tight as you can.

Here you go! Good luck!

Page 13
“Il n'y a pas de problème, chérie.”

Fleur's hot tea and warm remark are as much warmth as Delphine’s had recently, and even the awkward and grumpy goblin reading the paper in the corner of the room cannot unsettle her.

“Merci beaucoup, Fleur,” she sighs softly, and closes her eyes to breathe in the scent of the butternut squash bisque as it begins to fill the room. She’s grown able to ignore the oddity of the fact that the wooden spoon is charmed to stir on its own, and instead rifles through her bag for the crepe recipe she’s brought.


Page 66
The young man was nervous about something, finding his words with some trepidation. Danny sensed a familiarity about him and began to feel a prickle on the back of his neck the longer he took him in. Age him thirty years and he'd look like -.

"Nobody knows I'm here," Nathan admitted quietly, wringing his hands and there's a small nuance, his tongue licking over his lower lip quickly with nervousness that makes Danny reel it's so familiar. "It's taken me a few weeks to build up the courage to come here."

Danny wasn't sure what to say or do, or if he's even correct in his thinking but instinctively he knows.



Page 104

Sometimes it’s just … simply enjoyable to listen to him. The comfort of his voice, when he’s not agitated; explaining things, deconstructing things, singing. It’s comforting. It’s a comfort to listen to his mind work, seemingly tangential, then suddenly pulled together to make his point. Even when he’s only making his point to the two of us. He rhapsodizes about the most irrelevant things, but it’s that irrelevance, that tangent, that makes it all click. And it’s a joy to watch that happen. Watch the smile overtake his entire face, his whole body, when his thoughts on shortbread change science forever.

Here you go! Good luck!

Page 6
The car pulls away and though he strains to keep it in view, the taillights soon fade from sight. Belle is gone, and though it was he who urged her to leave he does not expect the pain of it to be this monstrous, this all-encompassing. The silence of the deserted shop presses in on him as he turns from the door, and the weight of it makes him stumble. Rumplestiltskin wishes that he could blame the misstep on his old injury, but the pirate's magic holds. He is merely weak, old, frail. A shell in the shape of a man.


Page 21
“We’re married now,” Kuroko said.

Aomine spat out his drink.

His spluttering caught the attention of the rest of the Generation of Miracles, who came over to see what was going on.

Patiently, Kuroko repeated over the sounds of Aomine choking to death on the floor, “Kagami-kun and I are married now.”

There was a pause as everyone present tried to parse that.

“What.” Akashi pronounced the two syllables without inflection, like a decree rather than a question. For once, no one present reminded him to tone down on the emperor-like attitude, which still occasionally popped up during periods of stress, and had earned Akashi the nickname of The Crocodile when exams had rolled around. “How.”


Page 28
What annoyed Maria about this new, exciting life of hers was that it was such a misnomer.

Pirates stole things, and they never stole anything. They fucking helped others, and didn’t even have a ship.

(Spaceships didn’t count.)

Not that she wanted to steal, she just…wasn’t comfortable in limbo. Sure, Maria probably shouldn’t have come to space hoping for stability, but she and Pepper were speeding around time and space with an alien in her police-box-shaped spaceship. Logic could kindly fuck off.

And hey, she’d gotten some wicked outfits and adventures out of this.

And a lot of sex.

Here you go! Good luck!

Page 72
It was not a well known fact, but Phil was quite good with make-up. Not the Sweetie, that is the WRONG blush for your skin tone,but more OH MY GOD! There’s an alien coming out of your chest! Fury had put the skill to good use on more than one ocassion.

When Clint suggested that they get the dog a Yankees jersey to answer the door on Halloween, Phil seemed to think about it for a moment, then shook his head and started drawing. Clint wasn’t surprised at being shot down.


Page 41
When Frank entered the archives, he knew right away that he was interrupting something. The Mills sisters were standing close to one another, looking at him with a look he hadn't seen since he caught an eight year old Macey trying to open her presents under the Christmas tree on December 23rd. Crane was at the other end of the room, staring at a manuscript with a face like thunder.
Jenny was the first one to recover. "Oh hi," she said brightly. "We were just speaking very poorly about you."
There was a retort that came immediately to mind but the snort that came from Crane's corner rendered it obsolete. "Poorly," he muttered, clearly audible, "is not the word I would have chosen."



Page 44

Phil made a small smile. She was right. Yes she did lie to him by hiding this, but he was hanging on by a thread. Any moment now he could unravel at the seams. Melinda was the only thing keeping him together. He didn’t want to lose that over something she had the decency to admit to him what she had been doing behind his back.
“You did the right thing Melinda,” Phil said. His hand slid to rest on her own for comfort, his fingers gently moving over the skin unconsciously “you had your orders, you had to do what Director Fury told you to do.”

Here you go! Good luck!

Page 40
Acceptable Risk. They’re the two words Steve uses that Danny hates most.

With the most passion, fury, pissed off, uncontrollable anger. Because anyone else on the planet uses those words and they mean until you cross the line, and suddenly all bets and attempts are off. But not Steve. No. Not his idiot partner. His idiot boss. His idiot boyfriend.

Who is laying in traction in a hospital bed. Acceptable Risk to Steve is the victim survived, or the bastard went down.

Acceptable Risk to Steve is giving every breath, every heartbeat even if they might be the last ones.

Well, they aren't supposed to be remixes of anyone's work. The idea is simply to just use it for inspiration. I would expect the new ones to be completely different fandoms/characters/plots, etc. I just thought it would be nice to use the words of each other as inspiration in the way art or movies or quotes or song lyrics can be an inspiration to write/draw your own thing. Something to spark an idea of your own, not something to copy or remix.

(Though, fwiw, I have been taking mostly snippets of works from people who have commented here on this post, so I would assume that means they are okay with it, and if someone is not okay with it, they can let me know and I won't use them.)

But here are yours! Good luck!

Page 55
As she put on the finishing touches to her makeup for the premiere of “Funny Girl” ,in a role she sought years to achieve, her eyes gazed over at the picture of herself and Finn that was taped to the side of mirror. It was one of the last photo's taken together before he left this world. They stood on the bridge in central park. Time froze them in an eternally locked gaze. It was one of the happiest moments of her life.....if only she knew life would go downhill from here.

“You know I hate you right?” She whispered, “you should be here you know. Not leaving me this heart broken bitch on what's supposed to be the best nights of my life!”



Page 85

There had been a photo up of Bruce and Betty since Bruce had moved in. It was cute, and they were laughing. It didn’t really bother Clint, she was firmly in Bruce’s past. He was even a little grateful to her. Betty had helped to make Bruce the man he was. The man Clint was in love with. That photo was now moved, to the left and slightly to the back. As though reinforcing the relationship, the moment that was snapped, was in the past.

Now there was another photo, larger frame, further front. It was him and Bruce. HIM! It felt anxiety inducing and wonderful all at once.

Here you go! Good luck!

Page 12
Belle can't see the road for her tears.

Behind her, she can still hear Rumple shuffling on the pavement, unable to rise. Still hear him murmuring her name. His voice is a whisper in the trees after a storm, ragged and torn. He is broken in more ways than one, and much as she knows that he played a part in the tragedy that their lives have become, ultimately it is her fault that he is now alone. Hurt. Banished.

She forces herself to continue walking, one lurching step after another. She grips the dagger painfully in her right hand, feels it dragging in the folds of her skirt. It whispers, too. Tells her of the power it holds, of the way to make this right.



Page 24
“What’s that?” Buffy pointed to the piece of fabric he held tightly in his hand.

A wicked grin began to spread slowly across his face as he walked... no he didn’t walk towards her he stalked her like a leopard hunting its prey.

It was all she could do not to take a step back. But this was Giles, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he would never hurt her.

“Do you trust me?”

“I... uh...”

“It’s a simple question, Buffy. Do you trust me?”

She swallowed hard as she nodded her head.



Page 36
Since being on the ground, it’s not the first time she’s almost died, but it feels like the closest. The closest she’s been to death, to dying herself, to killing someone else. She feels a gratitude to Bellamy, but now she feels as if she knows a little bit about the boy whom she’s been fighting with since they landed. She thought Bellamy was heartless, cold, only wanted to rule their people to create an empire for himself. But she was wrong. Bellamy had feelings, he knew not everything he was doing was ethical, he wanted to change. It gave her hope for the future, hope that they could work together.