A drabble writing community. Write 100 words based on the weekly prompt.
Prompt #1: Sweet
Hello from 100 Words!
This week's prompt is: sweet
Your response should be exactly 100 words long. You do not have to include the prompt in your response -- it is meant as a starting place only.
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I decided to enhance my drabble with a picture, I hope that's okay. It took me longer to draw the picture than to write the text! Anyway, english isn't my first language, so if anyone spots a glaring spelling or grammar mistake, don't hesitate to let me know.
No fandom; these are original characters. Please enjoy this short romantic scene!
The cake shop smells so good; the scent makes the sweets in the displays look even more appetizing.
Nighttime has fallen, and Cinnamon is getting ready to close the store when the chimes announce one last customer. She opens her mouth to protest, but her expression quickly changes to one of warmth as she recognizes Ginger at the door.
"I was in the neighborhood, and I thought of you. Want me to walk you home?"
As they are about to leave, Cinnamon affectionately wraps her arms around Ginger, kisses her cheeks, then her lips. These are still the sweetest treats.
I love the drawing. The words too, but the drawing is adorable.
Thank you so much!
Fandom: Person of Interest
It wasn’t that Shaw actively disliked dressing up. It was the expectations everyone else put on her that made Shaw scowl. If she were in sweats and a hoodie, no one would look twice at what she was eating. But in a little black dress? Heaven forbid she look at anything other than maybe a tiny schmear of something on a bland, stale cracker.
Shaw was there for a job, though, so damn if she was going to let some socialite judge her away from the chocolate fountain. After all, a lady can’t kill someone on an empty stomach, right?
[Content deleted by author]
Thanks! It's very Shaw. ;)
Fandom: Marvel Spoilers: vague for CA: TWS and CA: CW
He doesn't remember taste. He knows, logically, he should. Taste is just a sense, smell plus bumps on the tongue and both of those are in proper working order. He knows that if he picked up a piece of food – dry bread or rich dark chocolate mousse – that he would experience the flavors. But he doesn't remember, doesn't have anything to match to the memory of the food on his plate when his mother told him to settle down and eat, sisters yelling and knocking into one another while he contemplates hiding his vegetables on his sister's plate.
Fandom: Crimson Peak
Spoilers: The whole thing, I suppose
Edward was an easy child, with his mother's fair hair and a sunny disposition to match. As he grew, he collected things: polished stones, bits of verse, wooden toys (but never butterflies, for his mother taught him that it was cruel to pin their wings so).
By the time his mother died (poor butterfly), he had become an accomplished surgeon. The intricacies of the human body consumed him, its delicate constitution his to command.
And if his scalpel sometimes erred, no one thought ill of him.
(Aunt Lucille had long whispered, after all, that life was so easy to break.)
Original, superhumans, not sure how well it even stands alone
Math was staring at her oddly.
Skylight cocked her head slightly in question.
"That was sweet of you," he said slowly, glancing back toward the girl she'd just been working with. "You were gentle with her. A student?"
"Yes." Skylight glanced back as well. "She's not like us. She doesn't know what she's doing or even if she wants to, but she knows she has to learn."
Another young girl saddled with a power she'd never asked for and the ability to hurt the ones she loved without trying.
"She's just a child."
Math and Skylight, they were never children.
they were never children.
That works wonderfully.
Thank you! I'm glad to hear it.
Fandom: Odd Thomas (movie)
Spoilers: mild spoilers for the movie
Las Vegas stretches out before Odd, glittering like no other city can, beckoning with the combined will of dreamers and players, hope and despair.
The despair is what frightens him. Evil has used him. Manipulated him. He had to leave Pico Mundo, because if the unnatural creatures can deceive him then no one he loves is safe.
But if Vegas draws him like a lodestone, then Stormy is his harbor in the upcoming battle. She is the lingering taste of ice cream that makes him shiver even in the desert. She is his home.
Odd is ready for this fight.
Fandom: The Fosters
Pairing: Mike Foster/Ana Gutierrez
(a little over 100 words because I wrote this for a friend)
"She looks so much like you," Mike thought aloud as he continued to rock Bella's carrier seat, eliciting another fit of giggles from the eight-month-old.
Ana smiled, following his gaze down to her ebullient daughter, “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”
“You don’t see it? She’s the spitting image of you- she has your nose, your eyes…”
“Don’t you mean my feet?” Ana teased, recalling the time Mike accidentally pointed to the wrong part of Bella’s sonogram.
“Ha-ha,” he returned sarcastically, “I was being serious.”
“I really appreciated it, you know. You being there that day. I don’t think I ever told you.”
Mike turned to meet her eyes, a hint of a smile forming on his lips as he assured her, “You didn’t have to.”
That is, indeed, so sweet!
Sweet
“Sweet!” she yelled in jubilation.
She did it, after weeks of practicing as goalie she finally was able to grab a ball out of the air. Usually the balls flew too fast, to hard, to imposingly close to her face, for her to actually catch one of these flying projectiles with the confidence that was required. While she could block with her face and arms and legs just as well as any other, the amazing task of actually catching always seemed to allude her. Now here she was ball held high in the air in her own two hand. This moment, right here, right now, it was just
“Sweet.”
Nice use of the prompt! I like the physicality of this.
Just as a reminder, the point of the 100 Words challenge is that your response should be exactly 100 words in length. Thanks!
Sweet: I've been called sweet before. I try to convince them otherwise but I think they may be right about me. For all my scowls and plotting, I'm all talk; I default to thoughtful gestures. Even still I see sweet as weakness, accentuating growls to appear ferocious. The wolf is not sweet. He appears sweet and approchable so I open up to him. His sweet bite is cold, apathetic; his words poetic. He perfected the art of aloof, searving just enough of himself that my imagination can run wild on the rest. Truth is; I am the cookie, he, the rasins.