Leave a “Get Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about my character saving yours.

Cora looked like she was shrinking. Conversations about Freddie had to be common, she could see the way that the girl had begun to build up a shell to protect herself from the unintentional damage that curiosity towards her cousin had begun to inflict. Today felt different, the crowd was far too insistent, their words peppered closer to assault than they did condolences. Sylvianne had done her part, watching from a distance. She’d seen how Cora’s jaw began to tighten, clenched hard around words that she imagined she’d like to spit back.

She could only imagine the lashing that the other girl’s pride would give her, but as another moment passed, she found herself stepping in. Her long stride made crossing the courtyard take up three paces, her narrow body angled between-- putting her in a position that she had promised she’d never be in, growing closer to Cora Wells. 

“I think that’s enough, don’t you?” Her voice was commanding, it settled over the crowd with ease-- those who looked up at her revered it. Sylvianne’s face wasn’t one that was easily forgotten on this campus. An apology fell from the lips of the most earnest of tormentors and they slunk away like shadows under the glow of a bright light. 

Dark eyes turned to large green ones, studying them. She wouldn’t insult her by asking if she was alright, she would be, girls like Cora always were. Instead, she brushed off the scenario completely, as if nothing had happened.

Leave a “Fight Me” for my character fighting with/or against yours.

“You wouldn’t get so defensive if you didn’t know you were wrong, Cora.” Clement’s voice was light and sweet; the argument he’d sparked was delighting him. A wide, toothy grin was spread across his face and all of his body language screamed delight.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.” Cora tried to keep her voice level, it wobbling just a tiny amount. Her shoulders were tense, and it wasn’t from the cold.

The shit-eating grin on Clement’s face seemed to grow wider, and he didn’t even bother to try to hide it in the puff of the emerald scarf wrapped delicately around his neck. “Do I?” He raised his eyebrows without his smile faltering, before dropping it to a closed-mouth smile and shaking his head. “You’re hopeless, don’t you know that? You don’t see what you should be seeing — only what you want to see.”

“Wow, it’s almost like making comments about my dead family member elicits an emotional response.” She glared at Clement. “You’re just a fucking asshole.”

“Nah,” Clement shrugged. “I’m not, I just know things.”

“About Fred?” Her clear eyes locked with Clement’s dark ones. Almost as if she were trying to appeal to his humanity.

Leave a “Tell Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours.