everything is temporary

…

"Draco Malfoy," the guard's voice said, cutting through the silence of the cell unapologetically, his voice a harsh echo. "Your sentence is done. Come with me now."

The words didn't register at first, but when they did, his body reacted automatically. His joints creaked as he pushed himself up from the makeshift bed on the floor and even that simple movement made his vision go blurry.

The guard seemed to notice, because his face softened just a fraction. "We're taking you to Saint Mungo's Hospital now, as soon as we're outside the prison's wards. You're going to live, Mr. Malfoy."

Live — an awful, taunting word. What is life outside of his four cell walls when he hasn't seen the sun in two years? What is life when he grew up in a war zone and made all the wrong choices?

He didn't respond and the guard seemed thankful for it, if the way he slowed down his pace to let Draco wobble along was anything to judge on. Draco stumbled through the halls, avoiding eye contact. Around him, prisoners screamed their sorrows, voice ragged and Draco tried to conjure up his familiar sneer, but instead just ended up coughing.

The sun blinded his eyes as soon as he saw it, and the crashing waves outside sounded like the beginning notes of a death march. Draco fell to his knees, breathed in the salty air, and promptly hurled the remains of his empty stomach into the water.

…

At first, he's numb. Saint Mungo's was exactly how he remembers it — stinking of the smell of death and an attempt to mask it all with disinfectant.

"We have to take you through the back doors," his guard said, mouth curved into a frown. "The news of your release was all over the Daily Prophet, and there are a lot of angry mobs out there wanting your head, Mr. Malfoy. Would've been more, had Harry Potter not spoken at your trial and now again. You got damn lucky."

Draco wanted to laugh at that. The guard had no idea what luck was if he thought having Potter's pity support was considered luck. The only reason Potter had supported them was because his own mother had lied to Voldemort and because Draco himself had lied to his aunt. It wasn't kindness, just a return of a favour much too big to be settled so easily.

He still remembered the trial — the Wizengamot members in their robes, rows, and rows of empty seats and an atmosphere that screamed for his execution. They had been vicious, hungry for his head in a way nobody had been since Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been.

Draco rubbed his arm absentmindedly, wincing at the way the Dark Mark still covered the inside surface of his wrist. "Is there a way to remove it?" he asked, and the guard jumped, surprised at hearing his sore voice after the silence he had upheld during their time together.

"I'm not sure," the guard said with a shrug. "It's not like removing Dark Marks was anyone's priority after the war. Maybe someone knows how? Just ask your healer, maybe they can help."

Ask his healer, Draco repeated mockingly in his head as his guard lead him up the winding hallways and into a small room. "Wait here," he said, and Draco leaned into the hospital bed, eyes widening at how soft it was in comparison to the pain he had endured the past few years.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the silence until the door's creak had him shooting up, empty hands pointed up as if he still had a wand.

In front of him, a girl with thick, shoulder length, black hair was standing with one hand on her hip, cloaked in hospital scrubs. Her eyes were so dark they seemed to be a void. Draco sucked in a shaky breath as he dealt with the contrast to his memories and the reality in front of him.

"Pansy?" he said, and promptly passed out.

…

When he awoke, it was no longer the morning weather he had seen earlier. Outside the room's window, the sun was slowly setting. There was a weight on the bottom of his bed that hadn't been there before and when he fully opened his eyes, wincing, Pansy was sitting there, fiddling with her painted nails.

"You know, a lot of people are shocked to see me on a daily basis, but few of them end up passing out simply at the sight of me. Seems like a waste of perfectly good time, ya know what I mean, Draco?"

Draco merely gaped at her. "Pansy… you're really here? You're real?"

Pansy rolled her eyes at him, reaching over and offering the palm of her hand. Draco grabbed it and squeezed as if it was a lifeline. "I know you were like, in prison and everything, so I'm going to let your reaction slide. Yes, I'm here, currently alive. It may be surprising to you, but I even have a career now. I'm a Healer, crazy as that sounds — my potions knowledge finally was useful for something. Of course, it's also because they were desperate after the war — no other place would hire the girl who doomed the world."

Draco sighed, shaking his head. The motion was painful but Pansy grinned at him and he finally noticed the scratches and bruises covering most of her body. "Is that what they're calling you, Pansy?"

"They can call me whatever they like," Pansy said with a snort. "I'm not going to lie about what I am. I'm a snake, and a traitor, and a bad person and come hell or high heaven, I carved out a place for myself in this world. They don't get to judge me for my methods."

"Even if they hurt you physically?" Draco trailed his fingers along the bruising and Pansy let him, closing her eyes.

When she reopened them, the smile on her face was humourless and cold, transforming her into a monster, but Draco wasn't scared. His monsters hadn't any need to live under his bed — they had taken over his house instead. Pansy might be scary to someone who hadn't known her their whole lives, but he had watched her lose her mind and her heart, transforming from the pink-wearing Pureblood princess to the all-black nightmare everyone remembered her for.

"The man who did it worked as my post-war monitor," she said, voice equally as pleasant as the feeling of waking up screaming. "Granger got so worked up when she saw it, but nothing happened despite her concern. Lack of evidence, I think was the officially cited reason. After that, she wrote me a recommendation and got me a job. Her apology, despite everything I did. I never hide the bruises, as a thank you to her. Granger knows all about scars, from what I recall."

"I don't have any bruises," Draco said quietly. Pansy didn't react to the change of topic in any way other than a raise of her eyebrows. "But I was always cold. In Azkaban, they got rid of the Dementors, but they couldn't get rid of the cold and the nightmares. Saint Mungo's had death in the air, but Azkaban was a fate worse than it. My father died a year into it — he was older and weakened after the war."

As they talked, the sun had set, plunging the room into mostly darkness. It was comforting, in a twisted way — the sun still scared him, a foreign object after so long without it.

"I have your wand. Your guard gave it to me, though he didn't seem to happy about it. I know you couldn't stay warm or happy without magic in Azkaban, but you can now," Pansy said, and Draco cracked a ghost of a smile. Pansy's way of moving from topic to topic was more familiar than anything else in the world. He had missed his friend, no matter how much the war and world had broke them.

Draco shrugged back at her. "With what? Lumos? It's been a little too long overdue."

"You're an asshole," Pansy told him bluntly, pressing a feather-light kiss to his temple. "With a patronus, of course, you absolute Class-A prat."

"That'd be a great idea, if I knew how to do one," Draco countered, feeling a little more alive as a hint of haughtiness leaked into his voice. "But I'm barely holding on after Azkaban — if I couldn't even do it then, for Merlin's sake, how could I do it now?"

"I'm surprised you couldn't do it, considering your boner for Potter. I thought you'd learn as a form of worship."

Draco wanted to glare, but his previous motions had taken the energy out of him and he relaxed even more into the bed, letting his facial expressions do the talking for him. "I never had a boner for Potter."

"You're right," Pansy said, and Draco waited impatiently for the ball to drop. The day Pansy agreed with him so easily was the day he stole a time-turner and went back to join Dumbledore's army himself. "You just wanted to be him, darling. Don't bother saying no, I won't believe you and you'll get a headache from arguing with reality."

Draco believed her from personal experience. "I'm hungry. If you're a Healer, aren't you supposed to do something about how fucked up I feel?"

"Do what, exactly? I can't magic the Dark Mark from your arm. You're tired, not sick. I can get you food, but your stomach won't be able to hold any of it and you'll end up vomiting out your organs like an absolute fool in the middle of your bed, leading you to lie in a pool of your own vomit as I laugh myself into a coma."

"You're an absolutely terrible Healer," Draco told her and was rewarded by a mocking, derisive laugh. "Give me food anyways. Something good, please. I want to know that there's food. In Azkaban — well, they couldn't legally starve me but they did their damn best."

Pansy made a face that Draco recognized from a lifetime of boasting their superiority over everyone. Before, it would have been followed by a comment sharp enough to kill. Now, it seemed fitting in a way nothing about Pansy had ever seemed before. "Ew. Can't change that, but want pizza? It's good enough to perhaps make everything but being stuck in prison feel worth it."

"What's pizza?" Draco frowned, turning the unfamiliar word over and over in his head. Perhaps it was a new invention, something rare that even he had never been exposed to.

"One of the few Muggle things that this hospital has introduced me to, luckily. It's no imported French delicacy, but it's the best food after you've drunk enough firewhiskey to kill a giant and passed out in your mother's petunias."

Ignoring how overly specific Pansy's decision sounded, Draco cocked his head to the side, considering it. His prejudice against Muggles and their inventions hadn't lead to anything good, but was Muggle good really worth risking his health over? He had just gotten out of hell, after all.

"I wouldn't suppose you could get me oysters?" Draco tried in a last-minute attempt at preserving his sanity, ignoring the way his stomach rumbled in a desperate and painful way. Two years of a dusty cell and losing his mind had taken a toll on him.

Pansy smirked. "Oysters are considered an aphrodisiac, Malfoy."

"Good for me," Draco shot back, ignoring her comment with a small eye roll. Why did it matter what oysters were? He hasn't had a proper meal in two years, damn the effects it would have on him.

Patting him on the cheek the way you would do to a small child, Pansy walked over to the door. "I'm going to get us food. Usually, I'd get someone to get it while I supervised you, but I wouldn't trust anyone in this hospital to not poison both of us and spit in our food. Try not to dig a bigger hole for yourself, darling. You're in too deep already."

With Pansy gone, the room felt small and empty. Outside, the world was immersed in darkness. On impulse, Draco cocooned himself deeper into the hospital's blankets, trying not to shiver. Pansy had distracted him from his pain and coldness — Draco didn't believe her in the slightest when she said she hadn't cast any magic on him: Pansy was the sneakiest person he knew.

It had started snowing outside. Snowflakes fell with a reckless abandon, coating the windows with a snowy coat. His mother had always loved winter, despite his father's preference for summer. Every winter, they had coated themselves in a layer of fur coats and heating spells before sitting on a balcony and seeing the world turn into a winter paradise.

Tears coated his cheeks — he hadn't even noticed when the memories had reduced him to tears. His mother was a shell of herself, stuck on house arrest for the rest of her life. He had been lucky to get two years of prison and freedom after, but she would never step foot outside the manor again. It was the cruelest punishment of them all.

"I leave for a minute and you're already weeping like a homesick eleven-year-old girl," Pansy said, shaking her head. "What happened?"

"I miss my mother," Draco confessed. Pansy reared back like she had been shot, before placing her hand on his shoulders, eyes fierce.

"I visited your mother while you were in Azkaban. It took me almost two years, but she was so excited to see you, Draco. Listen to me. She has no regrets. I really thought you could save her—"

"So did I," Draco interrupted bitterly.

Pansy glared at him, digging her fingers deeper into his shoulders. "You didn't let me finish. I really thought you could save her and you did. By holding on and surviving her, you gave her a reason to continue. I'm not too fond of giving you compliments, so don't get used to it, but you were a boy in a bad situation and you handled it. I respect you for that."

Draco tore his eyes away from her passionate expression, clutching the corner of his blankets with a desperation he hadn't felt since his Hogwarts days, ignoring the way the movement chafed at his sleeves. In Azkaban, desperation had given way to numbness too quickly for him and now he was showing the effects of that wear.

"Have you ever thought about it? We went too far. Now there's no way back," Draco whispered, dragging his eyes back up to meet Pansy's curious expression. "I thought we were being loyal but in reality, we were cowards."

Pansy stared at him. Draco frowned, waiting for her eventual reaction, whether it would be a giant blow up or an uncomfortable type of frosty hatred. "What do you expect me to tell you, Draco? You have peace when you make it with yourself. You know me too well — I'm just like you. We've always been too much, too extra. Now it's our time, we paid our price. I buried my demons. You need to do the same."

As he watched, helpless in his inner turmoil, Pansy moved a vase off the counter and placed a wrapped bag on it before tossing an identical one at him. "Eat. I need your stomach to be filled before I can take your vials again."

Draco unwrapped the bag gingerly and promptly dropped it as soon as he felt a coating of a something slippery on his fingertips.

"What is this filth?" He scowled, grabbing the edges gingerly and tossing it back at Pansy, who grabbed and tossed it back with a proficiency he didn't remember. She had changed and it hurt, but it also made him a little thankful. The old Pansy Parkinson would have broken herself against the world, but this version of her seemed content with making it bow to her whims.

Pansy didn't answer him, but took an exaggerated bite of her own food. Draco watched suspiciously as the triangular food was bitten and Pansy let out a sound of pure delight.

With a deep breath, Draco braced himself and took a bite. The pizza was hot but not hot enough to burn, and it tasted like cheese and tomato, a combination he had never been fond of till now.

"Ready to admit you were a coward before?" Pansy asked suddenly, startling Draco out of his thoughts. She grinned at him, always too sharp — that didn't change — and Draco nodded in defeat. He was past the age where he needed to be right even when he was so wrong it was dangerous.

"The pizza is… acceptable," he said stiffly, and Pansy rolled her eyes at him, swiping at his forehead in an exaggerated motion. He didn't duck fast enough to avoid any blow, but her hands merely stroked his tangled hair, soft against his dry and broken skin.

"I'm going to take your vitals again. Stay still and don't make any rash movements unless they involve you falling asleep and me having some peace. Okay, Malfoy? I won't put up with your bullshit, we aren't at Hogwarts anymore."

When he didn't protest, Pansy began casting. His body became surrounded by light and he watched as she grabbed a clipboard he swore wasn't there before and scribbled something on it. As soon as she did, the words disappeared. The room was glowing with magic and Pansy seemed to bloom, her edges softer and smile content. He had never seen her like this before and that thought was jarring, because they had been best friends for his entire life and he had seen her as a spoiled child, a rotten teenager — but a content adult had never been on the schedule. The world had always spun too quickly for Pansy Parkinson to be truly happy.

"Pansy," he blurt out, voice hoarse and squeaky, but his words seem to do the trick because her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Is it true that you can produce a Patronus? Or were you just saying that to make me… to surprise me? Because if you can, please — "

Draco broke off uncomfortably, ducking his head. He would never say and Pansy would never ask it of him — and that's why they had been best friends, two kids so absorbed with the beauty of a dangerous facade that they never thought of what it would turn them into — but if she, a girl who was ready to turn the wizarding world's saviour over to the Dark Lord, could make a Patronus, then he stood a chance. If Pansy could, maybe he could make something of his soul that wasn't maggots.

"It takes concentration," Pansy warned, her voice steady but her eyes were slits, searching him and coming up empty. "You aren't ready. For Merlin's sake, Draco, you got out of Azkaban less than twenty-four hours ago and the only time you slept was when you fainted at the sight of me. The only damn thing you ate was pizza from the hospital's cafeteria. What kind of a Healer would I be if I taught you in this condition?"

"You're more than a Healer." Draco tried to pour all his remaining hope and pure want into his words, ignoring the exhaustion in his body. "You were — are — my best friend and I need to do this. I want something that makes the darkness go away."

The silence seemed like a threat as it stretched on. Draco stared at the ceiling tiles — white and bland like everything else in the hospital — and for the first time in his life since the war, prayed to anyone who was listening, who could save him.

"People say you need to think of your happiest moment," Pansy concurred finally. Draco didn't dare breath for the fear of changing her mind, merely clutching at his blankets and watching Pansy scowl. "They're lying. When I first had to learn to make one for Healer training — they didn't exactly have anything else to communicate with lying around after a war — I could barely get myself out of bed without abusing Firewhiskey. I made my first Patronus with the fear of losing everyone I loved and the second time I made one, I channeled how much I wanted to kill myself into it. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. I learned how to save lives here, and then I used that. But whatever you use, it has to be real. It has to be enough to destroy you."

Love doesn't destroy, Draco wanted to say, but he knew it was a lie. Love was the most dangerous weapon of all, it had always been. Love ate away at hearts like acid and then poisoned everything left.

Expecto Patronum, Draco thought blankly. What memories did he have that were truly real? All his memories of his father were bittersweet, war-tainted in a way he refused to acknowledge. Right before his father had died, he had been weak and sick and broken, so unlike the man Draco had spend his childhood idolizing. His mother had been stuck at home alone, forever chained to a rotting manor instead of ruling over their legacy. Hogwarts was no better — seven years down the drain with his ignorance, a lifetime of prejudice strengthened. In his seven years, six of his teachers had been killers and storybook villains, and he had followed their example. He deserved the maggots and Azkaban and rotting alive.

What was left then? His family was broken, his childhood stained, and his friends were no better — Blaise had remained neutral and cold, Daphne and Theo had both snuck back into the fight and ended ostracized by both sides because of it. After all, what do you do with Slytherins who were kind other then snuff out their legacies and leave them to rot? He hadn't really been friends with Crabbe and Goyle — allies maybe, the Malfoy boy and his henchmen. Pansy was still here, living, breathing, and mocking, but she deserved better. He refused to turn her into his Patronus.

All that was left was his. Draco Malfoy, the last real heir to some of the last remaining Pureblood empires — the Malfoy name would die out with him, and Andromeda had been blasted off the Black's family tree long ago when her rebellion led to her running away from her former ideals. So much violence and hatred and blood would die with him — the fate of their family had always rested on his shoulders. As a child, he had wished to make his parents proud, but this was better — all their remaining demons would be put to rest with him. When he was buried, he would go out with a whimper, not a bang.

Lost in between the swirl of the past and present, Draco didn't notice the animal until it ran up to his bed, purring.

"It's a black panther," Pansy said nonchalantly. Draco gaped at her and she smirked back at him, glorious and maggot-free. The cat sank to a sitting position, resting his weight against the side of the hospital bed and let out a content sound that mirrored Pansy's smug face in a way nothing could capture. "They aren't real — just stolen fragments of other animals and mislabeled. At the time, I thought it was fitting, poetic justice even. A snake would have been too blunt, but a panther fits a girl who was nothing like what the world made her into. Muggles thought they were omens of death, but what they truly represent is power and night. In the dark, we're free."

"She looks like she could eat me alive if I looked at her the wrong way," Draco said, struggling for an answer. What did it say about him, unable to think of anything worthy of himself, when Pansy had conjured a legend into an animal and made herself a creature of the night? "It suits you — graceful and dangerous."

Pansy preened at that, looking pleased, and Draco attempted to straighten up in his bed, thinking about himself. His childhood self was a brat, his teenage self a blood-purist and a bully, and all those things had made him. He had been smug, once.

"Expecto Patronum," Draco whispered. Pansy passed him his wand silently and he whispered it again, willing something into existence. At his words, mere mist appeared, covering the room with a silver glow.

Pansy stared at the mist critically, biting her bottom lip in concentration before it turned into a frown. "What are you thinking about, Draco? Because it's not enough for this — it isn't powerful enough to protect you."

Draco sighed, ducking his head. It had seemed so valuable in his mind, but speaking the words out loud made it all sound like a waste. The fate of Draco Lucius Malfoy mattered to few people. "I was thinking about me. It's all I have left and I can't make anyone my Patronus. Not when I don't know what will come next or how I'll deal with it."

"Then you're not thinking about it clearly enough." Draco opened his mouth to protest but Pansy wasn't having any of it and she cut him off before he could say anything else. "No, it's time you listen to me. I'm taking so many risks for you — taking over as your Healer, feeding you pizza, teaching you how to cast a Patronus. I could lose my license for this and I have absolutely nothing to fall back onto. I could barely cast magic my first month after you were sent to Azkaban. I brought Muggle pepper-spray to protect myself because I thought my own people would kill me. But you are my best friend and I waited for you for two fucking years. Do you know how many people spit on me in the streets? I deserve more than this, Malfoy."

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered meekly, pouring his sorrows into those two words, but they dissolve into nothing with the look of disapproval on Pansy's face. He hated disappointing her, but it was what he was best at — ruining things and leaving people drowning in their own self-hatred after him.

"I don't care how sorry you are. You deserve more than this weakness too, Malfoy. What happened to the boy who stole Neville Longbottom's toy and challenged Harry fucking Potter to go retrieve it? What happened to the boy who ended up in the hospital wing because he decided to taunt Hagrid's beast — Buckfeet or whatever? Did he die in Azkaban? Did the boy who prepared a two-sided cabinet, and almost killed Dumbledore, and saved the golden damn trio in a war, just die? You committed war crimes and you survived them. You're capable of much more than this."

Her words were heated, rushed — Draco refused to stare at his feet. Pansy was right, she usually tended to be. He had been a coward and a prat and a bastard and a killer. A Patronus was nothing in the face of the atrocities he had committed in the names of purity and honour.

"Expecto Patronum," Draco cast again and this time, more than mist appeared. A large animal appeared, clucking and raising its wings in disapproval. It took him too far too realize but when Pansy gasped, it hit him like a train. The bird had wire-like feathers and a long train that fluffed behind it as it walked towards him, beak raised high in the air. His patronus was the same silver shade as all Patronuses were, but if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was the same white all of the Malfoy Peacocks had been.

When the peacock reached him, Pansy's cat eyed it in both approval and hunger, watching it hover with a distinct interest. Draco reached out his arms without hesitation, focusing so hard it gave him a headache. For the first time since Azkaban, he felt so warm on the inside it burned, as if he was fueled by swallowed fire.

"Figures," Pansy said, watching his peacock wrap its train around him like a blanket as her own panther returned to her. "You were always so bold, so brave. An absolute peacock, if you get my drift."

"Pansy," Draco choked out, reaching his arm out to her. Pansy walked over to him with no hesitation, pushing him just enough to give her room on the bed beside him. Draco felt the bed strain a little as Pansy put her weight on it, and a second later, he could feel the steady hum of her breathing. "I can't believe it worked. I thought… I thought it might kill me."

Pansy snorted, flipping her hair into his face with a distinct lack of apology. Draco didn't bother moving it, batting furiously at the tears pouring down his cheeks instead.

"Figures," she repeated again, flicking a tear of his cheeks. "I try to teach you how to live and you try to kill yourself using it. Suits you right, ending up with the most preposterous bastard in the animal kingdom. A punishment worth the crime."

Draco let out a sob and his Patronus disappeared as his concentration did. Without it, the world was not as bright, but it was warmer than it had ever been in Azkaban. Pansy, despite her grumbling and sarcasm, had changed his life. "Thank you."

"For what?" Pansy huffed. "Not even a Patronus can help. As soon as they discharge you from the hospital, there's going to be a mob after your head. Half the people we know are either in a jail cell or six feet under, good riddance. I won't be able to protect you. If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention."

Draco thought about her words — she was right, it was one of the things burned into him like a Dark Mark. The world turned, Hogwarts stood despite the world in being in ruins, and Pansy Parkinson breathed things into existence and made it look easy.

But this — this was something. He would go out of the hospital one day and visit his mother. He and Pansy would fit back into each other lives like puzzle pieces, sharpening each other's edges. Some days, he wouldn't be able to get into bed without screaming of nightmares, and some days, he wouldn't be able to get out of bed for fear of returning to his life. But some days, he would and that was more than he had ever thought he would get. He was redeemable — his future was worth something close to a try.

"I know," Draco said quietly, squeezing Pansy's hand. She crushed it back, squeezing until he did it back just as hard. Pansy had summoned her panther back and he did the same, tiredly smirking at the way his peacock trampled over them in the air. "But it's enough."

Fin.

...

Religious Education Assignment: 8: Write about someone's first time producing a Patronus. (Restriction: cannot be Harry or any member of Dumbledore's Army)

Cocktails: Pepper, Item: Pepper spray, Character: Pansy Parkinson

National Photography Month: 4: Burns Archive - Set your story at St. Mungo's Hospital.

Scavenger Hunt: Use the prompt set: Draco Malfoy (character), broken (word), crying (action), "I really thought that you could save her/him/me." / "So did I." (dialogue)

Film Festival: 49. Plot: Unexpectedly bumping into old friends

Character Appreciation: 28. (dialogue) "Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?"

Disney Challenge: Nala - Write about someone meeting a childhood friend later in life.

Creature Feature: Abath: (dialogue) "Oysters are considered an aphrodisiac." / "Good thing for me," Adar Llwch Gwin: (character) Buckbeak

Shannon's Showcase: 9. FYR Macedonia:

Word: Deeper

Lyric: "Have you ever thought about it? We went too far. Now there's no way back."

Book Club: Ruby:, (dialogue) "You have peace when you make it with yourself.", (emotion) excitement, (word) impulse, (weather) snow

Show Time: Look Down - (AU) Prison

Days of the month: Pizza Party Day - Write about a pureblood eating pizza for the first time

Count Your Buttons: "You Haven't Seen the Last of Me"- Cher, (object) Vase, (dialogue) "You know me too well," (word) Extra

Lyric Alley: And the grass was so green against my new clothes

Ami's Audio Admirations: Old School - (word) Traitor

Sophie's Shelf: 16. Carmelita Spats: Write about a 'spoiled brat'. Alternatively, write about someone self-absorbed.

Emy's Emporium: The Yam (postal system) - write a fic set within 24h

Angel's Gameroom: Yoshi - (Trait) Loyal, (Action) Throwing something, (Color) Black

Pokemon: (title) Everything is temporary

Geek Pride: Game of Thrones - (dialogue) "If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention," Naruto - (plot point) character is being discriminated against, T-Shirt: (word set) wear, sleeves, comfortable