#i don't have a title for this prompt

[ekat-fandom-blog]

Barry(or wally if you prefer) is taking a walk when he runs into a glowing green dog.(rather the dog ran into him) It seemed friendly so he started petting it, when the owner ran up to him to apologize. He brushes it off and asks why the dog is green and glowing, that can't be healthy. When he learns that Cujo is a ghost dog, he reflexively replies "ghosts don't exist"

The boy just laughed and disappeared with the dog.

Later he sees the same dog with another boy playing fetch in the sky.

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[teal-fiend]

A strange old pred who lives in the woods, has a little cottage. Living alone with nothing but their pet bird.

They live a little way from a village that they sometimes visit to gather supplies. 

Being a pred, they feel very estranged from the rest of society, which is why they have chosen the hermit life. 

They don’t dislike prey, but they aren’t comfortable interacting with them for more than a few seconds. The pred doesn’t talk much, almost to the point of being mute, and they don’t behave like a normal person. They’re just doing their own thing, and it doesn’t match up with what their distant neighbours are doing. 

The pred has been living near the town for longer than most of the residents can remember - they don’t know how or when the pred got there, or why they are here. They don’t seem to have any family. There aren’t any other preds local to the area. The preds existence is a mystery to most people. 

The townsfolk, although they don’t understand the pred, they don’t dislike them. In fact, the pred is useful to them. 

Issues can often arise within the community - an outsider coming into the town to try and buy-out their land, out-compete local businesses, or otherwise harass or cause problems for the locals. If this happens, the townsfolk approach the pred and politely ask that they go after the prey. 

They’ll tell the problematic individual that the pred is the mayor, or someone with authority. They’ll schedule a meeting with the pred. They’ll talk over lunch. The townsfolk will dress the pred in formal attire. During the meeting, the pred will eat the problem. 

The community will thank the pred, cooing over them, affirming them (because the pred can be skittish, especially after eating). The pred would wobble back to their house to digest in peace. And in the coming days, the pred will receive gifts from the town (cheese, books, hats), as a thank you for the help.

[bongo-clash]

Right through the door (and all around the wall)

DP/DC week prompt: Lazarus Pit

'Bad News: Jason Todd finds a Lazarus Pit in Gotham.  Worse News: There’s something crawling out of it.'

(No content warnings || fic under cut!!)

-

Jason’s felt weird the last few days. Like, weirder than the usual weird that comes with being a living zombie full of Lazarus waters and all their consequences- weird as in something’s up weird. 

It started with some sense of unease, and maybe it was stupid to just put it down to waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but he started his days in a poor mood more often than not anyway, so he thinks it was reasonable enough. But as the week had gone on, he’d felt more and more like he was being tugged around at the chest by something, the Pit running through his veins snapping for something he didn’t know the source of. By the time six days had past, he’d well and truly had enough. Which leads to his current decision: ambling around Gotham trying to follow the feeling. 

Which leads to his current situation: standing face-to-face with a glowing green puddle at the end of a nondescript alley, previously hidden vaguely by a large dumpster.  

Now, Jason isn’t an idiot- in fact, he rather likes to think himself as the opposite of an idiot. And because he isn’t an idiot, he knows he’s looking at a newly-formed Lazarus Pit. There are only so many things that glow that shade of green in this world. But what the Hell is he supposed to do about it? He doesn’t know the first thing about how they’re formed, and he doesn’t know the first thing about how to get rid of them, but the appearance of one in Gotham cannot be good news. It could attract the attention of the League, which is a problem for several reasons, and perhaps more pressing is that its properties could be discovered by the local peanut gallery. The last thing anyone needs is for any of the rogues to figure out they can heal themselves with magic floor gatorade. 

…He should probably tell the Bats. The thought alone pulls a grimace onto his face behind his helmet, but he knows in his heart that it’s the best thing for it. At the very least, the warning that people might start looking a little more green around the edges would be appreciated; the old man would probably go ape if he found out Jason knew about it the whole time and just didn’t say anything. Okay, maybe that makes it more tempting to not tell them- but Dick would be disappointed in him. That man’s disappointed face is universally hard to look at. 

With nothing else for it, he reaches up to the side of his helmet and activates the com link he’d tentatively agreed to stay connected to. All at once, he’s greeted with the sea of idle chatter from the other Bats as they go about their patrols. 

“Hey,” He interrupts, effectively cutting through the conversation. “So, I just found something interesting on my turf.”

“Little Wing!” Dick greets cheerfully, voice carrying over onto Tim’s com. It’s one of those times where Nightwing comes down from Blüdhaven to patrol with the family, then. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath before speaking, knowing his next words are going to cause something of a stir. “I think we’ve got a Pit forming in Gotham.”

Right on time, everyone on coms starts speaking at once. Dick sputters in surprise, trying to form a response over the declaration; Tim is asking how he can be sure, and for location and size and ‘should we be worrying about Ra’s making a show?’; Damian’s saying something under his breath about all their disastrous communication skills; Barbara’s staying quiet, probably waiting until they’ve finished freaking until she starts up. Batman, though, is evidently not half as patient, shouting over the pandemonium to make himself heard. 

“Hood. Explain.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Uh, that’s pretty much all I’ve got at the moment, old man. Been feeling kinda weird the last few days- felt like I was being pulled about and shit- and when I tried to find the source, I found this bright green puddle. I don’t know what else you want from me.”

“Why didn’t you inform us of the feeling prior to this?”

He’s about to snap back at the man for being pushy when he hears a noise from the end of the alley. Immediately, his gaze snaps back to the Lazarus Puddle, and he blanches when his sees the surface begin to froth. 

“Hood-”

“Shut up, something’s happening.” Red Hood bites, somewhat distracted as the frothing continues, slowly becoming more violent. “Does anyone know if pits can boil over? Because I’m looking at it now and it looks like someone’s left some foul-ass milk on the stove for too long.”

Barbara’s finally voice cuts through the coms. “Nightwing and Red Robin are the closest to your current location- ETA five to seven minutes. Do you need back-up?”

“I have no idea— holy fuck.”

Distantly, he can hear the others asking him what’s up, and Barbara telling Dick and Tim to head over west, but he’s too focused on the way the pit seems to curve upwards, looking less like water and more like a thick sludge. A thick sludge that something is trying to break through. The vague impression of a hand is pushing against the surface. 

His voice is breathy when he finally responds to Nightwing’s cries. “Guys, I think there’s something in there.”

“What?!”

He takes a wary step forward as the hand continues to push, and then a large step back accompanied by a startled yell as the surface finally breaks with a violent splatter. He jumps to avoid the spray, and the hand flails as it searches for purchase against the floor. Surging forward, it discovers solid ground and quickly leverages itself onto it, pushing and pushing until Jason can see the beginnings of a face. 

Dripping with the more concerning equivalent of sewage, there’s black hair with the vaguest implication of white strands against it, a heart-shaped face, and bright, blue-green eyes. Ergo: something that looks almost exactly like him. 

Stumbling further back as they continue to rise, he hears Barbara announce Nightwing and RR’s ETA as one minute from now, and crosses his fingers that they get here sooner, because he’s looking at this kid like a fun-house mirror and he doesn’t like it at all. 

The teenager looks at him from underneath the thick coating of sludge, shaking himself free from the last dredges of the Pit clinging to his shoes. “Hm,” The guy says, tone deceptively casual. “I wasn’t expecting an audience.”

“What the fuck.” Jason chokes, barely grasping at his ability to form words beyond the shock. The teenager searches his face, before looking down at his own figure. 

“Ooh, yikes, give me a second-“ He snorts, before his skin takes on a strange blue tinge and the sludge falls through him, meeting the floor with a wet slap, which- gross. “-There! Sorry about that. Coming out looking like the Blob isn’t the best first impression I’ve ever made, huh?”

Jason is rapidly losing control of both his life and the situation. “What the fuck is- I- who the fuck are you?”

“My name’s Danny.”

“Danny.”

The kid nods. “Yep. It’s Danny.”

“Okay. Danny, can you tell me what the Hell just happened?”

Danny, apparently, blinks, looking back at the Lazarus Pit for a moment before refocusing on Jason. He’s never been more glad his expression is hidden behind the helmet. “Well…” He starts hesitantly, “I… hey- who’re they?”

Jason stupidly whips his head to look behind him, and- sure enough, Nightwing and Red Robin have finally positioned themselves on the rooftops above them- but he hears a splash and when he turns around, the kid is gone, thick ripples casting over the Lazarus Puddle. The two vigilantes jump down from the roof, coming up beside him. Tim looks utterly gobsmacked. 

“Did that kid just jump into the Pit?” He blurts, struggling to choose between looking at Red Hood for an answer and keeping his eye on the puddle in case something happens. 

Jason takes in the situation. He takes in the sight of his brothers, the green sludge smattered across the concrete of the alleyway, the remnants of conversation echoing around his head. He thinks about everything that just happened, and takes a deep, deep breath. 

“This is officially the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” He says, before promptly turning around and walking out of the alley, intent on going to bed and passing this whole thing off as a some kind of trauma-induced nightmare. He knows he’ll have to deal with this at some point, because there’s apparently a Lazarus Pit in Gotham and a whole guy that looked like him crawled out of it, but if he can just pretend that none of that happened for even a few hours, by God, he’s taking it. 

[steviesummer]

what you cannot hold (wanting)

written for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘hole’ wc: #404 | rated: G| cw: angst, unrequited love (maybe)

There’s a hole in Steve’s heart that gets bigger every year. He doesn’t know when it started, surely just a pinprick, but he remembers when he first noticed it. He was 12; his parents talked about how grown up he was as they left on their trip, but all he could feel was that hole opening up inside him.

Nancy tore it further, grip strong from where she’d been holding it closed. Maybe he should have known better, known not to let another person get that close, but it was too late. It was only the arrival of Dustin and the need to protect the kids that kept him from bleeding out.

Robin snuck in, smoothing the edges other had left sharp and jagged. He wasn’t ready to let anyone in but that didn’t matter. It never mattered. He tucked her secrets inside, promising to keep them safe.

The kids starting high school undid all the progress he’d made. They needed him less and less- busy with school and full of hero-worship for Eddie Munson when he did see them.

He couldn’t blame them. Eddie was loud and never afraid to be himself. He put himself out there and played their game; he would have been more surprised if they hadn’t clicked.

Guilt and jealousy had him ripping at the seams of his heart, hoping one day he’d be able to pick enough threads loose that he could sew it up himself. Keep himself safe from pain.

Then Vecna came, and Eddie nearly died, and they got closer too. Steve thought maybe this was it, maybe Eddie would be kind to his tattered heart.

But Eddie was going places. Steve listened when he talked about getting out of Hawkins, becoming a rockstar. He knew he didn’t fit in that dream either. After all they’d been through, Steve just wanted peace. To feel safe and whole.

Every day, he smiled and ignored the way his battered heart raced. One by one, everyone moved on- to college or work or their dreams. Steve just stayed, couldn’t leave, not yet.

Maybe someday things would be different. Their dreams would line up or they’ll both find someone new or time would heal him. Until then, Steve can pretend like his heart is still in one piece. Until then, Steve would hold the gaping wound inside close. There’s a hole in Steve’s heart and it gets bigger every year.

[talksosweet]

omg guys i forgot to say the bad thing abt yesterday is my english teacher (who i've had for the past three years and i love him sm OR AT LEAST USED TO 😭) gave us a 1,000-1,400 short story to write for monday 🫤 ON TBE FKRST DAY BACK WHAT ARE U ONNNNN OH MY LORD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[blametheeditor]

A Song Without Its Lyrics

Prompt Roulette By Title

Character A's best friend, Character B, is mute. That sure as hell doesn't stop Character B from somehow being the brightest, most expressive person starring in Character A's life.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of treating others as lesser than. Mentions of calling others 'pests'. Mentions of select mutism. Mentions of death and murder. Mentions of being apathetic

_______________________________

“If you just listen for two seconds-” 

“Why should I? Everything you’ve said up until this point has been worthless.” 

Vincent almost wants to yawn, watching the conversation between Scott and David go in yet another circle. Not that he cares if an agreement is made tonight. No one knows he’s even here, and he wouldn’t have bothered to show up if William hadn’t commanded him to make sure the negotiations didn’t get too out of hand.

Literally. The owner of Fazbear Corporation might be worried a certain egotistical employee will abuse the fact he’s a giant and therefore grab a certain ‘supervisor’ who’s small enough to fit in the palm of his hand in the heat of the moment, but Vincent knows that wouldn’t happen. Not when pests don’t deserve to so much as even look at him, none the less have the honor to be held by him. 

Though, ‘negotiations’ is a bit of a stretch. Scott has been negotiating and trying his hardest to get David on the same page. It’s David who refuses to budge, finding every excuse imaginable to disagree with something he might have even thought of but refuses to give in solely based on principle. 

It’d be admirable and entertaining if it wasn’t so childish. To be honest, Vincent’s unsure what they’re even discussing currently, nor the original reason why Scott, Eggs, and David met up at Freddy Fazbear’s. 

Personally, at this point, he’d take Eggs out of timeout to contribute to see if anything can get done tonight, even if it’s something as simple as setting up a schedule for every restaurant on when the mechanic can run diagnostic checks and fix anything that’s needed. It might not even be part of the agenda, but at least it’d be something. 

“Look, we need to work together on this, and-” 

“I don’t want to hear another word,” David interrupts yet again. Which is a bad look all around, using the fact his voice can overpower Scott’s effortlessly to gain complete control over the situation. But Vincent isn’t here to be a babysitter, or report to William the man that was hired partly for PR is nothing but a bully behind closed doors. If Scott can’t handle such petty tactics then he’ll need to learn how. “William might listen to your idiotic suggestions, but it’s clear you have no idea what you’re doing considering I’m here. So shut up and let me work.” 

Despite being several feet away from where Scott stands on a table in order to be on an ‘equal level’, though the attempt is completely ruined by the fact David’s standing to ensure his shadow is cast over the miniscule figure, Vincent can see the sandy haired man’s expression clearly. Every shift as the look goes from fear, to anger, to despair, finally landing on determination. 

I’m not going to shut up. You are going to sit down and we are going to converse like God damn adults.

It’s only when David doesn’t respond with confusion written all over his face does Vincent realize Scott had signed the words rather than say them out loud. 

And then Vincent isn’t hiding in the shadows at Freddy Fazbear’s, waiting for the business man to react. Instead, he’s sitting at a table. In a different though similar restaurant. With a much younger Scott Cawthon sitting beside his hand. One that isn’t purple. Without a single look of trepidation aimed toward it. 

...it’s been a while since he thought about his life before William. 

“Did I do something to earn the silent treatment?” he had asked. Gently poked Scott in the attempt to get some kind of reaction. Because it was the first time his best friend wasn’t ranting about how a mother blew up on him even though her ire was directed toward another coworker. Or excitedly discussing the fact their bosses were working on a new project and they’ll be one of the first ones to see it. 

It concerned him. Scott was the only one who saw Vincent’s words and actions as more than just him being an annoying asshole. And he didn’t want to lose the human’s friendship if he crossed a line somewhere. 

He was glad he didn’t receive a glare or a yell for demanding attention when it clearly didn’t want to be given. But even though the headshake given was immediate and decisive, nothing was said. Which meant he was still worried, just for different reasons. 

The worst part was the fact Scott looked so upset, panicked, and yet still not a single word was spoken. 

“Has the free food left you speechless?” Vincent mused. “We have it, what, a minimum of five times a week if not more? But this time it managed to blow your mind how amazing reheated frozen pizza can be?”  He hadn’t thought about it before, considering it’s not something you really focus on, but it was then he realized just how expressive Scott was. Maybe because he’s human, and being around giants has you unconsciously doing everything in your power to always be heard or noticed. It meant Scott should never play poker or else lose all of his money, but it also made it easy to see the relief that Vincent wasn’t upset. As well as the cautious hope that slowly began to appear. 

Vincent was happy to continue. Tapped his chin as he hummed in thought. “Going for a world record, then? Longest without saying anything?” 

Scott rolled his eyes dramatically with a look of ‘really?’. 

“Hey, I won’t judge. But don’t expect me to help, you’ve got to time it yourself.” 

It was so brief, a blink and you’ll miss it moment, and it didn’t help just how small the human is. But Scott looked hurt by his words. 

Which meant Vincent swept him up. There wasn’t even a yelp, but a finger was hugged in order for Scott to steady himself from the sudden action. Looked up at the giant with worry. 

“We’re watching a movie at my place.” 

“I’m sorry,” had been the first thing Scott said to him the next day. 

It pissed Vincent off his best friend felt the need to apologize for something that seemed out of his control. Wanted to find whoever put the idea Scott should be ashamed of it and punch them in the face. “What for? I thought we had a great time of you silently agreeing all of my opinions are correct and should never be challenged.” 

There was a wince, but there was also a smile. “I, uh, kn-know it’s annoying.” 

“Annoying?” Vincent asked. “Unless it’s annoying for you, it’s anything but annoying for me.” 

“You weren’t, but I, I couldn’t-” Scott sputtered, looked genuinely confused. “H-How?” 

“Adds to your charm, Scotty,” Vincent smirked. “Like your stutters.” 

He didn’t ask why. And Scott didn’t tell him. 

But the next time it happened several months later he sat the human down. Forcefully. Because Scott avoided him for as long as possible before the giant managed to snag him. “Do you know ASL, Scotty?” 

That stopped Scott from running away. Which was best for all of them considering all Vincent had to do was pin him without any effort. 

He was suspicious, uncertain why that was the first thing asked, but shook his head no. 

“Then you and I are going to learn it.” 

Because even though Vincent knew how to sign and read important phrases, and could go through the very tedious process of conversing by spelling every single word out, he was far from fluent. But he would like to be. He wanted to for a while ever since he learned in order to make sure every child could be included whenever the band started to play. Giving Scott a voice when his own didn’t work was just the last push he needed. 

To be honest, Scott would’ve been fine on his own without learning any sign language. It’s impossible to misinterpret what the human was saying considering just how expressive he was, but there would be scenarios when being able to say what you mean and want would be crucial. 

And there did come a time when Scott’s only words was strictly through signing. When William came into their lives. When the human could no longer express any kind of emotion. 

When Vincent finally realized what took his best friend’s voice away. 

That’s why, for the first time in years, Vincent feels a wave of protection grip him with an iron fist as he fully registers why Scott is suddenly signing instead of speaking despite the fact David wouldn’t be able to read it. Because his voice has been stolen away. And this is the only way to say what he wants to. 

A far cry from before when all he could do was obey without a way to fight back. 

Vincent’s body is moving before he can tell it to, stepping out of the shadows with the intent to kill David where he- 

“Oooooh, are you gonna take that, David?” Eggs suddenly asks, looking up at the giant with a wicked grin. Manages to freeze Vincent in place by words alone. 

“Take what?” the business man demands. 

“Scott telling you to sit down and stop being an asshole!” 

Vincent feels the pounding rage slowly subside until he’s backing into the shadows again before any of them manage to spot him. Stares at the blond human who was able to make sure Scott was heard. 

“No I’m not going to take it. He knows nothing about keeping a restaurant running properly.” 

I’m not saying I do, I’m saying there’s things you should know about the building Afton hasn’t told you about.

Scott started signing halfway through David’s growl, but Eggs had been watching to listen to both. “Scott’s got a good point, though. William might have trap doors lying around.” 

David stares down at them. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Sit down and Scott’ll explain!” 

Surprisingly, the giant does. Grumbling all the while, but he does. “Explain about the possibility of trap doors.” 

No trap doors, but it’s worse than that.

“The vent’s were replaced with snakes!” 

No.

Vincent ignores the rest of the conversation. Feels his entire body finally relax. Left to try and understand what happened, and why there’s a small piece of him that hadn’t been there before that’s still wanting to go to Scott’s side. 

With it clear Eggs is acting as a mediator, the purple man quickly makes his way out of the building before turning down the sidewalk leading to William’s office. Knowing that in a few hours, Scott will join him to report what was able to get accomplished. Because nothing has changed. William’s word is law with Vincent and Scott his messengers to obey every word said to them without hesitation. 

So why does it feel like he’s losing his best friend. 

[curtsies-from-princess-ashlyn]

There have been so many songs I've had in the back of my head loosely linked to Ricky and Gina, and today's prompt finally gave me an excuse to compile a playlist for them. There's honestly probably more that can be added, but I'm actually quite proud of how many I was able to add to this list!

There are some songs that are from Gina's perspective ("Mastermind", "What if I Love You", "Nobody Love Me Like You"), including her S2 perspective, some from Ricky's ("would you love me now?", "Smoke Slow"), some about their angst that can be from both perspectives ("The Night We Met", "Where's My Love"), and some that are more joyous and celebratory ("Different", "I Just Love You", "Honeybee").

However, the one I really want to highlight is "Nebraska" by Oh Wonder. This was in my top 5 most played in 2021, so I can't believe I didn't think of it until now as a Rina (and especially Gina) coded song, but BOY does it fit them so well. Seriously, go listen to it now and tell me this doesn't perfectly represent and describe Gina Porter and how she feels about Ricky. It touches on the importance of "I love you" but that it shouldn't be a wasted phrase, and the narrator sings about traveling the world but the only place that feels like home is her beloved (who may have also broken her heart).

The other song that I want to talk about briefly is "I Just Love You" by Roo Panes. The feeling and atmosphere the music of this one creates always reminds me of domestic Rina, and the simplicity of the lyrics ("I just love you") reminds me of how Ricky feels for Gina. I also headcanon Gina's middle name is Marie, so the lyrics of the first verse fit, and the second verse sings about they've both had fears of vulnerability ("why are we oh so afraid / of saying something real?"). This contrasts the straightforward conclusion of the chorus, which definitely reminds me of Ricky's resolution, certainty, and directness in "Love You Forever".

[theflyingfeeling]

okay I'm not expecting anyone to care all that much, but I was looking at the prompts for the 18th Day of Gift-Giving for my Olli/Allu fic advent calendar and I'm between two options on what to do with them, so if anyone out there wants to put in their two cents...

(see the pros and cons in the tags of the original post)

[6okuto]

might do my nia goes to school/a summer event soon-ish... i think i'll open up reqs for it (along w other things) but if u have any thoughts let me kneow :3

[starsscarmyceiling]

We’re more ghosts than people sounds interesting af 👀

Okay AH again sorry this is a couple days late, but my work has been CRAZED, but I still wanted to get to this!!! Thanks for asking girl 🥰

AGAIN, if you have seen this prompt post that I wrote out, this was another one that had origins in what I wrote out in the AU section...

"Sorry I am on some Red Dead Redemption shit but I simply cannot help myself but to shove all of my favorite things together alright. Cal is apart of some kind of roaming squad (IF you chose a band of outlaws I wouldn’t be opposed), and they are in this one town for a bit. He starts to go to a general store where a Russian aunt and niece run it, and a lot of people just assume Merrin doesn’t even speak any English and dismiss her a lot of the time. But maybe he’s seen her at one of the saloons or tending to one of her horses and thinks that there’s more to her than what she is presenting to the world (and lol she is prettyyyy 😍) He goes into the store with Greez one day, and he ends up asking Merrin something, and Greez is like lol why do you bother she isn’t going to answer you. Cal is like pssssh this girl is trolling all of you I just know it. Merrin looks at him like he’s grown a second head, and then Asajj comes out and starts to put on the charm and Merrin just yeets right out of there. Perhaps Cal was wrong. Maybe she didn’t understand him, but that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t want to get to know her. So he just continues to go to the store anyway and keeps talking to her all the time (We all know the boy can ramble let’s go). Maybe he even runs into her at other parts of town, or even on the outskirts where she’s taken her horse out, and he happens upon her while he’s on his. She does some target practice with a pistol and he’s impressed. He wished he at least knew her name. There’s a Russian woman in their group, and Cal asks her about a few Russian phrases, to which she complies, but then asks why. Cal is all SUPER red and is just like LOL NO REASON K THX BYEEEE! Cal goes into the shop, tries out a phrase or two, attempts a hello and asks her how she is doing. He feels like he is making a fool of himself, but then he swears out of the corner of his eye he sees her smirk. He asks her name in Russian, and she sighs…so Cal assumes he’s asked her wrong he clearly couldn’t remember it right and looks at the ground. “Merrin,” she says. His heart races. Asajj comes out and interrupts them OF COURSE. The gang wants to move on soon, but Cal isn’t ready to let go. It seems silly because practically every interaction they’ve had have been one sided conversations, but he still goes to the store nonetheless and tells her they are going to be leaving. She looks at him poignantly, and he still just doesn’t know if she’s pretending or really doesn’t understand. He dips his cowboy hat to her and tells her it was nice meetin’ ya milady dasvidaniya. Merrin shouldn’t be disappointed in the American man who came into her shop all the time to annoy her, really it doesn’t matter. How could it? He was really just a nuisance more than anything else, that Calvin ‘Cal’ Kestis. But, he was truly the only person that she could recall in what feels like a lifetime that looked her in her eyes, talked to her like a person, even if it was at annoying constancy. And GD he even learned some Russian just for her…but she tries to just forget about that handsome, redheaded cowboy all the same. Merrin is tasked to travel to a few towns over to pick up a delivery for the store, and after the long journey wherein she is going to have to spend the night anyway, so she decides to go to one of the saloons. She rolls her eyes as she sips at her whiskey because more than one man has approached her and thought she was a hooker. A brawl breaks out and she rolls her eyes harder. Stupid men. All of them were just children.

But then this man comes in the middle of it and tries to break it up. His voice sounds familiar, but she thinks he’s hearing things. She tries to tune it out, but notices he gets punched anyway, and his hat flies off. Yeah, no there was no denying that red hair. She wants to leave, but she can’t; she’s stuck on her stool. Once the fight finally ceases, Cal is with that small man he came into the store with sometimes as he retrieves his hat. He talks with the short man, and she thinks he’s going to leave, and he is just going to be lost to her again, but then he seems to stay for another drink, probably wanting to nurse that black eye he’s no doubt going to get. He sits at one of the stools and downs a drink. Oh lordt should she go up to him now? After everything she’s lost, it seemed ridiculous to do such a thing, but she finds her feet moving of her own volition. Oh GOD what is she even going to say. “That is quite the punch you took,” she says, sitting down next to him, “I probably have something in my supplies that could help with that.” Cal whips his head to her and quickly voices her name, which she was certain he was going to forget. And he seemed most certainly shocked that yes she does indeed know English and has this whole time. There’s smiles all around as he offers to buy her a drink and she accepts. But she also has to make fun of how terrible his Russian was."

So then there was this one fine morning on the Merrical server where @myfaenwy posted this photo shoot of Cam that was so very rude of him, actually...I mean...look at this slut wtf

(affectionate, obviously haha we love him)

I then liked begged @myfaenwy to write the prompt that I wrote out, but then...I just posed the idea of writing with her (something neither of us have done), and much to my delight...she was down.

Unfortunately, we've both been pretty busy with other WIPs, so we have not actually started writing, but we've been talking about this like since before JS! We are wanting to follow a lot of my prompt. And since both of us are also big fans of Red Dead Redemption 2, it will also be pretty RDR coded (which is the inspiration behind the title)...

We've had a drunken brainstorming session LOL that also involved:

Greez running a saloon, obvs. Cere is the bitch who runs everything as the wealthy widow. Aunt and niece duo Ventress and Merrin as Russian immigrants that run the general store in town, also obvs. Cal's gotta horse named Beauregarde Deaugustine the First, and I mean...look at fucking Koboh...it's all right there!!!

Basically, this fic is just kind of begging to be written! We are soooo very excited to start writing it and be able to show it to y'all!!!

YEEHAWWW!!

Y'all think Merrin will want to save a horse, ride a cowboy?😏🤠

[nat-1-whump]

🐗 Monster transformation whump

Fantasy whump ideas no. 5

(Huge thanks to an anon for suggesting this, it turns out there's more whump potential for this than I thought! Sorry for disappearing for... Four months, I think?)

Speaking of transformation, why are they being turned into a monster? Maybe Whumper injected them with a strange serum, after kidnapping Whumpee and taking them to some sort of lab, where Whumpee found themself strapped to a table surrounded by blinding white lights. Or Whumper cursed them with some sort of magic, having spent hours researching the most potent and painful spells to do so, maybe even with the intention of feasting on Whumpee's life force or using them as a puppet of sorts. Alternatively, Whumper didn't do anything to turn Whumpee into a monster, but they enjoy Whumpee's pain nonetheless... Because Whumpee actually brought this curse on themself.

The transformation itself is physically agonizing. Whumpee writhes in pain as their body twists and contorts into a new creature. Scales, fangs, or fur grow in feeling like they're stabbing through Whumpee's skin, slowly ripping them apart. Their head feels like it's full of hot lead. They plead with Whumper to make it stop, but to no avail. They're forced to feel every part of their body warp into something unrecognizable.

Monster Whumpee now has urges that they never had before. They crave meat, they want to smash through walls, rip things to shreds, you name it. Whumper taunts them, telling them to go forth and follow these urges like the beast they are. Whumpee suppresses these urges out of fear of hurting anyone, possibly begging Whumper or Caretaker to restrain them, or doing so themself. Once restrained, the urges bubble up even more and they find themself begging to be let go.

Eventually their feral nature gets the best of them. They break free, and in unleashing themself they unleash destruction. It's as if they're being dragged into it by forces beyond their control, their vision turning red. By the time they regain control of themself, Monster Whumpee has to face what they've done as a puddle of blood spreads across the ground before them.

Monster Whumpee gets treated like a dangerous animal, nothing but a threat to contain. Maybe their captors don't know that Monster Whumpee used to be a person... or they know but simply don't care. Whumpee begs them to let them go or help them turn back, but nobody will. They have to listen to gasps and camera clicks as they're hunted down.

Monster Whumpee gets shot with a tranquilizer dart. Their limbs feel like they're full of lead. They collapse on the ground, slipping out of consciousness as they're tied up, muzzled, and hauled away. (Muzzle whump my beloved...)

They wake up bound completely, every limb tightly wrapped in leather and chains. A thick muzzle over their face feels like it's suffocating them. Their restraints force them into a kneeling position on the dirty concrete floor. Whumper circles around them, tracing their finger along Monster Whumpee's skin. Monster Whumpee can't move in protest, though the anger and defiance still forces its way out in the form of muffled growls.

While desperately trying to escape, Monster Whumpee gets injured. With nobody willing to go anywhere near them, let alone treat them, they end up trying to treat their wounds themself, which may make the injury even worse.

Whumper agrees to protect Whumpee, but only if Whumpee lets Whumper use them as a subject for a series of tests. Though Whumper may initially claim it was for research and nothing more, it becomes more and more apparent that Whumper gets a thrill out of torturing Whumpee and recording the results. This may end badly for Whumper though. After all, what makes them think they can keep this monster contained indefinitely?

[aparticularbandit]

We Were Never Friends With Darkness And Would, In Fact, Prefer It Leave Us Alone: Chapter One

Summary: The problem with running from your problems before they become problems is that they don't just disappear. They're still there when you return, and as it so happens, sometimes they've gotten bigger than you can handle (if you could even handle them before).

Or: Kyoko makes good on what she told Yui and runs away before Yui can be used against her by the Victims' Relief Committee. But running away and remaking herself and hiding doesn't fix anything, and coming back later to a class full of people who might want to be friends with her only makes things worse.

Especially when one of those friends might just happen to think that she's kind of cute.

For DR Rarepair Week 2024 Day Five: Gift Giving/Peace, hosted by @dr-rarepair-week-blog.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

next chapter

Kyoko runs.

If asked, she’ll never say that’s what she did.  It’s a tactical action.  When in a fight with a stronger enemy, sometimes it is best to pull back and regroup.

Never mind that Kyoko and Yui have been constantly and consistently winning each of their battles, never mind that right now things seem to be in a bit of a stalemate, never mind that if Yui does fall to their temptations then they can reach Kyoko no matter where she goes throughout the world—

Kyoko runs, and Kyoko determines to never open a single black envelope sent her way, and Kyoko uses her detective skills to hide herself as completely as she can because she would rather run and hide and disappear into the vast darkness of the world than confront the possibility of Yui’s hands being stained.

(Her very identity screams against this.  She’s on a case.  Even if she’s not being paid for it, she’s still tracking down the Victims’ Relief Committee with Yui.  That is the thing that she is doing.  No matter who dies, no matter who gets sacrificed, no matter what happens – this is what she is doing, and it’s shooting her rank in the DSC higher and higher, which means that Hope’s Peak has to notice her, that her dad its headmaster has to acknowledge her existence – but she will literally throw all of that away if it means….)

((It’s harder to run from Yui.  She tells herself that it’s necessary.  She refuses to say it’s because she doesn’t trust her onee-sama.))

Kyoko runs, and she runs, and she doesn’t look back.

~

That black envelope never comes.

Kyoko fulfills cases under another name, stealing from the ideas that Lico laid before her (What’s in a name?  If she leaves behind Kirigiri, then what is she?  Still the same, still the same, still the same), and sends those in months later to the DSC.  Her rank grows, but they cannot know where she is or where she is going, and so her original plan, at least in part, is still fulfilled.

Hope’s Peak still scouts her under that other name because they are better at finding wayward children to fill their coffins than the DSC is (or maybe the Victims’ Relief Committee always could find her and gave up the moment she ran; she doesn’t know what their plans for her were, and so she cannot say, can only guess, and the ache of that hole beats harsh in her chest every now and again, if she allows herself to think on it, which she doesn’t) – and Hope’s Peak still invites her because even under all of her disguises, her dad its headmaster still recognizes her (it makes her sick, he makes her sick, she makes herself sick) – and she hesitates before accepting.

It’s been years.

If Yui was going to do anything, she would have done it already, and either she did and the Victims’ Relief Committee never tried to break Kyoko’s heart by forcing her to return and confront her fall or she didn’t and the time away, maybe, saved her.

Yui’s an adult now.  She’s likely in college somewhere.  If she’s smart, she’s somewhere far, far away.  Somewhere safe.

(Kyoko knows better.  Yui would throw herself away to save someone else – anyone else – not because she thinks so lowly of herself, but because that’s her duty as a detective.  Not to find the truth, like Kyoko does, but to save people.

Yui would make a good Super Sentai or magical girl – the hero of the story.  She has so much hope and so much guilt and—

(The Victims’ Relief Committee tempted people of a variety of ages.  They could still tempt Yui as an adult.  But if she’s survived this long without giving in, then Kyoko likes to believe she will survive just a little while longer.))

Kyoko hesitates, and Kyoko accepts, and Kyoko puts herself in a place where the Victims’ Relief Committee could find her again, if they wanted.

(Kyoko runs her fingers along the black ribbons she’s never stopped wearing and wonders if she’s just giving in.)

~

At school, they call her Hibiki Haruko.

The name is as fake as Junko Enoshima’s smile (or Sayaka Maizono’s – both Ultimates chosen for their ability to fake a personality to the population on a large scale – or even Celeste’s entire everything – because from her name to her accent to her hair to her supposed heritage, everything about that girl is fake), but outside of their headmaster (and perhaps his scout), no one seems to know.  She’s learned, in her time away, to be gentle with people, to put on an air that makes her seem both trustworthy and forgettable, and she knows – she knows – that a few of them catch her out (Junko, again, who seems carefully curated to catch out those who don’t want to be caught, with those piercing eyes that cut right through her; but Sakura, too, who notes when she doesn’t go on donut runs with Hina, who tells her that if she ever needs anything (even if that means protection or a bodyguard) to just ask, and Mukuro, who looks at her like she’s someone familiar, like she’s seen her before, even if it isn’t Kyoko that she’s seen).  Sometimes Makoto gives her a curious look, sometimes it seems like he’s going to ask her a question, but either he gives up or he forgets before he asks.

The thing about running away once is that Kyoko – Hibiki – keeps running.

If they could use Yui, then they could use any of her classmates, provided she gets close enough to them.  It doesn’t matter that, in the end, they hadn’t used Yui, just like it doesn’t matter that there’s no proof that they would use one of her classmates. It’s that they could, and once she believed that enough to flee the literal country, that belief was never really going to die.

Sure, it’s lonely when the rest of her classmates pair up – or group up – and she’s left on the outside of the fish tank, one hand pressed against the glass, as she looks in on the rest of them.

But it’s safer.

For her them.

~

Junko drunkenly kisses her exactly once.

“Hibiki,” she’d slurs, “you’re so….”  Her voice trails off, and she falls forward until her forehead rests on Kyoko’s shoulder.  “So cute.”

Kyoko stays still, straight, as though that will do anything.  “Junko, you’re drunk.”  (But she can’t smell the alcohol, so maybe Junko is only pretending.  If she is, she’s doing a very good job of it.)

“No, I’m not.”  Junko brushes her nose along Kyoko’s neck, which makes it a lot harder to stand still, but she does it anyway.  “I’m just—”  She chokes back a sob. “You’re so pretty.  You’re like a ghost.”

How did Junko even get alcohol anyway?

(One of the upper classmen is literally the Ultimate Yakuza, and one of their own classmates is old enough to drink, and Kyoko’s asking how Junko got drunk.  She’d been talking about a huge party she wanted to go to earlier.  That was probably it.  Kyoko never goes to their parties.  At least, not for long enough to be more than an appearance just so that no one questions why she never goes – they can’t say she never goes when they’ve seen her there, even if only briefly.)

“You should…you should let me dress you up, Hibiki-chan,” Junko purrs soft in her ear.  “Celeste thinks she’s so pretty, but put you in deep violets, and you’d…you’d be….”

Kyoko flinches.

“No, no, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you.”  Junko wraps an arm around Kyoko’s waist and burrows her head into Kyoko’s collarbone.  “I’d never hurt you—”

“I didn’t say you would.”

But Junko pulls back just enough to search Kyoko’s face with those bloodshot eyes.  “You’re scared of me?”

“No­—”

“You’re scared of all of us.”  Junko’s eyes narrow, and she sways a bit, even though she sounds more sure of herself when she speaks.  “You don’t need to be,” she whines, drawing that last word out as her face grows redder.

Kyoko sighs.  “I already told you, I’m not.”

Junko takes Kyoko’s face in both of her hands, the tips of her deep red nails sharp against her skin, and she pulls Kyoko closer to her.  “Did I tell you you’re pretty?  Because you’re sooooooo pretty, Hibiki-chan.”

“Junko.  You’re drunk.  You need to go—”

Then Junko kisses her.

It is sloppy and uncomfortable (and doesn’t taste of alcohol, which means Junko’s definitely pretending) and then, suddenly, it isn’t, and it doesn’t matter because Junko should not be kissing her, no one should be kissing her, they will see—

Kyoko pushes her away, ignores the pain in Junko’s face (and even more ignores the whining “Hibiki-chaaaaaaan!” behind her), and runs away.

It’s an instinct.  A necessity.

And it doesn’t matter.

The next morning, Junko is gone, and a black envelope waits in Kyoko’s mailbox.

(At least they addressed it to Hibiki Haruko and not to Kyoko Kirigiri, but at this point, does it really even matter?)

~

Kyoko wonders, idly, what will happen if she never opens the envelope.

Technically, if she doesn’t open it, that’s just putting off the starting time.  It isn’t, strictly speaking, choosing not to play.  That would be opening the envelope and then choosing not to chase the trail.  If she never opens it, then maybe….

(She knows that isn’t how this works, but she wants to pretend.  She wants to pretend for as long as she can.)

Kyoko shoves the envelope into the inside pocket of her tailored jacket, glances at the single bullet mark scar in the center of her hand, and sets off to find the nearest detective agency.

~

In a world where she didn’t run, maybe Kyoko would have ended up working at Samidare Detective Agency.  Perhaps if she had, it wouldn’t look nearly as empty as it does now.  She can imagine more than the single desk in the back of the office, more than the single filing cabinet, more than an old desktop (not even a laptop, but a desktop so thick that she’s honestly surprised it still runs), more than an office that seems so pristine and dustless that it’s clear its single occupant rarely gets any cases at all – or, if she does, certainly doesn’t take any money from her clients to upgrade any of the rundown furniture scattered here and there.  The chairs don’t match.  The bookshelves don’t match, and they’ve barely got a book or two on them.

In that world, Kyoko imagines three desks: hers, Yui’s, and Licorne’s.  (Lico would be here, she’s sure of it.  He would travel back from wherever he’d landed to be part of their little family again, regardless of whether she wanted him there or not.)  Lico’s, of course, would be just as pristine as Yui’s now is, not because he didn’t get any cases but because he didn’t need anything to figure them out.  Yui’s would be covered with papers, the computer would be significantly better, and there would be multiple filing cabinets here, there, and everywhere.

Kyoko cannot imagine what her own desk would look like.  Her brain fails her there.

In this world, Samidare Detective Agency is as it is now.  Empty.  Unadorned.  Hidden in a little spot in an alley where there’s probably just as much crime outside as there is brought in here to be solved.  Kyoko has just enough time to run a finger along Yui’s desk and note the picture before the bell at the front door jingles.

“I thought I locked it.  Hope no one tried to steal the computer—”

“No one’s going to steal that thing, Yui onee-sama.  They’d lose money on it.”

“Well, it’s all I could aff...ord.”  Yui pauses with her right shoe half off, her fingers still curved into it, her other hand pressed to the wall to hold herself steady, and glances up.  She hesitates, the wheels in her head turning, whirring, and finally, she says, “Kyoko?”

Kyoko’s gaze drops.  “I’m sorry for worrying you, onee-sama,” she murmurs, tucking strands of her hair back behind one ear, “but yes.  It’s me.”  She sucks her lower lip between her teeth.  “And I….”  When she glances up, when she meets Yui’s eyes, her heart pounds hopelessly.  “I need your help.”

At her words, Yui softens.  She drops her shoe to the floor with a soft tap and eases, almost.  “Alright,” she says, hiding the smile that threatens to break across her face like the first glimmer of sunlight through a storm cloud.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

[ace-malarky]

Olympian

In which Syn rethinks some decisions and contemplates what going home means now

also the last of the prompts! who knows what we'll get next week ahaha

work that out when we get there, right?

(actually we're taking a break next week because I am Out of Town and that lined up rly nicely. I'd say planned, except I was sure this was supposed to go up when I was away^^;)

~~

They had known, conceptually, that this was going to be hard. Alone in an enemy country, pretending to be someone they’re not. Lying.

Admittedly, they were good at that. Their shapeshifting gave them an edge, of course, but–

“Val.” Someone thumped their shoulder.

Syn snapped back to attention. “Sorry sir.”

“Is this a case of working you too hard or not enough?” Jaiel shook his hand out as if he’d actually hurt himself. “I can never tell with dragon touched.”

“We aren’t a monolith,” they replied.

“Yes, I suppose you aren’t.” He returned to the couch, sprawling across it on his front. His wings were half open, one over the back of the couch and the other draped onto the floor, the feathers in disarray.

Syn resisted the urge to tart grooming them, as they had done since meeting the prince. They didn’t need to give the wrong impression.

They didn’t need to carve themself out a place any more than they already had. This was a job, this wasn’t – they weren’t here to make friends.

Bad enough that Bryn was making inroads for them, carving them out a space in the dragon touched community.

Syn always felt a little like a fraud, but it was getting worse than ever with each gathering they turned up to.

2You’re not listening, are you?” Jaiel asked. “Really, Val, if you’re going to be so unresponsive, I might as well have asked for Neryd today.”

“Sorry sir,” Syn repeated, dragging their attention back to him. “I’ll do my best not to let it happen again.”

“Yes, see that you don’t.” Jaiel gave them a reproving glance, propping his chin up on his palms. His foot rotated aimlessly in the air. “You’re right, though. All this waiting around is boring. Perhaps we should find some way to amuse ourselves, hm? Keep us alert?”

“We aren’t to leave this room until summoned,” Syn said, keeping their voice level.

“No, we just have to be here when they call for us.” Jaiel twisted to his feet and stretched. “Think outside of the box, Val.” He made a vague attempt to tug his shirt and waistcoat back into neatness.

“And if we are not in here when they call for us?”

He dropped his hands back down and made a face at them. “Oh, you’re no fun today.”

“My apologies, sir.”

He laughed, slinging an arm over their shoulder. “Oh, Val, you’re far too good. Don’t you know a little youthful rebellion is good for the soul?” He frowned, studying their face. “How old are you? I can never tell with the scales.”

Syn fought to keep their face expressionless, though the urge to roll their eyes was immense.

Jaiel snorted and let them go. “Keep your secrets, then.”

The hardest part of their job, Syn reflected, was not the subterfuge or the constant lying or being separated from their friends and family. It was not responding to Jaiel’s absolute bullshit with the mockery and teasing it deserved.

They didn’t even have anyone to complain at about it, either. Not safely.

2val.”

They snapped back to attention as the door opened.

Jaiel laughed. “Oh, alright. Is it time?”

Miseidon nodded. “They’re waiting for you now.”

“Oh, well, if they’re waiting for us.” Jaiel tucked his wings into his back. “Let’s see what they want, hm, Val?”

His feathers were still in disarray, but he didn’t care and no one would dare comment on it.

Syn walked behind him and did their best to push down the urge to attempt a fix themself. It would not be welcomed.

Or maybe it would, and that would create a whole different problem.

Miseidon knocked on the door of the war room, waited a beat for some signal Syn didn’t catch, and pushed it open for them.

“Prince Jaiel. Our apologies for keeping you waiting.”

Syn flicked glances around the room as best they could without being obvious. They hadn’t had a chance to be in here before, and it would be of great use if they could get information back.

“Oh, we’ve had a grand old time just whiling away the hours, haven’t we Val?”

“Yes, your highness.” Syn answered, dipping their head in a bow to the room at large.

“So,” Jaiel clapped his hands, striding forward to the end of the table, “what have you got for us today?”

His father cleared his throat. “Jaiel.”

“Father.” Jaiel rested his hands on the table. “I hope you aren’t about to waste my time with trivial updates.”

“Your bodyguard should not be in here. Dismiss them.”

Syn tensed but started to step back.

Jaiel stopped them, spreading one wing out at their back. “Oh? We trust them with my life but not our plans? Wherever I go, they will be going as well, I hope you realise.”

Syn froze, hyper aware of his feathers brushing against them.

“He will be taking an escort with him,” said one of the advisors, “of which they will surely be a part.”

“Yes, father, do you care so little for me that I must change my bodyguard to suit your whim? Val and I get on so well.”

Syn chanced a look at the table. A map of their two countries, the dragon touched mountains at the edge. It showed the roads, the rivers, the cities, and the forests in detail, the checkpoints marked with miniature battalion. The sea coast had a few ships, some towers, but was largely free.

“It is a diplomatic mission, your majesty.”

“A dragon touched may give the wrong impression.”

Syn didn’t frown. They’d heard some stories of the fighting prowess of dragon touched – it was part of why they’d chosen the form – but every dragon touched they had met had been nothing like that. It was only a small sample and the stories had to come from somewhere, but–

“Very well,” the king was saying, in response to something Syn had missed, “they may stay. But this is in strictest confidence. Not one word of this is to leave this room until you are on your way. Is that clear?”

“Yes, father.” Jaiel folded his wings back in.

“Your majesty.” Syn bowed.

“Verial has been asking for an opening of trade routes, which they claim will be beneficial for both countries.”

A buzz of laughter rippled through the room.

Syn was alert, awake, focused. Every inch of them locked in on what the king would say next.

“In the spirit of such overtures, we thought it best to send you, Prince Jaiel, to head the talks. To show how serious we are.”

They were going home.

“Father, that sounds terribly dull. It won’t be all board meetings and business lunches, will it?” Jaiel scowled. “I hope not.”

They were going home.

“You will not be going alone. I will send some of our top diplomats with you, and a strong guard presence. Do not do anything to upset the talks.”

“Of course not, father, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

… Fuck, they were going home. Not as themself. As part of a diplomatic party from a country they had a tenuous relationship with.

“Was this really all you had us waiting for?” Jaiel said, in sulky tones that suggested it could have just as well been a message.

His father raised his eyebrows. “I was expecting to have to convince you, not this… ready acquiesance.”

“Ah, well, that is all Val’s doing. They’re a good influence.”

“Is that so.” The king turned his gaze on Syn. “You are not long in our court, are you?”

“No, sir.”

“They have worked well on their own merit. A perfect guard,” said Carrisan.

“Yes, you’re not too mad I stole them from you, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“I am grateful for the opportunities afforded to me.” Syn bowed, keeping their face blank against the internal screaming. “I hope to do you proud.”

“Keep my son alive. Do your job, and do it well.”

Syn raised themself back up, slowly. Their job was going to get so much harder.

[pethfics]

ZUTARA WEEK 2021 (Catch-up), Day Two: Disguised

Title: Unceremonious Unmasking Summary: Sometimes, the most elaborate masks were also the subtlest. People had developed so many ways of concealing themselves beyond just changing their appearance, and it was these quirks that Toph loved to explore. Read on FF.net

[razzle-zazzle]

How do you come up with the titles for your fics? They're very creative!

This is a very funny question for me to receive, because the answer... varies. Prior to getting an AO3 account, I only really titled my fics if I had a good idea for a title; AO3 requires every piece to be titled, though, and a lot of them... did not come easily.

I have the easiest time with Whumptobers, as I just title those based on the prompt. Otherwise, I have to come up with the titles myself, and it's usually the first thing I think of that sounds good enough. I have two pieces titled "i don't even know" and "dormmates (idk what to call this)" respectively purely bc I couldn't think of a title for them, and then I have pieces where the title is some low-meaning jargon that vibed like "it's snow problem!" "tiny steps in the night" "eggs for one" and so on. So more often than not I'm scrambling to figure out some kind of title to satisfy AO3 and then leaving the piece untitled on tumblr bc it doesn't need one.

When it comes to naming AUs... yeah, that varies too. I had a lot of trouble coming up with a name for the Between AU because a lot of what I was coming up with (Bergen Branch, Bergen Brothers, etc) either felt misleading, incomplete, or didn't fit the tone quite right. So even though "Between AU" makes no reference to the fact that Branch gets to be Bergen royalty, it still works with Branch's character arcs in that AU as being caught between different worlds. Some of my AU titles end up being more literal or descriptive (Undead Acrobat, PN Rapids AU), and some get to be a little more poetic (Pearl & Seaglass, The River Runs Deep).

There is one series where I spent a lot of time figuring out titles; in fact, just a few weeks ago I had a category two brainrot event that witnessed me going through all the ice and ice-related Wikipedia articles + a thesaurus shifting some of the titles in If We're All for One World (the title of which is literally just a lyric from the show's theme song, lmao). And the names from that series don't all fit a cohesive theme! I just put them together based on the other pieces they could be themed with, and based on what served the story best! I do have a series where all the names follow a theme (Buried Beneath), but it's a loose theme of "earth-related" lmao.

tl;dr I pick names based on what works for the fic itself, but sometimes I just throw words together until I get something that sounds vaguely fitting, and sometimes the fic is part of a series where the titles have some kind of theme, but even then it tends to be loosey-goosey.