#more weird fic prompts

[here-there-everyfuckenwhere]

So I want y’all’s opinion on something;

I have this idea for a fic where Stede (+everyone on the Revenge) somehow crosses paths with Viago, I know the time periods don’t quite match up but who tf cares about historical accuracy lol and as soon as he meets Stede he immediately starts kinda flirting with him with the intention of getting him to let his guard down (like that scene when he kills that woman in their apartment), meanwhile Ed gets super jealous because Viago is this super rich, charming, sophisticated guy and of course Stede is into him, why wouldn’t he be? So he gets weirdly suspicious of him and somehow becomes the first one to realise Viago is a vampire, and swoops in at the very last second to rescue Stede.

Do you think it’s weird..? Would you guys read that if I wrote it..? Let me know!

#ray rants and junk #ofmd #our flag means death #ted lasso #more weird fic prompts #ray watches ofmd #stede/ed #Ed/stede #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #viago my beloved #viago wwdits #what we do in the shadows #taika waititi #Rhys Darby

[lovelesslittleloser]

Tbh this has been on my mind for MONTHS

Human codes… but they’re not actually codes??

A small group of humans is discovered by some curious aliens. Both sides can assume that the other is sentient. The aliens are trying to translate the humans’ language to their own, and the humans are trying to learn the aliens’ language. But since humans are tricky, they’ve decided that they don’t want the aliens to know their language, so they can have secret conversations.

So they go a little crazy. With written words, they randomly use lowercase and capital letters, even using numbers and symbols, and use a lot of slang, occasionally using words incorrectly on purpose. They’ll jumble the words a bit so that only human brains can guess their meaning (that thing where if you use all the letters and put the proper letters at the beginning and end it’ll be comprehensible), and even use additional or unofficial languages (commonly known words like ‘hola’, ‘si’, ‘oui’, etc, and piglatin, in which you typically take the first letter or syllable of a word, place it at the end, and add ‘ay’ to the end).

As for spoken words, they will do a bit of the above, mashing languages and slang, perhaps mispronouncing a few things, and quoting memes, vines, movies, and even singing parts of songs to throw off the aliens. Perhaps they will say something with a somber meaning in a joyful way to throw off the meaning, or even just naturally (‘I wanna die!’ ‘Mood’), or vice versa.

Additionally, there would have to be a TON of body language. Maybe even sign language, should they know any. Gestures and expressions, eyebrow wiggles and poorly-hidden grins. Ah, the beauties of communication.

#I’m sure there’s more #please add more #aliens #humans #humans are space orcs #haso #humans are space fae #humans are space raccoons #humans are space orcs prompts #humans are weird #humans are insane #humans are terrifying #language #communication #lingustics #? I hope this counts as linguistics?? #I’ve had this in my head for an unwritten fic I’ve abandoned before its birth #just humans being clever little pricks #aliens: hello humans! we wish to communicate! please speak as you naturally would! #human: ouldshay eway unray? #other human: *offended look* Bethany. I made BISCUITS *subtle gesturing to alien food* #another human: if I stay there will be trouble~ and if I go there will be double~ so I gotta gotta know~ should I stay or should I go #alien: are we sure these are all the same species? because I’m fairly sure they’re all speaking different languages

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 1: season 8 or game mechanics

His teeth still taste like blood.

He's locked inside the belly of the Octagon. He doesn't know when he got there, but whoever wrestled him into it was smarter than Ren. They realized the full moon's light didn't reach the wiring. They realized it would give him time to down wolfsbane and silver nitrate. It also gave him time to throw it all up in the corner. If Doc were here, he'd be scolding Ren on the fact that silver nitrate is still a toxin and a disinfectant, and he should still be taking it in small doses, no matter how badly he wants to poison the wolf.

He curls up, shuddering, against the wires and pipes that power the shop. He feels thin and gaunt. He hopes he has not had much to eat. He doesn't have a phone or communicator on him. He doesn't know the day. It doesn't matter what the day is. The moon's visible during the daytime, too. It may have only been a night. It may have been weeks. It's probably at least been days.

He throws up again, because wolfsbane is poisonous too.

Most things that can keep a wolf down are poisonous. Ren doesn't have to take them often. He's normally... controlled. A tamed wolf on the full moon. He has a pack to run with. He doesn't need to poison himself to keep the wolf at bay. He doesn't need to take silver nitrate like it's a medicine and not a reagent.

But none of this is making his teeth stop tasting like blood. His shirt is covered in it, too. His legs. His face, he thinks--he can't see his reflection in here. He wouldn't know. But it would have to be. There's so much blood on him.

He doesn't have a scratch on him.

The only thing that stops him, then, from taking more silver nitrate is that if he respawns from the poison damage, he'll respawn out under the moon. He'll respawn back out there. And then--

He shudders. He folds himself into a tighter ball against the belly of the Octagon. In a shaking voice, he cries out for Doc again. Doc has to be nearby. Doc has to be nearby. Because if he isn't--

No one answers. Ren doesn't know who locked him in here. He wonders if it was a struggle.

He's covered in blood.

It smells horribly good. Ren feels dizzy. He's gaunt. He's so hungry. He'll hold that to his chest. He's hungry and sick, not simply sick. If he weren't hungry--if he weren't hungry--

But he's not as hungry as he should be, if it's been days, and he's covered in blood, and he resists the urge to howl, a long, mournful thing. He doesn't want to howl, or bark, or anything else right now.

Instead he cries, a human thing, and holds onto it tightly while he waits for the pain in his stomach and the shudders over his skin and the grey stains where he'd grabbed the bottle and the vomiting to end, so he can take another dose, and force the wolf further down. Down enough to be safe.

Down enough that he didn't maul his friends to death.

Down enough that he can know if he did.

Down enough that he won't try to leave again, as he knows he will, as the moon shines outside, and as soon as someone tries to open the door to rescue him, letting that light back in.

#hermithorrorweek2023 #a bee fic #hermitcraft #rendog #okay so if i'm gonna do a prompt week apparently i have to ease into it gently. by going back to my horror wheelhouse #and simply doing Weird Big Moon Stuff #i fought for TOO LONG to come up with game mechanics as a prompt when season eight was RIGHT THERE #anyway. more stories where the horror of the werewolf isn't that there is a wolf. #but that you are a wolf. and you do not know what you have done. #anyway. ren the werewolf during big moon huh. #gore #horror #emetophobia #self harm #...this is basically just whump more than horror but LETS GO I NEEDED TO WRITE THAT TOO #moon's big #ask to tag

[bonebrokebuddy]

A TROPE I WOULD LIKE TO SEE EXPLORED MORE: 

I’ve seen many fics where it hits the general story beats of: Danny gets approached by Gotham citizens. They talk to him like they know Danny but he has never seen these people before in his life. Eventually he finds out that people are mistaking him for a batkid. Eventually the look-alikes meet and they share stories of how they got confused for each other and wanted to meet the other to see who they kept getting confused for. 

I’ve seen authors do this mainly with Gotham citizens or a member of the batfamily mistaking Danny for a member of the batfamily. 

But I haven’t seen many examples of the reverse. An Amity Park citizen approaching a batkid thinking that they are Danny. 

Imagine the possibilities. The many hcs about creepy Amity Park would mesh perfectly with this. The batkids would be massively confused and be very concerned because like,

What the fuck is wrong with these weird people who keep approaching him and asking when his parent’s wrist rays are going to go back in stock because their old one broke? Who is this “Danny” guy and why do they look enough alike for them to be mistaken for the other multiple times in one day? What the fuck is wrong with the town these guys are coming from because when they are background checked they’ve all came from this small town in Illinois? And why do these people keep thinking he’s been possessed by ghost then pull weird sci-fi looking guns out of nowhere and fire at him with weird green goo when they say they’re not Danny? 

Ways this prompt could work in many different ways for different batkids with  the above scenario (but if you write something about Amity Park members mistaking a batkid for Danny, please tag me i would love to read it):

--------------

DAMIAN

Initially, the Amity Park citizen thought that Danny was doing his “spooky eye” thing but then after the kid said he wasn’t Danny, they realized it was a sign of possession. Damian isn’t possessed; he just has green eyes. 

ANOTHER ROUTE:

Damian thinks that one of his clones has escaped the league of assassins and now is living a normal life in Amity. Seeking to get rid of the weaker clone, Damian goes to Amity to kill Danny. They fight but Danny tries to talk it out and eventually, after nearly being murdered in his bed multiple nights in a row, consents to DNA testing. The best part? Because Danny canonically has fucked up dna due to that “his molecules got all rearranged” so, for this, it means that Danny’s DNA is so fucked up when trying to do any testing on it, that it’s essentially unreadable. So they are never able to actually finally disprove that Danny isn’t related to Damian (who is paranoid that the birth certificates and baby photos of Danny could be elaborately faked by the league of assassins because they cannot biologically disprove that they are not related but jokes on him, they’re not actually related. They just look alike).

——————

TIM

Tim notes the name Amity Park and once he gets back to the batcave, he begins his research. And is then immediately concerned at the blatant digital non-existence up of the entire town. There are some news reports, a town website, articles about places to visit and restaurants to eat at. But that's it. Just articles and official websites that are oddly blank. He can find no social media posts or blogs or any online activity at all from people inside Amity Park. No tweets with the location set to Amity, no youtube channels, no school email addresses, no nothing from people within Amity. 

Just complete digital silence. 

Whoever was responsible was doing a pretty shitty job at hiding that they were covering up something big. And all it took was a VPN with the location set in Amity with Justice League clearance and he was in.

Amateurs.

Tim sat back as the batcomputer began compiling and sorting the previously hidden information. Five minutes into the scan, a popup appeared with the first set of interesting things about Amity. The most notable was that the town has been being attacked by monsters they called “ghosts” for over 5 years now. The second was that there was an previously undocumented organization that claimed to be government funded but with further research, it wasn’t clear which government as a little digging revealed the money to be sourced from multiple of them. The third was the Dr.s Fenton research. Research seemed to have changed from the belief that ghosts were non-sentient forms of energy fueled by their last emotions alive to the current perception of ghosts not only being sentient but there being countless and very intriguing research papers on the history, governments, and cultures from a variety of ghost societies.

The fourth popup was the surface level information on Danny Fenton. As the batcomputer would need more time to find more information. And holy shit. The guy did look like him. Well, almost. In the most recent photo that Danny posted with his friends, Tim could clearly see that there were a few differences. Namely, his build. Fenton was visibly more muscular with broader shoulders and a few inches taller. But scrolling back through the images, he found one from before Danny got his apparent growth spurt and they looked nearly identical. Sure Tim had a slightly different jawline, different eye shape with the color a different shade of blue. But Danny looked like if someone tried to draw Tim from memory. It was uncanny. But there was much larger things to worry about as a new chime from the batcomputer brought his attention and to his shock, he already had access to the ghost investigation ward’s database. There is no way that the batcomputer's program automatic searching for firewall weakness actually worked on a government clearance server. But probing around in the server, it became quickly apparent that it wasn’t easily accessible false information to give to people so they  think they’ve achieved their goal. No, the automatic system actually worked and someone had left a convenient backdoor to the server that gave him access through an “Agent K’s” clearance.

There was so much data available that it quickly became clear to Tim that it would take a while to sort through it all. Glancing over the different files, Tim froze and clicked on a file labeled “Fenton-Lazarus-Agreement.pdf”. It took a while to read as the scanned contract was so compressed that it was nearly illegible. This “Ghost Investigation Ward” was planning on performing experiments combining Lazarus Water with a substance only referred to as “purified ectoplasm” to see how it affected ghosts, humans, and to see how it could be integrated into weapons that could equally affect both. Horrified, Tim began to comb through as much information as he could find. But while Agent K had clearance to know about the upcoming plans for these tests, they did not have access to any other communication about it. So, with no other easily exploitable trapdoor, Tim set to work sorting through encrypted and classified information. 

No shit whoever it was left the obvious backdoor, he would too after how damn long it took to unencrypt the damn messages, it was almost inhuman how difficult it was. He had to meet the guy who hacked into the organization first. Because whoever it was, had his undying respect and he just wished that the dude got access to the rest of the database because if they were hiding it this well, it must be something really bad.

Several hours later, the lights of the batcave have long since automatically shut off. The light from the batcomputer being the only source of illumination still on, casting harsh dramatic shadows across the billions of dollars worth of equipment and trophies around him. While Tim knew he shouldn’t be down here this late because the light will disturb the natural sleep cycle of the bats within it, right now he did not care. But Tim’s attention wasn’t focused on the familiarly creepy atmosphere of the cave or the sound of the unnaturally active bats. His eyes, now red and dry from straining for hours looking at the bright light were focused on the records of communications between the Al Ghul’s glaring down at him from the screen. The unencrypted emails detailed an agreement for the exchange of “Fenton Works weapons and gadgets” in return for Lazarus water. Tim reread the emails again and again. Fenton Works. He knew that something was up. From what he recalled from the guy who shot green goo at him earlier that day, they mentioned something about “wrist rays” available for purchase by the Fentons. Guess his doppelganger was more involved in Tim’s life than he previously thought. .

After spending many days researching and compiling information, Tim was able to send a full, cohesive report to Bruce first, then the Justice League as further investigation of goings-on in the Ghost Investigation Ward and Amity Park revealed that there was much more being covered up than just the ghosts and the connection to the League of Assassins in the little midwestern town. 

Tim was able to convince Bruce to let him be apart of the scouting and information gathering team when the League was cleared to investigate Amity Park. He really wanted to find the guy who was able to hack into the Ghost Investigation Ward’s security, get some Fenton Works tech incase ghost attacks ever occurred in Gotham, and to maybe meet this Danny guy and see if he can ask him if there is a way to get ectoplasm out of clothing because the last Amity Park guy who thought he was processed got a shot in and the ectoplasm stain wont come out of his favorite shirt.

--------

Jason

This wasn’t Jason’s first encounter with an Amity citizen, but this was the first time they landed a shot in and it hurt. The middle aged black man stood in front of Jason with his gun still raised. The man wore a light blue work polo with tan pants. The shirt was embroidered with a company logo of an “Axion Labs” in white followed by the attacker’s name, Damon Gray, embroidered in black.  

Barely having any time to recover from the shot, the Gray continued his barrage of fire and yelled, “GET OUT OF DANNY YOU GHOST!” Jason narrowly dodged the rays coming at him of the weird toxic green energy that was so bright it almost flickered out of human perception. So Jason did the reasonable thing and ran. He needed to escape the barrage of bullets and couldn’t fight back in his civilian gear. Dodging into a nearby alleyway to escape the blasts, Jason jumped up in the nearby fire escape and hastily began to climb. Pain erupted from his shoulder as he looked down and saw Gray with surprising amounts of dexterity and mobility for a man around 50, easily hop up on the fire escape and continued to fire. And so the chase continued. The guy was a surprisingly good shot, as evident from the stinging pain in his back and shoulder and it was a relief when finally Jason was able to loose the attacker. But by the time he donned his red hood gear, the asshole was gone. 

Unbeknownst to Jason, Damon Grey had hurriedly changed course as he realized that if he missed the meeting he flew over 800 miles to get to, his boss would kill him regardless if it was to stop a possession or not. On the train, he opened up his Amity Alert App and reported the possession and location to let the rest of the town to keep a lookout for Danny and excuse any actions he may make until the ghost is removed.

800 miles away, three alerts rung off from three phones, one with a galaxy case, one in a purple case, and one in an absolute brick of a case that looked like it would survive a nuclear blast before it let the phone inside break. Tucker looked up from his computer and went to turn the alert off before he paused. Looked back the notification then over his shoulder where Danny sat at assembling a Fenton Works device (Danny seriously regrets letting Tucker set up that online shop because now his days are mostly filled with helping keep up with the backlog of orders. His parents’ age are gaining on them and they don’t have the ability to constantly be making inventions like they used to. So, Danny does his best to help out.) with Sam working on a different order next to him. Both of them haven already turned their respective phone’s alerts off.  

“Hey Danny”, Tucker called out, making Danny pause from his current task of assembling a Fenton Lipstick Blaster and turn his head to look at Tucker,

“Yeah dude?” 

Holding his phone close to his face and clearly enunciating to emphasize the message, Tucker began to read, “Are you aware that at 12:43pm today you were spotted being processed in Gotham by Valerie’s Dad?” Tucker lowered his phone and looked back up at Danny who had fully put down his tools and reached for his own phone.

“Didn’t you say that El was visiting Spain right now?”

“Yeah, she sent me a photo of a seagull stealing someone’s hat from there, like, two hours ago.” Tucker could see Danny tapping around on his phone, presumably opening his conversation with Dani.

Danny’s eyebrows furrowed and he paused looking at his screen. “No, she definitely wouldn’t have been able to travel back to the US by now unless she found a natural portal or called Wulf. But I’m going to text her again really quick just to make sure.” 

Tucker got up and walked over to where the ghost boy and Sam sat at the workbench. Then they waited. A few moments later, the typing indicator’s dots popped up and a new message appeared.

It read, “Nope! I’m still in Spain? I saw the alert, are you okay?”

After typing a response, Danny laid his phone down on the cluttered workbench rubbed his face in his hands and turned to face Sam and Tucker.

“What the fuck do we do now?”

#dp x dc #dc comics #batman #danny phantom #jason todd #damian wayne #tim drake #writing prompt #dp x dc prompt #who am i kidding this is basically the outline of a fic #you can tell that as i went on i just kept getting ideas and it just kept getting more and more eborate #this was meant to be 200 words tops #this is now 2.4k #my bad im awful at keeping stuff short and not shoving weird bits of worldbuilding and story detail into things #my bad #im awful at keeping these short and keep adding random bits of worldbuilding and technicalities and story detail i #into what is meant to be just prompts to get the idea out there #and now i have around 10k of unfinished story ideas and fairly elaborate worldbuilding about fawcett city that i have been working on #for maybe about a month or so and i keep just adding things to it #and most of it i still need to transfer into writing because the ideas are for the fawcett city stuff is mainly stored in audio notes #and i need to write them out and make them less of vague ideas #and i just know that is going to take me ages #the worst part is i have to post my original founding idea of where most of my other ideas for fawcett stem from #and so the adding on ideas dont make as much sense if i dont have the main thing posted already #so i have tons of halfwritten things for fawcett city worldbuilding and how to make it super memorable and have golden age comic logic #be essentially integrated into the very founding of Fawcett #but i keep having new ideas so i dont work on that one but i also really want to get it done because im very proud of it but ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh #anyways #thats all for now #hope you enjoyed the prompts

[royjamierot]

Roy/Jamie fic idea: Jamie is actually more deeply hurt about Roy duping him into going out for that beer. He’s actually in love with Roy and just went along to Keeley’s because he was pissed. Jamie starts to withdraw from Roy, who’s still being stubbornly dense. Roy realizes eventually and had to figure out how to get his best friend/the prick he might have feeling for in turn back

ahhh thank you!! i had so much fun writing this!! i really appreciate the request! sorry it took so long to get it out, i hope you enjoy it. this is a little different than what you asked but in my defense i kinda took it and ran

Jamie runs the night over in his head again. He thinks about the way Roy had asked him to come out with him. He replays how Roy had said he was proud of him.

It's been hours since it happened, but Jamie stands in his kitchen, thinking about how Roy said he was proud. It still makes something inside him twist. He wants to hear it again, and he knows it'll keep replaying even if it was just a fuckin' lead in to Roy telling Jamie he was getting back with Keeley. It was all a lead up to Roy saying that he knew Jamie had feelings for her, but they were starting something back up. Basically that he should stay out of the way.

Such bullshit.

Jamie takes a deep breath, puts his hands out on the table in front of him. He's back home, in his kitchen, and he meant to make something to eat but he's been standing still replaying the conversation over and over again.

There was that stupid thought in his mind, that the trip to the bar was a date. Everything they had done before, just the two of them, had always been followed by or preceded by training. This was the first time Roy invited him out, to a bar, to let him drink and everything. So something stupid and deep inside of him hoped and let himself think it was a date.

He had sat down, and Roy had sat down right next to him. The memory of it still lights him up. He wishes he could still feel Roy's side pressed against him. He's not sure he'll ever get that warmth again.

He had looked at Roy so fondly, and Roy looked back, and said he was proud. Jamie is sure he blushed. It was so good. It was everything he had ever wanted. He had gotten ahead of himself. In hindsight, he had gotten too excited and assumed things he wasn't told explicitly. That's his fault.

But he was so excited. There was a warmth on his cheeks and his lips that he wanted to share with the man next to him. Roy was being so kind, and he invited him out but-

Then Roy had said "I know you have a lot of feelings for Keeley-" and his stomach dropped right there. Everything he said after that mattered but also it didn't, because only then Jamie realized it wasn't a date to Roy.

It was like there was a sharp poke to the muscle around his heart, and there was a surge of pain and resistance.

Jamie doesn't know how it happened so fast, but suddenly he wanted to scream at Roy. He wanted to tell him he was the densest man Jamie knew, tell him that it's not Keeley Jamie has feelings for.

Jamie didn't say any of that.

It wouldn't have changed anything, probably would have made it all worse.

He hadn't screamed at Roy. He just pretended every feeling of anger eating him up then was about Keeley. It was easier that way. It was easier to fight and push and insult and make up over shared stupidity than it was to say something true.

Jamie snaps to reality when he accidentally tips a cup over when his shaking hand brushes it.

He sighs and picks the cup up and puts it in his sink.

His mind won't do anything besides run the night around over and over, hoping to find some proof it all didn't happen or-

Or that Roy feels the same way for Jamie.

Jamie's traitorous heart still hopes.

Even now, after relentlessly picking apart the night, Jamie hopes for something impossible.

He had let himself hope too much and he was let down. It's the hope that kills you, he thinks.

Another deep breath, another look around his kitchen. He eyes his freezer, says fuck it, and pulls out the pint of ice cream he bought specifically for Roy when he's over. Roy doesn't deserve it anymore and Jamie wants to wallow like he just got broken up with.

If you told Jamie a year ago that his self proclaimed cheat day consisted of one singular beer and a half eaten pint of rocky road, he would have called you insane. If you told him he was in his feelings about Roy Kent, he would be marginally less surprised. His feelings about Roy aren't exactly new. He's self aware enough to know that.

He plops himself down at the telly, turns on whatever show was first on his continue watching, and promptly passes out before he can even get a fifth bite of ice cream in. So much for a cheat day.

Jamie doesn't sleep easy or comfortably. He has a vague nightmare where a growly voice calls him stupid for ever hoping for something more. Jamie knows who the voice is, but even his subconscious isn't cruel enough to put Roy's face to the voice.

He wakes up to the sound of pounding on his door. He can't make sense of where he is for a moment, cause he's not in bed, but then he sees the cup of melted ice cream still in his lap (thankfully not spilled) and it all comes flooding back.

Fuck.

He pads his way over to the door, not bothering to check the time because he can see it's still pitch black outside and by the way Roy is banging on the door he's probably late. A little after four AM then.

He opens the door mid knock, and he's greeted with an angry, and then confused Roy Kent.

Before saying anything, Roy reaches up towards Jamie's face. Jamie snaps back.

"What the fuck mate?" He looks at Roy incredulously. He'd like to think he didn't flinch, but he knows he did.

Roy sort of stills with his hand in the air for a split second before touching his own face.

"You've got somethin'- What is that?" Roy rubs at the spot on the edge of his mouth.

"What- Oh." Jamie mirrors him, and sure enough there's ice cream dried on the corner of his mouth.

Roy's hand drops to his side and Jamie realizes with a flush to his face that Roy was going to rub it off himself before Jamie jumped back.

He tries to not let himself think about it. He can't.

Except, well, he can. It'd be so easy to think about Roy's hand on his face, it'd be so easy to wonder what Roy's thumb on his face would be like. He could think about all of these. But he won't think about all of this.

That's the difference. He won't.

"You look like shit." Says Roy with a skeptical look, and Jamie straightens his back and doesn't let himself back down from Roy's analytical eyes.

"Fuck you too, grandad. Maybe you need some glasses in your old age." Jamie snaps, and it's harsher than he meant it to be, but whatever. Serves him right.

Roy looks taken aback, almost confused again, and Jamie can't fucking stand it. It's too early for this. He can't look at Roy's face anymore.

"I'm gonna go get changed." Jamie says, and he closes the door on Roy before he can even say anything. He would usually invite him in but it's that kind of shit that made Jamie hope in the first place. They're friends, and that's exactly why Jamie needs to put this distance here.

Jamie bounds up the stairs and grabs a shirt and shorts that are a touch too tight, and Jamie still can't help but wonder what Roy will think of it.

He feels like he's gonna throw up. Roy doesn't want him like Jamie wants him to.

He's back down the stairs, and he fills up a water bottle. He frowns at the way he notices his hands are still shaking while he fills up the bottle.

He screws the lid on, and goes back to the front door. Another deep breath, and he's back outside. He doesn't look at Roy before shrugging his way past. He takes off in a jog that's just a little to fast to the point that he knows Roy can't keep up.

Jamie doesn't want to talk to him right now.

He runs too hard, stretches thoroughly, and ignores the screaming from his body when he works too hard just to make sure Roy can't criticize him for anything. Jamie pretends he doesn't notice Roy's eyes on him at any given time, or the way he squints like Jamie is a puzzle he can't find the missing pieces to.

It continues that way for a while. It's uncomfortably silent, and Jamie prays Roy can feel it. He wants Roy to feel a fraction of what Jamie feels.

Something ugly builds in Jamie in place of the silence. Something so angry and vindictive and jealous. He can't stand the way Roy doesn't say anything, doesn't apologize. If anything their little hissy fit was Roy's fault.

Then that anger gets dislodged a bit when Roy grunts out "good job" and Jamie feels his flush face despite himself.

Until he reminds himself that he's not supposed to react that way.

Then Jamie wants to cry again. How could he be so stupid to hope. It's the hope that kills you, he tells himself again.

He thinks he'll never hope again.

He'll move on.

Jamie is doing burpees now. Faster than he's ever done them. Jamie can feel Roy watching him, and he fights the bile building in his throat. Not well enough, of course. He pukes into a bush on the edge of the cluster of trees bordering this park. Nothing really comes up because he didn't eat this morning and the only thing he ate last night was ice cream.

A drink of water, and he's back to the burpees. He's going even faster than before. Everything fucking burns and he wants to go home, he wants to be alone.

"Oi! Tartt-" So much for Roy not talking to him. "You're working yourself harder than I do. Take a seat." He gestures to the bench next to him, but Jamie sits on the grass where he was standing.

Jamie sits and looks at everything besides Roy to the right of him. It's nice out. Jamie can imagine himself and Roy joking around if it was any other day. The thought makes him sick.

"Jamie-" And Jamie does not look at Roy then. He freezes at his first name, he freezes at the tone of his voice. It's so much softer than before.

"I'm sorry about last night. I was stupid and Keeley isn't an object and I had no right to claim her like I did and..." Roy talks slow, like it pains him to say it. "I wasn't just being nice, I don't want our feelings for her to get in they way of our friendship."

At that Jamie does look at him, for the first time since he showed up at Jamie's door. He looks so fucking sorry, and his eyes are wide in the way Jamie has only seen when he's worried about him. He says all this but he still doesn't fucking get why Jamie is upset. Roy tricked him! Jamie thought they were going out, and they weren't, it was all so Roy could say Keeley was his. That stupid adoration inside Jamie made him crave that ownership from Roy, but it was always impossible.

Jamie feels angry again, angry about 'our feelings for her' and 'friendship'. It's annoying how much Jamie feels about all of this. It takes over his body in a way he tries to hold back. It frightens him, the anger. He's scared of hurting people again. Scared of hurting Roy. He's not sure he'll ever escape the anger. It's a part of him he thinks. It eats at his insides and tries to undo every nice thing Jamie's ever done for Roy, every feeling of companionship.

Another wave of nausea overwhelms his senses and forces his eyes shut, trying to keep every cruel word from his mouth.

Despite it all he wants to hurt Roy the way he hurts and also deep inside that's the last thing he's ever wanted. He wants to call him an old twat. He craves to admit he's the best friend he's ever had and that he'd spend every morning and night with him.

And also he wants to say he's sorry too. Taking accountability and all that. He did rip Roy's shirt and insult him a lot.

His two sides fight internally, and he has to keep the nausea and the mean shit from escaping him. Roy is barely there to him anymore, it's just his own circling thoughts, his own whirlwind.

He takes a deep breath and looks at Roy. Who's still taking him apart with those annoyingly handsome worried eyes.

"Thanks." Is the only word that leaves Jamie. It's not an apology but it's not an insult either. Jamie grunts as he stands, and he thinks about throwing in a 'grandad' there too.

He doesn't.

Instead he turns, and starts walking. Walking away. It's a few moments before Roy is up and right behind him. Jamie can't stand it, he just needs to be away. If he's next to Roy for any longer his mind will keep going about his stupid anger and his even stupider love.

Because he knows that's what it is, love. Jamie doesn't fall often and when he does he falls hard.

What a fucking realization to have while walking away from the man you fell for.

He feels fingertips brush his hand, trying to grab it.

"Jamie-" Roy sounds confused. Jamie thinks he'll do something stupid if he turns around.

He runs. He takes off sprinting. He'd be using this sort of pace on the pitch. He runs and runs until he's out of the park, and then he runs some more until he's home.

That's the only solution he feels like he's ever known. He knows how to run. It's way easier than looking at Roy again and explaining the reason he's so upset is that he's actually in love with the twat.

He slams his front door behind him and realizes he left his water bottle at the park.

Whatever. Deep breath. He can buy another one.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Deep breath. It's not Roy. He ignores it.

It's like that for a bit. He's sort of catatonic besides the purposeful deep breaths he takes, like Dr. Fieldstone taught him. His mind races with the same thoughts that they were before, somewhat subdued since Roy isn't right next to him anymore.

He wonders what Roy thinks about his behavior. Obviously he thinks this morning was about Keeley. He's not even sure why Roy is so hung up on Jamie having feelings for Keeley. He hasn't had feelings for her in a while. Why does he think Jamie's in love with her?

He doesn't get it.

The rest of Jamie's day is half hearted. He watches TV. Makes a sandwich. Buys another pint of ice cream. Eats the whole thing. He finds now he can't really give a shit about what Roy told him to do, at least not while Roy isn't here.

He passes out in front of the TV again, this time the pint of ice cream is fully eaten. Even if his stomach is gonna hate him for it in the morning.

Another restless sleep.

Another early morning for Jamie, who's awoken to pounding on the door.

He stands up and places an empty ice cream pint on the kitchen counter.

Same thing as yesterday, he goes to the door and opens it, and hopefully convincingly glares at Roy.

"I'm sick." Jamie says before even thinking.

"No you're fucking not. Listen, I let you have your space yesterday especially after the shit with Keeley but you cannot run away from training and you can't-" Roy momentarily cuts himself off.

"You're my fucking friend Tartt, and my player, and this shouldn't get in the way of that. Grow up." Roy grunts instead, and furthers his statement with a point at Jamie's shoulder.

That ugly emotional thing is back in Jamie's chest, and he has felt too many fucking emotions the past few days. Grow up? He's grown the fuck up, he knows how he feels, it's not his fault Roy is oblivious to what's right in front of him. It's like he's rubbing in his feelings for Keeley every possible second he can. It makes Jamie sick to his stomach. He's never been good with jealousy.

"Any advice on how to do that, grandad?" He snaps back, and that stupid thing inside him starts mixing with guilt. He doesn't like being cruel. He doesn't know why he is.

Roy is glaring at him until his attention snaps to something behind him. Jamie turns to see what he's staring at, but as he does Roy brushes past his shoulder as he walks in.

"Fucking hell mate, didn't your mum ever teach ya' some manners?" Jamie half shouts at Roy and doesn't notice what he's walking towards.

"The fuck is this?" Roy is holding up the empty ice cream pint that Jamie had left open on the kitchen counter. Shit. Fuck. He had been fine with ignoring Roy's direction without him knowing but-

"What's it look like?" Jamie snaps, because he doesn't know how to deescalate. Because he doesn't want to. He wants Roy to yell at him because he wants a reason to hate him. There's a hope that Roy will do something that justifies the terrible emotions in Jamie's chest.

Jamie looks at Roy waiting for anything that will make him feel less guilty for the anger inside of him.

Instead, Roy sighs, and throws the empty pint in the trash. He walks over to Jamie, who squares up his shoulders and stands a little taller, prepared for yelling. Prepared for a fight. Just instinct, innit?

Roy stops a few feet in front of him, and Jamie eyes him cautiously. He's staring at Jamie like he's trying to communicate something telepathically. Jamie doesn't get whatever he's trying to say.

"Can we talk about this?" Roy asks.

"The ice cream?" Jamie asks incredulously.

"No, fucking- Us. Can we talk about us?" Roy groans. It's like a punch to the gut. Roy is fucking trying to talk to him about his emotions, about their relationship. All of this while Jamie is standing in front of him, praying he'll get frustrated and leave like most of the other people in Jamie's life. It'd be easier to move on that way, if Roy was an asshole.

Roy isn't like he used to be though, and neither is Jamie. They wouldn't be here, in Jamie's kitchen, talking about their relationship, if they were like they used to be. Jamie hasn't wished it before, but in this moment he wishes they were like they used to be.

But, well, he doesn't wish that at all, because he can tell Roy is so confused and Jamie doesn't know what to do.

What are they doing?

They stand in front of each other in an uncomfortable stretching silence. Jamie considers why they're here.

They're friends fighting over a girl. That's all they're supposed to be. Roy wants Jamie to get over it and explain why he's still upset, but if Jamie says anything about anything he'll end up saying something he regrets. Something too mean or something too true, it's all the same result. Losing Roy.

It's silent as Roy stares at Jamie, who's trying to piece together what to say without getting overwhelmed over basically nothing.

Deep breath.

"What is there to say? We both-" Jamie is cut off by a break in his own voice. "We both want what we can't have."

"Right, we both can't have her, so why are you so fucking mad still?" Roy says.

Jamie hasn't wanted Keeley in a while. All of this had been on the assumption from Roy that he still loved her which he doesn't. If only Roy could see that. He's sure it's obvious to everyone else around him.

"You have no fucking idea." Jamie says, and he knows he shouldn't but he sort of laughs at how oblivious Roy is.

"What?" Roy snaps, and Jamie wishes he could go back to two days ago when he was in love and still hoping Roy felt the same way. Right now he's in love and trying not to pick another fight with his favorite person in the world.

"Can you just go, mate, please?" Jamie groans.

"You're supposed to be training right now." Roy says. It's not even stern or commanding, it sounds like a plea. Jamie wants to punch him in the stomach, kiss him on the lips. He doesn't want Roy to leave, but he needs that to happen, otherwise he'll do something stupid.

Like punch him. Or kiss him.

Jamie tightens his jaw and stares Roy down, silently begging for the mercy of abandonment.

"I just don't understand. Keeley said you haven't tried to talk to her since we went to her house-" Roy has talked to Keeley about Jamie? " -and now you look like shit and you're running away and you won't talk to me and I don't understand what the fuck is wrong."

"I wish you didn't give a shit, that was easier." Jamie snaps and turns away, not even thinking about what he's saying.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Roy asks, and Jamie needs him to leave. Everything he's felt in the past 48 hours is building inside of him again. Every hurt feeling and shameful and soft enough.

His hands find purchase in the countertop he now holds himself against. He leans over his sink, facing the wall and pointedly not Roy. It's easier to speak when he's not staring directly at the thing making his life so much more complicated.

"Please just go-" He grunts, once again hoping for something he knows is impossible.

This conversation is short but with the way Jamie's mind is racing it feels like hours.

"I'm not going until you explain what the fuck is wrong." Roy sighs, and Jamie groans.

That unnameable beast inside of him rears its ugly head and forces Jamie to take what he wants even if it'll ruin all of this.

Something inside him snaps, and he does it.

Something stupid.

He turns and doesn't look at Roy before he kisses him. Because he's a stupid twat who knows this will further ruin whatever they already have. He'll get pushed off, and he'll die of embarrassment and transfer to a new club, fuck off to America if no one will take him.

Jamie kisses Roy softly, chastely, contrasting with the way he stormed over to Roy. There's the scratch of his beard, and his surprisingly soft lips, and Jamie wishes again. He wishes this wasn't happening like this.

It's over in a second and there's not a second before he's talking again.

Holding back tears, he says "It wasn't about Keeley. It was about you, you stupid twat."

Jamie is staring at the floor when he says it, before promptly turning on his heel and once again making a run for it. Everything inside of him is gone, washed away by the tide of mind numbing emptiness.

"I'm sorry." Jamie murmers back as he makes a start to dash up the stairs.

Jamie is already crushed by the weight of his own shame for doing that, for pushing himself on Roy. He had gotten better about his impulses, but he's still Jamie, a fact that disappoints himself almost daily. He'll never not be himself.

He's not three steps away before a hand catches his wrist and pulls him back.

A solid hand steadies him when he stumbles back, and another hand cups his face far more gently than he deserves.

Fucking hell.

Roy is kissing him. Roy is kissing him back, really kissing him, and Jamie is just standing here. Roy's hands hold Jamie's face, and his wrist, and he's kissing him.

The shock barely wears off in the few seconds before Jamie is kissing back. Holy shit. This is real.

He's at a loss for a way to describe the way he lights up. A candle could take his place and Jamie doesn't think it'd be any warmer or brighter than he feels.

The kiss is almost familiar, and sort of pushy and insistent. It's Roy fucking Kent.

It's not enough before Roy pulls back. Jamie holds back from chasing his lips.

Jamie inhales sharply and opens his eyes to see Roy in front of him looking so fond and so handsome.

"Jamie- I'm sorry. I like you too." He murmers.

That does a number on Jamie too.

What the fuck? Jamie thinks.

"What the fuck?" He also says it out loud. "But you like Keeley-"

"I was- um-" Roy suddenly looks squeamish and now he won't meet Jamie's eyes. "I was jealous of Keeley, I think. I saw you two talking and I thought I was jealous of you but-" He waves his hand between the two of them.

Jamie can't help the way he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach at the fact that Roy just admitted he was jealous of Keeley for just talking to Jamie.

"Oh. Oh." Jamie breathes out softly, scared that if he talks too loud it'll ruin the delicate admission.

"Yeah. I didn't realize until last night when I realized I had thought about you and fucking worried about you more than I had thought about Keeley in a while."

"You're so stupid." Jamie laughs to himself, pulling Roy into a hug just a touch too tight.

"Fuck off, what?" Roy says right next to Jamie's ear.

"I'm so down bad for you mate, you have no clue." Jamie smiles into Roy's neck.

There's a new overwhelming thing inside of him, warm and burning in a pleasant way. He wants to kiss him again.

So he does.

"We can talk about this later, can I kiss you?" Jamie asks, and Roy nods, and it's like nothing happened in the past day.

Jamie no longer has to fight those emotions inside himself and it's a breath of fresh air after having nearly drowned. Jamie knows the anger but this is new. The rainbow after the rain.

He could live in this moment forever.

#im so sorry if the pacing is weird #royjamie #fics #mine #jamie tartt #i love prompts I'll happily take more #asks

[acequeenking]

Fandom: Tekken

Relationship: Kazama Jun/Mishima Kazuya

Rating: Explicit (this one has sexy times so not for kiddos)

THIS IS POST TEKKEN 8. BIG TEKKEN 8 SPOILERS. DON'T READ IT WITHOUT FINISHING THE GAME UNLESS YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT SPOILERS.

Additional Tags: Reunion, Reunion sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Awkward Conversations About Not-So-Accidentally Trying to Murder Your Son and Actually Murdering Your Dad and Kind of Accidentally Abandoning Your Unknown Baby-Mama, Forgiveness, Getting Back Together, Dealing with the mental fallout of Tekken 2 to Tekken 8, which for both of them is...a lot, but they're getting there

"I am not the man you want me to be," Kazuya admits. "But that does not mean the man I am does not love you."

"...Still?" Jun asks, the word the only thing that can quite get out of her throat.

#tekken #jun kazama #kazuya mishima #kazjun #kazujun #kazjun week 2024 #kazujunweek2024 #yes this is SO GOD DAMN LATE #But it took on a life of its own and it's 16K so #;_; I throw myself on the mercy of the Kaz/Jun shipping court #this is the last prompt so now I gotta finish the others I started lol #There will probably be a sequel to this with Jin's perspective at some point because I am mentally ill for the Mishimas atm #because I imagine it would be so fucking weird to seeing your dad and mom get together after all...that #my favorite part of this fic is the repetitive aspect where they mirror one another a lot #....and tbh Kaz going GET USED TO YELLING MY NAME WOMAN which I think is the most in character thing I've ever written for him #this man is a service dom and a terror #I tried to write more realistic sex scene for them here and that was also quite fun!

[player1064]

kate for someone reason thinking jamie is homophobic not sure why or how but she does (sara has me obsessed with the idea that they can’t stand each other now lol) and then him introducing her to gary and she’s like 🤯 ft. micah in the corner like you didn’t know he never shuts up about him???

god Kate and Jamie literally CANNOT STAND EACH OTHER!!! I'm OBSESSED with that dynamic tbh!!!!!!! As always. this one is much longer than intended...

Also, don't need to have read it but this is technically intended to tie in to my fic Happy wife, happy life (but tldr Jamie regularly calls Gary his wife partly to keep their relationship under wraps but mostly bc. he finds it funny to call Gary his wife.)

---

“Obviously we’re done for the season right before pride month kicks off,” one of the CBS producers is saying, eyes darting over something on an iPad. “And since you four have been pretty popular we were thinking of including you in some of those ad campaigns, so if I could just get some dates off of all of you –”

“No,” Jamie says immediately.

All three of his colleagues snap their heads up to him, but only Kate looks at him coolly and says “no?”

Micah, because he’s Micah, chuckles and slaps Jamie in the shoulder, trying to diffuse some of the new tension in the air. “Not like you to turn down extra cash, Carra.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, pretends not to notice the way Kate’s eyes are burning into him. “Check my contract. Wish I could, honest,” he says to the producer, feeling very very glad that he had a clause added to his contract specifically so that he doesn’t have to take part in things like this, “But it just wouldn’t be do-able. You lot ‘ave fun, though, with yer rainbows and yer glitter.”

Kate just looks at him incredulously. “This is one thing you decide to take a stand on, mister ‘I don’t care about politics’?”

Rainbows just don’t really suit Jamie, is the thing. Nor does the extra scrutiny that comes from wearing rainbows.

Doesn’t really matter to him what Kate thinks of him, though, so he just shrugs and continues packing up his stuff for the day.

*

“Jamie – Jamie, I finally got onto Raya, can you have a look at my profile?”

Jamie looks up at Micah with a frown. “What the fuck is a Raya?”

“It’s a dating app,” Kate says from her end of the desk, in that unimpressed tone of hers that makes Jamie wonder why she’s bothering to insert herself into the conversation at all.

“An exclusive dating app,” Micah corrects, wiggling his phone in front of Jamie.

“Weren’t you already seeing someone?” asks Jamie, but he accepts the phone with a sigh and puts his glasses on. “I don’t – I’ve never used one of these things, what am I meant to be lookin’ at?”

Micah shrugs. “Didn’t work out,” he says breezily. “How have you never used a dating app, you’ve not been married that long. And look at yourself, you can’t tell me you weren’t a player before Mrs Carra came along.”

Jamie had got around a bit, in his playing days. Not much, mind, because he’d had to be careful, but he’d done alright. Unfortunately – and this is not something he’ll ever admit to anyone, even under duress – any thoughts of that had gone out the window the moment he’d walked onto the Sky campus after retiring.

“You’re right,” he says with a wink, “look at me. As if I’d need an app to find myself a bird. Why’d you want me to look at this, I’m not exactly your target audience. ‘less there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ us,” he adds, elbowing Micah and waggling his eyebrows.

Kate looks on unimpressed as the two of them double over in laughter. “Not that any of us would have a problem if you were, right Jamie?” she says haughtily.

Jamie catches Micah’s eye and has to fight back another bout of laughter. “Dunno,” he says, “I can think of one or two problems I’d ‘ave if Big Meeks here suddenly tried hittin’ on me.”

Micah bursts out laughing again, his hand clapping to Jamie’s forearm, and Jamie can’t help but join in – it’s infectious, okay?

“God,” Micah says, wiping a tear from his eye, “can you imagine how your missus would react. I’d never be able to work in television again.”

“Nah, she’d prob’ly send you a fruit basket, thank you for taking me off ‘er hands.”

Kate clears her throat and the two of them sober immediately at the sight of her raised eyebrow. “Maybe cool it with the outdated banter,” she says, “or do I need to remind you boys that you’re not in a dressing room anymore?”

She storms off, he heels click-clicking away as Jamie and Micah look at each other and try (and fail) not to start laughing again.  

*

“You didn’t want to bring your wife to the end of season party, then?” Kate asks politely, looking slowly around the room.

“Huh?” Jamie says eloquently, because he’s had a couple of glasses of prosecco and he’s not thinking as quickly as he usually might. “Oh, the missus. Yeah, she’s here but  – I dunno, she’s a bit shy, like. You didn’t invite Malik?”

Kate rolls her eyes, the way she always does when Jamie mentions her boyfriend. “Well, he lives in America. So.”

“Carra,” an annoying voice calls from just behind him, “Carra, come over ‘n meet Schmeichel? I’ve not seen ‘im in years, d’you know, I think I’d forgot how tall he was.”

Jamie puts a hand on the small of Gary’s back to keep him from bouncing around too much (the man is such a lightweight, it’s embarrassing), and says “I’ve already met Peter, you dolt. I work with ‘im, remember?”

Gary squints at him for a second. “You drag me all the way down to London, and then y’can’t even be bothered to –” he finally seems to realise that Jamie had been talking to someone, because he quickly shakes his head around a bit and holds a hand out to Kate with a smile. “You’re Kate, right? I love what you do on the show, honest, I’m always sayin’ people need to be meaner to James here.”

Jamie thinks he sees Kate blush a bit, like she hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed her dislike of Jamie, but she takes Gary’s offered hand anyway. “And of course you’re the famous Gary Neville, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she greets. “But aren't you still with Sky? What brings you to our little operation here?”

“Scopin’ out the competition,” he says with a wink, then turns back to Jamie. “Carra – Peter?”

“I said no! I’ll talk to him later, stop badgerin’ me.”

“Did you two travel down from Manchester together?” asks Kate, “You know, Jamie seems so invested in my relationship but none of us have ever met his wife, do you know where she’s got to?”

“Ah, his fuckin’ wife,” Gary mutters, smirking up at Jamie. Jamie winks in reply and slips his hand down a bit to pinch him on the arse.

Micah comes over, his tuxedo strained against his biceps, and he pulls Gary away from Jamie to throw an arm around his shoulder in a half-hug.

(Gary squirms a bit at the unexpected contact, but he still gives Micah a friendly pat on the chest.)

“Big Nev! It’s been ages, man – Jamie told us you were coming, but he’s promised that before and not delivered.”

“Been pretty busy, up in Manchester,” Gary says with a shrug, carefully extracting himself from under Micah’s arm and returning to Jamie’s side. “But I’m obliged to do the plus one thing at least two –” (“Three,” Jamie corrects,) “—fine, three times a year, and I figure there’re worse places to be.”

“Aw, you love it really,” Micah says. “I’ve always kind of wondered what it’s like to be a WAG.”

Gary rolls his eyes. “It’s a thankless job, to be fair.” He pokes Jamie in the bicep and adds “I’m going back to talk t' Peter, you miserable old twat. Honest, I’m always talkin' to Scousers fer you.”

“I already know –” Jamie starts to protest, but Gary’s already wandered off. “Ugh. Sorry about ‘im. You can’t take Mancs anywhere, can ya?”

The two Mancs he’s talking to look at him, unimpressed.

“He seemed nice,” Kate says carefully.

“He’s not,” Jamie replies.

*

“Good summer?” Micah asks, their first show back after the break.

“Brilliant,” Jamie replies with a grin. “It were my turn to choose the destination, so –”

“Ibiza?”

He nods. “Ibiza. The house was done just in time, too.”

“You know, I can’t really imagine Gary in Ibiza.”

“Oh, he hates it. Complained the whole time, but he does that wherever we go.”

He becomes aware that Kate is watching them from across the desk, not trying to hide that she’s listening to their conversation with curiosity. Jamie nods to her, all polite like. “Hows about you, Kate, good summer?”

“It was fine, I –” she shakes her head. “Sorry, you’re saying you go on holiday with Gary Neville?”

Micah scoffs. “Who else would he go with?” he asks, and Jamie points to him in agreement.

“I dunno, his wife?”

Jamie blinks.

He thought he’d got all this out the way, dragging Gary along to the party a couple of months ago. Apparently not.

“Gary is my wife,” he says, then suddenly feels very stupid saying that to someone who’s not already in on the joke, so he corrects to “my husband, I mean. Obviously he’s not – he’s a man. Obviously.”

Kate’s eyes are wide, unblinking. She looks between Jamie and Micah, lips pressed together while her brain seems to be buffering.

“You’re married to a man?” she says eventually. “But you’re not gay, I mean – you’re –”

Jamie, who last time he checked definitely was gay, raises an eyebrow, amused. “I’m what?”

“You’re a footballer,” she attempts, and oh, this is far too easy.

“Bit ‘omophobic, that, sayin’ footballers can’t be gay,” he replies, holding back a smirk.

“Oh shut up, you know what I – you’re a lad! You’re always with the banter, and the…”

Thierry wanders over, freshly brewed cup of tea in hand. “What have you two done this time?” he asks, looking pointedly at Jamie and Micah.

Jamie raises his hands to protest his innocence.

“Thierry,” Kate asks, reaching a hand out towards him, “did you know Jamie’s married to a man?”

Thierry rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fucking Neville,” he replies, and goes to sit down.

#thank you for the prompt I LOVED this and also. I've been waiting for an excuse to write more for that fic so heheeee here we are #carraville #drabbles #also in this universe since i never got into it in the main fic or in this drabble. jamie and gary got together after valencia #except it was more like a weird situationship/fwb thing for years and then they spent lockdown together and when things opened up were like #'hey why dont we get married lol'. and now are very happy together (always insulting each other) #wife gary saga

[thepetesimp]

I saw ur post about wanting writing prompts so I thought why not lol. (This is my first time doing this 😅) but I have a few of AUs on my art blog that I would love to see expanded on like my Tall Pete/Short Vegas au, A band au with Vegas being a lead singer and Pete falling in love at first sight, or Pete being Vegas’ personal bodyguard instead of Tankhun’s. So yea if u find any of these interesting I’d love to see ur spin on it

OMG hi! Thank you so much for sending me this, I'm so flattered you thought of asking me to write sth surrounding your AUs ❤️ It kind of feels like the secret Santa event all over again, I love it haha. The timing is actually a little too perfect, because a few weeks ago, I randomly stumbled upon a YouTube short about the side couple in Laws of Attraction and I proceeded to 1. lose my shit, so much so that I decided to start watching the show and 2. write a whole page full of notes about an AU in which Pete is Vegas' bodyguard, based on the pool scene of said short. So, to give a little context: In this alternative universe, Vegas and Gun visit the main family compound for a meeting. At some point, Korn wants to talk to Gun alone, so Vegas goes to the pool area to find Porsche, along with Pete who follows him. Vegas proceeds to flirt with Porsche, as Vegas does, up until Gun suddenly appears and starts yelling at him for unclear reasons. He escalates it when Vegas asks, baffled, why he's being yelled at, by slapping him and putting his head into the pool. Pete normally doesn't intervene when Gun gets violent with Vegas, but his protective instincts here kick in and he stops Gun from literally attempting to kill his own son. As a result, Gun's anger gets redirected at Pete, who gets beaten up in Vegas' stead. The snippet I wrote for you is the aftermath of everything I described above. I hope you like it ❤️ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Silence, occasionally broken by a faint sound that resembled sniffing. Pete couldn’t tell what it was, but in his state he couldn’t really tell where he was either, so he stopped worrying about it. He tried, instead, to remember what had happened that brought him here, wherever “here” was. The last thing he recalled was the feeling of Khun Gun’s shoes digging into his forearms, which he used in his attempt to protect his head from his boss’ repeated, brutal kicks. Khun Gun wasn’t the strongest man Pete had ever met, but there were reasons he always tried to stay on his good side, and his cruelty was one of them. The cruelty that had so many times been directed at his own son. The kind he was eerily familiar with.

Khun Vegas’ face materialized in Pete’s mind. Droplets of water running down his nose, his sharp cheekbones, reaching his neck. His hair wet and disheveled, his chest heaving from the difficulty to breathe after having had his head shoved into the pool. His expression crumbling with worry, something Pete had no logical way of explaining. Fuck, where was he? Pete could only hope Porsche had protected him from his father’s fury afterwards. Khun Gun was unpredictable; he couldn't be trusted to only be satisfied by lashing out at Pete. Pete needed to go find him as soon as possible. Opening his eyes proved to be a challenge. A heavy fog was clouding his vision, and the pain that was engulfing his whole body was preventing him from doing the simplest of movements. He groaned as he shifted his torso in a futile attempt to get up, resulting in a gasp that startled him into opening his eyes to check where it came from. His mouth was hanging open as he took in the image of Khun Vegas staring at him, fidgeting nervously in the chair he was sitting on. His eyes were red around the corners and he looked ghostly pale. Pete’s breath hitched. “Pete… ?” he said, dropping his gaze to the floor. He always did that when he was feeling guilty about something. “Are you... ?” “I’m fine, Khun Vegas,” Pete replied, despite the numbness in his limbs and the headache that was starting to form. “What about you? Are you hurt? Should I take you to the doct-” “We’re at the infirmary, you idiot,” Vegas shouted, interrupting him, but his voice lacked the usual heat. “Stop acting like my bodyguard right now, it pisses me off.” That’s all I know how to be, Pete wanted to tell him, but remained silent. That’s all I’m allowed. He didn’t really mind Khun Vegas’ words. He’d heard worse things over the years, things that should have probably hurt him. Somehow, Pete had the ability to forgive him anything. The atmosphere grew tense between them. Pete had grown used to that, too, but he had never seen Khun Vegas be so self conscious before. He wondered why the sudden change. “I’m not thanking you,” Pete heard him murmur after a few seconds; he uttered the words under his breath, while staring at his feet. If Pete had a better view of his face, he’d argue Khun Vegas was pouting. Pete could only reassure him. “You don’t have to, Khun Vegas. I was simply doing my job.” It had the opposite effect. The creases between his eyebrows deepened as he lifted his head and stared at Pete. Astonished as his mouth was open agape, likely for a retort that never came. Alternatively, he turned his attention to the small table next to Pete’s bed. He stood up and approached it hastily, grabbing something that was resting on top of it, before Pete could take a closer look. “The nurse said you have to take this,” he said and extended his arm at Pete, revealing a small pill. It was probably a standard type of painkiller. Bodyguards never got any special medical treatment, especially those working for the minor family. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Pete tried to lift his hand to take it, but he bitterly realized it was impossible. He winced as he took a look at both of his arms and found them bandaged, smears of purple popping at places his skin was uncovered. He cursed under his breath. “Ah, I’m sorry, Khun Vegas, I’ll just call the-” Cold fingertips pressed on Pete’s chin. They felt even colder on his lips, the pressure just enough to make him open his mouth. The pill slipped between his teeth easily, with the help of a wet tongue he'd never thought he'd get to taste. Hot air hit Pete’s cheeks. His heart was beating rapidly. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Water traveled down his throat, taking the pill with it. Pete blinked. His head felt light, his body even lighter. He didn’t know how to describe the feeling, but he didn’t think it was bad. He focused, instead, on Vegas, who was standing above him with an unusual sense of confidence.  “Get well soon. That’s an order.” It was enough to ground Pete back into reality. He was thankful for it.

“Yes, Khun Vegas.” It was only then that Pete noticed how the color returned on Vegas’ face and how his slight trembling seized. “Has Pete woken up yet?” Both of them jumped at the sound of Porsche’s voice. He poked his head into the room, completely oblivious to what had transpired before he showed up. “Oh, he has. How are you feeling?” “Good,” he replied sincerely. The pain didn’t bother him anymore.  A smile spread on his lips as he added, “Khun Vegas just gave me my medicine.” Porsche returned it, though his was more mischievous than playful. “Pete, you should have seen Vegas while he waited for you to wake up. I’ve never seen him crying so hard-” Vegas punched Porsche hard on the shoulder to stop him from talking, which made loud laughter escape Pete’s mouth. It earned him a glare, one of Vegas' serious ones. It'd bring him hell later, but Pete realized he was fine with that.

#it feels so weird posting sth I wrote without having it beta read #shout out to my beautiful beta thank you for keeping me sane #sth I wanted to add but Tumblr doesn't let me is that here Vegas and Pete have a significant age gap #Vegas is 20 at most while Pete is around 28 #it's how Laws of Attraction inspired me I'm sorry people #this may turn into an actual fic if I get inspiration to write the rest of it #God it feels good to write again #I have a few more prompts to write and I will I promise #I've kind of figured them all out but it'll take a little while longer #but thank you to everyone who sent me a prompt they're all incredible #it means the world to me #kinnporche the series #vegaspete #fanfic writing #writers asks #writing prompt

[queen-scribbles]

Massive sigh of relief as my last teal pen held on just long enough to finish the Ardrali fic😅

#queen rambles #writer stuff #i'm v weird about changing ink colors mid-fic #i don't like to do it #and i'm to the point i can only write owap in purple #like the muses won't talk to me using any other color #i had so many teals bc i use them for emiri (only color i like to write her stuff in) and i was writing her a lot for the pillars prompts #but then that stopped and i had like nine of them still so i've just been going ''oh i have plenty i don't need more'' #and now i'm OUT #so i'll be hitting michaels today and hoping they have individuals of the teal in stock

[oocdpfics]

Listen.

I'm not saying they could take place in the same universe

But I am saying that Danny Phantom and the 2007 mystery flesh pit incident could take place at the same time and it would be Danny's luck to be dragged there by his parents when the July 4th incident happens and that would be a wild angsty fic

#danny phantom #mystery flesh pit #also of u want to do the eldritch danny angle that would be prime chaos #ooc #prompt #his parents drag him and jazz there because they think it could lead to a natural ghost portal #jazz and danny are just hoping to try and make the most of this weird park #Danny feels constantly on edge the entire time #sighs #time to add this to fics i wanna write one day but its more than a one shot so i won't

[perexcri]

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - [byler week - day 4]

title from: fourth of july by fall out boy

dedicated to: the lake i lived next to in rural [STATE REDACTED] for 3/4 of my college years

It’s something that haunts him, of course.

It’s the colorful bursts of light he sees when he blinks too fast, the popping in his ears once the pressure builds up, a cool sluice of water against his ankles, and the slickness of forearms beneath his fingers. It comes to him in waves like the ones that lapped against the shore, cuts into the soles of his feet like the juts of limestone buried beneath the mud, invades his sinuses like the scent of dry, overgrown grass and burnt-orange pine needles blanketing the land.

Summer is usually the time of freedom, when the sun stays out far past when it should have gone to sleep and coaxes people out of their homes and into hazy, smoke-filled nights. The world is burning with color, the earth warm beneath his feet, and the hours trickle away in untamed drops of afternoon showers and the lingering blue wash of dusk. When he was younger, summer seemed the season of possibilities: for adventures, for discoveries, for reading new books and seeing new sights, for slipping from the cloak of shadows the rest of the year seemed draped in to finally embrace the warmth of life reignited in his chest.

Once, it had even felt like the possibility of something more.

Mike’s mouth drops into a scowl as he stares at the face of the lake. The book between his ribs and arm presses into his side just a little harder, his hands are shaking, and even after twelve years, he thought he’d be done with these pitiful twists of hope he feels every summer he returns here. He can make it down the main street of the town without worries, even if he does double-takes at every brunette he sees pass by in his car’s smudged windows, and he can make the winding trail down to the lakeside just fine. He can unlock his family’s summer home and breathe in its scent of musty sheets, stale coffee, and woodsmoke of vacations past. Hell, he can even toss his pile of books onto the kitchen table and listen to it groan under the strain of his literature Ph.D. program’s third year, a further reminder that time has passed and his life, for better or worse, has changed.

He’s always fine until he sees the ever-shifting face of the lake, how it mischievously gleams under both sun and moon. That’s when his heart convulses into these ugly, gut-mashing twists and his body gets forcibly wrenched back in time. 1999 dissolves around him like pixels on the screen of a video game being shut off, and suddenly, 1987 burns against his skin. His parents are in the lakehouse, there’s fireworks popping colors all across the sky, and the boy he’d seen around town the past few summers has his fingers tangled with Mike’s, and he’s tugging him towards the lake, his mouth flush with moonlight as he says, What’s the worst that can happen?

A lot, actually. Sometimes, you turn over a stone and discover something either wonderful or frightening, and it slips from your fingers before you have a chance to decide which one it is. Sometimes, the summer fades into the new school year, and there’s no way to contact the only person you’ve ever felt like this for, and when you come back the next year, he’s nowhere to be seen.

And now, he’s got nothing to show for it but the way his heart twists and turns inside the empty cavity of his chest, and the images that haunt the poetry he submits to the campus literary magazine: lakes frosted with moonlight, summer humidity pressing hot between chests and mouths, fingers curled into the damp fringes of hair, distant sparks of light that could be stars or fireflies, though the narrator is always too preoccupied to tell the difference.

He glowers at the lake and how it sucks all the light from the sun, steals its colors to shade water’s surface instead. The sky is growing dimly bruised with purples and magentas and oranges, the water burns scarlet from the light, and the navy cloth of night is quickly overtaking it all.

The book presses more forcefully into his side; it shakes. He’s twenty-eight, and he should be over this by now, but he can’t help that every time he sees the water, he thinks of how it tasted pressed between their mouths, or how slick it felt against the other boy’s skin, or the way they’d forcefully embraced after clambering back onto the shore, the other boy’s back crinkling into the reedy grasses of the shore, Mike sprawled on top of him, alternating between pressing his ear to the other boy’s warm chest to hear the racing pulse of his heart, or else tilting his head up to admire how the colors of light burst against the other boy’s skin and eyes. They rained on him in showers of colors Mike thinks couldn’t exist except for that summer, and how they shaded every single other moment they spent glued to each other’s sides after that. He’s twenty-eight, and he should be over this by now, but nothing beats the feeling of weightlessness that comes from falling, falling, falling down into love when you’re sixteen.

“This is stupid,” he mutters, which is something he tells himself a lot, but it’s mostly to remind himself that twelve years of a pitiful crush on a boy he knew for one summer are, in fact, a little ridiculous, and he’d been ridiculous to decide to do his summer research at his family’s old lakeside home. He’d been studying the Romantics the past three years, and for some reason, he thought this was his last chance at letting their wayward paths cross once more. At this point, it isn’t even about his own wish fulfillment–he simply needs peace, to press his fingers into the other person’s wrist and know he’s alive so they can say their goodbyes and part in peace.

The water laps against the shore, just a little closer to his battered sneakers.

“Stupid,” he repeats before forcefully tucking a chunk of his hair behind his ears, turning on his heels, and storming back to the comforting recesses of the lake house.

  Summer is the liquidity of time: he passes through the barriers of day and night, today and tomorrow with ease, sleeping at odd hours, poring over dusty volumes of poetry and diaries he’d checked out in haste from his university’s library. There’s more coffee than blood running through his veins, and when he goes outside, it’s only ever to drive into town to buy groceries or refill his car’s tank. He doesn’t look out the back windows at the lake, and he sure as hell doesn’t try to breathe in more of the musk of pine trees than he has to.

He’s safe, cocooned in his family’s old home, huddled under blankets against the frigid wash of AC he keeps steadily pumping through the vents. He hunches at the table, sprawls on the couch, curls up on the bed in languid fits of sleep, and the taste of undercooked pasta or frozen dinners becomes the all-too familiar fuel to his days of research, note-taking, and thesis writing.

When he does pull out his old weathered notebook of poetry, it’s only ever to scratch down a few lines in tired replication of the old greats: John Keats, Lord Byron, Pushkin. He used to go outside for hours and try to capture the endless summer delights in shoddy, amateur lyrics, but he knows better than to let his pens fall into those familiar strokes now, and he’s fine in the dusty corners and wilting walls inside, anyway.

All dependent variables are removed from the equation, and his summer becomes one of controlled focus: he will get this research done, and he will focus on the next stage of his life, and he will not, for any reason whatsoever, follow the pitiful tugs of his heart towards some vain hope that the other boy will remember, that he’ll show up again, that he’ll even want to come back to this lonely corner of the country on some vague inclination that Mike might be here, too.

  Except for one day in early July, when there’s a faint knock at the door that makes his head jerk up from the volume of Coleridge’s poetry he’s been mindlessly thumbing through. It’s as soft as a breeze off the face of the lake, and for a moment, he can almost convince himself he’d only misheard the breath of life around him.

Until there’s another, slightly louder, unmistakable staccato: knock knock knock.

He wrenches open the door and is met with hazel eyes he’d only ever had the courage to admire under the colors of fireworks, moonlight, and the last dying rays of summer sunsets. His hair’s been trimmed from the shaggy bangs he’d once worn, and it’s strange for it to be mid-summer and him to be clad in jeans and not shorts, a collared shirt and not a polo.

The volume of poetry slips out of Mike’s hand and falls, painfully, on the arch of his left foot.

“Is it really you?” he asks through a wince of pain.

Will grins, his face alight. “Yeah, it’s me.” There’s a beat, then, with a quirked eyebrow, he asks, “You remember?”

How could I not? Mike thinks, drinking in the matured features of the boy he only knew for a summer, now grown-up and full and alive.

Once more, summer becomes a time of possibility, and the love kept captive in Mike’s chest feels a little less small and derisive. He feels whole and electric, like he could dissolve into the brief flares of light and color of those fireworks from long ago.

For the first time in twelve years, the world seems blossoming, full of possibility, and when Mike reaches out, he’s greeted by that feeling of life beneath his fingers, a chance to know that this is real.

With a grin, he realizes that the possibilities are endless.

---

the lake in question:

#byler #byler fic #bylerweek2023 #ficlet #summer love #anyway i highly recommend living next to a lake in rural [REDACTED] and staring at the water while the sun sets #also there was an lgbtq+ campground across the lake that used to play party music :D #anyway i would have had no ideas for this prompt if it weren't for remembering the lake so!! #also i feel like i could explore this idea a lot more #like it kinda ended where it was just beginning #hrrmmmm #thinking thoughts thoughting thinks #also sorry for weird spacing between a couple of sections #there's gonna be line breaks on ao3 but idk what im doing on this hellsite so!! have fun with that!!

[readylovewrites]

The concept of the Hyde becoming aimless rather than strictly more aggressive with the loss of its master. Tyler, escaped, haunting the woods near his cave, waiting for Laurel to come back and just tell him what to do, what is he supposed to do? Standing amidst the silence of an abandoned forest, listless, holding himself and feeling his eyes lose focus, supernaturally attuned ears absently picking up on the sound of fallen leaves hitting the earth. At some point—he doesn’t know when—he tore apart a deer but there’s no satisfaction in it like there was when it was Laurel’s biding so it’s laying at his feet, forgotten.

abandoned.

He doesn’t know it, but Wednesday has been looking for him since she heard of his escape. She herself isn’t sure if she means to kill him or study him or… well. She thinks about what a Hyde might do when it’s master is dead but there haven’t been bodies turning up so maybe he went home? She decides to investigate and finds him there with his back to her, stock-still, and she’d think he hasn’t noticed her except for the way his fingers tighten around his biceps.

she waits. If he attacks her, she’ll have her fun in besting him on her own. If he attacks, they can see who’ll draw first blood and—more importantly—who will draw last.

he doesn’t.

wind whispers through the trees, the black, whirling maw of the cave a hellmouth of bad memories, and neither tyler nor Hyde try to kill her. It’s shaping up to be a pathetic birthday.

“Well?” she prompts.

he doesn’t react.

she lets it hang for another moment, but grows impatient: “I killed your master. I’m right here. What are you waiting for?” And then, mockingly, “Orders?”

compellingly, his head turns just the slightest bit towards her and she sees in profile his lost expression. And it clicks then. Because he is and, by the look on his face, they’ve only both just realized it.

this could almost feel like a victory if Wednesday were not suddenly struck by the injustice of it. Because Tyler looks small. Looks lost. Looks like nothing at all.

chains on a wall.

she steps up beside him, more irritated that she can’t even have fun at his expense, and sees the deer. “My parents got me a taxidermy kit for my birthday last year. At least this wasn’t a total waste.”

Later, when she’s instructed Thing to grab the back legs while she takes the front and carted off her trophy, he’s still standing there but gradually, as the dark is setting in, a warmth creeps up on him. He feels his mind waking. Sees from the corner of his eye prey emerging from nearby brush.

———

the next morning, when Wednesday is leaving her dorm for her first class, the toe of her boot collides with the malleable form of a dead rabbit.

#Weyler #Wyler #Wednesday x Tyler #Wednesday Addams #tyler galpin #umm slight gore I guess but not really cause that’s not my thing #They’re so dysfunctional cjemsjxienhxkd #idk this is more headcanon wishlist than it is fic so I’m not even calling it that #it’s more a prompt than anything lol #someone better than me write it!! #if you see any mistakes no you don’t because I didn’t even try #basically I want Tyler to choose Wednesday as his new master but without it getting out of hand #I wouldn’t want it to be super weird or super unhealthy #but like #it’s the Addams family #check your sense of what would be healthy in a normal relationship at the door #hmmmm

[generic-sonic-fan]

metal sonic getting a hug for the first time 🥺

Sure thing, boss! Coming right up 😊

---

Unit MS-1 was incapacitated.

Its programming dictated that it begin calculations for an escape route, but one of its core directives erased the notion immediately. Processor output was to be limited to prevent the generation of excess heat. Excess heat would burn the exposed skin of the hand placed on the back of its head.

Movement, too, would cause harm. Its joints would pinch the flesh pressed against every square centimeter of its chest, face, and arms. It could not harm. It could not harm. Its core directive pressed heavy into its awareness, threatening retribution at the slightest mistake.

It could not fulfill its function like this. It could not move. Its function required movement. Movement was its primary asset, its only defense, its only purpose. It had already failed its purpose once yesterday. Was this further punishment?

Before it could speculate on this query, Dr. Ivo Robotnik released his grasp.

"Nope. Never doing that again." He spun his stool to face the opposite wall, before covering his face with his hands. "Get a grip, Ivo. . ."

He sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes. He then turned to the computer screen. "Delete camera footage for the past three minutes of room 108-A."

The monitor responded with an affirmative ping.

He faced Unit MS-1. "And you. Del-"

"Doctor. Your attendance is required on automaton line three." The computer chimed.

"Augh! Fine. Metal Sonic, enter standby. Damn lines, can't stay functional for a single second. . ."

Dr. Ivo Robotnik's voice faded, along with his footsteps. Unit MS-1 allowed its creator's command to seize its movements. It sorted the newly-acquired data into its permanent memory banks before allowing standby mode to dim its awareness until his return.

#metal sonic #fanfiction #congrats! new core memory unlocked #Eggman is a bad dad in this one #set in my fic verse hence the weird name #AAAAAH this is such a good prompt!! #I'll definitely be touching on it in more detail in the longfic #there's so much character development shenanigans to mine here #complex inquiries

[becauseplot]

dont mind me tripping and falling in here again. but i would also love to hear about botw au. legend of zelda au's my absolute beloved they have me running circles around my room. adrenaline shot straight to the heart nothing digs its claws in me quite like loz and i am so so interested to hear about it!! clingyduo doomed to save the world in every universe,,,, i'm invested already

thank you so much for humoring me, i love botw aus so much theyre aaaa!! aaAAAAAaaAaaAAa!!!!

so yeah this originally started bc an old friend of mine and i were talking and i forget who suggested it but we were like "hey wouldn't tommyinnit as link be so funny? because tommyinnit is like the exact opposite kind of feral-energy of botw link. loud and swears and uncontrollable and headstrong. hylia's most annoying hero." and things just devolved from there. it's fully a Crack Treated Seriously situation because i spent actual months working out lore n worldbuilding and whatnot fhdjskhfdk.

the fic is officially called Well, Excuuuuuuuse Me, Big Man: The BotW AU No One Asked For (or WEMBM for short)

basic layout (as far as i went with it anyway):

tommy more-or-less follows the order of what you're "supposed" to do to to beat the game: plateau->kakariko->hateno->kakariko again->four main regions->master sword->ganon. of course there are a lot of detours and back-tracking and skipping around for hyjinx

main regions/inhabitants are replaced: Zora->Axols (axolotl "hybrids"), Gorons->Piglins, Rito->Elytrians, Gerudo->Enderians

each of the above races have their own cultures that are loosely based off of the game's original counterparts and some mcrp fanon + personal headcanons thrown in. they're customized to incorporate some (mild) minecraft elements!!

old champions: Mipha->Niki, Daruk->Technoblade, Rivali->Philza, Urbosa->Ran (based loosely off of tftsmp Ran, effectively an oc lmao????)

new champions: Sidon->Foolish (Niki's younger brother) and Jack (Niki's best friend), Yunobo->Drista, Teba->Wilbur, Riju->Ranboo

all of their personalities more-or-less remain intact (which is why the fact that i put The Old Man / King Rhoam as Schlatt so fucking funny)

divine beasts keep their names but the creatures change!! Ruta is a glow squid, Rudania is a blaze, Medoh is still a bird (LMAO i might change this because...), Naboris is a phantom

some scattered details

wilbur is both the "new" champion role AND kass' role!! he and tommy meet early on in his journey (at his first visit to Hateno) but tommy doesn't learn about wilbur's heritage (Philza was his great great great grandfather) until MUCH later. they run into each other a lot during their travels.

wilbur also has a hardcore crush on an axol warrior named sally, which tommy teases and embarrasses him relentlessly for

tubbo (zelda-role) keeps zelda's arc of not being able to develop powers. the key difference is that tommy and tubbo are friends before the calamity business starts to get serious, and tubbo's frustration drives a wedge between them

(angst time: clingy duo has a Big Fight during that one sheikah slate Memory on the palace tower bridge, and they never get the chance to apologize to each other before it all goes to shit and tommy dies sacrificing himself to save tubbo.)

techno and phil are old friends from when they'd do colosseum fights together. they haven't talked much for a few years before becoming champions, both too busy with their respective duties at home, but the moment they realize they've both been recruited well, they're inseparable

windbombing, bullet-time bouncing, and shield clipping are canon. don't question it.

champion ran is a dick (think revali) and the only one there they respect is niki because they underestimated her and then she proceeded to floor them during a sparring session (and she didn't even threaten them with a water based attack, it was all skill)

awesamdude (most people call him "sam", he's ranboo's personal guard) has a half brother named awesamnook (most people call him "nook" or "samnook"). he's the Beedle-role and he talks in all caps like an npc ("HELLO TRAVELER." "Why are you shouting---" "HAVE A LOOK AT MY WARES." "Okay---")

bad runs the yiga-equivalent egg cult that, instead of disguising themselves as travelers, simply uses sprouts of blood-red flowers with a toxic pollen to mind-control bystanders into attacking tommy (yikes)

have some highlights from the few chapters i've written of tommy on the great plateau (yes, the entire google doc is written in comic sans)

tommy immediately sassing tubbo's disembodied voice:

tommy is 7 feet from the cave and is shoving things in his mouth:

(I should also mention he has a pet beetle in his pocket named Sir Legs)

tommy has a grudge against the sheikah pedestals, it's a whole arc on the plateau as he slowly comes to love and appreciate the pedestals and what they do for him:

old man J vs tommy's unwavering optimism(bullheadedness):

tommy vs disembodied voices:

tommy vs the first shrine:

tommy meets a monk:

pulling a direct line from philza's botw playthrough for this one:

me when i fast travel:

The loading screen says: "Leaving Comments: Leaving comments on a fic is a great way to make a writer go :D and give them the motivation they need to continue their bullshittery."

also some chapter titles:

#LONG ASS POST ALERT (and i didnt proofread this lol) #but yeah can you tell i miss this fic #lightningbig tysm for humoring me today. i just feel weird talking abt au ideas if im not prompted?? anyway ur the best <33 #the lore doc is 28 pages long and that's not including some of the stuff i haven't written down yet fhdjsk #this functioned as my “no thoughts head empty just write dumbassery” fic when i was working on it and i think its abt time it makes its- #-return with a little facelift and more cubitos tossed into the mix #asks for curly #WEMBM

[wettyres]

on mexico's track high altitude in the middle of a thunderstorm that causes a tornado, lewis gets struck by lightning in the middle of a race held on the winter solstice which opens a rip in the space time continum which he drives through on impulse, into a parallel universe where everything is the same except he and seb are married

#we need more weird scifi! #seblewis #fic prompts #and its an angst fest because au seb and au lewis have a deep history lewis doesnt know #and he wants his seb back. but likes what the other lewis has #and au seb wants his lewis back (imagine au lewis in og lewis' world wanting to go back too) #convoluted comic book ending where the lewises flip universes. but first have a chat in some middle zone #...lets say that mirror lewis video gave me ideas lol #sewis

[astriiformes]

Having a very "No write, only post" evening tonight. Words are just not happening, no matter how hard I try, but I want to finish a new chapter soon so badly.

#there have been zero (0) new pentiment gen fics since the exchange that happened in april #(and just one that updated since then. by me) #and only a couple fics of any kind #and with my brain special interesting so hard i would like to change that but. alas #i don't know. i've been in a weird mood all day #hoping my appointment with the history of medicine librarian on monday gets the gears turning again if nothing else does #also i'm starting to wonder about trying to put together a list of prompts for a fanwork week or something #but that would take slightly more thought and planning #hmm