#.prompt fourteen

[saltymarshmall0w]

beatdown buddies

(You always read fics where the pit is instantly calmed by Danny’s presence, but what if it didn’t?)

Now, you have to understand, that Jason was long past attacking strangers in a blind fury. The Bats? Sure, all the time--- but he was working on that.

This particular scrawny, possibly-homeless stranger hadn’t done anything more than simply exist in Jason’s proximity. If it was any other Crime Alley resident, Jason would be much more likely feel a surge of protectiveness.

This guy though– he was different.

Locking toxic-green eyes to toxic-green eyes made the pit in his skin violently react. Before he knew it, he was hitting the guy with everything he had, and the guy was hitting back.

The groceries Jason had left his apartment to get spilled all over the ground as the two rolled.

Pulled hair, split knuckles, and bruised bodies, the guy’s fist hit Jason’s jaw for the umpteenth time, cracking his head back and making him look at the gloomy sky.

They only used their fists. Jason could feel the familiar ghost of weapons hidden under the other guy’s hoodie, but neither pulled their hidden weapons.

Despite it all, Jason and the guy shared blood-tinged smiles. Blood boiled under his skin in an exciting trill. He was angry, and it was fantastic.

He’s pretty sure he just made a new best friend.

Someone hit Jason’s back with what could distinctly be identified as a broom. He vaguely heard the sound of yelling around him, but Jason’s only focus was getting his next hit in.

Eventually, they were stopped by a familiar shade of blue and black. Strong arms pulled him off the stranger and pinned his arms down, locking their arms over his chest to prevent Jason from getting free.

“You need to calm down!” Dickwing’s voice lectured in his ear. “You’re going to kill him!”

Surprisingly, Jason settled in Dick’s hold, fight and anger drained out of him in the space of a breath. The fire under his skin didn’t keep flaming and flaming and building it just– stopped.

“Oh, Please.” The stranger was grinning widely, despite the model of developing bruises and cuts across his face. A burly man who Jason vaguely recognized worked at the store they were standing right in front of was both holding up and holding back the guy. “We were just saying ‘Hi’.”

The guy made eye contact with Jason. Blue, no hints of green anywhere. The guy winked. “Danny.”

Frankly, Jason couldn’t quite explain his actions. He felt stupidly chastized by Nightwing’s patented older brother stare of disappointment. Apparently, the guy couldn’t explain his actions either, as he disappeared the instant no one’s eyes were on him.

-

Jason arrived an hour early to Wayne Sunday family dinner. He missed cooking alongside Alfred, and offered his help.

He let Dick wrap an arm around his shoulder for a few seconds as a welcome. He didn’t seethe at Bruce simply being there. He chose to sit between Tim and the Demon brat when it looked like new fratricide plans were being drawn up by the younger.

The pit didn’t scream under his skin to hurt. Little things didn’t set him off, making him have to leave early. He wasn’t tempted to throttle anyone for existing around him.

The pit was just… quiet. Peaceful even. Well, as peaceful as it could get in the Wayne household.

It was a massive improvement compared to six months ago— hell, compared to last month.

He shrugged off inquiries about his black eye, citing it would heal quickly anyway.

-

Jason should have known he wasn’t safe.

Sure, he was on a roof one could only grapple to, across the city from crime alley, and dressed up as Red Hood.

However, Danny always reappeared periodically like a well-timed extremely therapeutic punching bag.

One moment, Jason was looking down over the streets of Gotham the next, he was being flying-kicked by a lithe frame. Something instantly recognized Danny so, rather the putting a bullet in him, Jason picked himself back up into a crouch and lunged at Danny.

“Hood? Hood what’s going on?” Someone called in his ear— Oh, right he had connected comms with his family that night.

Danny stopped suddenly, straddling Jason’s stomach, one hand fisting his collar, the other posed to strike. He blinked. glowing green eyes turned blue. “You’re not like, busy doing vigilante stuff, are you?” He asked.

Every bruise and cut from their last fight was gone, his baby face appeared as though it had never been punched in his life, making him look all the more punchable.

“Nope.” Jason answered, driving an elbow into the kid’s stomach and in the same motion ripped the comm out of his ear to toss it to the side.

Minutes later Danny was pulled off him, and the fire under his skin died down.

He blinked back into his surroundings to find himself on a rooftop with half of Gotham’s vigilantes standing in a circle around him, an unease that he could only read because he was so familiar with them written in all of their body languages. Batman held Danny slightly behind himself, keeping a firm grasp on the guy so he couldn’t escape.

“You claimed the rage was getting better.” Bruce stated in the way that meant he was supposed to answer his unasked questions..

Jason waited for rage and indignance to rise up in him, but rather he just considered that Bruce saw glowing green eyes and a brutal beat down and made a logical leap.

“It has!” Jason argued anyway. He sniffed and ran a hand under his slightly bleeding nose. It didn’t sting enough to be broken. “I haven’t lost my cool in months.”

“That’s what he has me for!” Danny chimed happily. His nose was broken, but Danny didn’t seem to mind the twin streaks of blood running down his face. “We’re friends with Benefits. It’s always healthy to have a little dead-guy on dead-guy action. You guys should really fight with him more often, his ectoplasm is rank.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Just The Facts

Week #14 Prompt: "Can you hear me?" | Word Count: 813 | Rating: T | POV: Erica | Characters: Erica, Steve | CW: Language, Minor Allusions to Period-Typical Microaggressions | Tags: S4 "The Piggyback" Missing Scene, Scoops Troop Forever

Erica runs.

She hurries, just like Lucas asked. 

Her knee hurts, her back, her ankle. 

She feels sprung, in a way she never has before. Not crawling through the ductwork of the mall. Not in the elevator, surging down, down, down. That had been an adventure. 

Scoops Troop, solving the mystery. Taking down the big bad. 

It had been fun.

This isn't fun.

Not anymore. 

She barrels down the staircase, and out the front door, and straight across the street to the run-down park. She picks up her abandoned walkie, and presses the button down, holding it tight.

"Can you hear me? Code red. Code red! Over," she says, letting up on the button. And there's no response, just static. "Dustin?"

"Robin?"

"Steve?"

"Anyone?"

There's no one, "Code red. I need an ambulance. Hang on. I'm going for help."

And she runs down the street. Runs to the nearest house on the block that has any lights on, and bangs on the door. When it opens, she holds up her hands. Just the facts. That's all she needs to give.

"I'm Erica Sinclair. I live on Maple. My brother's hurt, and we need an ambulance."

Erica is running up the sidewalk when she sees it, the house ripping apart and she stutters, stopping, waiting to see where she'll be able to go from here. 

She's not even sure she can get back in the house. Not sure if there's anything left to get back to, not in there. Not now.

Lucas. Max.

She called for help. 

Lucas told her to, and she did.

Sirens are wailing in the distance, but she can't be sure if they're headed her way or not. Not now. There's a jagged line ripped through the earth, and the damage must be bad. Really, bad. All over.

Erica wants to go home. She wants her mom. She wants her dad. She wants Lucas.

Right now, she has none of those things.

So, she sits on the grass, and holds her leg. It hurts in several places, and she's scared. She won't cry, though. She won't.

And she doesn't cry, and she's proud of herself as she finally hears a car coming up the street, moving fast, and she hopes it's the ambulance.

It's not. 

But it might be better.

"What happened?" Steve screams as soon as his head pops up out of the car, then he's barreling towards her from down the road, where'd he'd parked as close as he could get to the falling apart house.

"I got tackled!" she screams, and she doesn't know why. That's not important. Max is hurt. Lucas too, probably.

Her stupid knee doesn't matter.

"By who?!" Steve screams back, falling to his knees, face twisted into a grimace as he hits the ground, sitting back on his haunches. "How hurt are you?" he asks, his hands touching her arms, her face, looking over her.

She thinks maybe she should ask him the same thing.

"I don't know. Some basketball goon. I'm okay. Max. Max is upstairs. With Lucas. It happened," she says, and Steve looks up. 

"Shit," he says.

"My thoughts exactly," she echoes.

The ambulance finally pulls up behind Steve's car, and Steve takes over, making her sit there, demanding that she not move. 

For once, she listens.

The ambulance takes Max, and Lucas crawls in with her after a small argument, but Steve vouches for him, and they seem to take his word when they wouldn't believe Lucas saying the same, exact thing.

She wants to think it's because Steve's older, because he's a Harrington, but she knows that's not all of the whole story, and she pushes it out of her mind. She got help. She did what Lucas asked her to do, and Steve's here now.

She doesn't have Lucas, or her mom or dad. But she has Steve.

And Steve's moving as if he's gonna pick her up, holding out his hands, like he expects her to be lifted onto his hip. Like she's a baby.

"What do you think you're doing, nerd?" she asks, but there's no heat, not tonight, "I'm eleven, not five."

Steve laughs, "Of course you are. Piggyback?"

Well, her body does hurt from being tackled by an overgrown horse's ass of a basketball player.

She nods, and Steve squats, letting her climb up. He moves stiffly, and winces as she wraps her legs around his sides, and she thinks maybe she should have declined his offer, just to keep from hurting him worse than he clearly already is.

"I'm eleven," she says softly, more to herself than him.

"I know you are, and none of this was cool," he says, hoisting her higher onto his back.

And that's what does it. It's embarrassing, and she couldn't explain it if she tried, but she buries her face in Steve's back, and finally cries.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[powernappin]

three cheers to the beloved dust 🥂

day 2, coworkers, for 15DaysofFatT!

[py6oto]

yet more late aitober prompts ... lets ignore my failed attempts to get this to work yesterday. prompts are guard, hello gordon, bugs, and streamer. hooray!

2023.10.27

[writingphoenix]

There’s a very particular stress position that I’ve had in mind since I was like 13 and a gymnast and it’s this. Whumpee is forced to sit with their back to a post. Ropes are tied to their thighs and ankles so their legs are forced open in a straddle. Each hour or so, a winch is tightened to force the straddle wider. (For more pain and probably long term damage, you can remove the thigh ropes to put pressure on the knees and make it feel like your legs will just snap.)

[mushroominaforest]

I have two ap art prompts to do tonight, I just finished the first one!

prompt was “fruit in a precarious situation” lmfao

It’s very rushed and bad but I’m hoping to get to bed by at least 2am, so I am declaring this one done and moving on to the next!

sorry for the lack of rw posting, school has me in a chokehold rn lol

[ineffablyruined]

Hugs and love to everybody this week. Take care of yourselves and know that @interesting-egg and I love you all very much.

This week's prompt is:

Guarded.

Captured and held under lock and key? Keeping their hearts protected? A guardian angel, perhaps?

The collection for this week can be found here:

Instructions for any new joiners and tags below the cut!

The Rules Are Simple:

Every Friday until the Season 3 premiere, I'll post a prompt.

You will have a week to write, draw, paper craft, record, completely scrap and start from the beginning after a crisis of confidence (oh, is that just me?), and post your interpretation of the prompt.

Tag your post #IneffablePromptAThon, #IneffablePAT #Ineffable Prompt-A-Thon, and/or #IPAT. Make sure to use them on Tumblr, X, IG, and AO3 so everyone can easily find your works!

Also tag your posts and AO3 with the Week Number and the Prompt, so we can all tell which prompt your creation accompanies.

Tag me @ineffablyruined in all of your posts, too, so I can reblog!

Add your contribution to the Ineffable Prompt-A-Thon collection on AO3 for this week. Link is below!

Look for the next prompt. Rinse. Repeat.

HAVE FUN!

This is meant to be zero stress. If you can't do a week, that's completely fine! Prompt not working for you? Skip it. Going to be late? No worries at all!

It is just meant to be a fun outlet to get your creative juices flowing and keep the fandom well-fed with copious amounts of fic and fun until our Ineffable Duo makes their return to our screens (whenever that may be).

There is no length requirement, no rating requirement, no timeline requirement. It can be canon-compliant, AU, crossover, whatever tickles your fancy, as long as it's Good Omens related and incorporates the prompt. It's all Tickety-Boo!

If you want to be tagged in the posts, let me know!

Tags:

@naturallyteal @bumblee27 @czitara @martinsharmony @ineffable-xenanigans @dierama-mojo @lickthecowhappy @ineffably-queer-book-lover @eybefioro @crowleys-hips @goodoldfashionednightingale @depraveddame

[whatever-you-can-give-me]

knowing how heartwarming it is inside your skin

whumptober day twelve: cannibalism & @mashwoodweek day seven

trigun maximum, vash-centric

[agabus]

i do love the cliche ubiquity of the phrase "take me to your leader" in alien fiction because it does not directly convey the intention of "leader of this planet" or "leader of your species" so who the alien/s are brought to would vary wildly based on what group of humans they found. ufo lands on a playground in a city park and asks the confused group of small carbon-based lifeforms for their leader and then when they return to the mothership they confidently report that the leader of the sun's third planet is Alyssa Thomas who holds the esteemed title of Jenna's Older Sister

[that-tardis-teacher]

Taking prompts for 10/Donna, 14/Donna, or Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller pairings. Platonic or romantic. Do people still take prompts nowadays? I used to take prompts all the time on my old blog that I can no longer access for some reason and I’ve been inactive on Tumblr since at least 2019, so I’m not sure what people do now.

[draconli]

Dragon Elves Day 14: Crystal

I don't know why, but drawing crystals is so fine soothing. I love this prompt!

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #36: An American sonnet

In my story, "The Dust That Falls From Passing Stars", the main character watches a beggar gathering stardust that falls from the star-jewelry of the wealthy, and thinks he could use the moment as inspiration for a poem. I finally decided to try turning it into one.

*

Behold the beauty of the heavens captured And set within adornments for the great So those who pass below might stand enraptured By all the wealth and pow'r of their estate. These stars revolve in wondrous constellations But none who wear them have the eyes to see So blinded by their empty jubilations While gathered on the palace balcony.

But look! A poor girl in the frozen gutter Beholds the dust that's falling from their stars And gathers up with joy too great to utter The glory that the wealthy disregard. The girl the starfall rich hold in disgust Outshines them with her beauty in the dust.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Getaway Car

Day #14 - Prompt: And the Winner Is... | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Mild Sexual Themes, Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Steve is to Corroded Coffin Music Videos as Alicia Silverstone was to Aerosmith Videos in the 90s

Eddie sinks to his knees in the gravel, hands outstretched, groveling, pleading in his torn jeans and artfully cut t-shirt. Big, open arm holes, showing lots of skin, his hair blowing in the wind, as he's leaning so far back, until he's collapsed along the side of the road, hand clutched to his chest. 

Mouth moving, but no words coming out, and he raises himself back up, just to see the back of Steve walking away. In a full strut, towards the red convertible parked in the middle of the road. Steve turns, stalks back, and glances down at him just long enough to kick a toe-full of gravel in Eddie's direction. 

Eddie shields his face, but one rock still gets through, clocking him right in the forehead, and Eddie darts up, grabbing Steve by the arm, yanking.

Then the scene changes, back to the band onstage, playing before it catches back up with Eddie and Steve. This time, Eddie's walking down the side of the road, bags of stolen cash in his hands.

And Steve pulls up alongside him in the same red convertible, and Eddie jumps in the getaway car, tossing the bags in the back as he crawls over and situates himself on Steve's lap.

Cut back to the band, cut to Steve sitting outside of the bank, cut to the band, cut to Eddie and Steve getting matching tattoos, back to the band, back to Eddie and Steve being playful in bed, the band again, then back to Eddie and Steve meeting in a bar.

A story, shown in reverse.

Eddie sinks lower into his theater seat. This music video has been all over MTV for months, nearly a year at this point, and he's seen it hundreds of times during editing, but tonight is the first time he's embarrassed. He's a bad actor. He looks stupid. Who thought a wind machine for his hair was a good idea? It's so goddamn cheesy. 

Nobody is gonna give this video an award.

Except. He knows they might, because of Steve. That's the ace in their pocket they hadn't even planned on. Winning a VMA wasn't even on the radar when they filmed it. Steve had to be cajoled and begged and bartered with, and only agreed when they provoked his jealous streak, because he didn't want to see Eddie filmed in bed with someone else. 

They played dirty, promising it was no big deal, just a little music video that would only be seen on Headbanger's Ball.

And then it blew the fuck up, and made them all goddamn liars. 

Not because of the song, or the band, Eddie knows that, but because of the hot guy in the video. Now, they're getting calls. Big calls. Big offers, and the label is planning a trilogy of videos starring Steve for the band, like he's Alicia Silverstone and they're Aerosmith or something.

Eddie glances Steve's way, and Steve's even lower in his seat than Eddie is, and Eddie reaches for his hand and squeezes. 

"I'm sorry," he mouths, and Steve just narrows his eyes, and it makes Eddie grin.

The nominees are read, and when their name is announced Eddie is frozen in place. Gareth has to pull on him, and he has to pull on Steve. Steve shakes his head, not wanting to go up on stage, but Eddie knows the crowd will want to see him, will want to be formally introduced. Steve might not have acting aspirations, but the world is definitely clamoring for him to do something, anything, to stay in front of their greedy fucking eyes. Their agent keeps getting calls wanting to get in touch with that actor's agent.

That he doesn't have. Because he's not an actor.

He's their Road Manager, their babysitter, and Eddie's long-suffering boyfriend.

"Uh, um, thank you," Eddie says, holding up the Moonman statuette. "We didn't expect this." Then he turns to face Steve, "You might recognize this guy. From the video you just saw. And that you've seen played a million times on MTV. That's Steve. My Steve," Eddie says, blushing a little. "Sorry. He's taken."

And Steve looks like he wants to melt into the floor, so Eddie will make this quick, "But you'll see him again in our next video. I promise," Eddie says, and then hands over the podium to Gareth, who does the full rundown of thank yous as Eddie walks over and wraps his arm around Steve's back, enjoying looking at his reddened cheeks.

There will be pictures, and video footage, and no amount of media training could make the two of them look anything other than awkwardly embarrassed about this predicament they've found themselves in. 

Fucking hell.

Gareth presses the statuette into Steve's hand for some reason, while Jeff and Goodie speak at the podium, and when they can finally leave the stage, Eddie pulls Steve backstage, and presses him against the wall, kissing him, "Thank you. I love you."

Steve kisses him back, the award hanging loose at his side, right against Eddie's thigh.

It's the image that runs in all the magazines, and with time, turns out to be the image of the entire night.

Weeks later, Eddie is dressed in some sort of leather get-up that not even he understands, at least not fully, with Steve hovering over him.

"CUT!" the director yells, and they both stop right where they are. "Moving on to set-up three!"

Steve reaches down and helps Eddie to his feet, "You okay?" 

"This is weird," Eddie admits with a laugh.

"Well, if you think it's weird, imagine how I feel," Steve says, and he has a crop in his hand, and reaches over and pops Eddie on the ass with it. 

Eddie can hear Gareth, Goodie and Jeff laughing from behind the monitors, all just happy that they don't have to be involved in any of this embarrassment. They can still walk down the street, unknown.

Not Eddie, and definitely not Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: If you've never seen the Cryin' music video, or just need a refresher, I've definitely drawn inspiration from it, lol. Imagine Eddie doing that dramatic Steven Tyler lip syncing. He'd feel like such a fool. Bonus? If you're a Lost fan, keep your eyes peeled for Josh Holloway.

[fanfictasia]

Whumpuary Ormt 14

Breakdown/Sleep Deprivation

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Lost in the Familiar

He’s afraid she’ll disappear. Anakin spent so long without her, and every second away was nearly impossible. She might have been where she needed to be, and he might be now, but that doesn’t change how he thought everything was going to be over. He thought they’d be able to be together again, and then Sidious happened, and he ended up here.

He never even got to say goodbye. To anyone.

He thought about this Ahsoka so much, fearing that she could be dead  or worse, until he finally found her. She’s alive, even if she’s been hurt, but that’s… what counts. If she’s here, they can move forwards.

She’s shaking a little in his grip, breathing coming in shakily, and it only takes him a moment to realize that she’s crying. It nearly makes him want to cry, because this is Ahsoka and he hates seeing her hurting like this. She’s not really one to cry much either, so whatever’s upsetting her this much must be bad.

He just holds her tighter, hand lightly trailing across her back as he waits for her to calm down a little. It’s the most he can offer, and it seems to be enough – he doesn’t know if anyone’s done that for her, here.

“I didn’t know it would happen,” Ahsoka gasps out finally, face buried in his chest. “I didn’t know – Rex told me it was a bad idea. I didn’t know what’d happen. I just couldn’t go back to the Temple and tell them I’d lost.”

He feels numb. She’s talking about Umbara, isn’t she? The same thing Fives was telling him about.

“But I did,” she continues, “I lost the battle. I lost – I lost Rex. He’s right. I lost all of them – I thought we could pull it off –”

He wishes there was something he could tell her. An it’s okay would mean nothing, and be a blatant lie.

“Fives tried to tell me to stop. To listen. I told him to shut up –” Anakin does not believe it happened quite in those terms, but he gets the point. “-- that I wasn’t going to let us lose.”

“You had no one to teach you how to lead,” he replies quietly, “Mistakes like that tend to… happen.” Especially if no one bothered teaching her when she was barely in her teens, how to do it in the first place.

“They were following my orders. It was my fault. I got them killed.”

[renee-writer]

March Prompts Day Fourteen Violet

A color

A bit softer then purple

A flower

Announcing spring

A beloved grandchild

About to turn

Two.

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Fourteen - Feathers

Word Count: 393

Warnings: Ouch the big toe and thoughts

Notes: I didn't really know what to do with feathers. Or a feather, so... Dieter came in and helped me think. He's nice like that.

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 /Writing Challenge

The fog rolls over the manicured grass of the two story house. The sun isn’t quite up yet, the sky is streaking with orange with drops of pink within it. The house is posh with a glass studio, various paintings can be seen from the glass windows that stretch the entire length of the room.

Black crocs slide across the dew covered lawn. No dark sunglasses cover his eyes. He can take in the entire image before him. Stepping out of his shoes, the refreshing wetness coats his feet making his way to the edge of his property. A sharp object poked his big toe and he yelps, disturbing his zen like moment.

Ruffling his chestnut curls, the sparse silver kissed the tips of his hair captured the deep crimson of the sun’s rising. He bent down with a grunt and picked up a feather that he’s stepped on. It is gray and white with a black streak down the middle. It wouldn’t have stood out, even against the dark green hue of the grass. Holding it up, his chocolate eyes scan the feather curious what kind of bird could have left it.

Sometimes the artist longed for a different kind of freedom. Sure he could travel and had more money that he could dream of, but there was always someone keeping track of his movements, shuffling him to and from.

The feather from whatever plain bird this was reminded Dieter of his illusionary freedom, masqueraded as a floating artist and actor. Maybe he could experience such freedom one day, but for now he’d need to keep learning to love what he has.

Pulling his gray robe closer to his body, the chill in the air was slowly dissipating. As the rays illuminated his face, their warmth spread as did his smile. He could fly through his art, maybe he could find out what bird the feather was from and paint it or maybe just this morning.

Dieter Bravo picked up his crocs and took the feather inside with him to his studio, skipping breakfast to capture the moment before it left his mind. He may not have freedom right now but he could see it through oils that coated his canvas, swirling to mix the colors. Dieter popped the feather in his hair to focus on his work.

Freedom wasn’t far off.