#Prompt Education

[megha-17]

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[hypewinter]

So the Ghost Zone counts as its own domain right? Then I propose foreign exchange student Danny Fenton.

He's very quiet and very smart but more importantly, he's pretty dodgy about his country or origin. He's never given a straight answer about where he comes from. Only saying things like "oh we're big on combat sports" or "technically we're a monarchy but there hasn't been a king since the last one was locked away for being a tyrant". It's to the point where students have made a running bet to see who can figure out Danny's country of origin first. And Tim plans to win that bet.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 271

“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 

“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 

Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 

“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 

“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 

Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”

Now wait one moment-

“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 

[luxaofhesperides]

Can I please have meet cute/weird with mistaken villain! Danny (but really just a engineer and or chem student) and the one being put on investigation cause Danny is a day villain(not really)! Duke

Technically, Danny Fenton is innocent. Technically. 

Duke wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he’s having so much trouble finding solid evidence that Danny is stealing from a wide variety of people, but he’s been burned before by trying to see people as better than they were. It doesn’t change the fact that Oracle’s cameras keep spotting Danny right before a building on the street is broken into and something stolen. He’s always just walking down the sidewalk; no one has spotted him entering or exiting a building, but he’s around far too often to be unconnected to these burglaries. 

It doesn’t help that strange, petty crimes have been on the rise since Danny first arrived in Gotham. 

So.

Danny Fenton is technically innocent.

Duke is trying to prove that he’s not. 

Maybe I’m looking too closely, he thinks, going over Danny’s sparse file in the Hatch. Maybe Danny’s only one person in a bigger operation.

He could just be the lookout, the runner, the information gatherer who marks which buildings to hit. He may even be the scapegoat, the sacrificial lamb; Danny has no support in Gotham, no family, no job. There would be no one to help him if he got arrested or injured in a fight. He’s a freshman college student from Illinois who should be unprepared for life in Gotham but is somehow managing to survive like a native. 

There’s a lot about Danny that doesn’t add up. 

Duke has seen plenty of different people since he first went out as the Signal. He’s tried to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt, but it leads to his loved ones being put in danger. Some people are truly evil, some working on a malicious agenda, some are misguided in their beliefs, and some are desperate people who see no other way to move forward.

He’s not sure yet which on Danny is, but he’s hoping Danny is just desperate and needs a little help to get out of a life of crime.

Which leads to the next problem: Duke has no idea what Danny is steal, or why. He hits both rich and poor folks, civilians and members of the mob, and once, notably, stole something right out of Cobblepot’s office. Allegedly, at least, since no one saw him enter or exit the office, not even the security cameras. 

But added to the whispers going around about a new group in Gotham snatching people up from the streets, and some strange green substances found in warehouses often raided by police for the frequent drug labs that pop up in them… 

It doesn’t look good for Danny. Especially when a few of the items he stole were found where people either vanished or where that green substance has been found.

A week of analysis in the Batcave and they still don’t know what it is. 

Both Damian and Jason suspected Lazarus water, but the composition was completely different. By the look of the molecular structure, it shouldn’t have been in a liquid form at all. 

All these findings lead back to one person who may have answers: Danny Fenton.

According to Tim, who’s already broken into Danny’s dorm room and checked over all the labs he has classes in, Danny has some concerning items in his possession. Various inventions and little metal knick-knacks put together by a practiced hand. He was also the one to find all the information that went into Danny’s file when it was first being made: social media posts, school report cards, news articles about his parents… everything. 

And then he had an emergency mission to take with the Titans that swept him out of Gotham leaving Duke to tackle this investigation on his own. 

He doesn’t have Tim’s natural skill in stalking and invading privacy. He hates breaking into people’s spaces and following them around, but needs must and he has to force himself to work through the discomfort. 

It’s a good thing he did, too. Danny’s leaving his dorm after his last afternoon class, hood up to hide his face and something held in the front pocket of his hoodie. He ducks around people on the sidewalk easily, almost as if he’s gliding through the crowd instead of walking. 

Duke follows from above, bending the light around him to hide him from sight. 

He walks for some time, weaving through alleys and streets as if he’s been in Gotham his whole life, leaving behind the university campus to head towards Otisberg. There’s something strange about the way Danny walks, as if he’s moving around people who aren’t there, guided by something Duke can’t hear. Even using his meta abilities doesn’t do much beyond show him where Danny’s going to be in the next few seconds. 

He continues to follow Danny on the rooftops, walking along the edge to keep him in sight. 

Then Danny stops behind an apartment building and tilts his head back to look up at it. He tilts his head to the side, then nods and looks around the empty alley. Duke crouches down, keeping his eyes on Danny in the hopes of catching him in the act—

Danny disappears.

Duke curses under his breath and jumps down from the roof, putting more strength into his abilities as soon as his feet touch the ground. 

The space where Danny was has a faint outline, oddly enough. He’s never seen that before. From it is a semi-transparent trail, smoke-like and a pale green leading into the building. It goes straight into a wall, as if Danny walked through it.

He can’t go in and search the entire apartment, but he can grapple up and take a look into the hallways to see where Danny’s heading. If he was looking up, then that’s where he should be heading. 

It doesn’t take any effort to scale the building. There are ledges and windowsills and plenty of handholds for him to propel himself off of, and paired with his powers, Duke is able to find the correct floor in just under two minutes. 

The green smoke slowly dances through the air of the ninth floor, on the east side of the building. If he’s been counting the rooms correctly, then the target of tonight’s burglary has to be apartment 924. 

The curtains are drawn on the window he makes his way over to, and his abilities don’t show him anything helpful for the immediate future. He hates going in blind, especially to a civilian’s home, but capturing Danny takes priority. Duke picks the lock and slides the window up slowly, making sure it stays quiet, then slips into an empty bedroom. 

He makes his way out into the hallway on silent feet, keeping a wary eye on the thin smoke strands of green, curling along the walls. The rest of the apartment is empty as well, pale sunlight slanting across the floor through the blinds. 

Everything is still and silent. Danny’s nowhere to be found. 

Did he miss Danny leaving, somehow? Was this a misdirect to get him out of the way while Danny stole from another location? Did he know Duke was following him?

But no, his ears pick up on the faint sound of clothes rustling. 

Cautiously, Duke turns towards the front door, where the door to the coat closet is open. He focuses on what’s going to happen in the next twenty seconds and sees Danny panic, then disappear from sight again, but a transparent outline of his body is visible just enough to show him where he runs to. Best not to spook him; Duke pulls at the light around him and bends it to hide him from sight.

Then he moves along the wall, getting around the open door without bumping into anyone or anything. 

A figure in front of the coats, shoving them to the side roughly, flickers in and out of view, almost like a reflection in water, distorted by ripples on the surface. 

Danny pops back into visibility suddenly, scowling at the coats. “Are you sure it’s in here?” he asks the empty air. 

There is no answer, but Danny acts like there is. He rolls his eyes and says, “It’s a favor. That I’m doing for you. I can literally stop right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” He shoves aside another heavy winter coat, then sighs. “Why don’t you look for it, and then tell me where it is.”

He steps back and bumps into Duke.

Danny whirls around, eyes wide, and blast of green light has Duke crashing back into the wall, trying to blink spots out of his eyes. 

“Wait!” he yells, grabbing for Danny before he can run off. “I just wanna talk!”

“Standing right behind me like a serial killer does not make you look like someone who wants to talk!” Danny yells back, slipping through his hands like mist. 

“I just have a few questions!”

“Well, I have a question: why?!”

“Will you hold still, we’re being too loud!”

Danny escapes to the other side of the apartment, next to a window looking fully prepared to fling himself out of it. But he does stop yelling, so Duke is counting it as a success.

“Why is the Signal coming after me?” Danny asks, glaring at him suspiciously.

“Dude,” Duke says, “You’ve been seen outside of every single building that’s had a burglary since you first arrived in Gotham. All the Bats are after you, they just sent me because I’m the only one active during the day.”

“All the Bats?” Danny repeats, losing what little color he had in his face.

He looks legitimately scared, pale enough to be concerning, and Duke drops his guard and tries to relax the tension in the apartment. “I’m not gonna turn you into the cops or anything. I just had questions and you seem like the most likely person to have answers. That’s it.”

Danny still looks wary, ready to run at a moment’s notice, but he doesn’t leave when Duke approached casually, leaning his weight against the couch. 

“So,” he begins, “What’s the deal with all the thievery? It’s rarely something super rare or expensive.”

There’s a long few minutes where Danny doesn’t answer, looking anywhere but at Duke. Then he twitches a bit and glares off to the side, and says, “I taking items that are contaminated with ectoplasm to help ghosts move through the veil and leave Gotham.”

That tells him nothing! That just gives Duke more questions! But at least it’s an answer, the first one any of them have got.

“I think you’re gonna have to explain a little more.”

“Ghosts are real, alright?”

“Yes.”

Danny stops. Squints at him. “What do you mean, ‘yes’?”

“Ghosts are real,” Duke repeats, “There are a few who help heroes or are heroes themselves, but that’s more on the magic side of things so I’m not super familiar with it.”

“Magic,” Danny says slowly. “Sure, alright. Um. Yes, ghosts are real. And there are a ton in Gotham who need help moving on, but they’re too weak to get past the veil. Something about Gotham has made the veil super strong, so they need a little boost to get through. Additional ectoplasm bonded helps with that.”

“And that’s why you’re stealing random things?”

“The ghosts I help can kind of sense ectoplasm-infused things, but they need me to grab them since they can’t hold anything without a physical body.”

Duke nods slowly. “Okay, that’s starting to answer some things. We have found those objects in the last places missing people were seen. Any idea what’s going on with that?”

“Yeah, those people were already dead.”

The way Danny says the most concerning answers as if they’re nothing is really throwing Duke off his game. He was expecting to be calm and serious to keep Danny from freaking out too much and look like a legitimate hero. But as soon as Danny started talking, all his nerves fell away and Duke is left grasping for composure. 

“They were…”

“They were ghosts, yeah. And they needed to get through the veil. But they were also able to possess their own bodies and didn’t realize they were dead until I had to break the news to them, which is why it looks like living people just up and disappeared.”

“Okay… What about the green stuff we’ve been finding?”

“Ectoplasm.” Danny holds up a hand and a neon green light surrounds it. Except it looks more solid than light, as if it can be touched, and it moves on its own like fire around Danny’s fingers. “It’s what ghosts are made of.”

Oh. If Danny has ectoplasm, does that mean…

“Are you dead?” Duke asks, heart dropping. 

Instead of looking upset about the question, or even disturbed by it, Danny just shrugs and waves his hand back and forth. “A little.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Duke says, trying to resist the urge to rub his temples. It’s a habit he didn’t mean to pick up from Batman, and it would just look silly with his helmet in the way. “You’re just doing all this to help ghosts?”

“Yeah. Basically. They asked for help man, of course I was going to help them.”

Danny’s a good person. He’s just a good person to ghosts. But this is good news either way, and he can let the others know that Danny isn’t the next Catwoman and is entirely unconnected from any drug production. Everything that made him look like a criminal is just the fault of ghosts. 

“Speaking of,” Danny continues, “Looks like they found what they need, so I’m going to grab that real quick.” He pushes off of the wall and heads for the closet again, moving past Duke without any fear. Duke follows, keeping a few feet of distance between them so Danny doesn’t feel trapped, and watches as he shoves aside the coats again and pulls a shoebox out of the depths of the closet. From it, he takes a single intricate lace headband and holds it up.

It looks normal, if a little old, but when Danny sends ectoplasm through it, the lace lights up and holds the glow. 

He pulls some strange contraption out of his pocket and holds it up to the headband. It makes a few beeps, then Danny mutters, “7.4 millisieverts. That’s enough to get you through the veil.”

Another concern Duke can let go of: Danny’s not creating weapons like his parents have, he’s just measuring ectoplasm through his own inventions. 

Maybe he could talk to Bruce or Tim about getting Danny an internship at the R&D lab in Wayne Enterprises? That way they could keep a closer eye on him while seeing what he can create in some of the best laboratories in the country.

Well, it might take having them meet Danny before they trust him enough for that, but Duke is sure he can make it happen. 

“I better go see this through, then,” Danny says, shoving the contraption back into his hoodie pocket. He gives Duke a small awkward wave, then pops out of visibility. “I’ll see you around, I guess?” he disembodied voice hedges, and Duke smiles.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you again.”

“Cool. I gonna go now!” 

He doesn’t see any sign that Danny’s left, but he gets a feeling that he’s alone now, the apartment suddenly emptier than it was before. 

As strange and concerning as Danny and all his bizarre actions were, Duke is glad he was able to finally talk to him and get some answers. Knowing how Gotham pulls people him in, it’s only a matter of time before the other Bats are exposed to Danny’s kind of strange. He’s already looking forward to it. 

For now, though, he has a file to update in the Hatch; POTENTIAL THREAT will be removed and replaced with GHOST HELPER. 

If anyone goes snooping into his files and gets confused, then that’s their problem. Duke’s explained enough. And Danny can take care of the rest, once they go through the effort of tracking him down. Duke's done his part, he's ready for the rest of them to step up to his level.

He can’t wait to see what other kind of trouble Danny can get it into.

[ivetried27nameswhataboutthis1]

Weems: For our new anti-terror-safety class, you will defuse a fake bomb as a partner exercise. You have to be in sync on this.

Wednesday: Why would anyone want to defuse a bomb?

Enid: Focus, Wednesday. I think I got this. On the count of three, we will each cut our grey wires. One, two-

Wednesday: Wait, wait, wait. Grey wire? I only have green, red and yellow.

Enid: That’s weird. I have light grey, medium grey and dark grey.

Wednesday: Enid, are you colour blind?

Enid: Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.

Wednesday: Is that the reason you are dressed like that?

Enid: What do you mean? We are dressed the same.

Wednesday: Enid, my dear, my heart, my soul, my love. Don’t you ever say such a mean thing to me ever again. That was totally uncalled for.

[soaps-mohawk]

I think price also has brown eyes in the game but Barry irl has blue eyes

Babes

Man's has those blue peepers

[julezo]

it’s hard to be a Jason Todd enjoyer and also know a little bit about autopsies.

I truly adore the headcannon that he has autopsy scars. Did you know they take out your brain, weigh it, and put it in a jar during an autopsy? Perhaps that’s why he was so angry when he got back; the Pit didn’t fix his brain, it actually fabricated a new one. From nothing. Because his brain was supposed to be in a jar.

Bruce Wayne, Knower of Many Things as he is, should have been so much more horrified. He would have know they took out and measured and weighed each of his son’s organs. And considering that he was battling that knowledge, his reactions are very tame.

Tim sees Jason’s scars one day at the manor and is silently horrified because he knows somewhere there exists a record detailing the exact weight of the Red Hood’s lungs. Yes, he looks for it. Yes, he finds it.

The moral of the story is that some people don’t realize that when they cut you open from shoulder to shoulder to pelvis, it’s not just because they want to peak around. They take it all out.

Have some imagination, my poor Jason writers. Adios and goodbye.

[meirimerens]

the bickering habit

[mickeymouseispublicdomain]

Download from the Internet Archive here.

Download from Itch.io here.

You are encouraged to print or otherwise share these with as many people as possible!

[ID: A single-page pamphlet titled, "Mickey Mouse is now in the Public Domain!", with "public domain" underlined and bolded for emphasis. The body of the flyer reads:

"The copy-rights for the animations “Steamboat Willie”, “The Gallopin Gaucho”, “Plane Crazy”, and several promotional posters for them have expired!

But what does this mean for you?

Let’s start with the shorter list:

What you cannot do:

Trick people into thinking the art you are selling of Mickey Mouse is official Disney merch, or sanctioned by Disney

Sell art of Mickey that includes *specific designs* still protected by Disney’s copyright

What you can do:

Share, edit, remix, remaster, and sell the original animations that are now in the Public Domain.

Sell digital, traditional, and written art that you have made of Mickey, Minnie, and Pete, with no permission required!

Add new colors and patterns to Mickey, Minnie, and Pete’s classic outfits, or design them brand new outfits altogether!

Create new stories with Mickey, Minnie, and Pete, as animations, movies, books, or comics, and sell them!

Some common misconceptions…

Some people think that you have to stick to the original designs to the letter, IE: keeping them black and white, not having gloves on Mickey, and not letting them talk – but this is just a misunderstanding of what the Public Domain is! You can design and use them in any way you want, as long as you aren’t using a *specific design* still protected by Disney’s copy-rights. They can have color outfits, gloves, and talk! They belong to all of us now! Have fun!"

Framing the flyer at the top right, middle left, and bottom right are three pictures of Mickey Mouse with red shorts, a tan face, brown shoes, and gold buttons, with a pink tongue when his mouth is open. In the first, at the title, he has his arms thrown into the air with joy. In the second, at the "what you can do" section, he is looking excitedly at something in front of him. In the last, at the "common misconceptions" section, he's wearing a black hat with a red stripe, posed with a smile as he looks at something in front of him. Each is posed to be facing the text, as though they are reacting to it with excitement. End ID.]

[fruitlicense]

I’ve been thinking a lot today about the Neil Gaiman article - I haven’t read it yet, but I feel like I need to soon. Today I just felt fucking angry, because I liked his writing and enjoyed his presence on tumblr and he hurt people unimaginably badly. I know that presenting a benevolent face to the world is exactly how people get away with that kind of shit, but I still feel bad for falling for the act and worse for spending time thinking about how to move my interests away from his work.

like. I wasn’t hurt by his actions the way that the people he abused were. They’re the ones we should care about, listen to, and respect by not supporting him, monetarily or otherwise. An experience like that is so much more world-shattering than “oh shit, a writer I like is actually a horrible person.” I think it’s normal to mourn stories you loved when their authors betray your trust in them to be decent human beings, but I also feel so guilty about it. Yeah, the stories meant a lot to me and I loved them, but real people will always, always matter more.

[pluralprompts]

Prompt #2,219

System A is very aware of their own plurality but not so much of the words for it or that there's a whole community of plurals out there. When they come out to Character B, all their attempts at explaining what's happening get mistaken as metaphor or speaking figuratively, so eventually they drop the subject, and both System A and Character B move on with their lives.

Later on, Character B meets System C, who explains plurality in a way that finally clicks for them – and causes them to realize exactly what System A was trying to tell them.

[hypewinter]

If it's one thing the bats have learned to fear, it's smart people in Gotham. Practically every good lawyer, engineer, psychiatrist, and scientist have turned evil in the city. So when a student graduates as a double major valedictorian from Gotham U, they all take turns monitoring him to ensure another villain isn't in the making.

[owl-it-here]

AU idea - One Piece #1

So I was thinking about this fic I read about a year ago (or re-read it?) -> Luffy was raised as a marine and makes it everyone's problem [An amazing read - I recommend checking it out]

And I really like the idea behind it. Using skills that may have been learned before is always cool, especially if there's a chance that they may be canonical. More than that, I think we should go even further.

So far, we don't know enough about Brook and Jinbe's childhoods to make any assumptions (so I won't touch on them in any depth here - but they are both experienced in diffrent ways), but most of them, to put it mildly, had rather difficult childhoods. And that made them perfectly specialised in the areas they chose to remain safe and survive. Moslty had one mentor or were raised by themselves. All except Luffy and Sanji, if you think about it.

The education system in the OP sucks, just like the real one. But the difference in knowledge and experience should be used as an advantage to make comedy out of this tragedy.

Nami had Bellemere, who probably gave her a basic education. She later self-taught herself out of curiosity and a desire to survive. Her time in the Arlong crew gave her more problems than opportunities to learn (but she may have picked up a few tricks here and there).

Zoro studied in the dojo. He had one sensei, one slightly more experienced rival and one older one to talk to. (Definitely not enough but it sure gave him his rather unique perspective).

Usopp only had his mum. Later, maybe some villagers helped him a bit, or Kaya to thank for the stories - but he is also mostly self-taught.

Chopper studied only under two doctors, and neither of them was sane. Maybe some reindeer instincts from his herd passed on to him before he ate the devil's fruit (but he was young, and later under stress so).

Robin grew up on an island full of scholars, but is still mostly self-taught. And apart from her special interests, everything she learned was from survivalism (so a PhD in history (and related stuff) and random knowledge, if I had to guess - well she's clever enough to learn/teach herself more if need be).

Franky, as far as we know, studied technical fields. We don't know enough about him before he came under Tom's wing, but we can assume that most of his knowledge comes from those years. (He created his own little mafia family, but we don't really know if he learned from anyone how to manage it or not).

And then we have Luffy and Sanji.

Luffy had a grandfather who tried to teach him to be a marine and to fight. Makino taught him the basics (and attempted manners). Dadan and her gang showed him by their example how to be a good bandit. Shanks and his crew taught him the basics of being a good pirate. And of course his brothers, taught him how to be a real jungle kid and a few tricks. And all this probably gave him quite mixed signals - especially with his logic.

And finally Sanji. As a prince born to a scientist (an evil sperm donor, but still the person responsible for his education, who probably with his big ego believed that his children even without modification should be as brilliant as he was) Sanji certainly had some sort of super special royal education (which he tried to perfect because it was probably easier than a physical test and he wanted to fit in somehow). He learned manners, politeness and most of all kindness from his mum. How to cook, fight and be a pirate from Zeff. And probably a few other cooking and odd skills from the various chefs he met over the years on both the Orbit and the Bartie. Working in the kitchen is conducive to conversation.

So I've come to the conclusion that I want to read a fic where both Luffy's and Sanji's upbringing has a greater impact on the strawhats' journey. Yes, I want Luffy to occasionally use his random nautical knowledge to help them escape or get something. (Like the author used it to save Ace, but also to help Robin faster etc.). Someone should also note that the style in which he manages his crew is similar to the bandits. Or they should meet some on the way and only Luffy should know how to behave to be respected. I also want Sanji to talk more about things that pirates should know. Or even about political stuff. (Robin could add more too, but Sanji has a slightly different perspective on it than she does.) Even if he doesn't want to talk about his past, the excuse that he knows everything from Zeff works and is practically undeniable, because no one on the crew knows what he went through as a pirate.

It would have been fun to see Luffy explain to his crew why this marine is bad news, but the other one isn't so bad because his grandfather likes him or something. Or if Sanji, after fighting for Nami's freedom, had stopped and asked the crew if any of them knew a bit of hooks (and Luffy realised that Garp was trying to teach him that - but, as standard, he didn't explain just went on to practice-torture).

Bonus if the only person who can immediately use this random information is Zoro. Who on everything just says: it sounds just about right. Because it perfectly balances the Monster Trio in this way.

This could also be a good idea for a larger crew fic. After the whole situation with Nami, the crew starts talking about heading to the Grand Line and a dialogue like this ensues between them: Sanji: so where are we looking for the other members? The others: We are not looking? Sanji: And what about the watch? Grand Line is very unpredictable. Since you knew some pirates Luffy, I'm sure they talked about it…. Luffy: They told super cool stories! Sanji: Then how do you think we'll be able to have a night shift with just five of us? With such a small number of people, especially with no medic on board, it will affect my cooking….

And let's not kid ourselves but the food argument has a pretty good chance of working.

Luffy: Setting out I thought having 10 members would be ideal! Sanji: For influencing the Grand Line - sure - to just look for them there with the unpredictability and adventures waiting for us there - there aren't enough of us now. We need a few more hands and a pair of eyes.

And honestly this conversation probably doesn't affect Luffy that much, he continues to be as picky about selecting his nakamas as he was in canon, but maybe enough that they select perhaps 3 more people for the lineup. Which allows us to stay fairly ok with the storyline and right away adds diversity and some power. Which may have made some of the arks funnier because we have more room to play. (This Bites! makes it look like a good idea).

I call this idea: Luffy was brought up as he was, and that makes it everyone's problem, but it is Sanji's existence that makes everyone else question it - Zoro you should have a bigger problem with that!

In a nutshell: The gray cells are working!

If anyone ever uses it, PLEASE tag me - I want to devour it in every form. I probably could have outlined it better, but well it's just an idea.

[writingprompts]

“novels are so great. novels are like ‘I made up a little weirdo. oh no, now he's in trouble!’" — @Gaby_Moss

Make up a weird character.

Make up some trouble for them to get into.

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “I love you being met with a response which makes you regret letting those three words slip out of your mouth” prompts 

“…I’m sorry.” 

“You know, maybe this is all in your imagination?”

“I think you’re getting it really wrong here.” 

“That’s… Cool. Um, look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” 

“You don’t love me. Stop lying to yourself.” 

“Your jokes are really starting to take a nose-dive.”

“…Did I give you the wrong impression?” 

“You don’t even know me that well so how can you love me?”

“See, that’s where I know you’re lying, because I’m incapable of being loved.”

“You’re actually delusional, aren’t you?” 

“No, you don’t. Please tell me you don’t.”

“So… Is there a punchline to this?” 

“Funny joke you have there. Wait. It’s not a joke?”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that, right after I’ve just moved on from you. How fucking— wow.” 

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

[tennessoui]

Number 19 for the prompt thing. The parents meeting because of their kids. I’m kinda imagining Korkie being like a tutor/school reading buddy for the twins or something but you can just ignore that if it doesn’t match your thoughts on it.

hello!! i thought back as much as i could, and i don't think i actually did this prompt the first time around a couple of years ago, so there's nothing to link to save for the prompt list!

i stuck with korkie as obi-wan's kid and the twins as anakin's, but made the kids the same age and then took...a few more liberties with the prompt haha

(19. parents meeting while taking their kids to class) (sort of)

(2.8k)

“Leia, baby, why do you always decide to get into fights at school when it’s my week with you?” Anakin asks the steering wheel as he buckles himself in and turns over the engine. “They’re going to start thinking I’m raising a truant. Then they’re going to start asking about your home life, then they’re going to bring in experts to ask me more questions, then Padmé’s parents are going to throw their considerable legal weight around and get my partial custody revoked and then where will we be? Is that what you want? To only see me on your birthday and Christmas?”

Anakin pauses and reconsiders. Knowing his daughter, she may very well only want to see him for birthdays and Christmases. It would mean double the presents.

Thankfully the silence of the car doesn’t offer much in the way of constructive critique.

At a red light, he puts his head down on the steering wheel for a long enough moment that the car behind him honks when the light changes to green.

“They’re going to stop letting me leave work to come get you,” Anakin mutters a few minutes later as he turns the car into the school’s parking lot. “I have a partner meeting in thirty minutes that I really can’t miss, baby. Can’t you at least schedule your schoolyard fights around my calendar?”

It’s all rather pointless, but it feels good to grumble and bitch in the time it takes him to leave his office and arrive at the school, before he has to put on his adult face and demeanor to sit through another round of We’re Worried Your Five Year Old Is Too Violent As She Seems To View The Monkey Bars As Sacrificial Zones.

“Maybe she’d like hockey,” he says under his breath as he grabs his jacket from the other seat and swings it over his suit. It’s fucking freezing already, not even December. It’s indecent, that’s what it is. Surely a place as cold as this has a peewee hockey team in need of another angry little girl.

“Thank you,” he says when a woman holds the door open for him on her way out the building.

He’s stil sort of freaked out that the elementary school his children are going to is fancy enough to have an entrance hallway with a chandelier hanging from the ceilingk, but it’s not him that’s paying for their private school education that doesn’t offer discounts for all the collective hours they’ll spend napping on the floors.

To the immediate left of the door is the receptionist’s desk—behind her, the nurse’s room. He’s quite familiar with both. Mrs. Whitsdale even waves when she sees him, which means, unfortunately, she’s just made the shortlist of people Anakin needs to make Christmas cookies for. She joins the ranks of everyone else that’s been made to deal with his son and daughter in the tumultuous year after the divorce.

“Hi, ma’am,” he says dutifully, sticking his head into the receptionist area. “Do I need to sign in or can I just go up?”

She waves him away. “I’ve already got you, sweetheart. You’re late anyway, they’re waiting for you upstairs.”

“You’re a miracle amongst men,” he calls out as he turns instead to the right of the door and up the old staircase that leads to the principal’s office. This is also a route he is incredibly familiar with.

How can he be late? He practically flew here on light feet and broken speed limits. It’s enough to take his mood from bad to worse, which isn’t optimal for a meeting with the principal of the school when it’s his kid who caused the fight. Anakin’s role is to nonconfrontational, contrite to the point of groveling—because he knows his daughter won’t. 

That’s already hard enough when he’s feeling normal. It’s practically impossible when he’s feeling foul.

But Padmé did always say Leia got her stubbornness and temper from Anakin.

Anakin’s always said Leia never really had a chance considering who her parents are. 

After all, someone threw a hairdryer at the hotel mirror before they got divorced and it wasn’t Anakin. But he’s not stupid enough to even think that when Padmé’s around.

The big oak door at the end of the hallway on the second floor is elaborate, looks heavy, and stays closed. He knows that this is the headmaster’s office, but he’s never seen the guy around. He doesn’t even know what the guy does. What’s a headmaster of an elementary school doing every day? 

It’s an elementary school.

But, again. Anakin’s not paying for all this pomp and circumstance.

He takes another right instead, down the corridor in the opposite direction to the principal’s office. The door’s left ajar, and Anakin knocks politely before entering at the call to.

A couple of things bring him up short as soon as he steps into the room. For one thing, it’s not Principal Cinoff behind the desk, but a stranger who has the remnants of a three-piece suit on, jacket hanging neatly on a coat rack in the corner of the room. His vest is a deep red that should do nothing but drain his complexion—all pasty white skin, freckled and sun-starved, paired with his reddish hair and beard. It doesn’t, which is unfair to the point of duplicity. Or–something.

The way he’s sitting at the desk, hands spread wide on the wood and shoulders back, leaves no doubt in Anakin’s mind that the stranger is in a position of power here at the school. And probably in, like. Life. He looks like the kind of guy who gets his groceries on discount even without providing a loyalty card. He also looks like the kind of guy the system bends to accommodate. As a lawyer, Anakin is offended and deeply disturbed. That’s why his stomach does two or three flips in quick succession when they make eye contact.

The stranger’s eyes are cool and focused as they run over Anakin, and he gives him a perfunctory incline of his head. At least his eyes are warmer when they fall to the kids in front of him. 

And that’s the other thing that shocks him.

The amount of children in front of the desk. One pouting ginger kid off to the side, arms crossed and staring down at his light-up sneakers.

And then two very familiar heads of hair on the other side. 

“Luke?” He asks before he can stop himself, surprise dripping from his tone. “What are you doing here?”

At this rate, he’s going to give his daughter a complex, he knows it.

But Luke has never been in trouble before. Sure, they’re only five, and it’s only been three months of school, but in that time, Anakin’s been called down here six times to deal with Leia-related emergencies. He’s always imagined that meanwhile, Luke was in his classroom, chewing on crayons or diligently helping the teacher pass out homework assignments.

The stand-in principal coughs slightly and rises. “Ah, Mr. Skywalker-Amidala. Thank you for being able to join us today.”

Anakin scowls automatically before schooling his face into something far more diplomatic and pleasant when his children whirl around in their seats to look at him. The last thing he needs is for his children to think they can sneer at authority figures, given that he’s one of their main authority figures. 

Luke leaves his chair to hug onto his leg, pressing his small face into the fabric of his pants, presumably seeking comfort and also to wipe his face dry of tears and snot.

Anakin puts a hand on his head and strokes through his hair, darting a curious glance at Leia, who has turned around to glare forward again, arms crossed over her chest.

“It’s just Skywalker, actually,” he tells the stranger. “Amidala is their mother.”

The man’s eyebrow goes up and he picks up a pen to make a note on the papers before him. An actual note. Regarding Anakin’s divorce. “Ah, apologies then,” he says. “Our contact list notes you as the father, Skywalker-Amidala, and their mother as Amidala-Organa.”

Anakin squints, trying to decide if the stranger is just trying to correct a clerical error in the school’s records or fishing for gossip. He gives him the benefit of the doubt. “Amidala is their mother, recently remarried to Organa. Organas. And she’s always been better at remembering to file paperwork than I am.”

The stranger keeps his face admirably placid. “Ah,” he says. “Well, Mr. Skywalker. Should we begin?”

“Uh,” he says. “What about the other parent?”

The stranger blinks at him, both eyebrows raised. “I’m a widower.”

“Uh,” he says. “I meant…” he gestures at the other child, the surly looking ginger kid.

“I’m afraid it will just be us, Mr. Skywalker,” the stranger says. “Please, sit.”

Anakin sits, and Luke is quick to scramble up into his lap with a very plaintative, “I didn’t really mean to.”

“So at recess today, the children were playing on the swings,” the stranger who must be the principal for the day says. “And—”

“Sorry,” Anakin interrupts. “Can I get your name please? I was expecting Principal Cinoff.”

The man pauses. “Sheri has been put on sudden maternity-leave a few months early,” he says. “For the next couple of weeks, I’ll be dual-hatting as both principal and headmaster while we continue to search for a temporary replacement.” He raises an eyebrow at Anakin. Anakin really doesn’t appreciate that. “This was in an email the school sent out to all the parents recently.”

“Yes, well,” Anakin says. “I get a lot of emails.”

The man looks unimpressed. “I encourage you to prioritize the communications from your children’s learning institute.”

Anakin bristles. What a dick. Who the fuck says learning institute?

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” he asks in his best unimpressed voice.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the man’s unimpressed voice is ten times more chilling than Anakin’s, which is also not fair. “Please, call me Dr. Kenobi.” Anakin scowls. “I appreciate the fact that you feel as though you can cover the extremely busy roles of both headmaster and principal of an elementary school, but I would really rather wait until the other parent gets here so we can most productively discuss the altercation, Mr. Kenobi.”

“Please, Mr. Skywalker,” Kenobi says. “Leave the litigation to the court rooms, we—”

“It’s Esquire, actually.”

Kenobi’s face grows very pinched around the mouth and eyebrows. Anakin feels a vicious thrill course through him even as his stomach flips again.

“I suppose I should have made it clearer at the beginning of this session,” Kenobi says, tone dripping in you idiot. “This is my son, Korkie.”

Anakin’s mouth falls open. His immediate thought is, of course, Korkie Kenobi? And he thought Luke and Leia were too cutesy for twin names.

“Korkie is a family name,” Kenobi adds rather dryly. “My late wife’s grandfather’s.”

Anakin doubts that’s even true. He bets it’s not actually, that Kenobi just plays the dead wife card to get out of judgemental questions about his naming abilities.

But then another, worse thought occurs to Anakin. “Wait a second, you can’t be the parent and the principal!”

“I assure you, I am impartial.”

“Like hel—heck you are!” Anakin straightens in his seat and Luke lets out a grumble, clinging tightly to his front. “I demand a different authority.” “No,” Kenobi says firmly, as if the matter is at rest. This, of course, is absolutely infuriating.

“It’s unfair bias and I will not see either of my children punished in a tyrannical and self-serving institution—”

Kenobi pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Skywalker, unless you would like to have me call Mrs. Cinoff away from her pre-mature baby, I am the best option this school has. Please. Settle down.”

“Dad,” Leia says, “I don’t want to miss reading time.”

Anakin breathes out in disgust. Shitty, overpriced private school. This sort of thing would never happen at a publicly funded school.

“The fact of the matter is that Luke pushed Korkie off the swings,” Kenobi says with a stern look at both Luke and Anakin. He holds up his hand when Anakin opens his mouth. “An incident that many were witness to. And before you make an accusation, there were many witnesses who were not on the school’s payroll, Mr. Skywalker.”

Anakin closes his mouth sullenly.

“Korkie could have been very hurt, Luke,” Kenobi says, clasping his hands in front of him and looking down at Anakin’s son. “He was swinging pretty fast when you pushed him, and he could have broken his ankle in the fall.”

Luke’s bottom lip trembles. “I didn’t want to hurt him,” he mumbles, turning his face back into Anakin’s sleeve. “He was being mean. I just wanted him to stop.” “I wasn’t!” Korkie cries, sitting straight in his chair for the first time since Anakin’s arrived. “I wasn’t being mean, dad!” “You said Leia’s hair looks like cinnamon buns on her head!” Luke shouts back, pushing away from Anakin’s arms to glare at the other boy. 

Anakin winces. When it’s Padmé’s turn with the kids, Leia always turns up to school with elaborately braided hair, twisted on top of her head in elegant formations that look effortlessly pretty. He knows that’s not Padmé’s work, but he also can’t figure out if Breha or Bail is responsible. It’s not something he wants to ask.

The fanciest Anakin can do, after all, is two buns on either side of Leia’s head. 

That do, truth be told, look rather like cinnamon rolls.

“Ah,” Kenobi says. “I believe I understand the miscommunication here. Korkie, would you like to tell the Skywalkers what you meant when you told Luke that Leia’s hair looked like cinnamon buns?”

If possible, the kid turns even more red, blushing furiously. “I really like cinnamon buns,” he mutters, crossing his arms tighter. “They’re my favorite.”

“He’s started asking for them for breakfast several times a week,” Kenobi tells Anakin with a smile lingering around his lips. “I’ve been wondering why.”

Anakin isn’t sure he likes the explanation. Sure, Korkie can have whatever sort of crush on his daughter that he wants to have, but likening her hair to cinnamon buns isn’t very kind, and he’s pretty sure that if someone else was the judge in this trial, they wouldn’t be so quick to justify the other boy’s words.

Luke seems to agree with him. “Your hair looks like carrots,” he snaps, crossing his arms.

Because Anakin is an intelligent adult who understands that making enemies with the headmaster’s son isn’t the best move, he adds on the Skywalker family’s behalf, “Luke loves carrots.”

Luke, in fact, hates carrots. 

“There is still the matter of Luke pushing Korkie off the swing,” Kenobi says, eyebrows raised like he understands exactly what’s going unsaid here. “We do not encourage physical violence of any sort here, and it was dangerous. Korkie could have been hurt much more badly than a scraped knee.”

The words are very serious and grave, and Luke wilts under the headmaster-principal-father’s disappointed stare. Anakin bristles.

“Well, it’s his first infraction,” he says. “And he was sticking up for his sister. I think that’s fair. He won’t do it again.”

“Hm,” Kenobi says, pushing papers aside and pulling out a glossy leaflet. “Now, I cannot force you to consider this, but I noticed that neither Luke nor Leia are currently enrolled in any of our extracurriculars.”

“They’re five.”

“We have many on offer at Jedi Prepatory School,” Kenobi continues as if Anakin hasn’t said anything. “And I wanted to highlight our peewee hockey league. I think both Leia and Luke would enjoy the rigorous schedule, and they may…benefit from the…structure it offers. And team activity.”

Anakin glowers. He can read between the lines. Kenobi’s just called his parenting style structureless and lazy. It makes him want to grab the pamphlet and rip it to shreds in front of him. “I would have to talk about it with their mother,” he says stiffly instead.

“Of course,” Kenobi says cheerfully. “When you do, please give Bail and Breha my well-wishes as well. It’s been far too long since I’ve had the time to see them, given how exhastingly busy it is to be the headmaster and principal of an elementary school.”

“Right,” Anakin grits out. “Yeah. I’ll let my ex-wife’s new partners know.”

Kenobi’s smile is all teeth. “I look forward to seeing you in the rink, Mr. Skywalker Esquire. My son plays on the team.”

Anakin wonders if there’s another peewee hockey team he can have his kids join. Just so they can beat Jedi Prepatory school and then laugh in Korkie and Dr. Kenobi’s faces.

Yeah. That sounds really nice.

He’ll look when he gets back to work.

This takes priority.