Prompt Fill - Blog Posts
AHAHSHSDGDGGDGDHSGS YESSSSSSSSS
Sorry I’m copy pasting from the prompt post, didn’t realize you meant in your asks 😬
Deadtired wing fic but like both of them had theirs broken/cut off. Maybe it could’ve been Ras or joker for Tim (If we’re going the joker jr route), and GIW or evil parents for Danny? Idk but I wanna see it get explored a bit :))
Here's the thing:
Tim knows that staring is rude. Manners have been drilled into his mind since he first learned to talk, maybe even before that. Don't talk with your mouth full, sit up straight, look people in the eye, but don't stare, because staring is rude. Lessons like that.
Typical things for a rich family's son, even if Tim was far too young to understand them at the time.
But Tim is undeniably staring now, manners thrown out the window, because the boy standing in front of him has broken wings, too. Or maybe they aren't broken, exactly, but one of them is bound tightly in a sling and the other is almost stipped bare of feathers. And it's rude, and it's awful, and Tim should feel bad that he can't tear his eyes away from them.
The boy is here for the same reason as Tim, waiting in line to order a coffee, or maybe a tea, or whatever else they serve. He's minding his own business, messing around on his phone, and-
"Hi," Tim blurts out, mouth moving faster than his brain.
And the boy turns to look at him, and his brain freezes as Tim actually looks at him. Messy hair, denim jacket over a graphic t-shirt -- does that read boo? He reads it again, and it really does -- and tired blue eyes. Tim swears that those eyes stare directly into his soul.
"Hi?" The other boy says, tilting his head like a goddamned cat. "Ya need something?"
Was it an accident? He thinks, but doesn't say. The Joker thought it be funny if he tore out my primaries, one by one, and took a knife to the flight feathers, and-
"Me too," Tim says, instead of any of that. "My wings, I mean, I'm grounded, too."
He spreads his wings the best he can, given the small space, but it's enough. Tim sees the moment it clicks for the other, knows when he spots the new feathers growing in, and the rough scars still healing around them.
They'll grow in fully, eventually, but Tim doesn't know if he'll ever be able to fly as fast as he used to. Doesn't know if they'll ever stop hurting, both in body and in mind.
"I'm Danny," the boy says, eyes wide. "I've never seen anyone else with wings like mine."
Tim grins, holding out his hand. "Tim," he says simply, "Can I buy you a drink? Anything you want, it's on me." Danny goes to speak, but Tim holds up his hand. "Wing issues are more common in Gotham than in most places, and if you're new here, I can show you around?"
"Everyone knows I'm new here," Danny mumbles, but he's grinning. "Sure, I'll take a drink, and--" he winks -- "I'll take that tour. Lead the way."
My contribution for @marchingduck's HAIKYUU RARE PAIR MONTH 2025
Prompt: White Day
How to Fluster (Step One: Accept the Chocolates) (1591 words) by Out_Of_Custody Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Haikyuu!! Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei & Yamaguchi Tadashi Characters: Yamaguchi Tadashi, Kyoutani Kentarou, Tsukishima Kei Additional Tags: Yamaguchi Tadashi-centric, Haikyuu Rare Pair Month 2025, Prompt Fill, White Day, Soft, Protective Tsukishima Kei, Tsukishima Kei: Reluctant Wingman, Tadashi is Not Ready for This, Volleyball Dorks in Love, Aromantic Tsukishima Kei, Asexual Tsukishima Kei, Bisexual Yamaguchi Tadashi Summary:
The gym still smells like sweat and rubber, the echoes of sneakers against polished floors fading into the hush of a mostly empty hallway. Yamaguchi Tadashi stands rooted in place, the weight of a small, wrapped box pressing into his palm as he watches the blond glance at him—then away. A hand rubs the back of a tense neck, and then the Seijoh spiker is gone.
This is adorable.
The hero and the dark lord have both disappeared after their battle, making everyone think they both perished. In reality, they are living on a farm, living the life of their dreams.
There are figures in the mist.
Haven’t you noticed them? They loom at the edges of your vision, perpetually on the edges of sight. They wander as if lost, moaning with their silent mouths, pleading with their wispy hands. But every time you whirl around to get a closer look, they dissolve into the air, only to reappear the second you turn your back.
Do you know what they are?
No one else knows. We know where they come from, we know they’re dangerous, but we don’t know why they follow humans. There are theories of course; some say they’re chasing after the one thing they’ve been given a taste of that was cruelly ripped away from them- a soul; some say they’re hungry and nothing else can satisfy them; some even think they aren’t harmful and their dangerous reputation is simply misunderstandings. I know better.
They come when you look into The Mist. Looking into The Mist is fatal. See, these creatures, they know when someone is looking, and they flock to you the moment they sense the change. Something about them forces you to keep looking - perhaps because there are so many, or because you’ve never seen them in plain sight before - but, nevertheless, you keep looking. And The Mist, it sears itself into the contours of your brain, slinking it’s tendrils inside you through the receptacles of your eyes and through your skull. It wisps and twirls through you as it likes, shifting, shaping itself, and always followed by a soft thickening of the mist inside you. You’re allowed to look away then, because it’s started. The creatures absorb themselves back into the silver shade they came from, and you’re left wondering why they were there in the first place.
You go about your business as normal, but even you can tell you’ve changed. A strange fog rests over your mind, pushing, pressing, but you push back. You can’t be out of action, after all. You have a life with friends and family and a job, and it’s not appropriate to take sick days just because you feel all foggy. The defences of your mind are weakening. The figures don’t follow you any more. Their purpose has been fulfilled. However, it doesn’t stop you from seeing them. You spot them following your children, their friends, their teachers. No longer do they have to hide, but you seem to be the only person they’re not shrinking from. That’s the first symptom.
The second symptom is when you get the urges. This would be once a month or two has passed, and you’ve forgotten about The Mist. It’s made your forget. Nobody can suspect anything, after all. The urges cry into your mind, a constant command for you to return. Return to where? You don’t know. But you want so desperately to return, you feel it echoing within every fibre of your being (or is that the mist within chiming again?). So you start wandering, trying to find your place. You go up to people, hands clasped, telling them you’re lost and you’re trying to get somewhere but you don’t know where. You never find it.
The third symptom is very similar to the second symptom, but it has its differences. For instance, the second symptom hits you in strong, irresistible waves, while the third is like an insidious presence in the foggiest corners of your mind, a susurrus that never pauses for breath. The third symptom tells you to follow, so quietly that your brain takes it as its own and executes this without your noticing it. You start to shadow your coworkers, a strange blankness in your eyes, and when they call your name, you don’t respond. You start to follow your children to school, staring after them without replying when they say they love you. You even follow customers around the shops you frequent, when you should be collecting groceries for the next week. Sometimes, you catch yourself, but you have no memory of what you were doing before. The urge to return is still strong within you, but you don’t realise because it coincides with the need to follow, and so you think your strange feeling has finally disappeared. You call yourself cured, unknowing that the gaps that you are you are growing shorter and shorter.
The fourth symptom is the final step. This is the step that enables The Mist to pull you within its clutches, where you never escape from its strangling embrace. You start to fade. Your coworkers that before would have greeted you every morning, start to ignore you. When you greet them, their eyes slide right over you as if you aren’t there. They see only an empty space. Your children no longer see you, only a monster that used to be their parent. Your eyes mist over, the fog within them finally showing in your physical form through a familiar silver. Your brain becomes yours no more, only belonging to The Mist. Your fingertips fade away, becoming transparent, and your skin turns pasty and grey. Your hair, before a shiny, luscious thing, now has the permanent look of dampness to it. You remember now. You know your true purpose. You serve The Mist. You leave your house, and return to your true home, to become fully incorporeal to those who view you. And you never return.
So, dear reader, beware. There are figures in the mist.
This the image prompt I used!
