#byot

With the start of summer and the beginning of our game period just two weeks away, we wanted to highlight a few prompts each day in the lead up! We hope that this potentially inspires you and gets the creative juices flowing! Let us know what prompts you're most excited about!

BYOT (Build Your Own Trap)

While most of the prompts on our bingo boards aren’t saw-specific, this one sure is! With a whopping total of 73 distinct traps, Saw has made tearing people apart into an art. We all have our favorites, the ones we can’t look away from and the ones we fast forward through.

We’re inviting you to BYOT, or Build Your Own Trap, to potentially include in one of your Saw Summer Bingo pieces! Is it a bathroom-inspired puzzle? A gory contraption? A rigged game? Whatever you come up with, we’re excited to see what grizzly places your imagination may take you!

Spend The Night

Are you interested in writing about two characters taking their relationship to the next level? How about a spooky sleepover in a derelict location? Maybe you want to incorporate the classic ‘there was only one bed’ trope?

Luckily, this prompt is wide open for your interpretation, regardless of what tone you want to lean into, and we can’t wait to see how your characters choose to spend their night.

Sunburn

For many, one of the worst parts of the season is that dreaded UV index. Some of us don’t even know we’re being burned until our skin is already stinging. Burns can be painful, even deadly, leading to sun poisoning and blisters. That being said, this prompt doesn’t have to be all bad! Afterall, who doesn’t love the feeling of cool aloe vera on sun scorched shoulders? Sounds like the start of a tender summer romance to me!

Rivalry

Whether we’re talking about enemies to lovers, long standing family feuds or run-ins with an arch nemesis, rivalries are the basis for some of the most iconic tropes in media.

https://www.rabb.it/tuxedosaiyan

Alfred watches.

***

 “Thanks Alfie!” The young lady waved as she left, both hands full of cookies.

 Young Miss Stephanie had picked up on Master Dick’s affectionate name for him very quickly. She was in and out quite often these days, despite Master Bruce’s distaste, either visiting with Master Timothy or Mistress Cassandra, a welcome (in Alfred’s humble opinion) spot of light.

He cleans and bandages the cut on her side. Long but not deep, not dangerous. This time.

She pulls her shirt down, hiding the bandage and scars and stretch marks on her abdomen.

“Thanks Alfie.”

***

 Alfred was amazed at young Timothy’s resilience, pushing his way gently into their lives, filling some of the void left behind at Master Jason’s death. Master Richard was often home then, teaching the child tricks and many times dragging him off for extra-curricular activities that did not result in violence but rather laughter. He was a quiet young man, but with a light in his eyes and an eagerness in his movement that spoke of his happiness at becoming part of their family.

 He truly was a miracle worker.

Alfred sighs as he picks his way through the cluttered apartment. Master Tim is seated in front of his computer, eyes focused on the screen as his hand gropes for his coffee cup, only to replace it in disgust when he finds it to be empty. There are dark rings beneath his frantic eyes and he has lost weight where there was none to lose in the first place. Alfred places a bowl of soup beside him and does his best to ignore the boy’s mutters.

“He can’t be dead. He can’t be. Not him too.”

***

 Young Master Jason was wary, but in the moments when he forgot to be afraid there was a very real joy and wonder in his eyes. Alfred regretted being so distant with Master Richard. Perhaps if he had been more open to the youngster’s overtures of affection things would have turned out different. He made a point to be available this time.

 Master Jason was not as physically open as Master Richard had been, but the smile on his face when Alfred set a plate of bread slices and butter on the counter in front of him lit up the whole kitchen.

They straggle in tonight, exhausted and wounded. The Red Hood blew up two warehouses and had at least a brief encounter with each of them, evidenced in the cuts and bruises decorating Master Dick’s face and Master Timothy’s torso. The way Mistress Cassandra treads carefully around the outside of the group, hovering and unsure. Master Damian’s grumbles and the blank and dead look in Master Bruce’s eyes.

***

 Alfred smiled to himself watching Miss Barbara and Master Richard, their heads bent over their homework. She was such a wonderful young lady, Miss Gordon. With a delightful sense of humor and a no-nonsense approach that did wonders for Master Bruce and Master Richard.

 Master Richard was certainly fond of her.

 He hid his smile as he stepped into the room with the tray of cookies and hot chocolate, but allowed his mild amusement at the way Master Richard blushed when he was caught staring at Miss Barbara's hair.

 "Thank you Alfred." The young lady beamed up at him, her long red ringlets glistening in the drawing room firelight. "These are delicious."

"Oracle to Batcave."

He reaches over to the main computer.

"Batcave, Agent A speaking."

"Could you let B know that there are rumors of the Joker getting ready to make a move. I'm sending the information now."

The computer beeps, message received.

"Indeed. And when might you be joining us for dinner Miss Oracle?"

There is silence. There has been a lot of silence since she gave Master Dick back his ring.

"Maybe sometime. Probably not soon. Oracle out."

***

 “And then, we swooped in and POW!” Master Richard did a flip off of the banister onto the floor, peering up at Alfred with wide, shining eyes. “We saved them Alfie. We saved them.”

 Alfred gave a small quirk of his lips in reply. “Indeed Master Richard.”

 The boy grinned and dropped so that he was walking on his hands, still fast enough that he remained in front of Alfred as they made their way through the hall. “It was awesome.”

Master Dick is slumped in front of the Bat-Computer, picking at Batman’s utility belt spread out in front of him. “What am I doing, Alfred?” he says quietly as Alfred busies himself gathering up the remaining evidence of the night’s patrol. “I’m screwing everything up. Tim left, Jason’s lost it, we haven’t heard from Cass in weeks, and Damian hates me.” He drops his face into his hands, his shoulders tense beneath his BPD sweatshirt. “I can’t hold this family together. I’m just lying to myself.”

***

This was not the plan. Alfred caught himself thinking as he nervously glanced back at Mistress Wayne, who was perched on the side of the bed, strands of her hair plastered to her cheek, breathing heavily through her nose as the February storm raged outside.

 In the event of being unable to safely transport her to the hospital for the birth, Master Wayne should have been there at least. He was a doctor after all.

 His father hobbled into the room, far too old to be up and about like that. “You are doing well Mistress Martha.” He coaxed as he gently assisted the young woman into a more comfortable position and beckoned Alfred closer. “You’ll have to catch lad, I don’t want to trust my old arms with something so important."

 An hour later, Alfred stared down at the small, squirming bundle in his arms, a child he had just delivered and cleaned. As he passed the boy into his mother’s hands he realized that, even after his own father passed away, he would not be leaving the Wayne Family. He was here to stay after all, confound the old man! He had to have planned it that way.

Master Bruce is alive, yes, but his parents are not and Alfred is a former soldier and actor. He does not know what to do with a child, let alone one who wanders the halls of the manor with a pinched, white face and eyes that burn with a hooded anger and furious grief. He hears the young master wake at night from the dreams and aches to rush to his side but restrains himself. It is not his place.

***