U-ntitled S-eries

Requests Are: OPEN!

I enjoy writing and am always looking for improvement, so don't be afraid to submit questions, comments, and constructive criticism. If you would like to make a request for writing, here are a few helpful things to note.

Approved Content

Some of my writing may include more mature content such as death, violence, sexual themes and mental illness. Any writing that includes said content will have a warning at the top of the post. I'm not comfortable with writing excessively obscene content. If you are unsure if your request will be approved or not, feel free to send an ask or a private message and I will respond as soon as possible.

Characters

Event though I don't have a lot of experience writing for characters outside of a select few - the Subway Masters, Elesa, Kamado, and Looker - I am always willing to try to write for new characters, so don't be afraid to suggest new characters you'd like to see. Currently there's no limit to the number of characters that can be requested, but I suggest the amount of details you'd like to include should be inverse (i.e. the more characters you request, the more general the prompt is). That way there's multiple ways to alter the prompt and explore different scenarios!

Type of Writing

One-shot: A uninterrupted story that focuses on a small group of characters with a longer structure. Imagine/Scenario: Usually a single prompt that is separately applied to multiple characters. Headcanon/Drabble: A series of short notes that focus around an idea or concept but don't form a story or chain of events. You don't have to pick a format if you're unsure, or you can suggest multiple formats and I will either pick a format or try to combine the two.

Prompt: They overhear you singing

Characters: Curly, Jimmy, Swansea, Daisuke

Curly

Initially he’s shocked. Shocked that 1) you can sing, and 2) that you’re unaware that he can hear you.

Do you not like to sing in front of others? But you have such a nice voice. Then again, you could he self-conscious, so maybe he should give you some privacy.

He continues to have this mental back and forth while still remaining within earshot.

Curly eventually decides there’s no harm in enjoying the music - he doesn’t want to be rude and interrupt, and it’s not like he’s being creepy and spying on you.

Later he’ll bring up the subject of music, maybe hum the melody he remembered, and soon the two of you are talking about favorite bands and genres.

He finds it extremely comforting, but he doesn’t expect you to sing for him just because he likes it. From now on, if he hears your voice, he’ll stop to just enjoy the sound of you.

Jimmy

It depends on his mood. If he’s in a good mood or indifferent, he’ll make himself known and ask about the singing. What song was that? Do you always sing when you’re alone? How come you don’t sing around other people?

Will tease you if you get embarrassed and then reassure you that he doesn’t mind. He might even compliment you, though it’s more likely he’ll give you feedback, whether or not you asked for it.

But if he’s in a bad mood, he’ll tell you to shut up. That it’s obnoxious and making it hard for him to focus, even if he isn’t doing anything of importance.

If he notices that you no longer sing when he’s around - or worse, clam up the moment you notice him - he’ll kick himself for being an asshole and then corner you to say that he doesn’t mind sometimes. You just need to know when he’s not in the mood.

He will never admit it out loud, but he does like hearing you. One good thing to cling to when the rest of the world is absolute shit.

Swansea

He’s pretty indifferent to finding out you sing, but he won’t interrupt or tell you to stop.

Swansea’ll tell you that he doesn’t mind you singing. He’s gotten pretty good at blocking out noise. Just don’t distract him while he’s working on something that requires total concentration, alright?

Depending on the song, he might make some comment about your taste in music. He doesn’t listen to new music, but if it’s a classic he recognizes, he’ll smirk and nod along.

If you start singing primarily “old” songs when he’s around, you get a chuckle out of him. What are you trying to say about him?

Daisuke

Will absolutely join in and start singing with you. Even if it’s not a song he recognizes, will try to hum along or sing back the lyrics.

Afterwards, he’ll start gushing about how nice you sound and ask if you know this or that song.

Congratulations, you now have a fan. He’ll compliment you and brag about you to others, no matter how embarrassing it becomes.

Sometimes he’ll start humming or singing to get you to join in. If you don’t, he will whine about how badly he wants to hear your voice. Why are you depriving him of music?

If you’re still embarrassed after that, he’ll drop the subject. But not before reassuring you that you sound nice and, more importantly, you shouldn’t stop if it makes you happy.

His new favorite pastime is doing anything while hearing you sing. Playing games, reading, or just lying around and listening.

Idea: Following the headcanon that Curly dissociates.

There have been all sorts of words to used describe it. Curly used to laugh when people joked that he was spacing out. “Left his head up in space,” they would say. He’s come to use other phrases. Zoning out, out-of-body experience, losing time. He once described it like blacking out, but that got some scared looks, so he immediately dropped it.

Getting himself out of that mental state already wears him down, but it’s especially bad when he’s around other people. Suddenly everyone’s watching him, silently asking, ‘What the hell is he doing?’ unaware that he’s wondering the exact same thing.

The first time it happened around you, he played it off as not getting enough sleep the night before. You must have believed him, because you apologized for keeping him busy and left so he could have some time for himself. Strangely, that left him feeling no better off.

Curly especially dislikes when he gets like this around you. Because every time he comes back to the moment, you’re staring up at him with an almost accusatory look. You must think he’s the worst, not even able to pay the slightest bit of attention whenever you’re around. But that’s not it at all; he’d never want to make you feel as though you’re not important.

So he comes up with excuses. Too much work, not enough sleep, haven’t had coffee yet. He keeps each excuse filed away in the back of his mind, ready to use at a moment’s notice. He hates that he has to lie to you, but it’s better than scaring you off.

And now, as Curly finds himself in the hallway, you were looking at him, confusion laced with something sharper. A glint in your eye that pierced his neck and kept him pinned in place.

He clears his throat with an embarrassed laugh, already picking the exact words to say. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to zone out there. Don’t know what that was about. Can you repeat that last part, I promise I’m listeni-‘

“Ah, so the little guy stepped out for a second, did he?”

He blinks. Was that… what you were talking about before he lost focus?

“This is a really childish analogy,” you say with a laugh, “but it’s like there’s a little guy inside someone’s head, and the eyes are like the windows to the outside world. Normally he’s in the exact center of the head so he sees everything the person sees. But sometimes he’s… not in the right place; slightly off to one side. And when he looks outside, everything’s at a different angle.” ‘Is it the same for you?’ you seem to ask. “Sometimes it’s like he’s not even looking out the windows.”

After that, you’re quick to notice whenever part of him starts to step away. As if you can see right through bone and flesh, and are watching him search for some remote corner of his mind to hide away in.

But you don’t pull him back to reality. No, it’s more like you leave little breadcrumbs to help him find the way on his own.

“Find something to look at. What do you see, Curly?” “Can you describe it?” “What do you hear?”

And at some point he starts to focus on you. The color of your eyes, the tone in your voice, how much colder your hands are compared to his. You told him that it’s due to poor circulation, not that he minds. Besides, you always smile when talking about how warm he is.

Part of him feels guilty, scolding himself for listing off every feature, as if you’re just the sum of your parts and nothing more.

Curly still avoids using the phrase “spacing out”, but he doesn’t mind the idea of you keeping him on solid ground.

------

I don’t know a lot about the Twin Dragons AU, but I have a question:

Zekrom and Reshiram can go into a hibernative state and revert to the Dark and Light Stone respectively, often as a sort of defense mechanism when their bodies have been destroyed.

Does the same thing apply to the Twin Dragons AU, a la Steven Universe-style? I hope so.

If the body sustains too much damage, there’s a flash of light and cloud of smoke. All that’s left is a stone sphere where a grown man once stood?

Control - “Brothers by blood separated.”

Based off the video game of the same name, the Gear Station isn’t just any old subway station. It’s a labyrinth of twisting tunnels and not quite dead ends. Even the depot agents struggle to keep track of when and where the trains are at any given point - except for Agent Jackie, who’s been working at the station for as long as anyone can remember. All sorts of strange things have made the underground network their home, and some of them are less than friendly. Thankfully a new Director/Boss has arrived; he said his brother is waiting for him at one of the platforms.

Snowpiercer - “The front and the tail are supposed to work together.”

Imagine gifting one of these to Ingo and Emmet.

They manage to put it together and it looks just like the picture if not better; they find the perfect spot to show it off to anyone who visits.

Kids debate over what kind of presents must be inside, and their parents play along, not wanting to spoil their fun with the reality that it’s just an empty bag being used as a prop.

Ingo and Emmet aren’t bad at cooking per se; it’s more accurate to say there are some tasks they are very skilled at, and certain ones they struggle with.

Ingo has a soft spot for comfort food. Warm homemade meals make him incredibly nostalgic for family dinners from his childhood. He has a couple of classic recipes written down and kept in a box on the kitchen shelf.

Emmet likes to experiment with his cooking, whether it’s wanting to try a dish he saw online or mixing different ingredients to test out new combinations of flavors. He’s gotten very good at improvising and substituting ingredients.

He still maintains a level of professionalism when around friends and co-workers - have to keep up the reputation of the Gear Station, after all! But in the privacy of his home or office, the man is sickeningly sweet. He absolutely refuses to hang up before you do, and will insist that “You hang up. … No, you hang up!”

Contrary to what most people say, there are a few hours each night in Nimbasa city when the lights dim and the music stops. But the city only grinds to a halt after everyone is fast asleep, so almost no one is around to witness this phenomenon. Almost.

The light of a lone desk lamp just barely reached the furthest corners of the room, coloring Ingo’s papers a faint orange that’s broken up by black ink and shadows. He muttered to himself, checking and double-checking his work, only stopping to let out a long yawn before getting right back to work. So absorbed in his work, he didn’t even notice someone approaching until he saw a new shadow slides across his desk.

“How much more do you have left?”

The question was asked in earnestness, but still left a sense of guilt settling deep in his gut. Technically Ingo had already finished everything due by tomorrow - or is it today? - but the stack of incomplete work still loomed over him. It wasn’t even halfway there. If he were to come to a stop now, surely it would just mean more work further along the line, wouldn’t it?

“I should have everything completed in an hour at most.” Ingo spoke as softly as he could, not wanting to cause any disturbance, but did it sound convincing? “But please, there’s no need to delay for my sake.” A few seconds later, he heard footsteps slowly fade away from him. He refused to check the time and instead went back to work. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could go to bed. Another yawn forced Ingo to halt and close his eyes for a split second.

When he opened them again, there was a glass of water and a plate with half a sandwich.

“If we’re gonna be up late, we may as well have a midnight snack.”

You look at Warden Ingo, then down at the cup in his outstretched hand. Rather than putting it on the table and risk spilling onto the research notes, you take it off his hands. Tea might not be the best thing to have in the middle of the night, but it’s certainly a warm welcome.

“Thank you so much.”

The warm and humid air was a welcome change to the cold and dry wind outside, and above the sound of rushing water and excited murmurs, the soft whirring of electric motors echoed around the conservatory.

Lines of tracks were arranged at every exhibit, some nestled between the moss and shrubs while others raised high above the plants and garden beds. And for each line, a little model train happily traveled up and down the path, traveling past miniature landmarks and real-life plants.

“I don’t think I will ever get bored of the sight. It is as if the city has been reclaimed by nature.” Ingo said. He spoke with an uncharacteristic softness but still maintained a sense of wonder. On your other side, Emmet watched as the model train zipped away, traveling over a recreation of Skyarrow Bridge.

“Good thing the trains still work. At least the 4-6-0s do.

“It is a numerical classification system for locomotives.” Ingo must have caught the confused furrow of your brow. He nodded to the train that just went by. “Each number relates to the number of wheels. First the leading wheels-“

“The small ones at the very front.”

“Then the driving wheels…”

“Those are the big ones with the connecting rods.”

“And finally the trailing wheels.”

“The small ones at the back of the engine. This one doesn’t have any. See?”

The model comes back around and you count two small sets of wheels followed by three large ones. Small-big-small.

“Ready for our next stop?” Emmet asked, already linking his arm around yours. Ingo just laughed, watching his brother dragged

you to the next display without hesitation.

A whole yard of tracks ran back and forth under a miniature Nacrene Museum, and Emmet leaned so close to the display that you’re afraid he would fall into it. You tug on his arm and point to the nearest model skittering along.

“Um…0-4-2, right?”

He smiles even wider and squeezes your arm.

“Yep!”

“Can I see?”

Emmet can feel you against his back as you peer over his shoulder and look down at the tangled threads and knots in his hands. He rolls the strands between his fingers, trying to focus on that sensation instead. Then you laugh - a short, sweet thing - and suddenly he wants to be the one hiding against you.

Making friendship bracelets is something usually done by kids at summer camp. It’s a clean and harmless way to pass the lazy afternoons. Emmet was never interested enough to learn, his summers were better spent catching Pokemon and challenging others to battle, but you had mentioned it to him and Elesa in passing with such happiness, he couldn’t help but be a little curious. Besides, how hard could it be, he had thought to himself.

From her resting spot, Galvantula cried out with an almost mocking chitter.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Emmet wasn’t sure if the sentence was directed at you or his Pokemon. You remove yourself from his shoulder and instead take a seat beside him.

“May I?”

He nods, and you take the strings.

“So first, hold this string taught…”

Your hands are smaller than his, but they move so quickly and confidently.

“…Then take this string and loop it around the other one…Then pull the end through the loop.”

It’s almost like when Galvantula spin her webs, the way you weave and pull the strings in just the right way. Slowly, he can see the pattern emerging from the knots. After a few more lines, he takes the strings again.

The final product is a little misshapen, some knots are too loose and others are too tight, and Emmet can even see the spot where you showed him what it’s supposed to look like, but he likes how it turned out.