[Duets 2025] Prompt #11
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lyricaltitlesPrompt: 11. Lyrics in conversation with each other
Title: 'You Look to be a Lot Younger than Me, and I'd Hate to Shoot a Baby'
Author:but_can_i_be_trusted
Fandom: Pokémon
Characters: Any Gym Leader, any Trainer
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes: Crossposted todrabble_zone
Artist: Jefferson Starship
Album: Air Play
Song: 'Lawman'
Summary: It seems like Pokémon Trainers are getting younger and younger, every day.
It seems like Pokémon Trainers are getting younger and younger, every day.
You look at the Trainer who's just come in to challenge you. And you wonder...was there a time when you were ever that young? Bright eyes filled with hope and determination. The mildly cocky self-assurance that belongs to those with the future ahead of them, all beautiful and sparkling and theirs for the taking.
Yes, you must have been that young, yourself, once. But that was years ago.
You've worked hard to get where you are. Your own Pokémon journey was long, and has brought you to the stage of running your own Gym. It's your job to test these new Trainers. To help them and their Pokémon become stronger.
Perhaps luck and skill will be on their side. And perhaps not. The battle ahead will decide that. You'd hate for this new child to lose; you always root for them, and feel sorry for them if they turn out to be anything but up to snuff. But it's part of the work, to defend your position; you remember having your own fair share of losses, when you were their age. Failing isn't always bad; it helps to build a person's character, to realize that not everything can simply be handed to them.
Victories must be earned, for them to be satisfying and worthwhile.
Title: 'Call Down Your Vengeance; Let the Bullets Fly'
Author:but_can_i_be_trusted
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: The Doctor, unspecified companion
Rating: PG
Warnings: Some mind games
Artist: Port Sulphur Band
Album: The Sinner's Songbook
Song: 'Light The Shadow'
Summary: "I swear, I can't take you anywhere."
"I swear, I can't take you anywhere."
"What did I do," I asked. "I didn't do anything!"
"You gave a bit of the future away," the Doctor called over his shoulder as we headed back to the TARDIS. "And scared that poor man out of his wits."
"Oh, come on." I rolled my eyes. "It was a minor slip of the tongue that won't do any damage, in the long run."
"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But there must have been better ways to express that you didn't appreciate his taste in music. To each their own!"
"So I think music got better after the British Invasion in the Sixties. So what?"
"It's currently the Fifties!"
He had a point, weak as I felt it was. But the man we'd run into had insisted on yammering on and on about Elvis, and how he was the best thing to happen to music since music was invented.
"And look at who had to be bloody brilliant," the Doctor continued, waving a hand in my direction, "by opening her mouth. 'If you think Elvis is something, wait 'till the Beatles come along', you had to say. You could've been more sensible, and settled for 'I've heard better', and let it go at that. Now that poor fool's worried that there are worse things for his yard than crab grass!" By now, we'd reached the TARDIS. Unlocking it, the Doctor practically shoved me inside.
"In a few years, he'll understand that I was talking about music, and not about lawn pests," I sighed.
"He'll have a hell of a time sorting it out, in the meantime. You can't just go about willy-nilly, telling people about the future, not even if it's minor. You don't tell them the good, and you don't tell them the bad. For example, the time that you're living in," he said, pointing directly at me. "Things are about to get very bad, very soon." He grimaced, shaking his head. "Not pretty, I promise you."
I stared at him, feeling my heart start a slow descent toward the general area of my stomach. "...very bad," I echoed, my voice going weak.
He stared back, his eyes widening in poorly-feigned shock. "Oh, dear. Did I just fire a warning shot?"
"How 'very bad'? Doctor, how 'very bad' are we talking, here," I demanded.
Now, he grinned harshly. "Pinches, doesn't it?"
"Huh?"
"When the shoe's suddenly on the other foot. Forget I said anything," he suddenly suggested, waving it away. "No harm, no foul. Perhaps." Nevertheless, the Doctor continued to smirk at me.
I looked away. My stomach was churning, and I didn't think I could trust myself to speak again. It felt petty, what he was doing. Like some kind of infantile attempt at revenge.
No harm, no foul.
Perhaps...
Title: 'You Look to be a Lot Younger than Me, and I'd Hate to Shoot a Baby'
Author:
but_can_i_be_trustedFandom: Pokémon
Characters: Any Gym Leader, any Trainer
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes: Crossposted to
drabble_zoneArtist: Jefferson Starship
Album: Air Play
Song: 'Lawman'
Summary: It seems like Pokémon Trainers are getting younger and younger, every day.
It seems like Pokémon Trainers are getting younger and younger, every day.
You look at the Trainer who's just come in to challenge you. And you wonder...was there a time when you were ever that young? Bright eyes filled with hope and determination. The mildly cocky self-assurance that belongs to those with the future ahead of them, all beautiful and sparkling and theirs for the taking.
Yes, you must have been that young, yourself, once. But that was years ago.
You've worked hard to get where you are. Your own Pokémon journey was long, and has brought you to the stage of running your own Gym. It's your job to test these new Trainers. To help them and their Pokémon become stronger.
Perhaps luck and skill will be on their side. And perhaps not. The battle ahead will decide that. You'd hate for this new child to lose; you always root for them, and feel sorry for them if they turn out to be anything but up to snuff. But it's part of the work, to defend your position; you remember having your own fair share of losses, when you were their age. Failing isn't always bad; it helps to build a person's character, to realize that not everything can simply be handed to them.
Victories must be earned, for them to be satisfying and worthwhile.
Title: 'Call Down Your Vengeance; Let the Bullets Fly'
Author:
but_can_i_be_trustedFandom: Doctor Who
Characters: The Doctor, unspecified companion
Rating: PG
Warnings: Some mind games
Artist: Port Sulphur Band
Album: The Sinner's Songbook
Song: 'Light The Shadow'
Summary: "I swear, I can't take you anywhere."
"I swear, I can't take you anywhere."
"What did I do," I asked. "I didn't do anything!"
"You gave a bit of the future away," the Doctor called over his shoulder as we headed back to the TARDIS. "And scared that poor man out of his wits."
"Oh, come on." I rolled my eyes. "It was a minor slip of the tongue that won't do any damage, in the long run."
"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But there must have been better ways to express that you didn't appreciate his taste in music. To each their own!"
"So I think music got better after the British Invasion in the Sixties. So what?"
"It's currently the Fifties!"
He had a point, weak as I felt it was. But the man we'd run into had insisted on yammering on and on about Elvis, and how he was the best thing to happen to music since music was invented.
"And look at who had to be bloody brilliant," the Doctor continued, waving a hand in my direction, "by opening her mouth. 'If you think Elvis is something, wait 'till the Beatles come along', you had to say. You could've been more sensible, and settled for 'I've heard better', and let it go at that. Now that poor fool's worried that there are worse things for his yard than crab grass!" By now, we'd reached the TARDIS. Unlocking it, the Doctor practically shoved me inside.
"In a few years, he'll understand that I was talking about music, and not about lawn pests," I sighed.
"He'll have a hell of a time sorting it out, in the meantime. You can't just go about willy-nilly, telling people about the future, not even if it's minor. You don't tell them the good, and you don't tell them the bad. For example, the time that you're living in," he said, pointing directly at me. "Things are about to get very bad, very soon." He grimaced, shaking his head. "Not pretty, I promise you."
I stared at him, feeling my heart start a slow descent toward the general area of my stomach. "...very bad," I echoed, my voice going weak.
He stared back, his eyes widening in poorly-feigned shock. "Oh, dear. Did I just fire a warning shot?"
"How 'very bad'? Doctor, how 'very bad' are we talking, here," I demanded.
Now, he grinned harshly. "Pinches, doesn't it?"
"Huh?"
"When the shoe's suddenly on the other foot. Forget I said anything," he suddenly suggested, waving it away. "No harm, no foul. Perhaps." Nevertheless, the Doctor continued to smirk at me.
I looked away. My stomach was churning, and I didn't think I could trust myself to speak again. It felt petty, what he was doing. Like some kind of infantile attempt at revenge.
No harm, no foul.
Perhaps...