#prompts: if i had a heart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imogenkol · 9 days

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— DATE NIGHT

words: 2.8k rating: mature warnings: slightly toxic dynamic, no respect for waitstaff, possessive behavior, rough alleyway make-out session

notes: got a bug to write these two having a totally normal night out where they act like totally normal people :)

The rustic saloon gathered all manner of lifeforms, from humans to aliens that took a moment for Imogen to identify. She had only seen one Trodatome before on Koboh, but their appearance was not one she could ever mistake for anything else. A live band assaulted her ears with instruments out of tune and the smell of smoke and rust caused her to scrunch up her nose.

To her seasoned approximations, no one seemed to pose a threat to her or the mechanic at her side.

What a shame, she thought, longing for the promise of at least some worthwhile entertainment.

Bix made way to the bar and threw a look over her shoulder. “Want anything?”

“I will have the same as you,” she replied dismissively and signed with her hand to get her meaning across above all the noise as she searched for a half decent spot for them to claim.

A booth in the corner was as far removed as it could possibly be in the small establishment, but two human patrons already occupied the space. They utilized the shadows to let their hands wander in intimate ways unnoticed. Imogen marched towards them unfazed.

The couple was far too enthralled with each other to notice her draw near, but Imogen announced her presence with an impatient knock on the surface of their table. They both startled at the same time and looked at Imogen with a mixture of annoyance and expectation.

“Leave,” she commanded with a small wave of her hand, penetrating their minds with the command so they would have no other choice but to obey it.

They blinked and suddenly straightened up as the awareness in their eyes vanished. In unison, they silently stood and headed for the exit of the saloon. While Imogen could have tolerated their presence by the bar if they had interpreted her order as simply leaving the booth, she certainly did nothing to correct their course.

With a satisfied grin, Imogen settled herself into the booth and waited patiently for her lover to return to her.

Bix had already started partway in her direction before Imogen sat down and she passed the couple as they left, glancing curiously at their vacant expressions as they strode by with almost robotic purpose. She set down two metal cups on the table and slid in to sit beside the bounty hunter.

“What did you say to them?”

“I simply told them to leave,” she answered nonchalantly.

“Sure you did,” Bix said sarcastically and took a generous swig of what Imogen assumed to be ale.

Imogen took a tentative sip from her own dented metal cup. An overwhelmingly bitter and stale flavor coated her tongue and made her throat involuntarily close. She nearly choked on the vile ale, but managed to get it down without making a scene. She did not try to hide her disgust, though. A scowl twisted her features as she set the pint down on the tabletop as far away from her as she could reach.

“You could at least pretend to like it,” Bix chastised as she took another sip.

“Why?” Imogen asked in exasperation as she attempted to wash the alcohol out of her mouth with some water from her canteen. “For the life of me, I cannot fathom your tastes.”

The mechanic shrugged. “It’s cold. That’s good enough for me.”

“You should have let me take you somewhere with more prestige. Certainly there would have been a drink far less offensive to one’s palate.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bix challenged as she leveled her gaze at the bounty hunter. “And how would you know the difference? You don’t drink. At least, I’ve never seen you drink.”

“We have gone out before.”

“You went to Cavo’s twice and sat in front of an untouched drink both times.”

“That is because I found the flavor to be akin to the many brown puddles riddled across Rix Road.” Yet Imogen would have preferred that to the swill from this saloon. She missed the expensive clubs she used to visit on a regular basis. “Honestly, darling, you must allow me to spoil you with an establishment worth your while one of these days.”

With a snort, Bix added in a dry tone. “Sure, let’s go to Canto Bight. You can buy me a bottle of the most expensive alcohol there and we’ll drink the whole thing while we bet on the races.”

Imogen caught on to the sarcasm in her tone and smirked. “If that is what you wish, I can make it happen.”

The mechanic shook her head and turned her attention to their surroundings as she took another swig of ale. “You’re being dramatic. This place isn’t that bad.”

Imogen joined her in surveying the other patrons. It was evidently clear that none came to the saloon for anything even remotely pleasant to consume. Most only sought whatever could numb them the fastest. She noted a couple of rugged looking workers slumped over their table and would have likely heard their raspy snores were it not for the music and chatter. Over in another dark corner, a group played cards while tensions grew among those on the losing side.

Then her eye caught a rather pathetic man begging the bartender for another drink. After repeated refusals, the bartender produced a blaster to shoo the pest away. The man threw his hands up and stomped off, only to immediately trip on a stool and collapse in a heap.

Imogen nodded at him. “I am fairly certain I once froze that man over there in carbonite and kept him in my ship’s cargo hold for several weeks. He fetched a handsome price with the Hutts.”

Bix pursed her lips and studied him with scrutiny. “I’d believe it if you hadn’t said that last part. He doesn’t look like he’s worth much.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Imogen said. The man picked himself up on wobbly legs and unceremoniously vomited onto his boots. Her face scrunched up in disgust and she shook her head. “But your assumption does seem warranted. I never accept less than forty-thousand for my services. I doubt I could make even a few hundred credits off a man of his… presentation.”

They watched him sway on his feet as another Theelin bartender accosted him for the mess and dragged him stumbling out of the saloon with a slew of slurred protests.

“Why bounty hunting?”

The seemingly random question drew Imogen’s gaze back towards the mechanic curiously. “Pardon?”

“Why are you a bounty hunter?” Bix repeated.

Imogen squinted at her suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

She rested her elbow on the table and leaned in, making sure to drop her gaze down to Imogen’s lips for a brief moment as a small, patronizing smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “It’s this thing called, ‘getting to know you’, where you ask someone personal questions because you’re genuinely interested in understanding them more.”

Imogen hummed in disinterest. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Very funny.”

“You know me already, Bix.”

“I do. Which is why I find it curious that you chose to be a bounty hunter when you’re a talented killer. You like it. You’d make a good assassin.”

Imogen could not tell if Bix was insulting her or complimenting her. Either way, the bounty hunter felt that thrill stir in the base of her spine at her lover’s words just as much as that daring glint in her eye.

“Why are you a mechanic?” she deflected.

Bix did not skip a beat. “Nepotism. Your turn.”

“Do you wish to hear the honest truth?”

A devastatingly gorgeous smile became illuminated by the low light of the lantern beside them and Imogen knew she was at her mercy. “That’s all I ever want to hear from you.”

“Very well,” Imogen accepted with a forcefully curt nod. “The work of an assassin does not have enough sport in it for me. To locate a target and deliver them alive is not only more of a challenge, but it is where my talent lies. I was trained specifically to seek and retrieve. Bounty hunting is more or less what an Inquisitor does.”

“Minus the added torture and murder.”

“I specialize in hunting my prey just as much as interrogation and elimination, yes. I still get my fair share of killing in The Guild, of course. It is a profession that keeps me satisfied on multiple fronts.”

Bix’s eyes glinted knowingly. “You mean, it keeps you from getting bored.”

“Precisely,” Imogen answered with a devious grin. “However, I do find Jedi to be the most effective in that regard. I very much enjoy a challenging duel.”

“I’ll add that to the list of things I know you like to do, then.” She mumbled her next words into her cup as she downed the rest of her drink. “Murder, torture, lightsaber fights.”

“And you enjoy making black market deals and drinking cheap ale I would not feed to a womp rat.” Imogen placed her arm behind Bix and began to caress the backs of her fingers up and down her lover’s side as she stared intently at her. “What a pair we make.”

One of the bartenders — a young female Mirialan with most of her green skin exposed in a tight, revealing outfit — came up to them to retrieve what she must have assumed to be two empty cups. When she noted the practically untouched ale at the end of the table, she asked “Are you finished with this?��

“Yes,” Imogen answered without taking her eyes off of Bix, who had turned her attention to the younger woman.

The bartender continued to intrude. “Could I interest you in something else?”

“No,” Imogen said, dragging the word out in an impatient drawl. She forcefully tore her gaze away from Bix to throw a cold look at the Mirialan. “I get the distinct impression that everything here is as dreadful as that ale.”

Bix rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Ignore her. I’ll take another,” she said, handing over her empty metal cup.

As the slightly disgruntled bartender disappeared from sight, Imogen raised an eyebrow at the mechanic. “‘Ignore her’?”

“It’s the quickest way to get your attention, isn’t it?” Bix asked in anything but an innocent tone.

“Perhaps for you.”

“Come on,” Bix teased, tapping her index finger under Imogen’s chin, “you don’t think she’s cute?”

The bounty hunter grinded her teeth at the implication. “I might have thought so, if you were not here beside me.”

Bix lifted one of her shoulders in a light shrug. “I think she’s cute.”

Imogen narrowed her storming eyes and pulled her lover in closer by her waist. “Do you believe making me jealous is wise?” she mused in a low, smooth tone.

The Mirialan returned with a fresh cup of ale. As she set it on the table, Bix placed a couple of credits down as payment. When the bartender reached for them, Imogen’s hand clamped down on top of hers like the swift strike of a serpent. The young woman gasped and Imogen saw movement out of the corner of her eye — a horned Zabrak bouncer taking a tense step towards them. Imogen smiled dangerously at the girl. She supposed she was more attractive than most, but her looks did little to tempt Imogen beyond mischievous curiosity. She took a moment to lightly prod into the bartender’s mind.

The initial embers of irritation towards Imogen swiftly gave way to a sudden wave of fear. This girl knew she was dangerous, but she didn’t know just how dangerous she could really be. If only she could paint a clearer picture. Imogen felt her own ire melt into amusement as she tightened her grip ever so slightly and caused the girl to flinch. Satisfied, Imogen released her.

“Run along now,” she dismissed.

Bix leveled her gaze. “Are you that starved for attention?”

Imogen pursed her lips thoughtfully at the sight of the bouncer returning to his post. “I may kill her yet. If only to be banned from ever returning to this hovel.”

As she turned her gaze back to her lover, Imogen saw Bix bring the fresh cup of ale to her lips and tilt her head back. In two large, impressively smooth gulps the mechanic downed the entire pint. Imogen felt her mouth gape open slightly at the pronounced line of her jaw and the sight of her throat contracting as she swallowed. It filled Imogen with a familiar warm ache down below.

Bix set the empty metal cup back down and dragged her thumb from the corner of her mouth across her lower lip to wipe away the excess droplets of ale before they raced down her chin. Imogen found herself suddenly craving the drink she held nothing but disdain for mere moments ago, if only to taste it from her lover’s lips.

“Come on,” Bix announced and rose to her feet. “I think you need some air.”

Despite how flustered she felt, Imogen managed to summon enough indignation for a retort. “Air? Do I appear as some neglected pet to you?”

“You don’t want the answer to that, sweetheart,” she replied with a smugness that caused Imogen’s cheeks to flare up with a different kind of heat, but one no less addictive.

She accepted Bix’s outstretched hand without further protest and allowed herself to be led past the bar and out of the saloon altogether.

The late evening air felt a little too cool against her already cold skin, but nowhere near the damp chill of Ferrix. Imogen had that to be grateful for and more.

Bix’s firm hand in hers felt warm in the same way a fire did — a near constant warning not to get too close, yet pulling her in with enthralling influence. Imogen long let go of her instinct to rip her hand away from the flames of her lover’s skin.

Without much warning, Bix swiftly turned on her and grasped the bounty hunter by her coat. As breath pushed out of her lungs from the impact of her back against the side of the building, Imogen found herself feeling rather impressed by her mechanic. Not many could catch her off guard.

Before she could sing her praise — before she could even really catch her breath — Bix pulled her into a fierce kiss.

Imogen felt a rush of irritation from the other woman as she took her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down hard enough to make her groan. Imogen also felt the arousal that pulled at Bix’s gut when she desperately molded their bodies together and knew it had been there for most of their time in the bar.

If this was how Bix chose to punish her, Imogen may just have to misbehave far more often…

“Careful, darling,” Imogen breathlessly mused in between kisses.

She reached up and gently grabbed Bix by the jaw. With the small amount of control in her grasp, Imogen slowed their cadence to a deeper, more consuming kiss. The velvet heat of her lover’s tongue carried the bitter taste of ale and Imogen found the flavor not just bearable, but unexpectedly pleasant in this context. Her fingers lightly caressed down Bix’s throat. The mechanic’s hands fell and gripped Imogen’s hips tightly in response, pulling her in even closer.

A tremor went through both of their forms at the same time and Imogen had trouble discerning whether or not it came from the cold air around them. Either way, it spurred the desire to mark her love and Imogen trailed her lips down to Bix’s neck with purpose.

Just as her teeth scraped against her skin, Bix suddenly reached up and pulled Imogen’s head back by her hair. A quiet grunt escaped her, but a smile still tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“No,” Bix said.

“I want them to know you are mine,” Imogen insisted.

“I don’t care about them,” the mechanic countered, assertively pulling at Imogen’s waist. “I want you to know you’re mine.”

The swell of pride Imogen felt in her chest was so profound that her smirk grew into a grin. “I love you,” she said without a moment of hesitation. Those words were getting easier to say, however foreign they still felt coming from her lips.

Bix softened and kissed her again. This time her lips moved in a delicate, chaste stroke that caused a wave of pinpricks to spread all over Imogen’s body. “Are you mine?” she whispered into the bounty hunter’s mouth.

“Yes,” Imogen answered with a nod.

Another soft kiss graced her lips – a wordless reciprocation that Imogen could never doubt. The kiss said I love you, too. I belong to you, too. I want nothing more than that. She cupped her face and held them there in a shameless, selfish moment of pure indulgence.

Then Bix parted from her. “Let’s get something to eat. You pick this time.”

Imogen sighed at the abrupt loss of contact, but she composed herself. After straightening her coat, she pushed away from the wall and stepped out of the shadows on unsteady legs. Bix failed to hold back a smile. Imogen ignored her smug amusement and simply motioned for the mechanic to follow. “I know just the place.”

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @tommyarashikage @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @kyberinfinitygems @voidbuggg @inafieldofdaisies @statichvm @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @a-treides @shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed @strangefable @jacobseed

#oc insp: imogen kol #ship insp: if i had a heart #in other words: getting turned on by questionable things #this has no plot relevance but I had fun writing it so here #prompts: if i had a heart

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 3 days

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It's all fun and games until...

[Commission for @dontheckinswear]

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #madam qin #jin guangyao #I hope your bookclub enjoys this one! Shout out to the bookclubbers. The readers.#Thank you again for the commission! This was a delightfully dark-but-funny prompt to work on.#The whole situation is twisted in every single direction...but also shout out to Madam Qin for dropping this bomb right before the wedding.#JGY also realizing that he can't cancel the wedding without putting Qin Su at risk for shame and condemnation.#The world is hard for women. Even harder for single mothers.#And sure there is the politics element but let me believe that in the moment his heart was on her safety and happiness.#This blog is a 'qin-su should be happy' zone. I still have that transmigration to SVSSS AU to draw out one day....#Or return to the Band Au. Why did I make so many AUs that I really want to keep continuing on?#If only I had limitless time and energy...If only.

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girlwithherheadinthestars · 3 months

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father figure prompts pt. 2 (cw: daddy issues)

because like. teachers who have adopted the traumatized gifted kids in their classes as their children >>>>>>

"you need a break. you're working too hard."

"i don't care that you didn't do that assignment i'm more worried about the fact that you're crying."

bursting into his office whenever you're upset: are you busy?

^him: yes. (closes his laptop) what's up?

^me: aren't you...

^him: your principal can go step off a balcony. this is clearly more important.

"you're more than just smart. you're funny and sweet and talented -- don't let anyone reduce you to just smart."

"i'm so scared for the midterm if i'm being honest."

^"why? your worst grade in my class is a 95."

^"yes but i don't want to disappoint -- "

^"get a B."

^"what?"

^"i'm being serious. get a B. that's more than enough. don't kill yourself overstudying for a perfect score."

"you're literally a child. this isn't your responsibility. don't worry about it. just...go have fun."

"stop studying and go out please for the love of god."

part. 1

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starry-bi-sky · 2 months

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Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.

It is a fast dream.

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)

—---

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom.

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #amnesiac danyal al ghul au #songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart #musician danny has my heart and soul #yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks #implied good mom talia al ghul #danyal is a momma's boy send tweet #dpxdc ficlet #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au #no beta no edits we die like danny fenton #poc danny fentons #i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense #ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later #morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it #since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous #phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe #not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him

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finemealprompt · 1 month

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DP x DC Prompt #43

Cujo was a good boy. He was! He promises! He just didn't want to sit still when Danny asked him to. How could he! There were so many scents to explore, so many spirits around, too many things to do to sit still!

Unfortunately, Cujo got lost. And scared. It's a big city, and he was told he wasn't allowed to turn big and go on a rampage or else he wouldn't get to go on trips with Danny anymore. So he wanders, trying to get back to where he was.

Then, a young boy runs across Cujo. He speaks softly, is kind, and doesn't seem off put by his abnormal coloring. So, Cujo decides to go with the boy! Danny won't be that mad ... right?

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pintobordeaux · 2 years

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Based off of this little ficlet by @softest-punk

I loved the writing SO MUCH I couldn’t help myself and had to draw this ridiculous book with Dream’s vandalism

#pintosart #dreamling #hob gadling #Book of the life of Hob Gadling #Dream has vandalized the book in the BEST way #I haven’t had this much fun drawing hearts on something since I was a young teenager #thank you softest-punk for SUCH an amazing response to my silly little prompt. I really really loved it

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denndrawings · 1 year

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Poet & King

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teleport-warning · 6 months

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Day 2: Rebirth

#soriku week 2023 #soriku #sora #riku #kingdom hearts #fanart for fanfic #okay buckle in y’all I’m about to be a huge sap #so this is based on a scene from can you still hear me by ao3 user bigdykeenergy #which fits the prompt because it’s kind of about riku’s rebirth after kh2 #anyway that’s my story and I’m sticking to it it works if you squint #however it’s also one of my favorite kh fics ever and when I first read it a couple years back after coping with world events by #playing all of kh in a row #and I wanted to draw a scene from it #and I wanted to share that with the author #and folks I had not done fanart or posted art online for maybe fifteen years and this was the fic and the fandom and the ship #that brought me back so I guess it’s kind of rebirth for me too #anyway thanks to that author and to the folks I’ve met through kingdom hearts #teleport warning draws

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spaceratprodigy · 4 months

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(palette challenge) PINK LEMONADE OR WATERMELON FOR DELIRIS ⁉️⁉️⁉️

@oldworldwidgets — [ palette prompts ]

WATERMELON LEMONADE DELIRIS 💖💚

#💖💛💚❤#I am on my hands and knees rn #I had so much fun playing around with the colors and seeing what I could do with them #only the slightest of tweaking to the palette I wasn't vibing with one color so I made it a pale yellow #and then said fuck it and added a darker yellow as well #for you my darling we get the best of BOTH palettes combined 😈💅#this came out soooo cute and dreamyyyy #ALSO MISS DELILAH IS ALWAYS DROP DEAD GORGEOUS OKAY I CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF HER #just gals being pals adoringly staring into each others eyes or whatever #THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT AUD THIS WAS PERFECT #I'm going to be eating this piece forever I can't stop looking at the girls #they deserve to be happy and the soft expressions are making my heart explode 🥺#ANYWAY #I am going to be rotating teddy and zinnie in my mind now at high speeds #ily ily ily blowing you so many kisses rn #my art #friend oc #sole survivor #fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #also sobbing over the new snake patch on iris's jacket okay I've been so excited abt that one #it'll stand out more in her regular palette but aaaaa I intend it to be the same color as delilah's eyes :]

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swinging-through-the-stars · 1 year

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I made it a goal to draw a ship for every one of the kiss prompts from this template and I DID IT. (It was supposed to be for Valentine's Day but uh I was held up so don't worry about it).

Full image below because I drew these all on the same canvas sksksk

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wildstar25 · 3 months

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MiqoMarch Day 23 - Midnight

With their intended voyage into the void only a few days out, Arsay thought it the upmost importance that she steal her partner away to Kugane, that they might share one more fond memory together should things not turn out the way they plan in the thirteenth. It was as they crossed the very same bridge the miqo'te had once sat on together two years prior when Arsay gifted Y'shtola with a bracelet matching that of her own. A token of endearment which, Arsay confessed, she would have given to her fellow scion back then, had nerves not gotten the best of her. While their relationship has undoubtedly changed since the initial purchase of the jewellery, the sentiment remained the same. Y'shtola was someone who Arsay loved dearly and she will forever be grateful to have the seeker's life intertwined with her own. No matter where their free spirits took them, they would always hold each other in their hearts. A promise Y'shtola was more than willing to keep. She slipped the the string of beads around her wrist without a second thought. They were never to come off, not even when the two decided to delay their return to Radz-at-Han in favour of a private bath at the dead of night.

#miqomarch #miqomarch 2024 #ffxiv #y'shtola rhul #y'shtola x wol #wolshtola #Arsay Nun #WOL posting #arsay nun lore #arshtola #thanks to nhaneh for the body mod #i had to do some insane fov to get the moon and them in the same shot so sorry for the distortion #forcing arshtola lore into this prompt since idk when Ill ever get around to gposing the actual scene #this is between 6.1 and 6.2!#endwalker patch spoilers #i had the idea that arsay bought the Dai-ryumyaku bracelets from a vendor between 4.3 n 4.4 when shtola is off to the doman enclave #and arsay is like hey wait you should let me show you around kugane on the way over!#a fun friend date that ends with shtola finally accepting she has a crush on arsay and its terminal #and arsay having a single moment where she starts reflecting on feelings & thinks maybe she missed hanging out w/shtola more than she shoul #only to quickly butt that idea out of her head and continue being super normal #arsay notices these matching bracelets with red and purple string and shes like oh they are so cute and they look like #they belong in a pair it would be so sad if they were ever split up unexpectedly #i know ill buy them and give one to shtola wouldnt that be fun!#so she does that and then cant bring herself to give yshtola the damn thing because she starts second guessing herself #so arsay stashes the bracelets away and she started wearing hers later under her glove #fast forward to two years later and arsay finds the other one in one of her bags #and now shes dating yshtola and they are about to go somewhere super dangerous #what better time to tell your gf how much they have always meant to you #and what better way to do it than with a gift and some words spoken from the heart?#it was a little unconventional since arsay didnt really have marriage on the mind but it was a proposal in a sense

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imogenkol · 4 months

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— DAY 5: VOWS / IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU

words: 2.4k

warnings: codependency

tags: oc x canon, angst, finally admitting feelings, little bit of fluff

this is sort of an unofficial chapter 5 of If I Had A Heart that will eventually be added to the main fic (probably around the release of season 2) but the @starwarssapphicweek prompts gave me the perfect excuse to hammer this scene out and share it!

Something shifted. A subtle change. Like how the turn of the tide goes unnoticed until you find yourself drifting in another direction. It might have been the warm smile Imogen saw flash across Bix’s lips in response to the stout droid’s stutter. Or the way the mechanic carried herself just a little more steadily, her legs no longer swaying beneath such a heavy burden. Imogen wondered if it had finally lifted off of her shoulders. Perhaps the more likely explanation was that Bix had simply adapted to its weight.

Less pressure seemed to lay on her own shoulders, as well. Imogen knew her fortitude had been weakened, but had not allowed herself to admit just how entwined their emotions had become. With their strength returned, the bounty hunter felt renewed resolve. At last, she could do what she needed to and put all of this complication behind her.

While The Crimson Huntress had not seen any maintenance in quite some time, the quality of Bix’s work had impressive longevity. To no surprise, the ship’s system did not find a single issue when Imogen ran diagnostics. She could resume business as usual as soon as she gathered her personal effects, which would not take long.

If only the pit in her gut had not grown.

As she walked down the ship’s ramp, Imogen noticed a lingering stare off in the distance from where Bix conversed with Jezzi. The two had grown closer and Imogen used that knowledge to reassure herself. Surely a Daughter of Ferrix would serve as a far better pillar for Bix than Imogen ever could. She feigned disinterest in their interaction and continued on, despite the invisible cord between her and Bix becoming taut.

What little she had brought to her room from the ship had already been neatly organized for this very purpose. Imogen wasted little time and moved her essential possessions into a leather satchel, trying to ignore the strain of swimming against the tide.

How else was she supposed to save herself from drowning?

Imogen had barely begun before she sensed a familiar presence approach like a breeze you could hear rustle through nearby leaves, but could not yet feel caress your skin. Under normal circumstances, she would eagerly await that coming wind, whether it be a steady gust or raging storm. This time, though, Imogen closed her eyes and exhaled a quiet sigh through her nose as she placed an extra blaster into her bag, her chest already tightening.

The door to her temporary quarters slid open and closed behind her. A strong ripple through the Force told Imogen to expect a storm.

“What are you doing?” Bix asked, unable to hide the accusatory tone that already took over her voice.

“I am tidying up,” Imogen replied, avoiding the mechanic’s gaze. She felt it so directly that she had to fight its influence.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“Clearly I have been occupied.”

“You’re leaving.”

The statement followed a tense beat in the small space. One where Imogen felt the uptick of her own heartbeat in her fingertips as she reached for a comlink and slipped it into one of the smaller compartments of her bag. She knew she should have departed before sunrise. It would have been easier to cut the frequency of Bix’s disappointment over the comms than to face her like this.

“You have recovered.” Imogen kept her tone detached and cold.

“I pretty much walk on my own, now, yeah.” Every bitterly sarcastic word dripped with mounting animosity. Though, Imogen sensed more than mere anger. She felt the vice in Bix’s heart within her own, as if a clawed hand clamped around the muscle and began to drag it down. She knew by now that her connection with Bix was the cause of such pain. “You told me you would stay.”

Imogen kept her eyes averted as she continued to calmly collect her things around the room. “I never made such a promise.”

“Don’t pull this shit with me again,” Bix warned as she stepped into the bounty hunter’s path. When Imogen ignored the bite and attempted to move past her, Bix caught her arm in a firm grasp. “Look at me, Imogen.”

This time, Imogen audibly sighed. She wanted to wrench her arm free, grab her bag, and never look back without another word. Shame twisted her insides as she accepted the fact she simply could not will herself to do so. Imogen forced her eyes to meet the mechanic’s wounded gaze and felt a deep ache impact in her chest.

“I do not belong here,” she said quietly.

The here in question did not quite refer to one particular place, not since they escaped the chaos on Ferrix. Here became Bix. It became Jezzi. Brasso. The boy whose father Imogen cut down after he had been hung on Rix Road, Wilmon. Even Cassian. These were not her people. Imogen had no people. She needed to keep it that way.

“You belong with me,” Bix said with such firm conviction that Imogen felt the claws dig in a little deeper.

“Don’t say that.” Imogen resented how pathetic and pained she sounded.

The grip Bix had on her loosened for half a second before she tightened it again. This time, less vengefully and more desperate. Imogen felt the heat of her palm burn her skin through layers of clothing. “Don’t go.”

I cannot do this, her thoughts cried.

“I cannot stay.”

“Yes, you can,” Bix insisted.

Imogen wanted to. She wanted to stay more than she ever has – more than she has ever wanted anything. It reached beyond want. Beyond need. It felt as vital as any other organ within her body that kept her alive. Yet, Imogen had to rip this feeling out of herself, because she knew better. She knew how this would end. “You do not want me to, Bix.”

The mechanic said what even Imogen’s thoughts could not conjure. “I need you.”

She shook her head again, but felt her resolve start to crumble. “That has never been true.”

“After everything, where is this coming from?”

“You know very well where.”

As steadfast as any storm, Bix held her ground. “No, you don’t get to run this time. Things are different now.”

“Which is precisely why.”

“Imogen –”

“Why are you so determined to have me?” Imogen snapped. Finally, anger broke through the pain and she yanked herself out of Bix’s grasp. Anger she could deal with. Anger she could work with. Her gray eyes burned as her expression hardened. “Whatever excitement you may have convinced yourself was worth turning your back on your own morals to be with me must have dissipated by now. Let it go.”

Bix immediately matched her temper, perfectly reflecting the bounty hunter’s intimidating glare. “No.”

“Why? What could you possibly see?”

“I see someone like me.”

Imogen scoffed humorlessly. She stepped back and slung the satchel over her shoulder. “Now I am truly convinced of your delusion.”

“Is it really so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Imogen hissed, “because there are few in the entire galaxy who have done what I have. You should have refused me the moment you heard of my past. You should feel repulsed by me. Any decent being would.”

“Well, I don’t. And I don’t really care what you think that makes me.” Bix shrugged, her arms falling back to her sides. “So, what now?”

“I leave. For good this time,” Imogen said before turning on her heel and making way for the door.

“I’m asking you not to,” Bix called after her with sudden urgency, the animosity in her tone falling away to desperation. “Please.”

The plea halted Imogen’s pace out of her control. She clenched and unclenched her fists restlessly and grinded her teeth. She knew this to be the very last ditch effort to spare herself and Bix. The part of her that knew how useless it all was made her drop her bag and march back to the other woman.

With swift, exasperated purpose, Imogen unclipped her lightsaber hilt from her belt. Anyone would have flinched or ran for their life, but not even the barest flash of fear crossed over Bix. She knew that even during their darkest moments, Imogen would never harm her.

The former Inquisitor held the hilt up and Bix’s eyes were immediately drawn to its ornate design. The dark carved wood in the grip. The black metal switch. The angled electrum emitter. Imogen’s weapon was made to bring nothing but destruction and death. This weapon was her darkness. If Imogen could not convince Bix to condemn her with this, then nothing else would.

“Take this.”

Bix blinked at her apprehensively before she carefully accepted the weapon. Imogen expected it to look wrong in the mechanic’s hand, but as Bix tightened her fingers around the grip hard enough to turn her knuckles white, Imogen felt the blade… call to her. Not strong enough to suggest a talent with the Force, but enough that her lightsaber seemed to recognize something within the other woman. Something it grew accustomed to in Imogen. She nearly asked Bix if she felt it, too, but stopped herself.

“The kyber crystal that powers this blade once belonged to my Master when I was a Jedi,” Imogen explained. Bix’s eyes widened every so slightly and she regarded it with renewed interest. “She perished in the Temple on Coruscant, the first night of the Purge.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied sincerely.

A very brief, very subtle smirk twitched at the corner of Imogen’s mouth. “Do not be. My Master died by my own hand.”

Bix remained still and silent. The hand that held the lightsaber was steady. She did not back away in horror — did not ask Imogen how she could be capable of such a horrific act of betrayal. Imogen wished she would. It’d certainly make this easier.

“It may have been an impulsive decision on my part, but I have never regretted it, not for one single moment,” Imogen continued calmly, her eyes still transfixed on the lightsaber hilt in Bix’s grasp. “Even in the wake of our Order’s destruction, Rejna would have spent the rest of her life shackled to me out of a twisted sense of duty. I simply found the strength to free us both.”

“That’s how you became an Inquisitor.”

“Yes.” Imogen hoped that her final confession would be the catalyst, and she hoped that it wouldn’t. “That is what I am, even without loyalty to the Empire.”

“And what else?” Bix pressed. Something captivating sparked in her dark eyes like she had Imogen balanced on a knife’s edge. “What else are you?”

“I am utterly alone,” the former Jedi admitted. Another deeper truth she had never given words to, yet offered freely to the woman in front of her. Imogen could no longer call it strange to splay out her bloody insides for the mechanic to behold. Bix might as well ignite that saber and do it herself.

“Do I make you feel alone?”

Imogen shook her head as she struggled to articulate a response. There were no easy answers when it came to that particular subject. “I don’t know what you make me feel.”

“That’s a lie,” Bix challenged.

The intensity of her gaze pierced right through Imogen just as much as those three words, but she simply couldn’t let Bix shackle herself to someone as lost as her. Not any more than Imogen could have allowed herself to be shackled to Rejna. “I do not think I can love you, Bix.”

“Why not?”

“I never learned how.”

“Funny,” the mechanic deadpanned as she returned the lightsaber hilt to Imogen’s unsteady hands. “You could have fooled me.”

The clouds suddenly parted in Imogen’s mind at the simple remark. She knew nothing of love — not how to love, nor recognize it — she believed herself incapable of such a thing. But with Bix’s words, Imogen thought back to the months she spent taking care of her. She thought back to the very moment she decided to rescue her from the Empire without hesitation. She thought even further back, still, to the first time she touched down on the surface of Ferrix with a fresh ship and an ambitious idea to make it into something more with the help of a resourceful and bold mechanic.

A devastating wave of realization crashed down on top of her and it felt like her lungs might burst from the strain of her strangled breath. Imogen finally understood. It’s been her. It has always been her. Memories flooded into her mind of every decision and every word and touch they shared, yet she could not pinpoint the exact moment it happened. This woman had achieved what none other have — to take Imogen completely by surprise.

In a state of wonder, Imogen absentmindedly set the lightsaber aside without taking her eyes off of the woman before her. And she gave in.

Imogen’s cold hands cupped Bix’s warm face as their lips collided. Her senses exploded like she had been holding her breath for months – for years, and this was her very first gulp of fresh air. They fell into a feverish cadence — one desperate and fierce and rough. Imogen let go of her reservations, her fear, her uncertainty. She let go of everything, even herself. Nothing else mattered any longer.

Bix clung to her as if she were her center of gravity, and matched the passion that had ignited between them. Teeth scraped against teeth. Gasps entered through parted lips. The soft heat of an eager tongue greeted the other. Imogen wrapped her arms around her and pulled her closer, but she needed something else. Something more. Or something less.

Their cadence suddenly took on a soft, intimate nature. Imogen pulled back just enough to delicately brush her lips over Bix’s in what could barely be called a kiss, caressing her thumb over the flushed flesh of her cheek. The thrill that raced up Imogen’s spine and detonated in her chest nearly brought her to her knees. Her affection was rarely ever gentle and the harshness she had adopted for years successfully kept a barrier up all this time, but the barrier had collapsed into rubble. So, Imogen indulged in the utterly breathtaking sensation of such a simple kiss, accepting with certainty that she never could have left her beloved mechanic again.

Not ever again.

Imogen Kol knew nothing of love… except that she did. She did know how to love, she had been loving this woman all along.

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @inafieldofdaisies @statichvm @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @gwynbleidd @shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut

#swfsf2024 #oc insp: Imogen Kol #ship insp: if I had a heart #tried to get this done a couple days ago but just didn’t get the chance so sorry it’s late!#hopefully I’ll do a couple more prompts for this month!#prompts: if I had a heart

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