#so i'm just going to write little prompts like this

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #58 Part 3

Gotham Academy High School was the sort of school where almost everyone was elite in some way or another. Some of them were from old money like Damian who held himself up to a very high standard in his academics and was the top of the class. Others from new money like Dash and the rest of his cohorts became very hateful of somebody like Danny who was given a scholarship by Bruce Wayne, in their eyes Danny was taking advantage of Damian not even knowing that Damian approached Danny for companionship two years ago.

This also meant that everyone including the teachers would compare Danny and Damian to each other even though they weren’t brothers. That didn’t matter though as Danny was associated with them so that was all the reason they needed.

Danny groaned as he sunk into the seat next to Damian. The lunchroom was filled with chatting students and Danny was glad he shared the next class with Damian, which happened to be English. Dash never bothered Danny when Damian was around, probably because Damian had threatened the jock. How he was threatened Danny didn’t know, Damian never told him what happened and he was a little scared to ask. 

The guy hadn’t stopped harassing Danny since he and Jazz transferred a couple years ago. The school year had barely begun and Dash had made Danny his primary target like he was making up for lost time over the summer. Danny sighed as he dropped his paper bagged lunch on the table with a little plop. Jazz had packed for him this morning hopefully before his parents arrived and contaminated the entire kitchen.

“Dash again?” his sister asked across the table, she was seated next to Tim.

“I was paired against him in dodgeball again,” Danny lamented, his head resting on his arms that were crossed on the table.

“Danny, could you just talk to Mr. Lancer or something?” Jazz asked before she took a bite from her sandwich.

Danny sighed again and unpacked his lunch, “I have but no one will listen! They all act like I’m lying or something.” The teachers at this school probably wouldn’t listen to a charity case like him. Dash was a football player and had plans to become captain of the team. Everyone at the school loved Dash and it was precisely why everyone except maybe the four students at the table they were seated looked down and sometimes even bullied Danny.

Danny ignored it all eventually, it was better just to let the jock tire himself out. 

Once Danny and Damian finished eating they made their way to English. Luckily it was easy to carry the material for a class that only required a small binder and whatever book they were reading, in this case it was ‘gone with the wind’. Danny didn’t really care about reading old literature like this but he did what he had to maintain the grades he had. He’d endure anything, even Dash’s bullying, to become an astronaut.

Danny could hardly concentrate today through his afternoon classes. For some reason he had a bad feeling that something was going to happen. He tried his best to ignore it, he was probably just tired or something. Soon the school day was out and Danny packed up whatever homework he had for the day and headed outside to wait with Jazz. Damian and Tim were probably wrapping up their classes. Tim had an AP class that ran an extra 30 minutes and Damian’s last class was art, they were doing a painting and it wasn’t unusual for Damian to finish up what he was working on as he found out over the last few years that he enjoyed painting.

“… Do you think it’ll work?” Jazz asked a hint of hesitation in her voice. Danny knew she was talking about the portal, the both of them had talked about it before. Danny glanced over at his sister, he could tell she was having trouble sleeping lately, her face looked tired and her posture was stiff with her arms crossed in front of her. Both of them had anxiety about the possibilities the portal possessed, and they were especially worried that their parents wouldn’t take it well if the portal didn’t work. 

He was equally concerned that it would work. “I hope not…” he said eventually. It was something that brought the siblings closer as the whole of their family fell apart. How their parents managed to pull off getting the funding in the first place seemed to be a miracle. Everyone called their parents crazy and dismissed all of their science as ludicrous garbage.

Danny wondered how they even managed to stay under Batman's radar, he thought that something like this would be cause for the vigilante to look into it but maybe the thought of ghosts was just that outlandish that even the dark knight himself thought it to be crazy too. Danny himself didn’t believe in anything his parents published, some of the papers even seemed to be biased somehow, even though his parents hadn’t ever actually encountered a ghost. That last part was probably the reason no one bothered to actually investigate his parents, there wasn’t really much to investigate.

The siblings waited in silence and eventually Tim and Damian showed up after their classes and the four headed to Alfred waiting by the car. 

If anyone tried to start a conversation with Danny he wasn’t paying attention. If he was being honest, his parents' portal scared him a lot. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous about it, both him and Jazz renounced the thought that ghosts could exist. Something deep down in his guts told him that he should turn and run, that what his parents were attempting was taboo and that his parents were tampering with forces unimaginable. 

No one was going to listen to a fourteen year old though so Danny kept his feelings to himself and ignored them. 

Soon they were pulled in front of their apartment and true to their word, Damian and Tim asked Alfred to park nearby. Danny and Jazz took a hesitant glance at each other as they walked into the house. 

#dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #poor danny #Major Character Death and undeath in the next one #bad parents jack and maddie #Danny gets his powers and everyone else gets trauma #This is going to focus heavily on Danny and what he’s going through #Bulling mentioned #Danny loves space #Heavy angst in the next few chapters #Let me know who you'd like to see show up from DC #I'm also thinking of bringing in Sam and Tucker #I know exactly what I have in mind to bring them into the fray too #I'm excited to write some of this but also a little nervous lol #I have ideas #I have a little more of an idea of where I want this to go so I will be focusing on this one #I haven't forgotten the others though I find it easier to take breaks and let parts breath for a bit #I have a few books on writing that I've been meaning to read so I might give those a go #One of the things I'm struggling to figure out is showing and not just telling #my asks are open #all my prompts are free to use

[blooming-violets]

Lucky number 13 for Nature please :)

Apple Of My Eye || TASM Smut

Nature - 13: beneath the shade of trees in the middle of an orchard

[TASM Peter Parker x Fem!Reader]

WC: 1k (look at me being short and sweet for once in my damn life)

A/N: Two weeks later and I'm finally start to write for these prompts! I'm a slow bitch, I can not help it.

“It’s colder than I thought it would be out here.” She wrapped her arms around her sweater to try and hug out the chill in her bones. “I don’t think a skirt and tights was the right choice.” 

Peter’s eyes roved over her body, taking in her legs in the sheer tights, “I think they were the perfect choice.” 

That was easy for him to say. He had pants on. 

She rolled her eyes and dropped the wooden basket full of apples she was carrying at the base of the closest tree trunk. 

“Your opinions don’t count when you just like how my legs look in tights.” 

They had been wandering through this apple orchard for almost two hours. At this point in their trek, they had yet to come across any other pickers for over forty minutes. They were deep into the orchard. 

Probably lost. 

Though Peter would never admit that. 

With two full baskets of apples, they had more than enough for her mother, May, and themselves. 

She sighed and leaned against the knotted tree, kicking at a rotten apple with the toe of her leather boot. 

She was tired and hungry and cold and sick of picking apples. 

“Are you going to give me your jacket or are you just going to stare at my legs some more?”

Peter tore his eyes away from watching the way the light breeze made her skirt dance around her thighs. 

“What?”

She threw up her hands in exasperation, “Oh my god!”

He laughed, tackling her off the tree and wrapping his arms around her, dragging her straight to the dew covered grass. 

“I was kidding, baby, kidding!” He pinned her to the ground, keeping her shoulders locked down with his palms and sliding his knees around her hips.

She couldn’t remember the last time she laid on the grass without a blanket between her and the ground. 

“Peter!” She cried. “It’s wet down here. Cold and wet. Probably bugs. Worms. Little beetles. Oh god, spiders!”

“Shut up,” he laughed. He shoved his lips against hers to keep her quiet with a kiss. “It’s not cold. You’re just tired and cranky because we’ve been walking for approximately ten full business days while carrying all these apples.”

She nodded, huffing, “This is true. You got us lost. And now you’ve forced me to lay in Spider’s Ville. I bet they're crawling in my hair right now and laying their eggs.”

“The only spider down here is me and I’m already on top of you so you have nothing more to worry about.” 

That got her to drop a bit of her attitude, turning her head to the side, the wet grass tickling her cheek, as she tried to hide her smile.

“Don’t you turn away from me when I’m being cute,” he chastised. 

His hand slipped around her chin to gently turn her face back to him. He leaned down to kiss her again. 

Taking his time. 

Adoring her lips. 

He slid down her body and forced himself to a kneel between her legs.

“You don’t need my jacket. I have other ways of warming you up,” he whispered, throwing a wink at her. 

Her eyes widened in surprise, “Not here! We’re in public!”

Peter lifted his head and looked around, “Baby, please, all I see is you, me, and a shit ton of apples.” 

“Well they could come!” 

A suggestive smirk grew across his lips, “You’ll be the only cumming, don’t worry.” 

Before she could even protest, his hand was slipping up her shirt and covering her breast over her bra, while he attacked her mouth with fiery kisses. 

“Omph, Peter,” she tried to breathe through his kiss. “This is…is…oh.” 

He had tugged down the strap of her bra, loosening the cup, so he could access her nipple. As she spoke, he flicked a finger against it, causing her to forget her words. 

Her quiet moans in response were all he needed to keep going. 

His tongue slipped past her lips, tangling with hers, enticing her to play along. 

Her body relaxed, hands slowly moving up to run through his hair, as she submitted to his will. 

The moment he felt her give in, he was ready to go. 

Peter broke from the kiss to slide down her stomach. He trailed kisses over her sweater until he reached her skirt. 

“You said you didn’t like these tights, right?” He panted, eyes wide with mischief. “They weren’t keeping you warm enough?”

She silently nodded, still trying to catch her breath from his dizzying kiss. 

His hand disappeared under her skirt and a loud RIP followed. 

She gasped in shock, “Peter!” She felt the massive hole he had torn open in her crotch. “That’s your solution to me being cold? Ripping my clothes off me? Counter productive.”

He chuckled under his breath, already settling himself in the grass between her legs, laying on his stomach and smirking up at her. 

“Are you really that averse to my methods?”

She went quiet, hiding her need to smile. She wasn’t averse to it. She actually found it to be incredibly sexy. They were just a pair of cheap tights. 

But she refused to tell him that. 

He winked, reading her facial expressions anyway, “That’s what I thought. Now shut up and let me eat you like one of these apples.” 

Chilly hands gently hooked behind her knees, raising her legs and spreading them wider, so he could scoot his shoulders closer. Peter pushed aside her underwear and let out a happy sigh at the sight awaiting him. 

“I love this pussy,” he whispered to it. 

His head ducked under her skirt and descended to her inner thighs. He brought his lips to her soft, rolling flesh. He traveled with kisses over her stretch marks and blemishes that he would never allow her to even think about calling imperfections. 

There wasn’t a single inch of her skin that Peter didn’t adore. 

Whatever reservations she might have had moments ago fly away the moment his breath hit her where she needed it most. The anticipation of what was to come had stoked a spark of her desire into a roaring lame. She didn’t care where he took her just as long as his tongue was buried in her pussy. 

A whimper escaped her as they made contact. 

She felt him give a breathy, hot laugh against her, knowing just as well as she did that she was enjoying this more than she wanted to let on. 

He mumbled against her dewy lips, “You’re the cutest.”

He always loved hearing her whimper and moan despite all the fight she would put up. 

She would give in. 

Every time. 

Peter delved back in, licking a steady stripe over her soft folds, dipping into her for a taste before dragging his tongue back up to her clit. 

Tight, slow circles toyed with her sweet bud. 

His mintrations were reserved. Lazy. Like he was purposely taking his time to savor every stretching second. 

Languid and precise. 

But it wasn’t long until he had her mewling and writhing over him. 

The sounds urged him to hasten his work. 

He wrapped his arms around her legs, pushing them up, locking his arms over her stomach so he could hold her closer. His face buried into her. Head hidden under her skirt. Lapping his tongue over her soaked, sensitive folds. Tending to her clit, worshiping it between his lips, before sinking his tongue back into her for another taste. 

Heat rose over her body, warming her skin, pushing away the chill. 

At least he was correct in delivering on that front. She was no longer cold. 

Steaming hot. 

Panting. 

Her thighs trembled in Peter’s hold as pleasure seemed to pulse out from between them. 

She let out a long, gasping moan. Trying to be silent should anyone be nearby but unable to keep it in. 

Peter was too good with his tongue. 

He responded with a guttural moan of his own from under her skirt, eating her out like a starving man unabashedly enjoying his first meal in days. 

The vibrations of such a low, growling moan spread across her clit and sent shivers up her arching spine. 

Her fists clenched at clumps of wet grass. 

Feeling it give way in her hands. Ripping up. Dirt sinking under her nails. 

She should be embarrassed how quickly Peter could take her from complaining about the cold to forcing her to orgasm but she couldn’t focus on anything besides that building pleasure. 

His tongue pulled breathy whimpers from her lips. 

Easing her closer and closer to that beautiful release. 

“P-Peter!’ She gasped, letting out a desperate, needy whine. “Feels…so good!”

He was mumbling something against her lips but his words were muffled out by her cunt. 

His grip around her belly tightened. 

He knew she was almost there. 

Hanging on by a quivering thread. 

Peter turned all his attention to making love to her clit.

Her hips canted, arching off the ground. 

Peter anticipated the move, shifting to follow her, knowing her well enough to predict where her body will go. Never letting the latch his mouth had on her pussy slip for even a second. 

Her calves shook under her weight, holding her up, following her trembling thighs as her body gave in. 

Her hand slammed across her mouth to stifle the shriek she desperately wanted to let rip. Letting it fall against her heavy, clamped hand instead.

Smelling the earthy dirt mixed with juicy apples against her fingers. 

The faint smell of sex lingering in the wind. 

Wet grass clinging to her skin. 

Her clothes, damp. 

Her body, on fire. 

Peter stayed dutifully to her spasming pussy, letting her ride it out, sucking out every last drop she had to give, until she came crashing back to earth. 

He lapped through her folds with moaning growls of delight as he cleaned her with his tongue. 

It was only when she couldn’t take it anymore, far too sensitive post orgasm, that she shoved him out from under her skirt with her hand. 

He emerged with a lopsided, glistening grin that screamed a silent “I told you so”. 

It was only them and the apples. 

Not a single person wandered on to the erotic feast he had devoured. 

She threw a sweatered arm over her eyes to block out the sight of red apples against the deep blue sky. 

Breathing heavily.

Feeling uncomfortable wet down below. 

She felt him crawling over her. The weight of his stomach pressed against her. 

His salty lips urged her out of hiding with his tongue gliding into her mouth.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him deeply. 

Peter’s eyes were shining, proud of the work he had done this lazy afternoon.

He didn’t care for her ripped tights or soaked underwear or the fact that they were both covered in wet grass stains. 

All he cared about was her and making sure her mood had shifted. 

She shook her head up at him, still not fully believing he had suckered her into this.

“I love you to my core,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re the apple of my eye. You’re so a-peel-ing to me, baby. Let’s go home and live apple-y ever after.” 

“I literally hate you so much right now.” 

His laughter was enough to prove her statement false. 

She loved him. 

Even if he was a dork.

#andrew garfield #peter parker #tasm #the amazing spiderman #tasm peter #tasm peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm fic #peter parker x reader #apple of my eye #blooming violets fic #blooming violets

[lonesome-witching]

I Love You

An anonymous prompter asked for Robin and Nancy kissing and saying I love you. So, I couldn't refuse that. Sorry, for the wait and if you are waiting for a prompt I'm trying my best to write it but life is very busy.

Do you have any prompts yourself? Or do you want to dive into what I wrote before? You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

Robin’s hands were resting on Nancy’s stomach. It felt nice, being allowed to touch her. Being allowed to love her. 

She hadn’t said it yet. Those three heavy words. She was scared to scare Nancy away. Nancy who had told her she had trouble falling in love. The last thing she wanted was to push Nancy away. 

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Robin mumbled into her girlfriend’s ear. Her actual girlfriend. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it. 

Nancy turned around in Robin’s arms. “Of course, I like having you around. Lately I can barely go a day without you. It’s becoming a problem.” 

Robin loved it when Nancy said stuff like that. It was part of the reason she did it, Robin knew that much. 

As a reward, Robin leaned in to give Nancy a kiss. Just a little peck. Just to feel her soft lips. 

“I love being here too.” 

Nancy smiled, kissing Robin again. Her hands sliding under Robin’s shirt without moving any further. They just sat there, touching her skin and it was driving Robin crazy. 

“I love you.” 

Robin pulled away. She wasn’t sure she wasn’t imagining things. Had Nancy actually said that? Or was Robin really going insane? 

“What?” Robin asked, her hands still on Nancy, Nancy’s hands still on her.

“I know, it’s fast and I know what I said about me not being sure I can even fall in love. But I mean it. I love you,” Nancy confessed, her voice steady as always. 

“You love me?” 

Nancy nodded, softly biting her bottom lip. Robin wanted to bite that bottom lip. 

“I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much.” 

Nancy smiled, grabbing Robin’s face and going back in. Robin bit into Nancy’s bottom lip, eliciting a moan. 

“I love you,” Robin said again.

“I love you too,” Nancy replied. 

“I love you, Nance.”

Nancy giggled, kissing Robin again and again and again. “I love you too.” 

“I love you.” 

“Robin?” 

“Too much?” Robin wondered. 

Nancy shook her head. “I was just wondering if you wanted to sleep over? I’m positive I can convince my mom.” 

Robin nodded excitedly. “Hell yes!” 

Nancy put her head on Robin’s shoulder, her arms holding onto her waist. Robin pushed her arm under Nancy’s shoulders before tangling her hand in Nancy’s hair. 

“I love you, Robin. I really do.” 

“I love you too, Nance.”

#prompts #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #my work #stranger things #fanfic #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #ficlet

[starpirateee]

Hi!! Could you write one of the Curtwen prompts I made, yet didn’t cut it? I love your writing style!!

Honestly there was a bit of deliberation here because you put some really good ideas out there on the form, but I did say I'd write em myself, and by all means, I'll still do it! So, I decided to go for this prompt:

Would you take a modern au from me? Can I do that?

I mean, I'm going to anyway, because I have a dire need to call Curt and Owen husbands (and also for wider Starkid lore), but i just thought I'd warn you beforehand!

"Agent Carvour, have you found anything yet?"

Owen leaned back away from his research. He'd been looking at the same page now for a while, trying to make some sense of it. Redacted government files were hard to get hold of, but even harder to make ends of. His system had been trying to translate it, but not even he had the software for that.

"Quite possibly, sir. I have a few sources, at least."

"What have you got?"

With an air of something that was almost excitement and almost elation, Owen pulled up a series of documents and started the walk through them. "Well, sir, the easiest source was from a few years ago. There's a company in Michigan that's been trying to conduct various temporal experiments under their parent company— some kind of analyst company, I think. They're surprisingly ordinary. Anyway, apparently the experiments just… Stopped. They never drew a conclusion on whether or not their research was connected to what was on the other side."

This had all started when Chimera had dug up a series of centuries old reports about people claiming to have looked into the eyes of old gods. None of the people had known each other, but all of the reports showed some form of consistency, and all told of great, unknowable power.

So, they had decided to look into it, to see if there had been anyone else who'd dared to brave the process of trying to find an answer. Owen was one of those lucky enough to find himself with the resources to start a thorough investigation.

"They didn't finish?"

"No, I don't know what happened, but the reports just stopped one day."

"Is there anything else?"

"An american government report, but it's as hard as you can imagine to decipher. Most of it is redacted…"

"Anything worth noting?"

Owen nodded, carefully turning back and switching the tabs. This felt a little like he was giving a presentation that he hadn't prepared for, and he hadn't felt like this in quite some time. He took a breath, trying to slow down the rampage that was going on in his head. "They started in the early noughts. 2005, to be precide. That's the earliest I'd gotten without looking at those old reports from the pioneers. A branch of the military tried to build a gateway to the other side, to investigate what existed outside of our plane. I don't know names, only one. The name of the man who performed the experiment."

"They got this gateway open?"

"Yes, sir. And they sent someone through. I think there's a good reason why his is the only name they disclosed."

"Why?"

"Because he was declared dead, sir."

His screen still displayed the document, and the man's name sat among the black markouts, clear enough to see. Cross, W.D. Apparently, he'd ventured into the portal, and nobody heard from him or saw him after the date of the experiment. They gave up the search after a month, and after that, Colonel Cross was indeed declared dead.

"So, another dead end?"

"Maybe not. I'll do what I can to uncover this with what I've got available, but it was scanned, so…. It might take some time." Owen was normally confident in his abilities, and uncovering government documents was a difficult yet necessary part of the job. There was something almost genuinely enthralling about scraping off the parts that the world's governments wanted to keep secret. It felt like giving people a small yet surprisingly effective slice of justice every time.

"Keep looking, Carvour. We need to know if this is viable, or even worth our time…"

If Owen had any kind of normal life— if he and his husband didn't both do the dirty work for secret operation services— he would have a blast trying to decide how to describe the intricacies of what he'd been researching lately. The throws of domestic life confounded him to no end, which was why it was so funny when he and Curt tried to imitate that.

The otherwise simple question of "how was your day" turned into a battle of who could craft the most believable lie that better concealed what they'd actually done. Neither wanted to jeopardise their jobs, and Curt had always been brilliant at crafting stories, so it was never dull.

He started to think about what today's excuse would be. Something about pioneers, or the Oregon trail, or perhaps he could bring up that old, dead colonel somehow, that would be interesting to add to the pile.

--

"You know what I'm gonna ask already…"

By the time he got home, Curt was already waiting for him, and the mid-spring sun was starting to set. For anyone else, it was a day at the office, but the trails he had begun to uncover had really put all other days at the office to shame.

He laughed softly, having prepared this answer a number of hours before, and took up a position on the couch. "No, love, you first. I insist."

"Fine, okay," Curt answered with a chuckle. "It was nothing really, just your standard… But, the bear returned, and in about a month, I'm gonna get really rich and run off to central Europe, with a really pretty lady and a dollar store box of magic tricks."

"The same bear from last month?"

"Yeah. Bastard won't leave me alone."

"Sounds wild. Are you coming back after your plans to run off with this really pretty lady?"

"Plan is to cut myself off after three weeks, but at this rate, I might not make it two."

"Not good enough?"

"Owen, I'm a bit too gay for that." To sell his point, he flashed his wedding band, and Owen laughed harder. "Besides," he added, covering his own bout of laughter. "Who needs a fake wife when I've got my own right here?"

Owen shot him a faux-offended glance. "How dare you!"

"You might fool the guys at work, O, but you couldn't pretend you don't think about it…"

Or that he hadn't been experimenting in that part of himself in little segments since he was seventeen. Turns out he suited long hair better, and he wouldn't hesitate to admit that he both looked and felt rather good with the occasional flourish.

"You know me well..."

"I should hope so! Anyway, what're you keeping from me? How was your day?"

"Office, just like you. I've had a conversation with a pioneer, and tried to erase marker pen over the body of a dead soldier. Oh, and I tried to teach myself statistical analysis."

"Jeez, that was— that was a whole rollercoaster there, huh?"

"Mhm, I've been busy."

"You can say that again, god… So, a pioneer? Like those guys that travelled to Oregon?"

"Yeah. Quite interesting people, if a little paranoid." Something other than their oxen might be watching them would've been a perfect addition to the statement, but Owen felt that was a little too close to the line to pass, so he decided not to add it.

The important part was, apart from the knowledge that Curt was on an assignment in a month's time, both of them were none the wiser. Curt didn't need to know that he had started the deep dive into a pack of eldritch gods and was even slightly nervous about the outcome.

He didn't sleep well that night. He knew that he had right to believe that this was all one great hoax, that there was something in the water that made the pioneers mass hallucinate this supposed watcher. They all travelled on the same trail, it was entirely plausible that all of them found the same hallucinogenic and envisioned a thousand eyes watching them and their familes. It was less of a coincidence when two subsidaries of larger companies started describing details of experiments that led them to discovering other beings beyond just the watcher, of course, but he still wasn't sure whether he was privy to believing any of it.

There was something about redacted government files, though, that were meant to be believed. There was a reason they hid information from the public, and that was often because they had found something worth disclosing in the first place. That meant huge news, large press cover ups… The whole works… And that was the last thing any self-respecting government with something to hide would want. Owen imagined the size of the initial press conferences for dealings like Roswell, how many people must've shown up to that conference, under the impression that they were going to get answers, only for the press to redact the next day and claim that it was no more than a weather balloon.

He felt like he was dealing with a weather balloon of his own right now. This was something that this branch of the military clearly didn't want people knowing. The only reason they'd had to disclose any information at all was because one of their own had died looking for this information, and they had to provide the closure for whatever family he had left. Part of him wondered what they'd said, how they'd tried to cover up this man's imminent demise at the hands of another dimension. What did his family know? Was he ever given a sendoff?

When Owen tried to sleep that night, plagued with the thoughts of how much his research was worth, and what really happened on the other side, he couldn't get his head in the right place to take a suitable rest for long enough. Flashes of colour— brighter than anything he'd ever seen— danced behind his eyelids, chasing each other in sequence. Blue. Purple. Yellow. Pink. Green. White. Blue…. He didn't have much of the capacity to think, not when those colours started consuming his subconscious thought, but he spared a moment to the hope that he may get answers of his own if he stuck around long enough.

"He thinks he's brave… He thinks we don't know about him…"

Whatever dream he had been having was taken over by blurred edges and violent pangs of pain that he was sure he could feel outside of this existence. Everything faded out, leving only ruin in it's wake. Broken pieces, scrambled signals… Owen didn't even try and make sense of it, he already understood the futility of trying. There was nothing left in his mind but those colours and those voices— for he was sure there was more than one. A sickening chorus, holding perfect time with each other.

"He's foolish, if he thinks he can go further without us finding out."

"Owennnn…"

"We know what you're doing, Owen…. It's not going to last."

He'd thought about meeting his maker before. He'd thought about the possibility of death, the idea that he may not live to see another day eventually. It was hard to deliberate something so serious in his early thirties, but his line of work called for it. He knew that he had a dangerous job, and that there were few who would be able to save him if something happened.

But, he'd never considered the possibility of his own demise to this extent before. In the formless remains of his dream, where he was forced into hearing these voices talk about his death and how soon it would be to coming, he had pause for deliberation. And it wasn't good.

He had to strain to take control of his own voice, in this space that was once his own. Once so sacred, now scarce and left entirely to the whim of whatever was taking residence in his mind. This was a bad idea. All of this research was a bad idea, and he was suddenly more aware of that than he was anything else. Never before had he had such a violent urge to overturn everything he'd worked on for the sake of something this seemingly trivial.

"There's nothing you can do. It's already started. This is bigger than me…"

"We know that. You're not the only one we have heard trying to work your way into what is ours… Choose your next step carefully, Owen. I'm sure we would delight in taking you in the same direction as the others…"

Before he could really ask what that meant, he was left entirely alone. The ruin of his dream still stood strong, which was strange enough given that the voices had left him alone, but he had the strangest feeling that there was more to this landscape than just what he was being shown. He started to wander, to look around in an attempt to find the real end to all of this. His mind was a wasteland, taken over by the lack of colour and the apparently deafening absence of those voices that had only appeared a moment before. He felt empty without them, although he knew nothing more than the sequence of colours that paraded through his vision.

Blue… Purple…. Yellow…

The pattern was familiar, like he'd seen it before somewhere. And while he wasn't resting easy, he couldn't force himself to wake up, either. No matter how hard he tried, he was just left stuck, wandering the expanse until he found what he was apparently looking for.

Pink…. Green…. White… Blue…

The expanses of his mind stretched out into a road, occupied by nothing but empty space. He supposed that was mostly his own fault; he had known for years that his imagination was never one to be put on par with anything else. He couldn't so vividly picture that which others could, and he'd never really had much of a capacity to dream, either.

So, this warning was strange. Seeing such vivid, bright colours in the back of his mind, knowing that he couldn't have conjured them himself…

He started to walk the road, curious enough to want to know where it went.

"Owen?"

That voice wasn't like the ones who had left moments before. That voice had a personality, and a person to go with. It was warm, though scared. Human all the same. And Owen knew the shape of it.

"Owen?"

Owen let his instinct lead him down the road, through it's many curves and winds. Eventually, the road gave way to what could only possibly be a stage. There was a set of stairs to one side, that he let himself climb before he could think to wonder where they led, and then the familiar voice gave way to a man in the wings, staring at him with desperate, fear-lined eyes. Of course he knew the voice, and of course he had never tried to doubt himself on the matter.

He tried to advance towards Curt, but he took a hasty step back, shaking his head.

"Curt?"

"Prove you're Owen."

"I'm sorry?"

Curt hesitated, and then slowly emerged from the wings. Even though he stood on the light of the stage, it still looked like he was carefully enveloped in shadow, like the darkness was a comfort to him. Owen looked around, wondering what had made him so cautious, and whether it was still around. Had Curt seen what he'd seen? What had those things whispered to him?

"I'm not falling for it again. Tell me you're actually Owen…"

Owen frowned, not wanting to dwell too much on why Curt was so afraid to reach out to him and realise that all of this was as real as they could get it. "Curt, love, I don't know what you want me to say…" There was a certain desperation about him too. Improvisation had never been his strong suit, but he wass confident that, given the right prompt, he would be able to convince his husband that he was who he said he was, to quell any discrepancy that it may have been otherwise.

"Don't. Show me… What happened on your 25th birthday."

The pieces fit into place, and Owen nodded dutifully. He had been out in the field that day, a strikingly hot day in the middle of June. The two of them had barely ended up with three hours together by the end of it, and they'd gone out drinking to celebrate what little time was left of his birthday. He'd never been particularly big on celebrating, but Curt had insisted. They were newly married then, and getting used to the idea of sharing a life with someone else. That was one of the first nights following their wedding when Owen truly came to realise that he'd made entirely the right decision, and that there was nobody he'd rather share his life with than Curt Mega.

"My 25th… That was a home ground mission. I was in the state."

"What happened to you?"

Owen smiled, somewhere between fondness and a need to hide the melancholic air that hung about that question. He pushed up the sleeve of his jacket, and huffed a weary breath of laughter. "I was trying to make my exit, but the suit jacket caught on a fence. Here…" With his sleeve rolled to just the right length, Owen held out his arm and pointed out a pale flash just below his elbow— a jagged scratch that had never quite healed right. "That's what happened after the fabric tore. Is that enough?"

Curt had known about the scar. He'd also known about the story. He was pretty sure that nobody else knew, though, so in his head, that had always been his fallback option in the event that he was ever sure Owen needed to prove himself. Those stories lined up perfectly, and while Owen had missed out on some of the details, in the grander scheme of things, he'd gotten it exactly right. He shifted, letting a knowing smile cross his face through the fear that still gripped him.

"It's really you…"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Curt's approach was still careful, premeditated. Even though he knew the truth now, there was still something about him that screamed a lack of trust directly into his ear, and it made actually reaching out for Owen so much harder. "You… You were trying to kill me."

"What now?"

"I know what I saw…"

"I don't doubt you, but I would never… I swear it on my life."

"I know, that's why it was strange… I— What the hell's happening?" This stage was the only thing connecting the two of them to reality. There was nothing beyond it but the end of the road that Owen had travelled down, and nothing behind it but black, empty space.

Owen let his instinct take over. If the two of them were going to face the unknown, whatever and wherever this was, then they were going to do it together. They always had, and they always would. That was the way things worked, especially for the two of them, because their lives were built so heavily on the idea of distrust that any semblance of the opposite they could get, they would cling to. Normally that was exclusively each other, and so the world wasn't usually much larger than the two of them.

Their hands connected in the middle of the emptiness. Owen pulled Curt Closer to him, and the two of them stood side, performers to an unknown audience, marionettes for something larger than themselves. They exchanged a glance, and Owen registered the warm, homely spark residing in Curt's eyes.

"I think we're trapped in a nightmare, crazy as it sounds," he tried to respond, but he wasn't entirely sure where this was going to go. "I can't wake up, but I remember falling asleep last night."

"Me too. I fell asleep before you did, you were still reading."

"Right, and now there's this. Whatever this is. did you, by chance, see those colours too?"

Curt nodded. "They came before you did, before the- other you. Blue, and purple, and yellow…"

"…Pink, and green, and white..?"

"And then blue again."

Owen heaved a sigh. "Curt, there's something I have to confess. It's safe to do so now, there's little that could get in the way of what I have to admit, but this is one of those things I wouldn't be able to tell you awake, you understand?"

There was a moment's pause, in which Curt tried to work around Owen's phrasing. Both of them felt the incredibly revealing sense that they were being watched, so Curt understood that Owen had gone into the professional mindset— switching off his senses for the sake of making as much sense of something as possible. It was always how he rationalised his way through situations, and it hadn't failed him yet.

Eventually, Curt nodded again, as the words started to sink in and he started to get a sense of what was being said. "This about what you told me this evening?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid there's a little more to it than what I told you, but I suppose that was rather obvious."

A nervous breath of laughter left Curt, only partially voluntary. "I thought there'd be a bit more to it than erasing marker pen over the body of a dead soldier…. What the hell kinda explanation was that, anyway?"

"One I spent a good hour crafting, thank you very much. I thought it was clever."

"Better than a pretty lady and a box of tricks?"

"And a bear, yes."

"… And the bear. Right. Well, what's that mean? erasing marker pen over the body of a dead soldier, what're you saying there?"

"I've…" This is not going to get you done for. Those documents were already top secret before you saw them. And if it gets you out of this nightmare prison, then surely it has to be worth it. "I've been uncovering sealed military case files that might explain what's happening to us right now."

Curt's eyes went wide. "Fucking what?!"

"It's all part of the job. I can't… I can't elaborate. Know only what everyone else knows: that the only reason any part of this is disclosed at all is because someone died during one of the experiments."

"What's that got to do with what's happening here?"

"That's what they were researching."

That seemed to click to some degree. At least, Curt seemed to understand a few of the larger pieces, perhaps the more obvious ones. "The colours?" In his head, there was an experiment, someone tried to make sense of whatever that was in their shared mindscape. Someone— a soldier, presumably, had died in the middle of these experiments, and now Owen had gotten tangled in this mess through his agency, and the two of them had been dropped into the same nightmare.

Owen nodded. "The colours."

At the moment he said that, a loud rumble disrupted their moment and forced their attention out into the expanse of nothing. Laughter— multiple sources with varying shrieks and gasps that couldn't be placed to a single source— burst from behind the wings, and from in front of them, and from the endless expanse of black that surrounded them. A loud crack followed, and Curt swore as the stage splintered beneath his feet. For a split second, his grip loosensed, and the next time the ground rumbled, they were torn apart by the growing crack in the stage. He staggered back, and the two of them ended on opposite sides of the stage, the crack between them growing and delving deeper into the unknown.

"Owen!" He called, trying to regain his footing but falling back.

"Curt! Hold on!" Owen yelled through the growing laughter, scrambling back to reach out for the pulley system backstage. He needed a foothold on something, a way to sturdy himself so he could regroup and think. It was too loud, he couldn't think in this kind of heat, with this kind of mess, and Curt, and-

Another crack. The stage was starting to fall away from itself, split not quite perfectly in two. Owen's breath ran short. In the swirls of colour and mayhem and possibilities, he saw a way out. One chance to get this right, and to make sure that they both survived the fall while they were still stuck here. He gripped the rope tight, levering himself further towards the crack, and looked to Curt. "You're gonna have to jump it!" He called, desperation winning over any attempts to stay sane. "Don't worry! You know I'll never let you down!"

"Are you crazy?!" Curt managed, staring into the gap. "I can't jump that, it's too far!"

"Curt, before the whole place splits in half, you have to get over here!"

"What if I don't make it?"

"Trust me! Please!"

Curt backed off a few paces. Owen stood ready, one hand gripping the rope wrapped around his wrist, and the other reaching out as far as he could, waiting for a move to be made. After a singular preparatory breath, he sprinted for the gap, and pushed off from the splintered wood at the edge.

He reached out.

Owen reached out.

Their fingertips connected briefly in the space, and then Curt slipped away beneath his grasp.

Owen threw himself forward, feeling the rope worming itself free and burning his wrist in the process. He'd promised. He wasn't going to let Curt fall. And he was nothing if not a man of his word.

Curt's eyes squeezed shut, preparing for an endless fall through the ineviatble. Something laced around his wrist and he felt himself stop moving. Exerting all the caution he knew to exert, he looked up, and caught a familiar whiskey brown staring back at him.

"I've got you!" Owen breathed, and Curt fought to angle himself so that he could get a better chance to grab the broken stage floor. When Owen started hauling backwards, Curt managed to get a hold of the edge of the stage, and made it a joint effort to haul him to his feet. "You're alright… You're okay…"

Curt essentially fell into Owen's arms. Owen held on tight, like he could lose his partner at any second to the swirls and the crevice. He stared out into the emptiness, ignoring the very real pain that he could feel at his wrist but cherishing the very reel feeling of Curt's shirt underneath his hands. The very air seemed to shift. Owen wasn't previously aware that colours could get angry, but this green that flooded the space behind his eyes was pissed. He could feel it.

So was he. Pissed, and way more desperate than a man ought to be.

"Alright," he muttered once, and Curt drew back ever so slightly. He noticed Owen was staring off into the greater expanse, and hoped for all it was worth that he couldn't see something out there.

"Alright!" His voice got louder, and he tried to mask his utter despair in an authorative tone. "I get it. You hear me? I get it!"

Everything fell eerily silent. The only sound that remained was the pounding of Owen's heart in his ears. He took a breath, strangely certain of himself. Glanced at Curt. Spared his attention on the void again.

"That soldier… Wilbur Cross? That was your fault, wasn't it? There's a good reason nobody can get very far into digs like these, and it's because you strive to kill them before they do. Nobody ought to know what's on the other side, and that's why nobody does…"

"Owen, what're you doing?" Curt whispered, but to no response and little avail. Owen was lost in whatever he was about to say.

"… But, I've heard talk of bargains being made here, so how about it?"

"Your desperation speaks for itself."

Owen had to pretend that that— the voice from the middle of nowhere or what it had said to him— didn't bother him in the slightest. He steeled himself, not sure where to direct his attention but knowing he'd probably have it right no matter what he chose. "What do you say, am I allowed to make a deal?"

The air shifted. Owen didn't receive a direct answer, but he knew that he'd been allowed to continue. "If I don't continue— if I go back, and tell my people that it's an impossibility, that it can't be done— would you let him go?" Another quick glance at Curt, as if the green something needed clarification, or as if he knew what he was signing himself up for.

Curt was frozen in place, his eyes wide. He'd heard every word as it echoed in the void, and he hated what it was implying. His gaze was fixed on Owen, fear blazing through his face. "No, Owen—" his voice came out weak. As far as literal interpretations go, that was not a good one. He didn't understand what was happening, but it terrified him to know that Owen was being so calm about this, while he could be selling his life away with nothing more than a few choice words.

Owen frowned, and muttered an apology he was sure only Curt would catch. The green grew angrier, setting a violent fire behind his eyes and forcing him onto his knees as the pain flooded his body.

"You better not be fucking with me."

"No! I— I wouldn't! I'm serious! I'll call it off, I swear on my life, just… He has nothing to do with any of this. It's not his fault."

The thing considered, holding Owen firmly in place while he deliberated. Curt couldn't move— he didn't dare, lest something happen to Owen that put him in more danger than he was already in. All he could do was force himself into keeping his breath steady, and not thinking about what a single wrong move could do to either of them. His eyes landed on the friction burn winding neatly around Owen's wrist, and he decided to focus on that for a while; the only other colour in a void of blackness and green.

"Very well."

That was the last thing Owen heard. Some part of his mind just shut down, and he collapsed to the floor of the stage. He didn't hear the way Curt screamed his name, or the return of the chorus of laughter. His eyes closed, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up with a start, underneath the sheets of his own bed, gasping for breath. He sturdied himself out, and once he was sure that he was real, and definitely in a familiar space, he looked over to Curt, and found him still asleep.

"Curt?" His voice was soft, but his mind was a knife point of tension. If that had gone wrong, then why was he the one to live through it ant not Curt? He tried again, biting his lip. "Curt..?"

Curt groaned. His eyes opened slowly. The relief that Owen felt hit him like a tidal wave.

For some reason, Curt was entirely surprised to see that Owen had made it through to the other side. He managed a weary smile, and tried to get his vision into focus. That was one of those decisions that he immediately came to regret. As soon as he brought himself a little more into the real worls, he noticed that the brown in Owen's eyes was stained with something else, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Dripping down his irises was a flash of toxic, unsettlingly bright green.

#spies are forever #saf #starkid #agent curt mega #owen carvour #star mail #void offering #nova's tags → #wiggly would have an absolute field day with owen and curt huh #bc desires run deep. they want each other. they want to be free... #but curt wants to not be haunted by the ghosts of his past #and owen wants to move on. to get a better future where he doesn't have to devote his life to an agency #might be fun to play around with

[stormyskies-writes]

Spicy Romance Prompts

I'm constantly looking for more spicy romance prompts so I thought I'd give writing some a go! Let me know if you want more prompt posts!

"I crave you."

"Let me distract you."

"You like that, huh?"

"My breath just made you quiver. Can you imagine what my tongue will do."

"Shh... just a little bit more."

"What do you want to eat?" "Bend over."

"Oh, shut up." "You shut up." "Make me." "Okay, but you might moan a little."

"Lift your hips for me, love."

"I'm not the jealous type, but what's mine is mine. End of story."

"Go fuck yourself." "Fuck me yourself, you coward."

"Kiss me, you piece of shit."

"Let me ruin you."

"Say you want me too."

"You could stay."

"You deserve to be loved."

"I shouldn't be jealous. You aren't even mine."

"You want me. I was inside you. I tasted you. That is a truth you will never escape."

"Harder."

"The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

#writing prompts #writing inspiration #crush prompts #dialogue prompts #romance prompts #couple prompts #otp prompts #writing ideas #prompt list #spicy prompts #romance

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

kdnfb's Ten Years of Fanfiction Mania

Featuring: Unmasked

Summary: Written under an Anonymous pseudonym ~M~ to fill the following prompt ~ Historical Katniss and Peeta hate each other. They attend a masquerade ball and for some reason end up kissing each other. Sparks fly everywhere. Katniss tries to find the man behind the mask but Peeta knows it was Katniss though he doesnt say anything. They end up bethrothed even if they 'despise' each other. How they fall in love is up to u and how katniss figured out it was peeta is up to u

Rating: E for explicit sexual content, explicit language, implied/referenced rape/nonconsensual (not everlark), implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced miscarriage, discussions of illness, war, and injury in a historical setting, ptsd, minor character death. They worst of these tags happens offscreen and is merely discussed and dealt with rather than shown here.

A/N: ~Unmasked~ is my longest fic in terms of word count (around 234k), although Outside Chance and Spellbound are not too far behind and are both incomplete. Unmasked started as something meant to be fun and cathartic, then turned into a ridiculously long and self indulgent fic that I still, to this day, have no idea if the anonymous person who submitted the prompt to @everlarkficexchange even read, let alone whether or not they liked it. But I love what I produced for this fic.

Why write it anonymously and only reveal myself later? A couple reasons. 1) Historical is not my wheel house. At least not writing it. I am a shameless consumer of historical romances. I did some research for this fic but not nearly the level I would've liked to have done. Eventually, I said screw it, it's about the vibes not the accuracy. 2) I had a pile of unfinished wips when I started this, to include Outside Chance and Spellbound (both of which are still unfinished hmmmmm) and I really didn't want a lot of questions about when I was going to get back to those while I was working on this because 3) I'd just gone through a small slice of writerly hell to the point that I seriously considered deleting my entire tumblr and all of my fanfic. Details are not important right now, the result is. That's probably the closest I've ever come to calling myself done with fandom.

Then this prompt posted to EFE and wouldn't leave me alone. Eventually, I decided that if I was going to write it, I wanted to write it with as little pressure as possible. So I chose to write and post it as ~M~ until it was finished. Plus, I thought it might make it fun for people other than me if there was a bit of mystery behind it. And I don't regret doing that.

Writing behind a mask allowed me to be as long winded and self-indulgent as I wanted to without worrying about how tight the storyline was or how accurate the historical details were, or wondering if I'd be walking into my tumblr and a barrage of the kind of messages I'd come to dread receiving. The only thing I worried about, really was if the amount and kind of smut I included gave me away prematurely lmao.

While this was my first real foray into the realm of historical fics, I am hoping it's not the last. I've got too many ideas and half started pieces to back out of it now. But those, like this one, will probably remain untethered to a specific real place, and a specific time, mainly because I just don't have that kind of time for research if I'm not getting paid to do it lol. They will be works of love if not works of accuracy.

Unmasked on AO3

#ten years of fanfiction mania #unmasked #unmasked nonsense #i meant to post this like three weeks ago #ooops

[scekrex]

I'm so very obsess with your Overlord!reader storyline, it's just so soft, like it give me the vibe of 'bird in a gilded cage', but in 'the world outside is ugly and cruel and I want you to be surround with beauty and comfort' kind of way, just quietly comfy.

Also a prompt, how about for some reason or another, reader has to go to an overlord meeting but Adam is rather clingy plus he hasn't went outside since reader brought him there so he decided to take Adam with him while also making it a night on the town kind of thing. It's Hell but with reader long time there, he manage to find decent enough places to take Adam to. Obviously they got bothered, some even offered to buy Adam, but with the fact Adam is a still a powerfull angel and reader is longlived Overlord despite his relative anonymosity, they had a fun enough date and made it home unscathed

I love Overlord!Reader x Adam so fucking much, keep em asks coming bc I'll write for em til I die. Their dynamic is just absolutely adorable.

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3

I'm not likely to kick a head in, but I'll curb stomp a bitch if she objects at our wedding

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Adam,” you hummed softly as the first man wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. The entire week the former angel had tried to talk you into taking him with you, he had asked you over and over again but you had always refused. The world outside of the mansion was different, less pure and less safe. It was a battlefield, even without the exterminations hell was many things, brutal, bloody, cold-hearted and cruel. But safe enough for Adam to leave this place? No. On the other hand this realm would never be safe enough for someone like Adam to walk around freely, so the best you could do was to take him out with you, that way you could not only keep an eye on him but also prevent the first man to do anything stupid. And despite your mansion being shielded from the society of hell, you would not have to worry about him being alone at home.

“You can’t fucking leave me here, I wanna come with you to see what your ass is up to,” he pulled you flush against his body, his head resting on your shoulder. You sighed in defeat and that was when Adam knew that he had won, “Okay, you will keep me company for tonight’s meeting,” you agreed to his request and felt Adam’s grip on you tighten in excitement, a quiet, “Fuck yeah;” was heard from the man behind you. “After the meeting we could also stay in town a little bit longer than necessary and have dinner, if you would do me the favor and accompany me through that as well, darling.” The brunette placed a quick kiss to your jaw, “Having dinner with my very fucking famous boyfriend in town for everyone to fucking stare at us like we’re hot shit? Obviously I’m fucking in, babes.” Boyfriend huh? While the term sounded really pretty coming from Adam being directed to you, you had not expected the first man to use so meanful words to describe your relationship so soon, yet you were grateful the brunette mess was feeling the same way about you. “Then shoo, darling,” you chuckled softly as you pulled away from Adam’s warm touch and directed him to your shared bedroom, “Go get dressed, my dear.”

-

Well, Adam surely did not disappoint. Because for a reason that you had yet to understand he had chosen to wear the replica of the robe he had worn when you had found him nearly dead near the hotel. It was also the same robe the former angel had worn during exterminations in general, but who were you to judge your partner about his clothing choice? At least he was dressed appropriately for the meeting and that you thanked the lord for.

You and Adam had been the first to arrive after Carmilla, the others were yet to come. The top weapons dealer of hell eyed your company suspiciously, yet she did not dare to comment on it out loud, not when she knew the force of nature that Adam was and definitely not when she knew how defensive you were of the people close to you. “Carmilla,” you raised your voice as you took a sip from the tea that your old friend had offered once you and Adam had arrived. “Something is heavy on your mind, share your thoughts with me,” your eyes did not meet hers once, they were either on the drink in front of you, or on the handsome brunette man who had taken the seat right next to you. Carmilla eyed the two of you for a bit longer, then she spoke up, “You brought us the enemy, but I doubt you will have us let our way with him and show him the consequences of his actions.” Adam’s golden eyes were on you in an instant, he was not worried that you would hand him out, not at all. The former angel trusted you, he knew you would not treat him so gently at home for months and refused to take him with you to this meeting in the first place just to sell him to Carmilla and the other Overlords in the end. “No,” your voice sounded as tense as your body felt, was she trying to insult you? Did it seem like you were going to sell them Adam’s soul and body to have their way with him? The first man’s hand reached out for yours underneath the table and you took his offer of comfort gladly. “He is here as my partner, not as someone I will hand out to you. If you want his soul you have to tear it from my lifeless hands.” Alastor entered the room by Zestial’s side and hummed quite thoughtfully at your statement, “While that offer does sound tempting, I think I will keep it on the table for later,” the radio demon stated as he took his seat just like the friend he had arrived with. Adam narrowed his eyes at the sight of the redhead, they had history after all. Yet his anger was swept away by your thumb that started to gently caress the back of his hand.

Slowly the other overlords arrived, the Vee’s were on time for once and all of them had decided to give you the honor of their presence. The moth demon was quick to show interest in the man you had brought with you and he was not mannered enough to keep it to himself like Carmilla had been. “Hey there handsome~,” he purred towards Adam from across the table, blowing a cloud of smoke directly in his face - or at least that had been the plan, but you had been quick to block that tempting pink smoke of his, sparing Adam the pain of inhaling it. You had done that once and ever since then you tried your best to avoid the moth demon himself but also the scum he called friends. “Keep your shit to yourself, Valentino,” you growled at the Vee, fed up by his behavior already. Adam was yet again impressed by the switch in your language, when you spoke to the older Overlords you sounded so calm, so collected, like you chose your words wisely before you dared to open your mouth. But when speaking to the younger Overlords - such as the Vees - you talked like them. It was definitely something the first man admired, yet he craved to know what the real you was. Given that you spoke to him like you spoke to the more respected Overlords, he guessed that the calm and collected version of you was. Though he did not fully know.

“Oh,” Valentino responded, sounding a little surprised by your statement of protection, “So he’s on your leash already?” That caused Adam’s attention to shift from you to the moth demon that had tried to hit on him, “The fuck you mean I’m on his leash? I’m on no one’s fucking leash, cunt.” You nodded, confirming his words to be the truth as you added, “That does not mean you can fucking have him though, he is not an offer on the table. Not for you and not for anyone else.”

-

The meeting had been nerve wrecking and energy draining, especially with all of the Vees being there, Valentino had made quite a lot of comments that were meant to seduce Adam, but the brunette had always been quick to reassure the moth demon that he was not interested in anything the pimp had to offer. Rosie - while not amused about your specific choice of partner - had wished you both the best though, she was the sweetest lady in all of hell, that was for sure.

“What are you craving, my dear?” you asked as Adam and you walked through the streets of hell. Adam was visibly uncomfortable despite you having his back - quite literally, your arm was wrapped around the back of his upper body, slightly above his waist. His wings were pressed close to his sides and the usually prideful look on his face that would sometimes cause you to giggle got replaced by a look of uncertainty. You were not to blame him, he had never thought he would end up in hell after all, had always thought he was too pure to be casted down to spend eternity here. And even after you had found him he had kept telling you that Sera and Lute were to come for him. But they never had done so. And while that had been a punch in the guts for the brunette at first, he had been quick to seek comfort in you and the love you offered him. “Dunno,” he mumbled as his eyes carefully roamed over the buildings, they all looked so uninviting, this was different than your mansion and for a moment he wished to be back at your place, he wished to be back home.

“Look who we have here,” a shady looking Imp giggled as he approached the both of you. His voice sounded cracky, like he had been screaming for too long, his outfit looked run down and the horns on his head that had probably been white once were dirty and therefore appeared brown. Adam backed off immediately, he did not want to make physical contact with any of those shady people down here, no matter if they were sinners, hellborn people or overlords. They all would stain his purity and divinity. You extended your arm, pushed the dirty little Imp out of the way and continued your way to the restaurant you would always visit after Overlord meetings. “Then let me show you my favorite place,” you offered the first man a reassuring smile as you guided him through hell’s crowded streets, Adam was thankful to have you by his side. It was not that he was unable to handle himself, but the amount of eyes that looked at him murderously was surely something he had never experienced before. “It won’t reach heavenly standards of course, but I think you might like what they have to offer,” the brunette loved how cheerful and unaffected your voice was by all those sinners waiting to get their hands on Adam.

In a swift motion you turned around to shove a sinner out of the way that was about to touch Adam’s wing and probably rip out one of his glorious feathers too. In a low, angry sounding voice you growled, “I would not dare to do this if I were to be you,” as you looked down at the sinner that had flinched away from your boyfriend the moment you had turned to look at him. Without another word the little one ran away and you returned your attention to Adam, “I’m sorry hell is causing you so much trouble, love, but the people here are not exactly the positive and bright minded spirits you know from up above.” The brunette pressed his wings even closer to his body, careful for them to not touch the dirty ground that was mostly covered in sinner blood. “Not your fucking fault that freaking bitch of a demon fuck-up almost fucking ended me,” he responded as he looked at you for the first time ever since you two had left the building the Overlord meeting had been at. He was not feeling comfortable down here at all, his body language was so different from the one you knew. But you understood - or at least you thought you did.

The door was opened by one of the workers there and you and Adam were greeted by a strange look that quickly turned into a welcoming smile, it had its pros and cons to be so well known, that you definitely had to admit. Yet you were guided to a free table for two. “This shithole looks so fucking wild,” Adam commented on the restaurants decor, it surely was something special, nothing you preferred at your own house, but you were glad Adam seemed to like the atmosphere in here better than on the streets. “I’m glad this place makes you feel welcome because trust me when I tell you that it won’t get better - at least not in the Pride Ring,” that made the brunette peak up in interest. “So there’s better shit in another fucking ring?” His question was quickly answered by a nod of yours, “Yes my dear, I shall take you to Ozzie’s one day, you surely would like its vibe. The sin of Lust, Asmodeus, and his Imp boyfriend Fizzarolli run it,” you explained in delight, the theater restaurant that was located in the Lust Ring was your favorite place in hell’s seven rings. “The sin of Lust runs a fucking theater restaurant?” the first man raised an eyebrow like it was the craziest thing he had ever heard, “That’s like saying Sera runs a motherfucking candy store.” You chuckled at his comparison, though you had to admit that it wasn’t too far off, it did sound crazy for someone who did not know Ozzie. “The sin of Lust will surprise you, my dear, despite his interest in lust and desire he always preaches the importance of consent.” Adam huffed as his eyes flew over the menu, “You better introduce me to that fucker soon.” Little did Adam know that you had already booked a table at Asmodeus’ lustful lounge for the both of you.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

[batshieroglyphics]

I guess it's that time of year, again, when I ask folks to send me prompts(text is link to my ask box) for the 800-2k word ficlets I send out with holiday cards. (For those new to this, ficlets will get publicly posted to AO3 in Feb/March of 2025. And I usually post the rough drafts to Patreon, if you really can't wait.)

Things to keep in mind about prompting:

I do not anticipate to write every prompt I get, and multiple people sending in the same or a very similar prompt will not make it more likely to get written. (This does not mean you shouldn't send in a prompt.)

I don't write in any of my existing AUs, because I don't want folks to have to be familiar with a longer fic or series to enjoy a little ficlet with their card.

I am not currently writing Harry Potter for personal reasons. Any prompts sent for this fandom will be deleted out of hand. (This does include crossovers.)

I will 100% write a ficlet for my own OCs. I am not comfortable writing a ficlet with another person's OCs unless their creator requests it themself, and are open to me pestering them for more information.

I will write both shippy and platonic ficlets. However, these do aim to be family-friendly, since I don't know who's opening anyone's mail, so we aim for a generalised Teen rating.

If you've never seen me write a ship, but you know I'm in the fandom, go ahead and prompt it. (If it's a ship that I have no intention to write, I'll just quietly delete it, not here to insult anyone's joys.)

Yes, anon is on. Please don't give me a reason to change that.

You can also send your prompts to either of my multi-fandom blogs (batsutousai and the back-up bats-batsutousai) or my twitter (LadyMarvolo). You can also send them through my cohost (batsutousai) or bluesky (batsutousai), but I keep forgetting to check both of those places and don't know what sorts of notifications are turned on, whoops.

BATS' SHIP LIST (text is the link. This is not all-inclusive, just the ones I am 100% comfortable with and down with writing. Yes, I know I said, last year, that I was going to try to put together a platonic 'ships' list. That clearly has not happened. I shall make an attempt again this year, but my promises are sand.)

PROMPTS (just gonna do links to some of the prompt lists I've reblogged previously, just please let me know which list you're pulling from?)

Bats' previously created holiday ficlets prompts list

Line of dialogue

Four word prompts

Numbered dialogue prompts

X Me prompts

I think there's one in my drafts that cuddling related? I'll see if I can't find that and post it some time this week.

And, no, you do not have to pick prompts off the lists. If you've got one you've been dying to send me, go for it. Just, please keep in mind that I'm only looking for short ficlet prompts at this time.

#bats' holiday card ficlets #prompt request #about the Bats

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true? #clockwork: ... #also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt#148 Part 2

Danny feels himself grow bright red and the two stare into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity. 

“I- Uh… I’m Danny” He finally managed to mutter. 

“Damian Wayne, its a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Danny's blush grew even brighter as the next moment Damian kissed his hand, Danny couldn’t help but feel flustered. 

After a moment  Danny rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and stuttered out, “It’s nice, to meet you too” He could tell how happy Damian was to meet him and he felt a little bad for feeling nervous in the first place. Danny thought Damian was cute and he decided then that he wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better. First they had to get through the rest of the gala, and soon as he thought about the gala something clicked. 

He realized Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne who at the moment was talking to his own parents. He couldn’t help but stare as he let the information sink in. 

“Ah yes it looks like Father is talking to some of the scientists that were invited.” Ancients, Danny knew his parents couldn’t help being themselves and unfortunately that meant things like accidentally spilling fudge right onto Mr. Wayne's suite. They watched as Mr. Wayne told his parents it wasn’t a problem and then walked out of the room. 

Danny couldn’t help but sigh, “Sorry about them, my parents are a little eccentric. Don’t even get me started on their obsession with ghosts, my dad will not shut up sometimes.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck nervously again as he realized he was rambling a little bit. 

“Don’t worry it looks like Father handled the situation well, although I am curious what kind of inventions two scientists obsessed with ghosts create. That’s what this gala is about, we want to support scientists in untapped fields of study.” Danny listened as his soulmate explained things to him. 

Danny looked over to see Vlad talking to a thin scientist in the corner of the room. He was definitely up to something, a ball like this had Vlad scheming something with a mad scientist written all over it. 

He was brought out from his thoughts as a loud crash could be heard as the wall across the room burst open and none other than the Joker walked through.

Danny tried to make his way to the other side of the gala, strangely Damian had disappeared but Danny didn’t have the time to look for him.  

However when he got to the door staying low to the ground the door burst through and more of Joker's goons looked straight at him and he found himself tied up right in front of the Joker. 

“What do we have here? A new Wayne?” Joker said as he cupped Danny's face in his hand. Danny couldn’t do anything about the situation and he was getting a little scared considering he didn’t have a proper way to go ghost or protect his soulmate at the moment. 

The Joker circled around the tied up hostages laughing, “Of course now the fun begins”

The Joker continued to circle around the hostages thinking for a moment before he grabbed Danny.

He held Danny by the back of the shirt like a small kitten. His obsession was making him wonder if his soulmate was safe living in Gotham. Joker chuckled as he continued to hold Danny.

“This kid will be an example for the rest of you, I don’t want any outbursts like that again, especially when Batman gets here. Do you think Batman will like what I’ve done with the place?” He asked as he gestured around the ruined room. All of the tables and chairs had either been broken or knocked over and all of the food from the dessert and appetizer tables. It was quite the mess. Before Joker could do much else with the teen he had dangling in his grasp something flew out and smacked Joker right in the back of the head causing him to drop Danny.

Danny took that opportunity to get away, his hands may have been tied but his feet were sure free. He stumbled away as Batman dropped down and a fight between him and the Joker commenced. 

Danny ran towards the door and as he got there Robin and Nightwing were there ushering some of the other hostages out of the room. 

“Right this way citizens!” Nightwing said brightly at them but he seemed to brighten up a bit more when he saw Danny weirdly. 

“Have either of you seen Damian Wayne?” Danny asked, he at least wanted to get his number, especially when he was headed back to Amity soon.

They seemed to share a look before looking back at him, “Damian left, he’s headed safely back to Wayne manor.” Robin said but he held out a piece of paper. On it was Damians signature and his phone number. Danny sighed a little annoyed he had left but he guessed it was common to head back home after a rogue attack in Gotham. 

“Danny!!” the booming voice of Jack Fenton was suddenly heard and Danny felt himself getting pulled into a very familiar bear hug. 

“Did you have fun at the gala? Your father and I saw you talking to Mr. Wayne's son,” His mother said after his feet were back on the ground. 

“Yeah, actually can we talk about that after we’re back in our room?” He wanted to tell his parents he found his soulmate but saying that outloud when Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne sounded like a bad idea. 

They headed back to the hotel room and all Danny could think about was how lucky he was to have met his soulmate tonight, even if he was nervous about everything.

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#dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #poor danny #Damian thinks its cute that he flustered his soulmate so much #I feel like I'm bad at this LMAO #how does one write romance? #Please tell me if I'm doing this wrong #I want to write the reveal but I don't want to do it right away #suspense? how do I write that? #Well I tried to do a little bit of action #I love the idea that Danny's so light everyone just throws him around like a ragdoll #Ragdoll theory? I cant remember if there was an actual name for it #anyways I've got to go look for a job now #my asks are open #all my prompts are free to use #soulmates

[hailsatanacab]

Wip Wednesday babeeyy

eyy I've finally remembered that wip wednesday exists!! here's some proof that i'm working on something, and that something is the follower milestone gift i said i was going to do and i promise i'm doing it! i'm doing it it's happening i promise! so here's a little taster!!!! and here's Part One if you want a refresher!

And then the kid just vanishes.

In the blink of an eye, in the time it takes for him to look down, screw his face up because this is all confusing as fuck, and look back up, he’s just gone. There’s nowhere to hide, there’s nowhere to go, Jason can see everywhere around him—but he can’t see Danny.

“Well… shit."

“What, what happened?” Dickybird hisses in his ear, the unsaid, exasperated “now” very clear in his voice. 

As much as he loathes to admit it, Jason is feeling very much the same way right now. What was meant to be a simple case of “investigate the potential child abuse and put an end to it” has instead become something… less simple. When is it ever simple in his life?

Still. If working with supers, metas, vigilantes, whatever, has taught Jason anything, it’s that just because you can’t see someone doesn’t mean they’re not there.

“Hey, kid… Danny. Listen, I’m not here to hurt you and if you’re still here, if you can still hear me, then, I don’t know, do you want to get a bite to eat or something? I just want to talk. I just want to figure out what’s happening.”

Jason doesn’t hold his breath. 

Okay, no, that’s a lie. Jason holds his breath, but he swears he’s holding it so he can more accurately hear if Danny is still around. That’s all it is, he’s not attached to this kid already. He’s not.

When no answer comes—not even a whisper of a breath or the scuff of a sneaker on the pavement—he suppresses a frustrated growl and opts instead to breathe deeply and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So…” Tim begins, drawing out the word.

The urge to growl—hell, the urge to pull out his comms and smash them on the floor—grows.

“The kid’s a meta, then. Potential powers including but not limited to: invisibility or teleportation. You think he’s still there?” There’s no reason for the kid to still be around, not at all. If it was Jason, he’d have scattered as soon as he realised the stranger impersonating his dad wasn’t the guy he thought was impersonating his dad, and honestly, wasn’t that extra fucked up? That someone impersonates people in this town often enough that it’s not a surprise? The way Danny spoke about him… What was his name?

Amorpho. Amorphous. Without shape. 

A shapeshifter?

Whatever. It’s a mystery for another time, because there’s still a more pressing mystery in front of him.

Or,. rather, not in front of him.

Yes, there’s no reason for Danny to still be here, but…

Jason sighs. 

“I’m going to Bat—Nasty Burger. Really? Is that the best burger joint here? Nasty Burger? Whatever, I’m going to get some fucking fries.”

Jason feels fucking stupid talking the air like this. He must look fucking stupid, too, but the thing is… There’s a prickling on the back of his neck, a rolling taste of green on his tongue when he glances through his peripheral, the vague weight of an unseen eyes on him. 

Call it wishful thinking, call it a hunch, call it something else, but Danny’s still here.

“There’ll be a burger waiting for you, too, if you want it. My treat.” Jason turns in a full circle, examining everything in his surroundings. Nothing seems out of place, nothing screams wrong to him. “I just want to talk.”

He waits for a full minute with no success, which makes Jason feel even more stupid, before clicking his tongue and making his way to the, hopefully ironically named, Nasty Burger.

#dpxdc #wip wednesday #lol i've been trying to post this for ages #even thought i should make a new day - fuck i forgot about wip wednesday friday #might still do that tbf haha #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #so here we go!!! #idk if i'll delete this later - is that what people do with wip weds?? idk #uh but here we are #please give me some motivation i'm at a wall and i'm banging my head against it 🙏🙏 #uh. also. this silly little wip that i had no idea how to follow on from what i'd added to the prompt #is now like 12k long and growing more and more #why do i do this to myself #everything just becomes so big woof #anyway enjoy!!

[blindmagdalena]

would you ever write .. ...... whispers....

butcher x reader........

................. .................................. ............................................. maybe.

#I'M A **LITTLE** TEMPTED #i'm billy-curious if you will #but idk i'm nervous about going off brand #this is not a yes and i'm not accepting prompts for him BUT #we'll see how i feel after writing him in EYE haha #as soon as i told my wife billy was gonna be in EYE she was like 'layla should just date billy' #but she's a karl urban fangirl so #darling anon #ask and you shall receive

[reiverreturns]

oh, the sheer agony of feeling yourself discard an idea before you’ve even committed a word to paper, i haven’t missed you

#currently going through a phase of being unable to write at all #ideas are not so much fully formed things as they are vibes #just nice little bits of prose floating in my head without much else to say #it's kind of shattering #like i've got all the will in the world to create but nothing worth creating #not even a prompt could save me at this stage lads #idk usually when i clock off for a few weeks it cures me but my recent venture into the nature hasn't and i'm sad about it

[arklay]

help besties am considering uploading my nonsense to ao3 but i have no idea how that website works :)

#like not just the tags but also how in the world i'm going to organise everything... and i was like okay do i put like prompts as multiple #chapter things but then that would probably get confusing cause they're all over the place and also like warnings i'd want them to be for #each prompt not the whole work arghghgh but also like the prompts have no fancy names either so do i just leave them as the prompt #you know? does this make any sense? organisation is my best friend and my sworn enemy i hope that helps #but for real am also terrified of my stuff leaving like my mutuals circle lmaooooo i don't want diana to be perceived by the masses are you #JOKING like she's so special to me i am terrified... also cause i get scared i write him ooc even though like. i apparently don't. but i #freak out a little cause i write some sappy shit and then go oh yeah you're like evil and stuff huh oh well <3 rambling cause i'm nervy and #don't know what i'm doing send help i need my hand held at literally all times figuratively and literally #i mean it already technically escapes the mutuals circle but like typically people who follow me you know not just like searching for #character and they just seem my stuff oml terrifying #see* good lord i already fixed too many typos i cannot #leah.txt

[icanbeyourgenie]

“ Ouch. Talking about another man already. Are you trying to make me jealous, Miss Lucinda? ” – an amused Godric to Lucy, after she complained about Molly sending her letters to Timothée

❝Stop it!❞ Lucy playfully punched Godric's arms while laughing.

Later, she'll realize it was the first time she laughed - or even smiled - since her mother's death. For now, she jut hid her face in embarassment.

Godric seemed quite content to have made the girl laugh. They were both in Greece right now, in his and Miakoda and Rowena's house. From the informations he got from his fiancée, Lucy really wanted to come visit her mother's grave but was in no mood to stay in her mother's family. The truth is, Lucy needed some alone time, away from the mess her father was slowly becoming, and the crushing loneliness that was her house now that her mother was dead and sister gone. A part of her understood Molly's decision. But a bigger part, fueled with grief and anger, couldn't help but be mad at her twin for leaving her alone with a dad that was slowly killing himself.

She knew she couldn't stay for more than a week-end. She had to take care of him, after all. But she really needed to come here, and so she asked a favor from the only adult in her life she trusted at the moment. It turned out that miss Hill had a house in Greece and was more than happy to let her stay in for the week-end. She even anticipated her needs and asked Godric to come pay a visit. And behind all that grief-induced numbness, Lucy was really grateful for this.

❝No but seriously, talk to me about this boy. I mean, the rest of us only got one letter, why does he get three? That seems unfair.❞ It was true indeed that, while Lucy wrote a lot of letters for the multiple crushes she had, only Timothée got multiple ones. He even had a lot of pages dedicated to him in the girl's journal, but fortunately Molly knew better than to make this a public knowledge.

❝I don't know what to say...❞ It brutally hit her than the last time she talked about Timothée was with Audrey. Her mother was always there to chat with Lucy about her love life. Her absence suddenly felt painfully suffocating.

❝Well, what is he like?❞ Godric tried again, seeing the girl losing her smile.

❝He's... Well, I met him in Beauxbatons, and immediately liked him. Molly says it's because he's part veela. But I don't think that's it. I mean, he is very pretty. But... He's also funny. He makes me laugh. He's also more clever and sensitive than people think. And he's interesting, and... And he doesn't like me at all, so there's no use talking about him, really.❞

❝How can people not like you?❞ Lucy laughed, but this time it was a sad kind of laugh.

❝Because I'm too much. I feel too much, I say all the wrong things. I keep embarassing myself.❞

❝Oh, that's nothing. When I was your age, I kept embarassing myself too. I met my fiancée Rowena around that age. If you ever meet her just ask her, she probably has a list of all the embarassing and cringe things I said because I was so bad at dealing with my crush for her. We still ended up together, and it turned out she actually like that side of me.❞

❝I'd really like to meet her someday. But, trust me, Timothée doesn't like that side of me at all... But it's okay, actually. It doesn't really matter anymore.❞

Nothing really mattered for her, at the moment. That was the tragedy of grief. Nothing mattered, except the crushing weight of her sorrow. Godric seemed to sense a change in her mood, for he suddenly went silent and just hugged her. Lucy didn't even realize she started crying. The tears just came and didn't stop until she fell asleep in Godric's arms, feeling a semblance of warmth for the first time in months.

#okay so #i'm a little rusted but i really want to go back into writings #and this inspired me so i went for it #i just love godric and lucy's relationship okay #they are so pure #and lucy talking like that about timothée even though she's hurting so much #that's true love there idc #lucy weasley #lucy writing prompt #writing prompt #lucy x godric #lucy x timothée

[yeleltaan]

//Hello everyone! Alright, here’s an update on things:

I’ve got one more exam to do before I’m done. The good news is that I’ve got plenty time to prepare it, and I’ve decided I’m not going to wait until then to do the things I want to do. That being said, I know it’s going to take me a little while to truly pick up the pace here and I’d like to give a little priority to adopting some healthy habits and improving my lifestyle.

There’s one thing I wanted to address though. I realize that I haven’t really engaged much with the dash and most blogs, both the newcomers and the returning faces (which, by the way, I’m very glad to see back- seriously, it’s lovely to see characters embark on new stories when they seemed to have reached a conclusion, and watching writers come back to the fandom after some time away).

Truth is, I’ve found the dash overwhelming lately. This comes partially from me being too busy to engage, and therefore experiencing something like FOMO because I can’t quite keep up with stuff and be a part of it. The Soulsborne RP community is either getting bigger or becoming more visible to me, and that’s great, but it does also present a challenge to me because if I’m engaged in your character and/or blog, I want to see what you do! I want to see all these things you’ve put effort into, I want to give you feedback, send an ask here and there, have my muse interact with yours!

If I give your post a like, I haven’t just looked at it. If it’s a drabble/headcanon/thread, I’ve read it and re-read it to get a good understanding of it and try to find whatever clues or references you’ve put in there. Perhaps it’d be better for me and the other mun if I gave likes more liberally, but I don’t know, it’s important to me that if I give your post a like, I’ve genuinely had a moment where I’ve stopped and paid attention to nothing but that exact post.

Anyways, where I’m getting with this is that I do feel rather bad that I haven’t quite been able to... welcome? you with the attention and energy I would have liked to have given you. I hope that despite the delay with which I approach you or continue our interactions, we can make up for lost time later.

I’m unsure how I’m going to handle this. I don’t intend to unfollow anyone because of this, as my issue isn’t a lack of interest but my difficulty displaying it and putting it into practice. I do think I’m going to keep a fairly passive attitude (for now) when it comes to seeking new RP partners though, because I cannot comfortably seek and approach some of the blogs I’ve seen mutuals interact with when I’m already struggling to give my time to said mutuals. I’ll still be happy to plot and write interactions with blogs that approach me though.

Anyways, thank you for your patience once more and hopefully it won’t take long for you to see me more here. May things go well for you!

#posting this at late hours (for me!) because I am driven by impulse #ooc #I'm also admittedly hesitant to start liking posts sometimes... it's silly but when I haven't really engaged with someone for a long time #it feels odd to break the ice with certain things. It's probably not worth it to think that way and I am working towards fixing that #working towards feeling less anxious about the simple stuff. Because we all need some feedback and interest from people to keep going #and feel appreciated #and I don't like that this flaw of mine gets in the way of me showing my appreciation to the things you put hard work into #nothing prompted this btw- it's just that I've been thinking about this a lot last year #and with the resurgence that came with Elden Ring. I hope people don't interpret my quietness like there's some 'bad blood' going on #I don't want to like... limit myself to one spot in the fandom either #I think that's one of the biggest factors to how I initially lost my drive to write Ornstein: got too comfortable in one spot of the fandom #so when most of those people started to leave or become inactive I had a really rough time approaching the others #even though I genuinely had nothing against any of them. I don't want that to happen here and I want to be engaged in the community #'Croc don't use the tags of your ooc post to add 50% of the information' challenge when #jokes aside. I hope you're all doing alright. Looking forward to making these posts less necessary! ^^ #also I hope the 'this is how I treat likes' part doesn't come off as pretentious. I only want to give a little perspective and clarify that