#bedroom prompts

[thepromptswhisperer]

Going To Bed Prompts

1. A turns off the light and makes their way to the bed guided by B’s voice/snoring.

2. A wordlessly pulls B to bed.

3. A sleeps over at B’s place for the first time.

4. A and B ignore each other as they slip into bed. Yet, they are unable/unwilling/etc. to not sleep next to one another.  

5. A sits with B until they fall asleep.

6. A tells B that they should go to bed and sleep.

7. A is waiting for B to come to bed.

8. A (and B) simply intended to lie in the bed. Somehow, however, they fall/fell asleep.

9. A (and B) fall(s) into the bed (e.g. while embracing, completely exhausted).

10. A scooches over to make room for B in the bed.

11. A and B get into the bed at the same time.

12. A insists on sleeping on the ground, right in front of the bed.

13. A carries B to bed.

14. A holds up the edges of the blanket to invite B to join them/to make it easier for B to slip in.

15. A and B are so focused on one another/A is so focused on something that they walk straight into the bed.

16. A jumps onto the bed/B who lies in the bed.

17. Unexpectedly, A finds B in their bed when they get ready to go to sleep.

18. Going to bed together has become a routine for A and B. (If even the slightest thing doesn’t go as it usually does, it would be quite noticeable.)

19. A takes their bedding from their joint bed with B and goes to find someplace else to sleep.

20. A tucks B into bed.

21. A gets into the bed quietly, trying not to wake up B.

22. A and B argue over/discuss who will get which side of the bed.

23. A and B spend their first night (together) at their new place.

24. A is tired and wants to go to bed – ideally with B doing the same as they don’t think they could fall asleep without them there.

25. A walks B to their side of the bed before slipping in on their own side.

26. A is so tired that they don’t even realize that they made it to bed.

27. A brings B their warm water bottle/a glass of water/etc. before turning in too.

28. A thinks there’s nothing better than going to bed when the sheets are freshly cleaned.

29. A is almost asleep when B makes it to bed, but they are awake enough to notice their presence and cuddle up to them.

30. A waits for B to make it to the bed before turning off the light.

31. As A falls/jumps/etc. into bed, the bed slats fall down/the bed slides over the floor/etc.

32. A (and B)’s bed is adorned with a multitude of pillows/etc. It takes them some time to clear it and put the pillows away before going to bed.

[ghostdoodlen]

I keep thinking about how in DC x DP tropes, people believe that Danny is the one tricking people to stay in the Ghost Zone by eating their food. Or some other Hades and Persephone thing going on.

BUT

I need people thinking he's not a consort or victim of a ghost or entity. More of their love child if you know what I mean?

I can imagine it starts with Danny being summoned (cuz that's classic Danny stuff) reeking of death and while most people in these prompts offer him food which is valid, hungry boi and all.

He refuses saying if he eats mortal food it'll delay when he can return back.

This makes people think there's some reverse Persephone logic going on. Is it all human food? For how long exactly? And is it the same for everything he eats?

Danny doesn't explain his reasoning. Maybe he has two different stomachs? Maybe he's experimenting or Frostbite told him not to. Who knows. His summoner for sure doesn't.

Danny: Always wait 30 mins before teleporting :)

[farfallasims]

American Girl Doll Inspired Bedroom ☁️

[mischievous-thunder]

*Logan and Vanessa's texts at around 11:45 p.m.*

Vanessa: You've got to be really mad at Wade to banish him to the living room. What did he do this time?

Logan: It's a long story, Vanessa...

Vanessa: Hey, you do know that I'm always there for you, right?

Logan: Fine-

[writersloveroe]

one bed trope dialogue prompts

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

•”wait- there’s seriously only one bed?”

•”no i insist, stay in bed with me,”

•”i didn’t mean to end up so close to you that night we were sharing the bed,”

•”it was so awkward- i woke up and we were cuddling like a couple,”

•”i hope you don’t snore,”

•”can you come a little closer? it’s cold in here,”

•”you know your head was resting on my shoulder as you slept right?”

•”you’re a cute sleeper,”

•”i know this is a bit weird, but can you hold me?”

•”stop hogging the covers!”

•”you kicked me seven times while sleeping,”

•”can you talk to me? i can’t sleep,”

•”there must’ve been some mistake there should be two beds,”

•”sharing a bed with you isn’t the worse thing that could happen, right?”

•”i’ll sleep on the couch- fine, i’ll sleep with you on the bed,”

•”you have cute bedhead,”

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[revvethasmythh]

Thinking about returning to the Lighthouse after picking up the weekly groceries and how it's gotta be like, "oop, excuse me, Lucanis! I am here to restock your Bedroom, don't mind me." Like, the concept of the Panty-Bedroom(TM) is killing me currently. Imagine getting hungry in the middle of the night only there is A Man in the pantry standing between you and Midnight Cheese Snack? Imagine being the Man whose bedroom is the communal food pantry for eight weirdoes in the Fade? What levels of insane must your life have reached for you to be either of the people in this scenario

[polyamships]

[ID: “Polyam Shipping Day / 14th of every month”. Next to the text is a red infinity sign that finishes in a heart on top. Above the text are rows of stylized hearts in the colors of both versions of the polyam pride flag (black, red, bright blue, light green, dark green, light blue, navy). /end ID]

September 14th 2024 is our 42nd Polyam Shipping Day.

The optional theme for it is: 🛏️ Bedroom 🫣

It's time for you to dust off those And-they-were-roommates! AUs. Or maybe write about what happens when there's only one bed (bad thing) vs only one bed (good thing). This can be about a polycule's first house together and how they decide their sleeping arrangements: How do they decide how many rooms they need? Is there a system in place? Maybe they've bought a giant bed and they're assembling it themselves and hilarity ensues. Has any of your characters redesigned a bedroom for a new partner? Given them space somehow (like giving someone a drawer as a relationship step)? Of course, you can always make this smutty and write about all the naughty things that can happen in a bedroom. Or maybe you decide to go the horror route and write your characters trapped in a bedroom and whether they get out or not. Perhaps you want to write the first time the polycule visits one their families and have them stay in their childhood room, or about being invited into a partner's bedroom for the first time. Or perhaps you're in an Angst mood and want to write about your polycule's last night together before something terrible happens: do they sleep? do they stay up all night talking? do they say their goodbyes? does one of them watch the rest sleep before leaving for Reasons?

…

We’ll be tracking #PolyamShippingDay, and keeping an eye out for any @polyamships mentions too. We will reblog any polyam-positive fanworks featuring polyamorous ships of any configuration/type from any fandom. All ratings are welcome but anything nsfw/triggery should be warned for and behind a read more, as should very long tumblr fic.

You can also submit works directly to the blog or send us asks to let us know to check your blog for a post. If you’re posting on AO3, our collection name is ‘PolyamShippingDay‘ and you can post to the collection here. Only fanworks submitted/@ us on tumblr or in the official AO3 collection, or fanworks posted to our Dreamwidth community, are guaranteed to be included in our roundup. Please also let us know what prompt you created for, if any - people are always welcome to create for past prompts instead.

We have a Discord - invite here - if you want a place to chat about your ships or what you’re creating for them.

We look forward to seeing what people create for it. If you’re enthused about the day, we’d be especially appreciative of any reblogs to help spread the word about the event.

[black-salt-cage]

Day 19 of #heartnosehalloween! ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚.🎃 Prompt: Make an uncanny / liminal / weirdcore stimboard ☽ - ✰ - ☾ ☽ - ✰ - ☾ ☽ - ✰ - ☾

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights as college roommates and maybe some identity shenanigans thrown in would be so fun! Maybe dannys doing a little vigilante work on the side as well to up the secret identity mayhem

Danny would like to say his college career is going well. Gotham isn’t where he was expecting to pursue higher education, but the engineering scholarship he got through the Wayne Educational Foundation was just too good to turn down. It even covered the cost of an apartment! Although, the apartment is shared with another student who got a Wayne scholarship. 

Even with that, Danny lucked out and got a great roommate. Duke Thomas is chill, kind, respects Danny’s space and doesn’t throw wild parties or invite random people in at all hours of the day. He even joins Danny twice a week for study sessions!

Really, it would be the perfect college experience except for one thing: the ghosts.

Danny thought they’d stay in Amity Park. They had no reason to stray from the city where the portal was, and his parents are more than enough to keep most ghosts away. It took his friends, Jazz, and even Vlad to convince Danny that he wasn’t abandoning Amity Park and that the city wouldn’t fall while he took a few years to focus on himself. 

He worried right up until he got to GCU and walked the campus for the first time. Then he decided to enjoy the four years he had on the scholarship to get his degree and live his own life like a normal person.

To say he’s pissed about the ghosts is an understatement. 

The one thing he was looking forward to most is not being Phantom. Gotham is home to the Bats and they’re more than capable of handling everything in the city. It means there’s no need for him here and he can focus on school and enjoy going on invisible flights without worrying about being hunted down or having to fight a ghost. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath as he feels the familiar chill race up his throat, A cold mist wafts out of his mouth, curling around his words, and Danny quickly ducks his head and hides it from sight. 

“Did you say something?” Duke asks, looking up from where he leans against the kitchen counter, squinting at a recipe on his phone. 

“Nah,” Danny lies. “Just stressing.” He gestures to the papers he has spread out on the dining table, then stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe that’ll get my brain to work correctly tonight.”

“Got your phone on you?”

Danny reflexively drops a hand to his pocket, checking that his phone is where it’s supposed to be. It’s what Duke asks every single time Danny mentions going out, worried about Danny being unprepared for Gotham. It’s nice of him, though Danny does wish he can say that he’s survived a lot worse than a few muggers. 

“Got it.”

“Alright. I’ll try to work on dinner while you’re out.”

Danny nods and offers Duke a small wave before pulling his shoes on at the door. He grabs his keys and heads out, double checking that the door is locked behind him. 

Then he glances around the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, and pulls up the chill of awareness in his chest. Slowly, he breathes out, watching the blue mist waft out and lead towards the stairwell. 

“Wonder who it is this time,” he mutters to himself, going into the cold, concrete stairwell. It always feels a little off in there, as if he’s been removed from the rest of the world when the door closes behind him. His footsteps echo oddly in the space, so Danny chooses to fly instead, keeping his feet off the floor. 

A few flights down is when he sees her: pale and translucent, a faint blue glow around her. She’s a familiar face. Emilia is one of the first of Gotham’s ghosts he’s met, leading to the rather unpleasant realization that ghosts don’t only come from the Infinite Realms. There’s a strange sort of magic in the very foundations of Gotham that makes it the way it is, creating ghosts that are different enough from what he’s used to that it leaves him off balance. 

Gotham keeps her dead. Few get to pass on peacefully, and most have to wait until they grow weak and wither away, a second death, before they can be released from the living realm. The ghosts of Gotham are pale and weak, for the most part, and try to cling to him so grow stronger from his ectoplasm. 

Most want him to help them pass on, or give them a way into the Infinite Realms. Some want him to bring justice to their killers. Others want to kill him and take his ectoplasm for their own so they can continue their reign of terror in Gotham, unable to be stopped even in death. 

Emilia gives him warnings. It’s not always her, but she tends to be the one to draw him out of his apartment, pulling him into a vigilante lifestyle because he can’t bring himself to refuse anyone who asks for his help, and the dead in Gotham have no one else to ask.

“Danny,” she greets. “Nueve is out again. He’s going after the ghosts near Chantilly Street.”

“The sun isn’t even down yet,” Danny grumbles. Nueve, an old gang enforcer who died a few decades ago, cannibalizes other ghosts. It doesn’t destroy the other ghosts, not really, but it makes them feel pain when they shouldn’t be able to feel much at all. Taking their limited reserves of ectoplasm makes him momentarily stronger, and he uses that stolen strength to try to harm the living.

He’s been successful a few times. Danny makes sure to rip him apart as much as possible these days; he won’t be here forever, but he’s hoping that within his four years at GCU, he’ll be able to permanently stop Nueve.

Times like these, he misses having a Fenton Thermos with him. Though he’s not entirely sure it would work on Gotham’s ghosts with how different they are. 

Emilia follows him down the stairwell to the ground floor. Once there, Danny shoves his hand into the floor, taking out the backpack he’s hidden in it. He’s done this change of clothes so often he can do it in just a minute now, hiding his face and pulling on gloves beneath a large hoodie with old ectoplasm stains along the sleeves and hem. A gas mask is pulled on as well, covering the bottom half of his face, a necessary addition to his Ghost Work Outfit™ after he almost got caught in some Fear Gas during Scarecrow’s last attack. 

“Alright,” he says, “Lead the way.”

Emilia takes off through the wall and Danny hurries to follow, going invisible as he hits the streets. 

It’s still early evening, the sun not yet fully set. Plenty of people walk along the sidewalks and cars pass by endlessly, honking at each other as they try to go twenty above the speed limit. Danny does his best to avoid running into everyone, deftly dodging the reaching hands of a few ghosts who spot him as he sprints by. 

They only go a few blocks away from his apartment building, turning into a dead end alley where a group of teens (living, for once) are stuck with their backs to the wall, clinging to each other as they warily watch the man in front of them carelessly twirl a gun around his finger. 

The man makes a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat, and it takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s trying to talk. 

Still invisible, Danny sneaks around to stand in front of the teens, ready to bodily protect them. The man looks alive, and Danny see any ghosts around save for Emilia, standing at the mouth of the alley. There’s something strange about him; his movements seem just a little off, not quite as fluid as they should be. It’s not the movement of someone on drugs. It’s something that screams uncanny valley.

The gun’s handle drops solidly into the man’s palm. He makes another few clicks, then raising the gun to point at the teens.

“Bad idea, pal,” Danny says dropping his invisibility. The teens behind him startle, gasping and trying to press themselves further into the wall. 

The man’s eyes flash weakly and the pieces click into place in Danny’s mind. Nueve must have gotten strong enough to possess someone. That is… alarming, to say the least.

He rips the gun out of the man’s hand and tosses it aside. Then he pushes away the man’s arm when Nueve makes a clumsy attempt to punch him. With his chest left wide open and undefended, Danny takes the chance to shove his hand into the man’s chest, feeling for the familiar chill of a ghost. 

And then he wraps his fingers tight around it and pulls out Nueve, leaving the man to collapse. 

The teens behind him scream and Danny winces. 

Pulling out a faintly glowing human figure from someone’s physical body does not look good. It’s the best way to end a possession, but it does look alarmingly like he’s just ripped someone’s soul out of their body.

Keeping hold of Nueve’s ghost, Danny steps to the side. “You guys should go now. Take care.”

The teens don’t need any more prompting. They take off in a run, tripping over each other in their haste to get away.

Danny spares a glance to the man unconscious on the ground, but there’s nothing he can do with an angry ghost in his hands, so he has no choice but to leave him there as he flies up to a rooftop farther down the street. 

“How many times do we need to do this, Nueve?” he asks tiredly, shaking the ghost.

“These streets should be mine!” Nueve howls, trying to break free of Danny’s grasp. But he’s quickly growing weak, his energy fading, and Danny’s holding back his own ectoplasm as tightly as he can. “They may have killed me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take what I’m owed!”

“Dude, you’re dead. There’s nothing here for you. Move on.”

“You don’t get to speak on this, outsider. You think a freak like you has an say over us? You can’t stop us. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Danny squints at him. “What, are you planning a heist or something? With your gang of dead people too weak to lift a piece of paper?”

“We’re not all dead. We’ve got living folk helping us and we’ll be taking you out first when we hit the streets.”

“Good luck with that,” Danny says flatly, “Begone with you.” 

Without giving Nueve a chance to say another word, he rips Nueve’s head off his body. His ghost wavers, then dissipates like smoke, fading away. 

Another side effect of whatever it is Gotham does to her dead: their ghost forms are remarkably fragile and it takes only a bit of strength to tear them to shreds, giving him some peace before they reform again. It won’t stop Nueve from striking out again, gathering enough strength until he’s able to possess some other unfortunate soul, but Danny’s bought himself some time to figure out what the hell was he talking about?

There are living folk involved with whatever he’s planning. It’s probably another gang, maybe someone with magic who is able to see ghosts? Which is not great. Danny doesn’t know much about magic; even when facing ghosts who used magic or magical artifacts, his go to method of dealing with them is to start throwing hands like there’s no tomorrow.

Well.

It’s a problem for later.

For now, Danny needs to get back to his apartment and work on his calculus homework. Hopefully he can finish it before he gets frustrated enough that he gives up and lies face down on the floor until Duke manhandles him onto the couch, where he’s less of a tripping hazard.

He’s just about to get back to street level when his Fenton Luck strikes again and he hears someone land on the roof, just a few feet behind him.

“Hey there, stranger,” the Signal says. “You know, we run into each other so often it feels rude not to introduce ourselves. Why don’t you go first?”

Danny turns to face the daylight vigilante, standing with his arms crossed as if that would make him look any more approachable. He’s been popping up wherever Danny’s out dealing with ghosts, which is very not great for Danny’s plans to have a peaceful, normal college life. 

Biting his tongue, Danny gives the Signal a quick two fingered salute, then goes intangible and drops down through the building. His invisibility sweeps over him and then he’s running through the streets, hoping it’s enough to keep the Signal from following him to his apartment.

He skids to a stop in the stairwell, dropping his intangibility just in time to crash into the wall. Panting, Danny waits for a tense minute to see if he’s been followed. 

When the door to the stairwell remains closed, he lets out a slow breath, then pulls off all the pieces of his Ghost Work Outfit, shoving it back into his bag. He takes a moment to fix his hair, messy from the hood, then shoves the bag back into the floor, safely hidden from curious eyes. 

Then he very casually walks up the stairs to the fifth floor and walks down the hallway to his apartment. His keys clang together when he opens the door, and Duke usually hears it when it does, but just in case, Danny calls out, “I’m back!”

He’s learned to announce himself after a few late night walks almost ended with him tackled to the floor when Duke thought someone was breaking in.

Duke doesn’t respond as he toes off his shoes. The stillness in the apartment feels off, as if the world is holding its breath. Cautiously, Danny walks in, trying to find his roommate.

He’s not in the kitchen. The living room is empty. Duke’s bedroom door is open and he’s not in there either. 

Something cold lodges itself in his chest. 

“Duke?” he tries again, looking over their apartment again for any sign of struggle, or something terrible happening, or even a mess that Duke needed more supplies to clean up. 

There’s nothing. The apartment is as it’s always been, just with an empty space where Duke should be.

Worried, Danny stands in the middle of the hallway, trying to figure out what he should do next. It’s because he’s standing so still, surrounded by silence, that he hears it: a light thud outside the window. 

Danny turns and he can swear he sees something large moving outside the window, disappearing from sight just as Danny takes a step into Duke’s room to check on it. He rushes to the window and pushes it open, looking down at the street, then side to side, and finally up to the last three floors of the building.

Nothing’s there.

Slowly, Danny pulls his head back inside, closing and locking the window. “Must be my imagination,” he says, trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal. 

He leaves Duke’s room and begins pacing down the hall, anxiety building steadily in him. 

His phones in his hand before he can think his actions through, Duke’s contact pulled up on the screen. He should call. He should make sure Duke is okay, but Danny hesitates. Is this something to be freaked out over? Would Duke thing he’s clingy and nervous and a bothersome roommate? He doesn’t want to risk Duke asking for a new roommate next year when the lease renews.

But he’s worried. It’s Gotham and Danny just dealt with a violent, murderous ghost threatening him. Duke can deal with a stressed out, worried Danny if it means he’s alive.

He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings on and on and on until Danny starts to panic about having to find Duke’s ghost to avenge his murder. 

The front door is thrown open so suddenly and so loudly, Danny jumps and his phone clatters to the floor. 

“Danny! Hey!” Duke says with a bright smile, trying to catch his breath. He’s still holding onto the doorknob, slightly hunched over as he pants for breath. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

“Where were you?”

Duke straightens up and closes the door, kicking off his shoes. “Oh, just… out. Shopping. For dinner.”

Danny looks over his empty hands doubtfully. “No luck finding what you needed?”

“Nope!”

“What did you need? Maybe I can go to a different store and get it for you.”

“You don’t need to!” Duke says. “I just needed… tomatoes?”

Danny blinks at him. “We have tomatoes. Did you not know we had tomatoes in the fridge?”

“Oh, do we? Good to know.”

There’s something very weird about this conversation, but Danny doesn’t pry. Duke is weird sometimes, but it’s fine because he kindly ignores some of Danny’s oddities that come from being a halfa and a semi-retired hero. 

“Do you… maybe wanna sit down? Catch your breath? I can make dinner tonight if you want.”

Duke waves a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I got this. Anyways, how was your walk?”

He definitely shouldn’t talk about the cannibal ghost and his threats to take out Danny with his gang. “It was nice. Very quiet. You know, for Gotham.” He punctuates this with an awkward thumbs up and immediately regrets it, but it’s already done so he commits to it.

“Cool! Great. Just wondering, did you see anything weird?”

“Depends on what you’re asking about?”

“Just some guy wearing black with a hood covering his face. He’s been active in this neighborhood and I saw some people talk about him online. Apparently he just appears out of thin air.”

Danny tries not to wince. That’s him, alright. Gotham’s newest neighborhood menace. “I don’t think so, but there’s a lot of people in Gotham that were all black and walk around with their hood up.”

“True,” Duke concedes. “Well, just be careful when you go out, alright?”

“I always am.” He gives Duke the same two fingered salute he gave the Signal. Duke stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and almost dangerous, then he smiles and walks into the kitchen. 

“Wanna make dinner with me? I think we can figure out this recipe together. Unless you need to do your homework.”

“It can wait!” Danny hurries to join Duke, grateful for an excuse to push off calculus a little longer. He understands what he’s doing in the class, there’s just… so much work. He doesn’t even want to think about the tests. The tests make everyone cry.

“Alright, let’s get to it, then!”

“You’re in charge, chef,” Danny says, laughingly, and bumps against Duke’s side. He expects a light shove in return, something Sam and Tucker always did, but Duke goes tense instead, letting out a sharp breath that Danny is all too familiar with. “Wait, why are you hurt? What happened?!”

He goes to lift up Duke’s shirt to inspect his shirt, see the damage for himself, but Duke smoothly moves out of the way, grabbing Danny’s wrists and stopping him in his tracks. “I’m fine, Danny. I just got hit. Lightly. Minor bruising, really.”

Danny looks at him doubtfully, then wrenches a wrist free to lift up his shirt before he can move again.

Minor bruising is not how Danny would describe the blues and purples that decorate Duke’s entire side. He can see the outline of Duke’s ribs through the bruising. “How is this being lightly bruised? What hit you?”

“A car?”

“A car?!”

Duke winces, then pulls his shirt down. “I’m fine, Danny, really. It was just from a car that didn’t want to stop at a red light. I stopped another person from being hit, but the car got me pretty solidly. You know how bad Gotham drivers are.”

“Sit down!” Danny says, pulling Duke out of the kitchen. “I don’t understand how you’re still standing. I’ll get some ice, and I’ll handle dinner. You just stay there and stop pushing yourself for no reason.”

“Playing nurse for me now?”

“If I have to.”

“Would you wear a nurse costume for me, too?” Duke jokes.

Danny looks him dead in the eye and says, “If I have to. Would that make you follow my instructions? A tight little nurse dress?”

Duke sputters, cheeks darkening, and looks away. Danny grins, victorious, and darts back to the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the fridge. 

“Maybe I’ll wear one for you anyways, once you’re all healed up. Only if you’re good, though.”

“Danny, you’re killing me here.”

“Better me than a car.”

Duke laughs and takes the ice pack, pressing it against his side carefully. “Oh, for sure. Thanks, Danny.”

“Hey, what are roommates for?” Danny shares a warm smile with Duke, then pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen to start making a simple pasta dinner. 

Life in Gotham is weird and stressful and full of ghosts and heroes who won’t leave him alone. But it’s not all that bad, really. He’s happy with how he’s doing in college, and he’s beyond lucky to have Duke as a roommate. So long as Duke never finds out about his halfa status, then he’s sure they’ll be able to last all four years rooming together.

He just needs to keep a secret. 

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

[screamingcrows]

Y-you maybe wanna write the "only one bed prompt" for B-Baizhu? Please s-senpai?

👉👈

S-senpai? Oh me oh my 😳 The way I just knew you'd request Baizhu, I'd planned for this... Of course, I had to pick "quit acting like I have the plague" 💀

You'd been standing in the opposite end of the room for the better part of an hour, watching Baizhu carefully brush his hair, the emerald strands shimmering in the candlelight. He'd offered for you to stay the night, knowing it was far too late for you to make it to Chenyu Vale before dark.

It'd been easy to assume he'd have a cot for you, considering the amount of patients he had to accommodate there should have been more than one. There was not a single one free. And he'd known. If his lidded eyes and sly smile were any indication at least. So here you were, shifting in the corner of his private room, trying not to focus on how soft his flanks looked, how smooth the skin would no doubt feel. Would he be warm? How would it be to kiss down his sternum? Feel the heart beating beneath his ribs?

To say you were embarrassed when he cleared his throat would be an understatement. He'd caught you gawking like a fool. The realisation sent you backwards two more steps, back hitting the wall with a soft thud. Eyes wide and lips parted, your hands raised in front of your chest, placating words stuck in the back of your throat. Archons, there was no good explanation.

"Is something the matter? You look pale," his voice felt like honey, the slight tilt of his head making light dance along his glasses.

"Nothings the matter... I was just... zoning out?"

It didn't help your condition that he'd shamelessly begun to disrobe, baring even more of that silky skin. At least Changsheng was already fast asleep, she'd have had too much fun at your expense at this sight.

"Hm, if you insist. Come, there's no reason to hide in the corner like a scared mouse, Changsheng doesn't sleep in the bed," there was a hint of humor in his voice, helping to calm you a little.

Careful steps brought you closer, sitting at the foot of the bed while he got in. You couldn't move closer, a moment of weakness and you'd do something stupid. The soft sound of his hand patting the bed did nothing to spur you into moving closer, your hands gripping the sheets tightly.

"Please, quit acting like I have the plague," a small laugh escaped with his words, further piercing your pride.

"That's not- Archons above, I'd prefer if you had the plague, at least my panic would be warranted," the words slipped out before you could stop them, quickly followed by a groan at your own idiocy.

A subdued chuckle filled the room with a warmth that immediately eased the tension in your shoulders and the discord in your mind, enough that the hand tugging you down was met with no resistance.

"Consider this exposure therapy, on the house of course," it was nothing more than a soft whisper against your ear when he continued, "you're not very subtle."

His words were lost on you, already drowning in how good he felt against you, touch more delicate than the petals of a glaze lily when his lips ghosted down your neck.

Get your own only one bed drabble

[dovesick]

the heart wants what it wants (blue ver)

[uncertainwallflower]

CHAMOMILE For @jilymicrofics July 2024. Prompt: drowsy. Words: 347.

Trial micro of an idea for BTDATS that's been bouncing around my head for a while. And probably unnecessarily dramatised but oh well.

She had been sick all week, sniffling and sneezing and waking up stiff and stuffy. The headache she had suffered week-long had regressed into the back of her head; the dull ache a lovely break from the prefrontal stabbing. But in its place had come a drowsiness that felt thick in the air. It slowed her movements, shuttered her thoughts, and weighed on her eyelids, urging them to seek that most comforting of darknesses in sleep.

So so drowsy. And so thoroughly pissed off. Because her cheeks were eternally hot, and she desperately needed a tea because her thoughts were so damn muddled she couldn't tell chamomile from calendula and if she stuffed up this potion one more time she was going to blow her top! But she was so tired. But the potion...

She barely registered the knock at the door.

"Lily? What in Merin's——"

The cold air hit her face and sizzled against the damp skin of her cheeks before she realised James had crossed the room and pushed open the window, letting out a puff of yellowish smoke with it.

"What the bloody hell are you doing—brewing with the window closed?" James asked, pushing her into a chair as she blinked slowly at him, at the pewter cauldron, at the calendula—chamomile!—that really should be added now. Stir three times counterclockwise, then a half turn clockwise.

She exhaled heavily, the hot anger flushed from her body by a lump of reluctance, which settled in her duodenum. "Is it time to go? I didn't realise."

"Go? Lily..." James was frowning as he pressed his hand against her forehead. "You're burning up. What the hell were you thinking?"

Lily shrugged, wanting to push him off but rather leaning into his cool touch, which had slid down her cheek, the rough of his thumb gliding back and forth, back and forth. She was safe here. She could rest here. The potion could wait until morning. "Just tell Mum..." she hummed as her eyelids finally fluttered shut, mazed thoughts forgotten, and barely registering James's rushed "shit".

[bookmark-extraordinaire]

I recently had a conversation with a friend that made me realise that (maybe) people might not know that the Italian mafia still exists and actively operates all over Italy. Like, the general international public has this old-timey idea of the mafia that stops at the 1950s, with Al Capone, seedy bars, car chases with tommy guns etc. etc. or at least that seems to be the case for the people who don’t live in Europe, or otherwise close to Italy.

So, I made this poll. DISCLAIMER: this poll is NOT so i could judge people in any way. I can’t really fault anyone for not knowing about a problem so tied to Italian soil and culture, I was just curious.

NOTE: I’m not making a distinction between the actual Mafia, Camorra, Ndrangheta etc. etc. just pretend that all Italian organized crime is one big thing for the sake of this poll.

[quietwingsinthesky]

(@transmasc-rose) Hmm... 11Simm, Simm is around for his Baking Period instead of going back to the war, and this affects our Doctor.

alsjfjglsjfk okay im assuming by baking period you mean immediately post-regeneration and what im saying is that this got wildly out of hand, here’s 1000 words of eleven & simm & amelia pond

Amelia Pond remembers, a few months ago, when it rained so hard that the streets outside of school flooded. It hadn’t been so bad, even though no one had come to pick her up so Mels had promised Rory when his dad came, “Don’t worry, I’ll walk her home.” By then, his dad’s car was already making huge waves as it drove away. Neither of them had an umbrella or raincoats, so they’d sprinted between trees and bus stops as it continued to pour down. The streets became rivers, and when they caught their breath on Amelia’s front porch, they’d turned back to look at the unrecognizable world of their neighborhood almost underwater. Mels’ cold, wet hand in hers, Amelia had watched two rats swimming across the street, scrabbling over each other with tiny splashes and biting their tails to stay together until they got to the other side.

Anyway, that’s why she thinks Mels would understand her letting the men from the blue box into her house once she saw that they were soaking wet and why Rory would probably tell her she shouldn’t try to pick up rats because they might have rabies.

“If he’s the Doctor,” says Amelia to the man who stole all of the Doctor’s leftovers, (or was it stealing when no one wanted them?) “then who are you?” She’s been thinking of him as the rude Doctor, seeing as they both came from the same box, but that might be unfair. To the Doctor. She can’t just go assuming two men from the same box share a name.

“The Master,” he tells her, shortly. Amelia squints up at him.

Amelia doesn’t care much about politics because her aunt doesn’t care much about politics. Still, there are all these newspapers that someone must have bought that sit in the lounge and they both forget to clean up.

“Why do you look like the Prime Minister?” At that, the Master grins. His teeth are too sharp.

“Because I ate him.” Amelia wrinkles her nose at him. He’s going to have to try harder. Mels is much better at scaring her than he is.

“Stop that,” the Doctor tells him. “She’s-” He looks over Amelia curiously and guesses. “…Five?”

“I’m eight,” Amelia corrects and stands a little taller.

“She’s eight, and there’s a nasty crack in her wall that’s scaring her enough. You don’t need to make it worse.” The Master huffs and crosses his arms, but he does glance down at her again. She doesn’t think he’s decided to be nice, exactly, but maybe that he’s decided even if he isn’t lying and he does eat people, that Amelia wouldn’t be very tasty. He extends a hand to pat her on the head, and Amelia bites at it. She doesn’t manage to get him, but he snaps his hand back. He grins at her.

“She should be scared. I’m surprised she’s even still here.” Amelia frowns at him the same time the Doctor does.

“What do you mean?”

“Explain that, Master,” the Doctor’s voice flips from fun to serious very easily. She likes that about him. Most adults never use their serious voices around Amelia, only the fun ones, even when they have bad news to deliver.

“You’re counting the doors, Doctor. I’m counting the bedrooms.”

“So?”

“Amelia, you said you only live with your aunt?” the Master asks, pointedly. Amelia scowls at him, even though a part of her is delighted that they were paying attention to what she said.

“Yes.”

“So, why,” he emphasizes, “are there too many beds in this house?” The Doctor stops examining the crack and turns to him. Amelia watches a wave of something awful wash over his face. It makes her squirm, and despite herself, grab onto the Master’s hoodie.

“Oh, Amelia,” the Doctor says, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She doesn’t like it, any of it, not the crack and not the feeling in the pit of her stomach that something’s gone terribly wrong. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows- She knows- She can’t remember why she’s crying. The Master’s hoodie is grimy enough already, so she sticks her nose in it to wipe her face clean. He smells like a wet dog.

“First things first,” the Doctor says, “whatever was in the crack is now out of the crack.”

“I know. I can smell it.”

“So, we take care of that. Amelia,” he addresses her again. Amelia pulls her face out of the Master’s hoodie to look at the Doctor. “Do you mind if I pick you up?” Amelia is too big to be picked up anymore, at least by her aunt. Still, she nods. “Good. I’m going to put you in the safest place I know.” The Doctor picks Amelia up easily, like she would pick up one of her stuffed animals, and then deposits her, without hesitating, into the Master’s arms as he protests.

“I don’t want her. Take her back.” Amy wriggles, but despite that, he doesn’t drop her.

“I wasn’t lying. Whatever prisoner zero is—I’m working on it—you’re far more dangerous.” At that, the Master hums, pleased with himself. Amelia thinks the Doctor might be even more mad than she’d assumed. “Which also makes you safe.”

The thing is, Amelia thinks, the Doctor isn’t wrong. She looks at the crack, and she looks out her bedroom door down the hall they say contains a monster, and nothing scares her.

“It’s a little early for us to adopt,” the Master mutters.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too busy hunting an intergalactic fugitive. You’d know all about that. Amelia, did you know he’s wanted dead or alive in over two hundred galaxies? In multiple time periods.” Amelia looks at the Master for confirmation.

“Two hundred and fifty-three,” he says.

“What’d you do?”

“Everything.” He carries Amelia out, following the Doctor, and only gets interrupted telling her a story she’s not sure she believes about taking over an entire planet when the monster shows itself.

[urlocalwhumper]

abused nonhuman pet whumpee being rescued and rehabilitated, but still as a pet. their new master isn't going to liberate them or teach them how to be a person or whatever, they adopted a pet because they wanted a pet.

it's such a shame that whumpee is so traumatized and afraid, no one should ever treat their pets that cruelly and new master hopes whumpee's previous master burns for what they did, but it's nothing a good heap of love and patience can't help.

(maybe this is just a new type of horror for whumpee. or maybe whumpee has been a pet all their life, and getting to be a beloved companion instead of a punching bag is a dream come true)