#pls prompt me

[babygirlvirgil]

❤️💔 🕠 😂🎭💬😶 ☀️

❤️ Favorite side

-> its a 50/50 split between janus and virgil

💔 Least favorite side

-> id like to preface this with I Do Love Him I Swear... but roman im sorry...

🕠 Most recent thoughts on the show

-> still a comfort show of mine, i need to rewatch it again its been at least a month sdfsdfs i am both scared and excited for the s2 finale whenever the hell that will be out, bc on one hand yayy sanders sides episode and i think thomas said he wanted it to be MusicFull so yayy songs, but on the other hand , and maybe this is a hot take, i kinda dont want an orange side ( i say this as a guy who has TWO orange side ocs )

😂 Funniest line/scene

-> theres too many to count but this emoji reminded me of the intro to the qna episode (is that one of the only episodes where he wears a jacket???)

🎭 Best scene

-this one

💬 Line that stuck with you the most

-> the entirety of svs1

😶 Unpopular opinion

-> i have too many so to keep this post short ill only offer one: the fanbase gets a little weird when it comes to other fandom's ships like... guys we are the LAST people on EARTH to judge someone else shipping selfcest, pack it up

☀️ If you could spend a day with one of the sides, who would you choose and what would you do?

-> i have two answers for this;

one, i spend a day with janus bc hes still one of my biggest fictional crushes its not even funny anymore oh my GOD, so we'd probably go to the mall and start shopping for dresses! most of it is im dressing him up however i like :3 we'd go and get some boba before and after, maybe towards the end of the day i buy him some of his fave wines or something (this is an ideal world where i have the money to do so) then we get some sleep face masks and fancy bathrobes and just spa day til we sleep

and two, virgil; id ask him how he made his hoodie and his hoodie's details and then compare My virgil hoodie and see how accurate i made it ( i never finished the hood lining tho </3) and maybe hed fix it up for me or something, and also in an ideal world id buy him stuff too! probably some chokers, earrings we go to (classic) hot topic, get him some nice things, and then when we get home i make him some food probably something simple like ramen and id tell him all about my video game interests until we watch youtube and sleep

[levinson-mannion]

I want to write a Michael x Dagon fic but I need prompts

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Brucie Wayne gets into a mild accident in public (read-got hit by a car). And Batman would just walk it off (“it’s barely a bruise”), but Brucie obviously… can’t.

So he has to suffer the ordeal of having civilians call paramedics, getting fussed over, and having-

Having his dead son get into the back of the ambulance with him.

Oh- oh no. He must have hit his head worse than he thought. He thought he was past this…

[lotus-pear]

horrendously late entry for @luneariann’s dtiys!! congrats on one million ely i’m so proud of you <3

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[princessbrunette]

prisoner!rafe was finally, finally being released, and you just didn’t know what to do with yourself. you barely slept the night before, deep cleaning the house, re-choosing the perfect outfit, making snacks to lay out for him. you felt like your brain wasn’t even working anymore at this point, but what you did know — was that it was about damn time he came home.

you see him at the gate to tannyhill, dressed in the outfit he got locked up in and you feel like you’re dreaming. he’s filling his clothes out more than before, the grey long sleeve shirt now straining against his arms, chest and back — his thighs even seeming to push against the material of his khakis with each step. a million things are running through your head as he approaches, like what the first thing he wants to do might be.

maybe he’ll want to walk around, observe everything at tannyhill that you’ve moved around or adjusted to fit your comfort whilst he was gone. perhaps he’s starving, and you’ll be rushed into the kitchen to start an early dinner. rafe could be tired, and want to slump right down for a nap— or maybe rant about the last day he had locked up.

he’s suddenly infront of you and you’re frozen, staring up at him with big doe eyes before you grab eachother simultaneously, pulling one another in for a bone crushing hug. rafe grips your cheek, kissing you so violently that there’s spit and gloss all over your chin and teeth clash before he pulls away — eyes darting all over your face. what he says next confirms what he really wants to do first. moreso, who.

“yeah uh, take these fuckin’ clothes off before i rip ‘em off. alright?” it’s almost a threat, but you practically vibrate in excitement.

the two of you race inside, and by the time you’ve reached your bed you’re only wearing your skirt, panties and bra. you approach the bed excitedly, stomach bursting with butterflies but apparently it’s not quick enough for rafe’s liking because he effortlessly lifts you under the arms and tosses you onto the bed like you’re nothing, your squeal muffled into the pillow. he’s chasing you up the bed on his knees, and when you try to push yourself up by the hands to readjust yourself — rafe shoves you back down.

your skirt has ridden up to your waist, and when you helplessly glance over your shoulder from your arched position — rafes pulling his cock out all with one hand.

“look uh, i might… i might not last as long as i want to, alright i�� i was locked up for a long time. my balls are god damn blue. i’ll… make it up to you.” he winces, slowly jerking himself as you lock eyes. rafe is careful not to overexcite himself.

your brows furrow, reaching back and peeling your panties to the side — revealing the soaked folds that have been waiting nearly a year just to feel him once more. “d’nt care rafey, want you to cum inside.” you whine, and he swears he nearly busts then and there.

“sssshiiiit.” he sighs out in a whisper, letting go of his own shaft to spread your glossy cunt with his thumb, appreciating the fat lips and tight holes. “bet you kept that shit so tight for me huh? holding out for your man n’shit, that right?”

“yes daddy. only want you inside.” you moan, arching harder for his viewing pleasure and he hums, his fat tip gracing your entrance.

“well you’re gonna get just that alright, hold on t’somethin’.”

knowing what he’s like, you scoop a pillow between your arms, hugging it close and sinking your teeth into the plush white. it had been too long, the stretch was going to be lethal.

[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ 🏠 ✩ domestic prompts

¹⁾ a basket of laundry left in a doorway

²⁾ a sticky note on a pillow

³⁾ colourful fridge magnets

⁴⁾ a laden clothesline

⁵⁾ plates of fresh-cut fruit

⁶⁾ towels warm from the dryer

⁷⁾ the whistle of a kettle

⁸⁾ messy bedsheets

⁹⁾ books stacked on a nightstand

¹⁰⁾ a cupboard of mismatched mugs

¹¹⁾ fresh-brewed tea

¹²⁾ a sink full of dishes

¹³⁾ pictures lined up on a mantlepiece

¹⁴⁾ sun-warmed floorboards

¹⁵⁾ odd socks

¹⁶⁾ overflowing paper grocery bags

¹⁷⁾ a steamed-up bathroom mirror

¹⁸⁾ dinner left in the oven to keep warm

¹⁹⁾ a porcelain teapot

²⁰⁾ mismatched cutlery

²¹⁾ potted herb plants lined up on a windowsill

²²⁾ a stocked bar cart

²³⁾ a teeming closet

²⁴⁾ cold tiles

²⁵⁾ a shared bath

²⁶⁾ rooms decorated with trinkets

²⁷⁾ a jewellery dish

²⁸⁾ shoes left by a doorway

²⁹⁾ a faded portrait in an old frame

³⁰⁾ soft lamplight

³¹⁾ the drone of a ceiling fan

³²⁾ homemade lemonade

³³⁾ a messy makeup vanity

³⁴⁾ faded coasters

³⁶⁾ lit candles

³⁷⁾ frayed couch cushions

³⁸⁾ a blanket draped over a sleeping form

³⁹⁾ creaky stairs

⁴⁰⁾ fresh-cut timber

⁴¹⁾ an overgrown garden

⁴²⁾ a spare room

⁴³⁾ a medicine cabinet

⁴⁴⁾ jasmine bath salts

⁴⁵⁾ soft pyjamas

⁴⁶⁾ bare feet on cold floorboards

⁴⁷⁾ sunday dinners

⁴⁸⁾ post scattered under the letterbox

⁴⁹⁾ family photos

⁵⁰⁾ an old armchair

⁵¹⁾ scrawled-on calendars

⁵²⁾ a roaring fireplace

⁵³⁾ reminders stuck to the fridge

⁵⁴⁾ boardgames

⁵⁵⁾ a dusty attic

⁵⁶⁾ smoke curling out of a chimney

⁵⁷⁾ evenings on the porch

⁵⁸⁾ a record player

⁵⁹⁾ tangled chargers

⁶⁰⁾ a chipped bathtub

⁶¹⁾ a silver serving tray

⁶²⁾ souvenir shot glasses

⁶³⁾ a blackout

⁶⁴⁾ movie nights

⁶⁵⁾ a late dinner party

⁶⁶⁾ half-finished crochet projects

⁶⁷⁾ a loose thread on a sweater

⁶⁸⁾ dog leads hung by the door

⁶⁹⁾ a leaning coatrack

⁷⁰⁾ a grocery list

⁷¹⁾ patterned dishes

⁷²⁾ bright teatowels

⁷³⁾ an empty drawer

⁷⁴⁾ vhs tapes

⁷⁵⁾ documentary reruns

[eggsdrawings]

Mission...accomplished?

my piece for the 2025 Dabihawks Secret Santa 🎁

[luckybyrdrobyn]

Dp dc au where Danny's hero/ghost appearance now comes with a funky cloak/cape that reflects what appears to be a night sky.

Through some scenario or another, it becomes known that this cloak is freezing cold, weather you're "borrowing" it and have it wrapped round you or he's just breezed past and washed you in chills. The cloak is cold.

Danny reveals, when asked, that it's cold bc "is space guys, the vacuum is cold" and everyone oohs and aahs and moves on.

Jump forward to some sort of attack or mission involving either some ice based villain or environment that leaves a hero or civilian shaking from chills, barely able to function.

Cue Danny, with no hesitation, removing his cloak and dropping it over the shivering victim's shoulders.

Everyone who knows about the cloak reacts with shock. The victim, however, to everyone's confusion, snuggles into the cloak, sighing in contentment.

Said cloak is no longer filled with void and stars and now glows a warm orange and flickers like flames.

Sure, most of space is cold, but every star is a sun, and it turns out Danny can change what patch of space the cloak reflects. He just prefers the cold.

The cloak becomes a fast essential for any movie night from then on.

[whumpbug]

this is probably an overdone trope but a personal fave of mine: whumpees with concussions

whether it’s from an explosion/accident or just a plain ol bonk on the kitchen counter. they’re my JAM

when the whumpee wakes up they’re confused and nauseous and disoriented and out of it. they’re not quite sure where they are or what happened but they do know there are gentle hands guiding them to sitting and muffled voices speaking to them

when the whumpee can’t vocalize anything except for ‘’my head hurts” because it does and they feel the unexplainable urge to tell the people around them that, maybe in hopes that someone will do something to ease the pain

whumpee being so exhausted but they aren’t allowed to sleep because it’s dangerous until they can get proper medical attention so caretaker (very reluctantly) has to keep resorting to increasingly uncomfortable ways to keep them awake (ex: slapping, pinching, shouting, shaking), which leaves whumpee whimpering and crying softly

when whumpee finally does get to sleep, it isn’t even that restful because caretaker has to wake them up every four hours and when they do they are greeted with the pitiful whines and groans of whumpees who just wants to rest

feel free to add to this (please do actually) but this has been in my brain and i needed desperately to share it with u all ദ്ദി´▽`)

[lavendersins]

Merlin overhears a bunch of nobles talking about how much he really gets away with, so he slowly pushes the boundaries.

Merlin, sitting patiently beside Arthur in a council meeting: My foot is injured, my lord.

Merlin, walking down the hallway, blatantly eating Arthur's food: I am testing the king's food for poison, my lord.

Merlin, wearing Arthur's crown: I am trying to see whether it needs to be resized, my lord.

Merlin, sitting on the throne: I am trying to see if the king would benefit from a cushion, my lord.

[masakuterarr]

HxH Blog AU: yeah idk... i am emberassed of myself

I am not saying anything.... there is nothing left to say... ENJOY AT LEAST I DONT WANNA HAVE MY SELF CONFIDENCE SHATTERED FOR NOTHING

[maybanksbaby]

⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪ rafe cameron core . . .

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves.

Read part 2 here !

Only barely proof-read, guaranteed to have lots of grammatical errors, English is not my first language and I am experimenting with my writing style <3

CW: smut, handjob (Aventurine receiving), dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), feelings of inadequacy, hurt/very little comfort, crying, mentions of death, at some points this seems like dubcon because Aventurine speaks of feeling “dread”, but it’s NEVER intended to be read as him not wanting to receive touch from reader, it is meant to convey how little he thinks he deserves this. The smut is soft and gentle, but Aventurine’s internal thoughts definitely are not <3

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

18+, minors will be blocked <3

Your touch is so kind. Soft and gentle, as if he is made of the finest porcelain, as if he is a fragile flower, as if he is delicate. It is cruel, he thinks, that he has made you think he is any less than a monster. It is cruel that he hasn’t pushed you away, when he knows he will devour you. It has become part of his nature.

But how can he push you away when you are so persistent? How can he push you away when you roll with his punches, when you go along with each and every one of his pushes and pulls? It is hard to keep you out when you insistently pry your way into what’s left of his soul, when you gaze upon the rotten corpse that he is and still claim him to be beautiful. He thinks you must be blind at best and naive at worst.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper reverently, and though Aventurine knows his body is, he also knows that is not the part of him you’re referring to. Not when your hand rests on his chest, above the empty cavern where his heart is meant to be.

You kiss his neck and he shivers. There’s a pit in his stomach, knotting his insides with dread.

He should tell you to stop, should warn you that he’s deceiving you, that he’s not the person you think he is. Should show you that he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, that he is a bad omen. But he can’t bring himself to. Not when being with you feels so good, not when he’s self-indulgent to a fault, and he can’t help himself with you. He is the worst mistake you could ever make, in part because he can’t even stop from letting you continue to make it.

His hands rest on the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair. It is unfair how good your touch feels, his back arching just from mere caresses upon his skin. You play him like he’s an instrument you’ve practiced for years, despite never having fucked him before. He digs his heels into your back as your hand wraps around his dick, and he whines into your shoulder when you lovingly stroke it.

“I love you,” you murmur as he pulls on your hair, as his nails dig into your skin, and he wants to cry. He will destroy you from the inside out, he knows, or maybe he will kill you before he gets the chance to. He can never keep the things he loves alive.

Your lips kiss his skin, and he moans brokenly as your thumb glides over the head of his cock, pushing down on the tip. His hips rock up to meet your hand, and he feels ashamed of how blatantly he allows himself to enjoy you, how blatantly he allows himself to use you. You deserve so much better, but you are the best thing that he has ever managed to get his bloodstained hands on, and so he can’t help himself. He wants you to remain unaware of how much better you could do. He wants you to stubbornly remain by his side even when he makes it hard for you to do so. He wants to bare every part of his being to you so you can see how little worth he is to you. He wants you to run from him before it’s too late.

But part of him knows he already has shown you himself, that you’ve seen who he is and you still love him. You must be stupid.

“Use me,” he begs you, wishing you’d do something with him to alleviate the guilt he feels, so it would at least be mutual. His hands cling to you, and he whimpers pathetically when you lean back to look down at him. “Use me, please. Please…”

And your eyes are so kind. Your eyes are so sweet and soft and human, and everything he is not.

“Shh,” you hush him, tenderly pressing a kiss to his lips. He sobs, feeling embarrassing tears fill his eyes as you press closer to him, the touch so caring and innocent yet so lewd as your hand tugs at him. “Just let me make you feel good, okay?”

And you do. You always keep true to your words, unlike him. It’s barely a minute later that his breath hitches and he keens, nearly wailing into your neck as he comes undone under your too loving hands. It’s obscene, and he feels filthy as his semen paints your hand and splatters on his lower stomach. He has soiled your perfect skin, has dirtied your perfect body. He hopes you will let go of him and wash yourself up, then leave him here, broken on the bed in the mess he’s created. That you will leave him to pick up the pieces of himself he has left. He is undeserving of you.

And yet he only feels your love swaddle him when his body relaxes, adoring praises and sweet words tumbling from your perfect lips as your perfect hands gently stroke his body, soothing him as if he is deserving. Your perfect body presses closer to him, no doubt getting his mess on your perfect abdomen as you almost lay yourself flat on him. You pepper perfect kisses all over his face, and he realises belatedly he’s crying. For the first time in ten years. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and he doesn’t know for what reason.

But you seem like you do know. You look so understanding, wiping his tears with an achingly kind, perhaps slightly sad smile, and you don’t ask him why.

“I’ve got you now, it’s okay,” you say instead. And you do, because you always keep true to your word.

And he is selfish, because he doesn’t stop you. He lets you clean him up, lets you kiss his tears away, lets you take care of him. Lets you climb into bed with him afterwards, unaware that you have brought the monster under your bed up into your loving arms. He hasn’t felt so much love since he was nine.

And he is selfish, because even though he can already feel his claws dig into your flesh as he holds you in return, he cannot bring himself to pull away. He can only hope he won’t dig in his heels when you eventually see reason and try to leave. He can only hope you will have the time to get away before he kills you.

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

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[hana-no-seiiki]

YAN! BOSS : I would kill for you.

OVERWORKED! READER: With all due respect, I just need a fucking break (or paid vacation).

[starry-bi-sky]

wolfpack. aka: if not friend, then why friend-shaped?

"Hey-- uh, Danny?" There's an almost imperceptible tremor in Tucker's voice.

Danny doesn't look up from what he's doing, his pencil scritching across his notebook as he tries to do another quadratic formula question. "Hm."

"What's -- uh -- what's with the dogs?"

He looks up now, and finally sees where Tucker is -- standing in the doorway of his room with an ashy look on his face and a skewed, nervous smile. He's got a white knuckle grip on the doorknob. Sam is wide-eyed behind him, and using him as a partial meat-shield.

Danny looks down to the two giant ghost wolves sprawled next to him lazily. One large green one with his head in Danny's lap, letting him use him as a prop-up for his notebook. Another equally large black one splayed against his hip, sleeping on her side with her head tilted inward to his calf.

Automatically, a grin tilts across Danny's face, and he lifts his notebook up to scratch behind the green one's ears. He opens a lazy eye, one that is bloody red with a ring of yellow around the pupil, before slipping it shut and leaning his head into Danny's touch. "This is Sirius and Procyon," he says, and reaches down to scratch Sirius' belly. "And they're not dogs, they're wolves."

"Great," Tucker says, his voice suddenly much smaller and faint, "Love that distinction."

Sirius makes a great big groan, and Danny's grin widens, his heart swelling with fondness. His hand slips away from her belly, and before he can put his notebook back down, Procyon pushes his head up his lap until his ear is against his stomach, demanding pets now too.

Sam peeks her head up from over Tucker's shoulder, "I think what Tucker's asking here is what are they doing here, Danny."

He shrugs, scratching under Procyon's chin. "They kinda just showed up. I tried sending them back to the Zone, but they keep returning." And they were weirdly intent on just following him around, which is the only reason he gave up on returning them. They weren't causing trouble, and they knew how to hide around the living. Plus, he just loves dogs. "So now I have two wolves living with me."

This, oddly enough, did not do anything to calm Sam and Tucker down. Tucker's mouth purses into a thin line, and he presses the sides of his palms to his lips in prayer. "How have your parents not found out about this?"

Danny wordlessly raises his hand, and his sleeve slides down to reveal a thin chain bracelet hooked around his wrist. He whistles sharply, and both Procyon and Sirius jerk their heads up to look at him, ears pricked up and eyes alert.

Silently, he points to his wrist and rattles it twice, and in unison both wolves stand up and pounce. Instantly, they turn into a respective, opaque black and green mist that swirls around the bracelet and forms into two, flat wolf charms.

Both wolves are posing in the stereotypical wolf howl, with little stars indented on the sides. Procyon's charm has the Canis Minor constellation engraved on it, while Sirius has the Canis Major.

Danny faces Sam and Tucker, and points at his wrist. "Like this."