#sunday prompts

[quietwingsinthesky]

Crobby AU prompt (last one 😅): Bobby and Crowley ended up raising Sam and Dean together somehow. Things turned out much better for everybody.

forces those old men to work together to raise those kids somehow asjdlaskjd

John Winchester's dying act is to trick the demon he summoned. Crowley has to respect the hustle. He doesn't get two souls. He gets custody of John's two boys, souls not included, and he has to give up Azazel's name to John's beneficiary, one Robert Singer.

Bobby nearly exorcises him, but that would break the contract, wipe the name from his mind. Technically, Crowley's not beholden to caring about his end, the boys are his whether he sticks around or not.

But he does. Stick around, that is. Call it an investment.

"Call it family, idjit." As usual, Bobby's right.

[hyperions-light]

Happy Sunday, everyone! A new prompt/challenge for you!

Writers: 2-4 people have witnessed the actions of your protagonist. Each one has a different perspective on the situation, and a different opinion of your main character. Have each character tell their version of events. You can’t use the same sentence in multiple perspectives.

Artists: Draw the same person/place/thing from four separate perspectives; each time you switch, change something about the subject drastically (I.e. height, color, dimensions, pattern, etc) but ensure that it is still recognizable as the original.

[melaerotica]

send me a "you did WHAT?" for my character to share an awkward sex story .

[wildwhims]

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 …

✦ a collection of prompts that can be considered nsfw, with a lot of teasing and tension driven prompts. adjust as needed ; send ‘ + reverse ‘ for sender and receiver to switch spots. Combine prompts by sending more than one.

「 SQUEEZE 」 : for sender to rest their hand on the receivers thigh , giving it a squeeze .

「 LINGER 」 : for senders touch to linger on the receiver.

「 MASSAGE 」 : for sender to give receiver a massage .

「 LOTION 」 : for sender to rub lotion into the receivers skin

「 SLIP 」 : for senders hand to slip between the receivers legs.

「 TUG 」 : for sender to tug on the receivers hair

「CLIMB 」 : for sender to climb into receivers lap

「PULL 」 : for the sender to pull receiver into their lap

「BITE 」 : for sender to bite the receiver ( include the location )

「 MARK 」 : for sender to leave hickies on receiver

「 BARE 」 : for sender to undress in front of receiver

「 HELP 」 : for sender to help receiver undress

「 GRIND 」 : for sender to grind against the receiver

「 HOT 」 : for sender and receiver to share a heated kiss

「 OOPS 」 : for sender to accidentally send receiver a risqué image.

「 CHIME 」 : for sender to purposefully send receiver a risqué image.

「 WHISPER 」 : for sender to whisper something suggestive in receivers ear

「 HOLD 」 : for sender to hold receivers throat

「 THROW 」 : for sender to throw receiver onto the bed

「 PRESS 」 : for sender to press receiver against a wall and kiss them

「 CAUGHT 」 : for sender to catch receiver pleasuring themselves

「 LIGHT 」 : for sender to touch the receiver with a feather light pressure.

「 INNER 」 : for sender to kiss along the inside of receivers thigh

[rocksama24]

The light of the family.

You're like a lighthouse, beckoning everyone with your light while burning yourself alive.

Good luck to everyone pulling for her!

[kbsd]

the legend of ron speirs

roland aimed his thompson gun he didn't say a word...

[salsedinepicta]

The hanged man understands that his position is a sacrifice that he needed to make in order to progress forward [...] His upside down state can also symbolize the feeling of those that walk a spiritual path, for they see the world differently. Where there are others that do not understand the need to sacrifice, you see it differently.

Sacrifice Sunday: Justice / Martyrdom / Greater Good, for @andersweek2025

Ps. I'll use this post to thanks the organizers and mods of the event 🩵 this has been so fun, and I've loved to see all the works that people created!

[stickyspeckledlight]

“Sunday, I’m thinking of leaving Penacony. Of course I’ll be back one day! It’s just… both you and Robin have become so incredible, and it seems I’m the only one who hasn’t changed… I want to do more too, it doesn’t seem fair that I’m always relying on you.”

Doves are happier in cages. If not, then merely make it a matter of time.

(Speckled's End of Year Interaction Prompts, 12/2/24 ~ 1/1/25)

Unlike you, trembling despite the courage you built up, Sunday remains poised and perfect, perched on the couch across the coffee table. Legs crossed, hands folded, smiling patiently and caringly before a spread of tea and snacks: it's an insignificant image, one that will last for barely a moment, but emblematic of everything you aren't.

When you sit, it is nothing more than a mere imitation of Sunday's. Your forms may match, but your demeanor? What is there to even say about your pitiful demeanor, timid, shy thing you are? Your heart always hammers with fearful anticipation that you will do something wrong; what exactly that is doesn't matter, only that you sense and fear its inevitability. Your hands clam and fidget, despite your best efforts. In fact, aside from attempting to imitate Sunday, you got gloves so you wouldn't be able to sand your nails down. Your legs clutch together tightly, afraid that if you stop tensing for even a moment, a knife will be lodged in your back. Afraid that whoever sits in front of you will find fault in you, so execute a plan because surely, surely they will outwit you no matter your efforts.

Although you've greatly improved from when you first met Sunday---you were barely able to even handle playing with other children for more than a few moments---you still aren't where you want to be. You still aren't sure if you'll be able to reach that point, at this rate.

Sunday and Robin are wonderful, wonderful people. You love them wholeheartedly, for staying by your side for so long. For being your crutch when times got hard, when people got to be...too much.

But you aren't a child anymore. You're an adult. If anything, it's a bit pathetic how little you've changed from that child, especially considering you're the siblings seniors by a decent few years. You're supposed to be the one nurturing them---not the other way around.

You're truly thankful for everything that they've done for you---but it's time for you to spread your wings, and learn and grow on your own. It's time to grasp independence and become the crutch for these two whom you are so indebted to.

And that means leaving Penacony.

You're still nervous, and hell, you still kind of want to cancel everything, but you knew that you'd have these feelings, so you've made sure to bury yourself in too deep to leave the situation you've created for yourself. You've applied for a job permit to work on the Xianzhou Luofu; and you're starting in a week or two and, for all intents and purposes, completely locked into living there for a good number of years. You've made the deposits, filled the paperwork---even if you wanted to, there is no backing out. If you remain perched here, all that will accomplish is disappointment filling your heart at how you got so far, yet at the end tapped out. You refuse to do that to yourself---for your sake.

And surely, Sunday will understand.

But he doesn't respond in the way you were anticipating---or, maybe, in the way you were hoping.

Kind, wonderful person he is, Sunday frowns apologetically, expression a perfect embodiment of regret, "How long have you felt that way? That you're a burden on me and my sister."

You bite your cheek, unsure of how to respond, but you decide that, if you're already this far in telling a truth you've hidden from him for so long, that you'll keep telling the truth. You've known him for so long, so it's not truly a big deal that you're here, doing this. "A...a long, long time. I guess they call it a guilt complex? It's just that---that," you temper yourself, reducing the heaving breath you wish to take into a somewhat measured inhale, "I don't want to live like this anymore. You and Robin have always had my back, and...I want to start doing that too. I want you two to know I'll have you back in the way you've had mine."

"Dear," Sunday so sweetly says, "you do have our backs. Neither of us have ever doubted that."

"How though?" you struggle, "I'm just...I can still barely talk to people, and I've never even been that smart. I can't even clean right!"

"And?" Sunday raises an eyebrow---going from apologetic to assertive. Not a cruel assertiveness---a kind one, meant to comfort you, meant to make you feel better about yourself, "There is no price for love. It is given, and me and Robin have never expected anything from you---never will. There is no need for repayment, when there was never any transaction being made in the first place. You can stay here, in Penacony."

You suck in a sharp breath. "No. I'm not. I---I don't care whether you think this is repayment for not, Sunday," your heart hammers, threatening to crush your ribs to dust, but you'll take it---you'll take it over another day spent here, feeling useless and hating yourself for the guilt of inaction, "If not for you, then this is for me. I can't live like this anymore, Sunday. I don't want to. I know you two care for me! And I care for you too." You swallow, "You said love has no price, right? Well, this is something I want to do because I love you both. Let me love you two as someone who's grown---" you shakily smile, "---as someone who can hold a decent conversation for long than fifteen minutes, at least," you joke, hoping that it will lighten the mood just a little.

There is no shift in Sunday's demeanor. "What of your methods? What will you do when you leave Penacony?"

"I got a work permit and everything set up at the Luofu," you answer, "I've already applied for a job even, and I start soon."

Sunday frowns, "But why do all that on your own? Need I remind you of how easily overwhelmed you are?" He smiles sympathetically, "You have made great strides with yourself, [Name], and there is nothing I have but admiration for you: for taking this step forward, and for seeking betterment with yourself. But you need to be honest with yourself, [Name]: this is no step, but a leap right into a mawing chasm." Those words merely vocalize your own fears, and make you falter just ever so slightly, "That's the point. And besides, I...I think I trust myself, that I'll be able to rise to whatever troubles that meet me on the Luofu?"

He eyes you with a near incredulous emotion, "Earlier today, you excused yourself from the desk an hour into your shift, and spent three in the bathroom, did you not?"

"W-well---"

"Yesterday, you burned yourself cooking an egg. You added too much oil, and if not for the servant's quick action, you would've poured water on that flaming pan instead of covering it with a lid and removing it from heat," he bluntly informs, "The day before that, you mixed up the appointment times of a high ranking official and the janitor. If not for my own intervention, Old Oti would've been knocking right on our doors, and there would be a great delay in the implementation of the economic policies set to be ready by the end of the year. Policies which, many other policies that are being implementation are designed around."

"I, I---"

"[Name]. Do you truly think you can do this?" Sunday firmly asks, not kind, not cruel, but painfully honest, "Do you think you can manage living on your own, when you're hardly able to operate with what meager tasks I've assigned you?"

It's a bit pathetic, but being faced with the brunt of your inadequacies and incompetence makes your eyes tear up. It makes what confidence you were able to muster crumble. It makes you want to sob and apologize for not being enough---again.

Sunday grasps your hand, pulling you from the edge of a vortex, "I admire your desire to be better today than you were yesterday. But let's have you take baby steps," he softly whispers, drawing himself closer to you---practically kneeling before you, "Stay here, on Penacony. Where I'll always be here, having your back. Where you and I can spend the most time together---love each other."

Your will cracks, and you feel it shatter when he brings his forehead to yours, and beckons you to close your eyes. It's something you've done with each other ever since you were children.

"You might think you are not enough," he whispers, breath warmly feathering against your nose. It smells like tea and strawberry cake. "And you are flawed. So, so, so deeply flawed, like anyone else." You feel a knife twist into your heart at the truth he gives, and pathetically, your mouth wobbles. He shushes you, caressing your cheek in comfort. "Me and Robin love you despite that. We always will. If we didn't, we wouldn't have stuck by you for as long and unceasingly as we have."

You feel so, so sorry for doubting them. So sorry for how you're so incompetent that you were ready to jump into a gaping maw---hell, you probably hurt Sunday too with that, by making him think he wasn't enough---that him and Robin combined weren't, and that realization twists so deeply into your that tears finally fall from your eyes. "I'm sorry," your voice cracks, and highly pitched with sorrow, "I'm so sorry, Sunday." And once you start, you can barely stop your chest from heaving, "I'm sorry, Aeons I'm sorry---"

Sunday immediately puts your head into the crook of his neck; and you only sob harder, knowing how much effort he puts into his appearance, yet so readily letting you ruin it in an instant if it meant comforting you out of the love in his heart. "Shhhh, don't be, dear. Never be."

A tender kiss presses to your temple, "All you have to do, dove, is live with us. With me."

And as his hand rubs soothing circles against your back, you feel a door shut---feel your back ache, even where there were never really wings in the first place---and lock you into a cage you never had any chance of escaping.

[m1d-45]

hourglass

summary: he's running very late for a very important date !

word count: ~1k

-> warnings: none :3

-> gn reader (you/yours) ++ takes place pre-fontaine !

taglist: @samarill || @sarienic || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

lyney’s schedule was not one with wide margins. every minute was accounted for, dedicated to an explicit purpose. his shows (preparing, checking the stage, checking props, checking the stage again—sorry, lynette) took a large portion of his time, but there was also his family (checking on freminet, checking on lynette, checking on the rest of the House, checking on freminet again—are you sure you’re alright?) and missions from father (steal this, leave that, don’t be heard, don’t be seen).

honestly, he barely had time to breathe most days. and that was fine! he rarely knew what to do without some problem to fix or task to complete. it was an unfamiliar feeling, and so he often took on extra work whenever he could. as such, he’d developed a bit of a knack for all the odd jobs you could think of: flower arrangements, finding lost things, getting stains out of clothes, cooking, any and everything.

he’d never had a problem with this. his life was crowded, but straightforward. he knew the answer to every problem, and if he didn’t, he knew who did.

this was, of course, before you entered the picture. now, the tasks he sought out felt too heavy to carry. yes, he wanted to help his family, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was only so many times he could show up late before you’d stop trying to invite him places, and that was the last thing he wanted.

you weren’t fatui, but you didn’t mind that he was and father had given him clearance so long as he was “responsible with his loyalties,” which was entirely achievable! what showman couldn’t juggle?

…him, apparently. because between helping lynette find her tea (someone had moved it) and keeping the local wildlife safe from foltz, he’d lost track of time. he still wasn’t used to a block of free time in his schedule, automatically trying to fill it before he could remember that there was a reason for it. and now, he was rushing through the streets of fontaine, fixing his cape as he all but ran.

you were sat outside the cafe in the same chair as usual, and he slows to a regular pace as he approaches to gather what remained of his appearance. you were reading a book, and he felt both proud that you hadn’t forced yourself to sit there plainly and also ashamed of the fact that it was his fault. regardless, he cleared his throat and called your name, sitting across from you and meeting your smile with his own.

your book was a mystery novel, one he easily enough got you talking about with a bit of prompting. judging by the place your bookmark held, you were a good ways through it, likely just before the reveal. just from your summary, he could easily guess the culprit, but what was the point in ruining your fun?

“so, who do you think it is?”

there were few things lyney liked more than seeing the people he cared for happy and in their element. you got to share your theories and he could listen to your voice out of all the bustle in the city, ordering ile flottante to have an excuse to keep quiet. your own tea was growing cold, but he could always get you another. would picking up the tab make up for his tardiness? it probably shouldn’t.

around halfway through your defense of the butler—cleared by his alibi, but still deemed suspicious by the bartender—you stopped, looking somewhere over his shoulder. he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary..

your hand rose to tap at your face, just at the corner of your lip. “you’ve got icing on you, by the way.”

ah. well, wasn’t that the perfect topping to his evening?

he grabbed a napkin and quickly wiped across the offending cheek, but you shook your head. “no, the other one.”

at least you were smiling? that made his mistake worth it. he was usually a tidy eater—but he also usually didn’t order flottante, since it was usually too sweet for his liking. today, he’d decided to give it a try, and look where that had gotten him…

he told you as such, and you laughed. he liked hearing you laugh. laughter meant happiness, and happiness meant a job well done. maybe he should get it more often?

“are you doing this intentionally?”

he folded the napkin twice, eyes on you. “doing what intentionally?”

“you missed it twice.” oh, archons- “here, just sit still.”

he didn’t have much time to protest before you were taking your napkin in hand, carefully swiping it an inch or so to the side from where he’d guessed. like him, you folded the mess inside, but unlike him you actually had something on yours, a pale gold in the afternoon light. the whole interaction had lasted maybe a second or two, but it stuck in his head for far longer.

you put a lot of trust into him, more than he knew what to do with. people were not typically fond of the fatui, and even less fond of the magician who could snatch their wallets before they could blink (nevermind that he’d had to learn that skill to survive). it was strange that he could make the same mistake over and over and your faith that he would show never wavered.

not that he ever wanted to give you a reason to. he always kept his promises to those he loved.

[rainbow-rebellion]

You put your arms around me and I’m home

Inspired by X

[quietwingsinthesky]

gut eight for me please. kitty

>problem: don't know any of eight's other companions >solution: let eight interact with characters I do know >rose noble sure was casual about keeping an injured alien in her shed, huh. almost like she'd done it before.

The Doctor wakes up, not in the same alley that he was stumbling through in a haze of blood loss and pain but somewhere warm and soft. He gingerly opens his eyes, but the light that illuminates the room isn't so bright that he even has to squint. He hears a sharp breath and turns his head towards it. There's a girl with his blood drying under her nails and a look on her face that's half hope, half fear. "You're alive," she says. "I don't know what I was going to do if you didn't wake up."

The Doctor tries to sit up, but his abdomen screams in pain. His hand flies down, expecting to find himself still bleeding out, but it skims along a mostly dry bandage instead. He pokes at it and feels the twinge of skin pulled too tight beneath and the pinprick pains of stitches. He looks back up at the girl, and her voice shakes a little when she says, "I don't know how I did that, either. I mean, I sew, but that's completely different, that's-"

"You may have saved my life," the Doctor says. That's a relief to her, he can tell. He frowns. Unless he's been yanked off-planet, she should be human. "You didn't call an ambulance, did you?" He'd rather not walk away with the stitches so fresh, but…

"No," she says. "I should have. But-" She falters, searching for an explanation she doesn't have, and eventually, all she can give him is, "I've never liked hospitals." He smiles.

"Me neither." He gets a better look at his surroundings. He's been laying on a pile of plush toys. He picks one up and finds it bloodstained. "Oh. Sorry."

"It's fine," she says. "Most of the ones I keep stacked up over there, I'm not selling. It'll wash out." He turns over the toy in his hand.

From the oddly shaped head to the thick body, he can't help but ask, "Is this a Judoon?"

"A what?"

"A Judoon. Intergalatic police force. They…" He trails off at her expression.

"Holy shit, you really are an alien." She finally takes a step closer to him. "I thought I was crazy."

He holds out his hand. She steps forward again to take it. "I'm the Doctor."

"Rose," she says. "Rose Noble- Sorry, just the Doctor?"

"Just the Doctor." For a moment, she frowns, pursing her lips like there's something right on the tip of her tongue she can't place. It's the strangest thing; he's got the same feeling. He searches her face for answers, but she's just an ordinary human teenager. His mind slides right off of figuring out the source of how familiar she seems, no matter how he tries to focus. She sits down next to him and takes the Judoon plush from his hands, examining it like she's seeing her own work for the first time.

"I knew I had to help you," she says. "I didn't even know you were out behind our house, but it was like I could feel this weird pull. I had to." He pulls another plush out from under himself. A cyberman. He's surrounded by the cutest forms of his worst foes. He laughs softly as he squishes the cyberman's face. "I felt your pulse. I didn't think it could be real."

He holds out his wrist to her. Rose presses two fingers against it. Her eyes widen at the doubled heartbeats.

She looks up at him again, and for a moment, her eyes glow.

A reflection of the shed's light, something reassures him. Rose blinks, and it disappears.

"I have to find somewhere better to hide you than my shed, though. If Mum finds you in here, she'll kill you." He nods.

"My ship isn't far from here," he tells her. "Could I keep one of these, Rose?" At that, she looks delighted.

"Absolutely. Any of them."

(When he leaves Earth again, after asking Rose to come—a grin, then hesitation, then she looks back home and he knows, already, what she's going to say before she says it, "I don't want Mum to come home and find me missing. Maybe… next time?" but he does promise her, and means it, next time—and pinpointing where his attacker has fled back through space, there's a tiny plush dalek sitting on his TARDIS console, the most and only adorable one in the entire universe.)

[hyperions-light]

Hello, it’s Sunday prompts time!

For anyone new, on Sundays I do writing/drawing prompts/challenges, and you can do them and attach them to the post or tag me, or whatever you prefer, and I’ll rb and comment!

For writers: Write a scene containing at least three characters that contains NO dialogue tags (e.g. [character name] said). The aim is to make each voice unique enough that it is obvious to the reader who is speaking.

For artists: Choose a distinctive/unusual article of clothing or accessory, and design a character who would normally wear it.

[thequietkid-moonie]

After jail and depression Sunday has become quite the softy

wich i absolutely love honestly, i just couldn't stand him when he was the head of the family with that weird holy outfit

Now, let me share a thought of Yandere Sunday, like when he still was in Penacony he would probably be possesive, in my eyes he will always be a worshiper type but in this is pretty lay back, he just thinks his darling is too good for this world so he need to build a world worthy of his darling, somewhere his darling can be happy and safe forever, kinda positioning himself as some kind of guardian angel

hehe

But once he lost everything he would be trying so bad to don't think about his darling and even avoiding then because of the shame, he sees how foolish he was back then and feels ashame of anything he could have ever tried to do to his darling (even if he haven't made anything drástico yet), but, in all honestly, he didn't changed much, he is still the silly worshiper who sees himself as a guardian angel, the diference is that now he doesn't have anything and needs to learn about humans and life, so now he holds his darling even higher, as if it could be the answer he is seaking for (wich only lead him to now being incredibly dependant of his darling)

[luxaofhesperides]

For the ghostlights drabbles: “Say my name” with a favor being called in?

Duke had saved Phantom years ago, back when he was just out of high school and working to take down a branch of the government that was kidnapping and experimenting on people, targeting magic users and metas. Phantom had been working on his own to take them down, and they met in the middle, trashing a lab and freeing as many people as they could.

They had managed to shoot his back, knocking him down and making him bleed a glowing green. Phantom couldn’t move, protecting two kids with his body, and Duke couldn’t reach them in time before they were taken away by another swarm of agents. 

He was able to go after them in time, free Phantom and the kids, and evacuated the victims before Phantom rained hell down on the facility.

At the end, standing in the background as they watched paramedics treat the victims and take them towards the nearest hospitals, Phantom had turned towards him and thanked him.

Or rather, he thanked the Signal and offered him a bracelet with a rounded orb of ice, glowing faintly in the dark. If you ever need me, he had said, Hold this, and call me name.

Phantom vanished once the last of the victims were transported to a safer location, and Duke hadn’t seen him since.

He’s kept up with news about Phantom as best he can, but from what he could tell, Phantom is based primarily in Amity Park, Illinois, and the town is fiercely protective of their hero. News rarely leaks out of there, and with them running on their own servers and independent internet, it was nearly impossible to get in from the outside. 

Phantom remained a curious and distant figure in Duke’s life. He holds onto the bracelet still, guarding it carefully and sometimes running his fingers over the ice that never melts.

But he doesn’t call in that favor. He’s never to.

At least, not until now.

Sucking in a breath, Duke prepares himself and holds the orb of ice in the palm of his hand. He’s in civies, unable to hide his identity for this, and closes his eyes. “Phantom,” he says.

For a moment, nothing happens. Duke blinks his eyes open and frowns, mind already forming new plans to contact Phantom. Then the ice goes bitingly cold, almost painful, and the temperature in the room drops dramatically. The ice lifts up from his hand, floating in the air, then cracks open.

White-blue light spills out of it, growing brighter as it seems to swallow up the room entirely. Duke hurries to back up, an arm thrown up to protect his eyes. His breath mists out before him and he shivers as the sound of ice cracking fills the room.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the light disappears and the cold fades away like a bad dream. 

Slowly, Duke lowers his arm and looks up at Phantom, floating in the middle of his living room with a crown made of ice, engulfed in blue fire, hovers above his head. He looks older, more regal, holding his head high. 

He regards Duke carefully for a minute, then tilts his head and says, “Signal?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Man, I’m so glad you came.”

“You… need help with something? You’re calling in your favor now, right?”

Duke nods. He understands Phantom’s confusion; being in the hero business means that favors like these tend to be used only during the most hopeless of times, when the world is close to ending, when the chances of getting out of a situation alive is close to impossible. It’s exactly the kind of thing Duke was expecting to call Phantom in for.

Not the kid sleeping on his couch.

“You’re a ghost, yeah?”

Phantom blinks at him. “Ghost king, now. Why?”

“Well…” Duke rubs the back of his neck, nervously. “I didn’t really know who else to call, and I can’t do this on my own since I’m not a ghost. But this kid got attached to me and won’t leave, so now I’m taking care of her and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know why you think I have any experience with kids but—”

“She’s a ghost.”

Phantom stops short. “Ah. I see.” He floats down until his feet touch the floor, and then he’s standing like any other person. “Where…?”

Duke looks past Phantom’s shoulder, and Phantom turns to follow his gaze. Chelsea, the ghost girl, looks to be around nine years old and is fast asleep on the couch, curled up under Duke’s softest blanket.

“Signal,” Phantom says quietly, “What, exactly, is the favor you need from me?”

“You can say no,” Duke starts. “I get that this is a lot. But I need help raising her. And since you’re a ghost, I figured you could help me learn about the ghostly side of things. You don’t have to raise her with me or anything! Just… I would appreciate any help you’re willing to give me.”

Phantom doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at Chelsea, an unreadable expression on his face. 

On the couch. Chelsea shifts in her sleep, brows furrowing as she makes a choked noise in the back of her throat.

Moving on autopilot after so many nights of this routine, Duke kneels next to the couch, fishing one of her hands from beneath the blanket. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes, keeping it a slow rhythm to pull her gently from her nightmare. She settles down in just a minute, brow smoothing out as she continues to sleep. 

The silence grows and Duke is all too aware that his heart is the only one beating. 

He doesn’t hear Phantom move. Doesn’t realize he’s right next to him until he sees Phantom’s hand reach out towards Chelsea. When Duke looks, Phantom is sitting on the floor next to Duke, looking at Chelsea with something soft and devastated in his eyes. His hand hovers about her head for a long moment, then slowly lowers to rest on her head. 

The touch looks gently, barely putting any pressure on her head, but it’s enough to make Chelsea’s eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. She stares at Phantom with wide eyes, then sits up and looks between him and Duke.

“Who are you?” she asks in a small voice that makes Duke want to stand against the world to keep her safe. 

Phantom smiles. It’s casual and charming and makes him look like anyone else, as if he’s not a powerful king from a realm unreachable to humans. “Hi there,” he says, “I’m Danny. I’m a ghost like you. Signal called me and asked me to meet you.”

The Ghost King is good with kids. Who would have thought?

Chelsea looks at him for confirmation and only relaxes when he nods. “I’m Chelsea. What do you mean ghost? I’m not dead.”

Both he and Phantom tense, carefully keeping their expressions neutral. She hasn’t told him much at all, just that her parents were gone and forgot her and she got hurt, so she wanted to stay with ‘Mr. Signal’ because he’s a hero and heroes keep people safe and he was the only one who was Black like her. Duke hadn’t had the heart to say no, and began searching for her family, only to find that her parents had fled the state, and likely the country, after killing their only child through neglect and a dangerous environment. 

It was then that he realized that her powers were not because she was a meta, but because she was ghost.

It still hurts to realize how young she is, how much of her life had been stolen from her in an instant. Duke hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her, instead choosing to let her grow comfortable in his presence, get them both settled into a routine now that he was her primary guardian. 

“I know it sounds scary,” Phantom says, “And you may not want to believe me, but it’s true. I’m sorry that you died so young, but that just means you get to hang out with me and other ghosts from now on!”

Chelsea crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “I am not dead,” she says.

“Cici, I’m sorry to say this, but you are,” Duke cuts in. “That’s why I called… Danny. You have new powers as a ghost, and he can help you get used to them.”

“I’m not dead!” she says again.

“Kid,” Phantom begins, but Chelsea shakes her head hard and hops off the couch.

“I’m not lying! Watch, I’ll prove it to you!” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose, concentrating. Her hands curl into tight fists by her sides, and the glow around her grows dim. Two faint, stuttering rings of light appear around her waist. They flicker and wobble in the air, as if weak and uncertain of their own existence, then split apart, one moving up towards her head while the other falls to her feet.

Beside him, Phantom sucks in a sharp breath, but Duke can’t turn to see what’s wrong when he’s trying to take in the sight of Chelsea suddenly full of vibrant color, looking more solid that he’s ever seen her, very much alive.

“See?” she says proudly, lifting her arms and doing a spin to show off her right she was. “I told you I’m not dead!”

“No, you’re not,” Phantom agrees, sounding shell-shocked. When Duke is finally able to look away from Chelsea to check on him, he looks awed. There’s the smallest smile on his face, just the slightest upturn of his lips, but it makes him look softer.

Duke turns his attention back to Chelsea before he can be caught staring. “Cici, can you come here for a second?”

She goes before he’s finished speaking, crossing the space between them in a single jump, then grins up at him. Her hair is a bit of a mess, the two buns he managed to get her hair into falling askew. He makes a note to visit the old aunties in the Narrows later to ask them to teach him how to do hair. For now, he holds out a hand and Chelsea drops an arm into it.

It seems to good to be true, having her be alive, but her pulse is steady and strong when he presses his thumb against the inside of her wrist. 

“Well,” he says, leaning back and letting go of her arm. “You certainly proved us wrong.”

Chelsea doesn’t have much time to look smug before PHantom quietly says, “You’re like me.”

“What?”

“You’re like me,” he tells Chelsea. “A halfa.”

She tilts her head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Someone who is half human and half ghost. Both dead and alive.”

Duke blinks, taking in the words, then turns to face Phantom so quickly he’s worried he might give himself whiplash. Halfa, he said. Like me, he said. 

And sure enough, two rings of light, bright and strong, appear around Phantom’s waist before splitting in half, moving over his entire body. 

Gone is the Ghost King, all powerful and adorned in dark clothing with a crown of ice above his head. In his place is a guy who looks to be Duke’s age, eyes a deep blue and his black hair messy, feet set solidly on the floor. He looks completely normal, completely human, and no longer an impossibility.

“You still up for learning how to use all your new powers?” Phantom asks.

Chelsea grins. “Yeah!” And then, with a quick flick of her eyes going from Phantom to Duke that he almost misses, very innocently asks, “Are you going to stay with us then?”

“I… don’t know?” Phantom looks to Duke for an answer.

Already, Duke can see this going two ways. The correct way forward, the normal one, has Phantom popping in every so often, taking Chelsea out for a few hours to work on training her and her powers. It’s easy and routine and they can keep their boundaries uncrossed and be professional. 

The other path is what Duke wants most that he shouldn’t impose onto the literal Ghost King. He could have Phantom living with them while he’s on Earth and out of Amity Park, having a place at the table, a section in the closet for his own clothes, a quietly domestic night together while Chelsea sleeps where they can get to know each other more, get to know each other outside of news reports and texts on a screen.

“You can stay with us if you want,” Duke offers, casually, “It might keep my apartment safe from her powers acting up on their own again.”

“Are you sure? I could always just fly in on the weekends or something.”

“I’d appreciate having you around. So you can help Cici.”

“If you don’t mind,” Phantom says, looking away. Like this, fully alive with a beating heart, it’s easy to see the blush steal away across his cheeks. 

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either!” Chelsea pops in, looking far too gleeful by their awkward conversation.

Duke can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than he had in ages. The relief of knowing that Chelsea is alive, for the most part at least, eases the guilt of thinking he had been too late to save her, that there was no chance she could have made it out and had a future, makes him feel weak. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks hits him all at once and he wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twelve hours.

“Alright, squirt,” he says, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s late. We can talk more in the morning, so go to bed. In your actual bed this time, not on the couch.”

Chelsea stands up taller, ready to argue, but Duke gives her a Look™ and she quickly shuts her mouth, nods, and drags her feet back to her room (the former guestroom he can never give any of the other Waynes ever again, once they find out about her). 

Sighing, Duke collapses onto the couch once he hears the door shut behind her. Phantom joins him after a few seconds, sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch. The cushion moves beneath his weight, another reminder of how solid and alive he is right not.

Duke wants to touch him, to reach out and feel for himself his pulse, the warmth of his body, his chest lifting with each breath. 

He doesn’t move. He stays where he is, hands carefully still, and tries to think past the dizzying thoughts of she’s still alive, I’m not too late, he’s still here, he’s alive.

“Rough week?” Phantom asks, voice purposefully light.

“Something like that.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can. Not after everything. My mind’s too loud right now.”

Phantom shifts closer to him, hesitant in a way that Duke has never seen before in him, and asks, “Want me to stay with you until you mind quiets down some?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks, Phantom.”

“You know, if I’m going to be around so often as Chelsea’s halfa mentor, then you might as well call me Danny.”

Truth be told, Duke didn’t think that was his real name. He’s glad to know it’s not. 

“Then call me Duke.”

“...Are you sure? You could still hide your identity from me.”

“Nah, I trust you. A name for a name, yeah?”

Danny smiles. “Duke,” he says, testing out the name, and it’s never sounded better than when it falls from Danny’s mouth.

“Danny,” Duke returns. He belatedly realizes that they’ve leaned towards each other, drawn together like gravity, stuck in each other’s orbit. It feels natural. It feels like this is where they’re meant to be.

Maybe he should be more cautious. They’ve only meant once before, after all. But he’s read all he could on Phantom and has seen how Amity Park loves him. He’s stressed and exhausted and trying to figure out how to look after a half-ghost child that’s already been dealt a bad hand in life. He should be keeping Phantom at a distance, watching over him carefully to ensure he isn’t a threat to Chelsea.

But Duke saw how he acted with Chelsea, so gentle and understanding and kind. That’s all he needed to see.

He may not know much about Danny, but he knows this: he is trustworthy.

Enough to entrust his identity to him.

Enough to entrust Chelsea to him.

It’s more than a favor; it’s a promise to walk this road together. 

There’s no one he’d rather do this with. 

“Thanks,” he says again, “For all of this. I know it’s a lot.”

Danny shrugs. “I don’t mind. Really. It’s nice to know there’s another halfa out there, no matter how she came to be one. Makes things feel less lonely.”

“Will you tell me more about halfas?”

“Later. Once you get some proper rest. We’ve got time, haven’t we?”

“We do,” Duke agrees, affection settling warm in his chest. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Learning how to control her new powers won’t be easy for Chelsea. Learning how to take care of her won’t be easy. Learning how to do things together, as Duke and Danny rather than the Signal and Phantom, won’t be easy. But Duke knows with a certainty he feels in his bones that they’re going to be fine.

So long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.

[wigglebox]

Merry Christmas! 🎄✨💙💚

[ethosiab]

[day 27] it pains me to post these out of order but i have not finished the off day drawing and just want this one posted