#sunday prompts

[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.)

[melaerotica]

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

[virtuerph]

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!

[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

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 107

“Hey uh pal, what you got there…?”

Grundy hummed a rumble, blinking slowly as he turned slightly towards his… what were they… Not an enemy, not a threat… they were… friend! Yes, they were the friend that didn’t mind that whenever he came back he came back different. 

He uncurled his arms slightly, proudly showing his friend what he’d found splashing in the water growling angrily. His friend blinked, mouth opening and closing for a few moments as he waited patiently, careful not to drop the squirming duo. 

“Babies,” he proudly declared as they let out squeaky roars. 

[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! 🎄✨💙💚

[stickyspeckledlight]

“Sunday… I know this is a lot to ask for, but can you bring some of my favorite music records back? Or at least play them on any instrument? I’ll even let you teach me if you have the patience for it!”

An ode to disharmony?

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

"You still yearn for such cacophonous melodies?" Sunday hums, pausing to look you in the eye. It's not a cold look, nor even an inquisitive one, but it looks through you all the same.

You swallow. "I like it," you say, cheeks ever so subtlety puffing. Your eyes should go rounded and narrow with it, expressing only the most palatable of anger. As it's been trained into you, of course. You've been so finely tuned, and you've learned to head the conductor with nothing less than the utmost obedience and immediacy.

So...he should be fine with letting you have some of your old music back, right?

You know, you know, you know! What a shameful thing you are, really! Of all things, this was the one vice you couldn't give up? Smoke weighed your tongue, and SoulGlad poured down your throat the same way you threw fistful after fistful of tokens away to the void...and you've given all of that up now. Not that you remember how, nor do you want to. Sunday is a man of intent, and there is nothing angelic about the soft whispers placed in your ear when you get restless. When you start to ask him if you can wake up. And he'll press his mouth to your ear, tenderly shackling you with his arms, and whisper to you that yes, he'll let you---let you go, even---but only if you remember what you asked him to forget. To come back into the world and its wonders, you can't dismiss its atrocities, either.

But all the same, you miss the scratch of a record, and the passionate, loud music that would follow. Delicately handling vinyls, sorting them out on your shelf, even the ones so dearly loved that they've been scratched beyond repair. Even if they're useless, you swore they'd always have a home, and that home would be yours. All yours. You feel a dull ache in your hands, desperate to grasp on vinyl...

But these days, your hands are only allowed the solace of his own. Orderly, clean leather.

"You do, don't you?" he simpers, "Where you'll even put in the rigor to learn an instrument at my behest."

You perk up. "You'll teach me?! Really?!" It's not often he grants your requests, if you even make them.

"I haven't said anything about that," he chides, "but you're that desperate?"

You don't say anything, swallowing. You're not sure what to say to that. If you say no, then would he dismiss this entirely? And if you say yes, will he think that you could do with...something you wouldn't want to remember---?

No, he wouldn't. You jolt yourself from your thoughts, disgusted with the fact you even had the gall to fear such a thing from him. Sunday is strict, yes, but he's not cruel. If you don't give him reason to be. But you're certain that 'yes' isn't a reason.

He doesn't give you the chance to say so, though.

"There is no shame in admitting you are," he tenderly tucks a hair behind your ear, assured of your answer (he's right), "it is natural for the weak to feel that way, trampled as they are by the strong. Desperate," he says, the word exhaled and disappointed. A gloved hand comes to intertwine your fingers, "to have anything of their own. Within control and domain. Valid, understandable feelings---but that's all it is."

Your fingers clamp on his, just as he conducts you to do. Your desire still rife in your mind, but always second to his.

"Emotion is a volatile thing, dove. But we can work through that, like we've always had," he stands, as if you two ever were equals, "After that...a trip to the orchestra does not sound so remiss."

[quietwingsinthesky]

Something with the master getting relief from the drums? Bonus points if the “comfort” is insidious in a background way w him not not realizing bc it’s too good

<3 gently mindbreaks him <3 for his own good <3

It’s the sweet relief of quiet that has the Master leaning into the Doctor’s hands.

“There we go,” the Doctor murmurs. There’s nothing but silence and him, and the Master hasn’t felt so relaxed in his entire life.

He was upset earlier. He can barely reach the feeling through the liquid comfort filling his mind. Something about what the Doctor offered him to drink, and the thick feeling of his tongue, and heavy weight of his limbs as he clambers into the Doctor’s lap. He tries to call the anger back, but all he can feel are pleasant waves lapping around his mind again and again.

There’s a beat on the edge of his awareness, growing louder. Returning.

The Doctor squeezes the back of his neck. His eyelids fall shut, leave him in the dark with the Doctor’s touch and the Doctor’s voice to hold onto.

“They’re persistent,” the Doctor says, frustrated. “Fine. Let me take some more out. We’ll see if that gets rid of them.”

He’s too slow to think or react as the Doctor’s mind presses into his. For a moment, he has the energy to fight, but not the means. His body tenses as the Doctor shushes him. He presses the Master down, down, down, under the water. It’s calm and quiet below. He melts under the Doctor’s hands as he holds him, in his mind and in reality.

Something flows out of him into the deep water. He frowns against the Doctor’s shoulder.

But it’s so quiet. It doesn’t matter what he’s lost as long as it’s quiet.

His thoughts come slower. Every feeling turns into relaxed joy. He tries to remember who he is. The Doctor drowns him gently and only draws him up again when he’s satisfied. The drums are gone again, even above the surface.

“All better, Koschei?” the Doctor asks. The name sinks into him, remembered and accepted.

(Wasn’t there something else? Hadn’t he made himself into someone-)

Koschei leans into the Doctor, the source of his peace, always his friend, the only thing in the universe he thinks about or needs. All these things become perfectly true, and he doesn’t notice the Doctor’s mind curled around his own to whisper them to him while he’s so empty of his own thoughts.

He’s never been more happy than he is lazing under the Doctor’s hands as they pet down his spine and through his hair. His touch makes Koschei’s skin tingle, drawing his attention to the Doctor’s hands and away from what the Doctor’s doing to his head. It’s all so easy.

Vibrations at the back of his skull. He whines into the Doctor’s shoulder.

“Back again?” the Doctor says, but he sounds a little too pleased. Koschei can’t remember if he should be worried about that. Why he would be. The Doctor only wants to help him. He can keep the drums away, if Koschei lets him do anything he wants. Though, Koschei’s not sure that there’s a choice, or if he’d even be able to make it, so maybe it’s best that the Doctor doesn’t ask, only plunges him back down into the water in his head and all that’s left of the Master slowly drains away.

Koschei blinks sleepily into the Doctor’s shoulder. He’s not sure who that is that he’s feeling slip from his fingers. Someone important? He’s not sure who he is, either, but the Doctor’s most loved friend.

It doesn’t matter, he decides. As long as it’s quiet. He lets his mind be washed out to blissful emptiness.

[myokk]

Eloise is VERY studious but it’s just because she needs to prove herself. She’s very insecure that she started at Hogwarts so late & studies like crazy to catch up & so nobody can ever doubt her😤😤 She HATES some classes though and will do the bare minimum for them and is fine with getting a possible T in her OWLs (Beasts), unless she deems the subject important somehow (Divination), but with subjects she LOVES (Transfiguration and Arithmancy) she does a lot of extra work outside of what’s necessary.

She’s never been able to stay awake longer than 2 minutes in History of Magic🥲 she swears Professor Binns infuses his voice with some sort of somnolence charm…

Her two best friends are Imelda and Anne😇🙏they drag her along EVERYWHERE with them

[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

[mspaintbladie]

Sunren Week 2024 day 2 - Past Self Tiny birdies...

[mitamicah]

Day 7 of @kaarija-inktober is hair; now the Bolero seems no more maybe the boy should dye the hair käärijä green y'know ... to keep the colour connected to him and all (I am just kidding x'D but it was fun to draw him with green hair :3)

[heartstringsduet]

Once again I mad eit a seven paragraphs sunday 😂 Been working on some prompts I asked for, so have a bit of one I'm still working on. Thanks for the tag @ironheartwriter

“Baby, you gotta be quiet okay?” Diego whispers in a voice so shaky TK barely recognizes it.

He’s always had the power to stay calm and collected, to the point where TK had wanted him to strip out of that control sometimes and allow himself to be more vulnerable.

Diego is vulnerable now as he cradles TK’s face. His right index finger has this callus in the lowest knuckle, his left hand has this long scar across the palm. He has this curved line between his brows, this dip between bottom lip and chin, the widest dark eyes he's ever been lost in. TK has gotten to know and treasure every inch of Diego’s skin for the past year and a half. It trembles against his now.

“I already called the cops but they’re six minutes out and--”

“The cops?” TK interrupts. His own voice is eerily calm, the first responder coming out as needed. He grasps Diego’s wrists. “Baby. Take a deep breath and explain to me what we’re hiding from. I can only help if you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I love you.” Diego kisses him, his lips harder than they ever been, but so insistent in how he repeatedly presses pecks on TK’s lips like he means to imprint each one. “I never lied about that. You have to believe me.”

Someone knocks on the door. OPEN TAG &

@honeybee-taskforce @theghostofashton @liminalmemories21 @henrygrass

@pameluke @carlos-in-glasses @paperstorm @lemonlyman-dotcom

@ladytessa74 @freneticfloetry @never-blooms @lightningboltreader

@carlossreaders @literateowl @orchidscript @decafdino

@alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @corsage

@certifiedflower @firstprince-history-huh @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@tellmegoodbye @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @kiwichaeng

@butchreyes @goodways @irispurpurea @everlastingday

@nisbanisba @chicgeekgirl89 @nancys-braids

@rmd-writes @welcometololaland @bonheur-cafe