#this was absolutely prompted and it's been prompted for a while

[mapiforpresident]

Prompt 55 with Alessia Russo pls

Let's Make a Baby

Alessia x reader

warnings: baby

~~~

Amelia is perched on the living room floor, her little face serious as she cradles her favorite baby doll in her arms. She’s been engrossed in her make-believe world for a while now, talking softly to her doll about feeding times and naps, much like Katie and Caitlin do with their new baby. You’re cuddled on the couch with Alessia, her arm draped lazily around your shoulders as the two of you steal a rare moment of calm.

“Look at her,” Alessia murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “She’s so good with that doll. She’s definitely been taking notes from Katie.”

You hum in agreement, smiling as Amelia tucks the doll under a tiny blanket. Just as you’re about to comment on how cute she looks, Amelia looks up, her expression curious but completely earnest.

“Mama? Mummy?” she says, tilting her head.

“Yes, darling?” you reply, leaning forward slightly.

Amelia pauses for a moment before blurting out, “Can you and Mummy make another baby?”

You and Alessia freeze for half a second before bursting into laughter. Amelia stares at you both, confused but unfazed, as if she doesn’t understand what’s so funny.

“Oh, love,” Alessia says, trying to suppress her giggles. “That’s… quite the question!”

“Why do you want another baby, sweetheart?” you ask gently, brushing a curl from Amelia’s face.

“Because babies are cute!” she declares matter-of-factly, holding up her doll as evidence. “And I wanna be a big sister! I can help feed it and play with it, and it can sleep in my room!”

You glance at Alessia, who’s biting her lip to keep from laughing again. She leans in and whispers, “She has no idea how much work a real baby is.”

“No clue,” you whisper back, trying not to smile too wide. Turning back to Amelia, you say, “That’s very sweet of you, love. Being a big sister is a big job, though. Are you sure you’re ready for that responsibility?”

Amelia nods enthusiastically, her curls bouncing. “Uh-huh! I’ll be the best big sister ever! Like… like a superhero big sister!”

“Well, with a pitch like that, how can we say no?” Alessia teases, giving you a playful nudge.

Amelia beams at the perceived victory, then goes back to fussing over her doll, muttering about needing to change its nappy.

Once she’s distracted, Alessia leans closer, her voice low. “Well, Mama, what do you think? Shall we give her what she’s asking for?”

You smirk, tilting your head toward her. “Oh, so you’re saying we should start trying for another baby after she goes to bed?”

Alessia bursts out laughing, covering her face with her hand. “You’re terrible!”

“Am I wrong, though?” you tease, grinning at her.

She shakes her head, still laughing, but there’s a softness in her eyes as she looks at you. “Seriously, though… what do you think?”

“I think it’s time,” you say, your voice warm and steady. “We’ve talked about it for a while now, and I know Amelia would love it. I’m ready if you are.”

Alessia smiles, reaching over to intertwine her fingers with yours. “I’m ready, too. Let’s do it.”

That evening, after Amelia’s bedtime routine—a whirlwind of bubble baths, bedtime stories, and a heartfelt goodnight hug—she’s finally asleep in her room. You and Alessia settle back into the quiet of the living room, the earlier conversation still lingering in the air.

“Do you think she really understands what she’s asking for?” Alessia asks, her tone amused but thoughtful.

“Not a chance,” you say with a laugh. “But she’ll be an amazing big sister, even if she doesn’t know what it means yet.”

Alessia leans in, resting her forehead against yours. “I think we’re ready for this next adventure, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“And for the record,” Alessia adds with a cheeky grin, “you’re still terrible for that ‘trying for a baby’ comment earlier.”

You laugh, pulling her closer. “You love it.”

“Maybe,” she admits, her laughter joining yours as you begin planning the next chapter of your little family’s story.

~~~~

Feel free to leave a tip here. Not required at all and I still will write requests without it, but they are greatly appreciated and these requests are guaranteed in 2-3 days. I am an extremely broke college student and literally anything helps.

[sugarwarachan]

roll the dice - ft. sero hanta

pairing: sero hanta x roommate!reader

summary: It's Valentine's Day and Sero does his best to keep his horny thoughts to himself. He doesn't succeed.

cws: smut mdni, face sitting, sero hanta is a pussy-eating KING, dirty talk

based on this prompt list

"Wow," Sero whistles, while you teeter on one heel and hop into the other. That dress hugs every inch of you. "Someone’s lookin’ good. Hot date?"

You laugh, and fuck, he’s such an idiot, because the sound travels straight to his dick. He adjusts himself as subtly as he can and goes back to cooking dinner.

"Something like that.” You swipe on lip gloss in the hallway mirror. "He’s a coworker. I might have mentioned him?"

You’ve mentioned him 17 times. Not like Sero’s counting.

"Make sure he treats you right," is all he says instead, doing his best to ignore the cute little blush tearing across your face as you duck out the door.

Alone on Valentine’s Day, he thinks ruefully, settling his long frame on the couch. Alone on Valentine’s Day with a raging hot case of let-me-fuck-you-right-now for his roommate.

He should have turned down being your roommate the minute he saw you on Denki’s phone. If he had, he wouldn’t be this jealous of some random shithead taking you out for Valentine’s Day.

He considers texting Denki just to have someone to commiserate with, but the guy is probably doing his best to woo Jiro and doesn’t need the distraction.

He sparks up a joint and turns on 13 Going on 30 (so he’s a rom-com guy, sue him), trying not to think about how much better this night would be if you were here.

The door clicks a half hour later, followed by the rap of your heels on the ground. You trudge into the room and slump on the couch right next to him.

“He didn’t even show up,” you whisper into the side of his neck, wrapping your arms around him. He feels a few tears hit his collarbone.

Sero Hanta considers himself a pretty even-keeled type of guy, but wanting to punch this dick’s lights' outs shoots to the top of his to-do list.

“Oh honey, what a fuckin’ dickhole.” His hands tighten on your waist. “Doesn’t deserve someone like you, anyway.”

He probably shouldn’t say that, not when he’s rubbing circles on your hip through the material of your dress, the scorching heat of your body against his impossible to ignore. But he's been thinking it for months now, all of his own attempts at dating tossed to the wayside when he realized he just preferred coming home to you.

“No?” You pull away and delicately wipe away unshed tears. He doesn't know why he finds it so cute, this innate desire to preserve what's left of your mascara. “Who does deserve me, Hanta?”

You grab the joint and drag and his mind goes fuzzy. You’ve never outright called him on it like this before.

“Maybe I do angel, ya ever think of that?”

“Yeah?” There’s that megawatt smile of yours, kicking him in the teeth. “You think of me like that, too?”

It’s new territory for the both of you, admitting to the attraction that Sero realizes has been simmering for weeks.

“Yeah. I think of you all the time.” He cups your face and cocks his head. "We doin' this? You gonna let me show you how I'd treat ya on Valentine's Day?"

You roll your eyes at him affectionately. "Cheesy bastard."

He cuts off your laugh with the press of his mouth.

Sero's not normally one to wax poetic, but something about the way your body instantly sinks into his makes his heart lurch. You kiss him like you've been spending your whole life studying how to do it, and it drives him absolutely insane.

"Knew we'd be good together," he says, grinding the curve of his cock into the cleft between your thighs. "Feel how hard I already am, baby? Just from one little kiss."

You groan into his mouth and start pawing at his clothes.

"I know, I know, want you naked too. Don't fuckin' pout, I think you'll like the idea." He repositions the two of you with him lying down on the couch, you straddling his hips. "Remember when you said you've never sat on a guy's face?"

Your eyes darken with excitement. "I remember."

"What if we change that?" He strokes his thumb under the band of your dress, shimmying it over your hips. The pretty red lace covering your pussy makes his breath catch. "Because you know what's gonna happen if we don't?"

He traces the folds of your pussy through your underwear with the pads of his fingers.

"I'm gonna get inside this perfect fuckin' pussy and embarrass myself. Probably come after two pumps like an idiot because she's just so fucking sweet." He pulls your panties down and drags you up to his face. He catches the little whine of insecurity in your throat at the position.

Your pussy is swollen and begging for attention, arousal clinging to your lips like dew.

"Take a fuckin’ seat, baby, ya think I’ve never done this before?"

He molds his hands around the meat of your hips and thighs, and then Sero feasts, sucking and grinding his chin and nose and tongue up into your cunt. You wail and fall forward, holding yourself steady on the arm of the couch. He doesn't care if he has to hold you up himself; he's in heaven between your thighs, the taste and scent of you all he can fucking think about.

You cum quickly, gasping and shuddering above him as he drinks down your orgasm like fucking water.

"Felt good, didn't it?" he prods, biting your inner thigh and soothing it with a kiss. Your shaky nod makes him grin.

Sero sits backs up with you in his lap, wiping the back of his mouth with a forearm and licking at his lips like a dog. He hopes he smells like you for hours.

Black streaks of mascara run under your lashes. He swipes them away with the back of his thumb. "Sorry honey. You worked hard on this makeup, huh? And I'm just making you cry it off."

It's your turn to cut him off with a kiss.

ahhhhh i've written for him ONCE i hope i did him justice

[goodlucktai]

could you please do 29 for dialouge prompts, leo and donnie?

dialogue prompts

29. “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

x

When they were little, Donatello’s twin was his translator. 

Donnie was the last of the turtles to start talking—though the first to start reading and writing and dismantling kitchen appliances—and no amount of coercion or bribery or outright begging was enough to get a single word out of him in English or Japanese before he was good and ready. 

Splinter was in over his head already just by having four unplanned children to raise who were not even the same species as him. He fretted about his sons’ health and their development in those early years, and had absolutely no one he could turn to for regular parenting advice, let alone advice on what was and was not normal for mutant turtle children. 

He tells the story now with a rueful good humor granted only by hindsight and a decade and a half of distance, but at the time, Donatello refusing his second meal in a row while blinking silently in face of his father’s increasingly worried questions probably would have driven Splinter to tear his fur out if not for the contribution made by Donnie’s talkative striped shadow. 

“It’s the, uh, the red things, daddy,” Leo piped up. “He doesn’t like those.” 

Splinter blinked at him, and then down at the plate Donnie was refusing to so much as look at it. 

“The tomatoes?” he said. 

“Tomatoes,” Leo parroted. “They’re hard outside and squishy inside. He doesn’t like things like that. And they touched everything else so all of it is no good now!”

Never having considered that texture, of all things, could be the issue—and kicking himself for it—Splinter scrambled a fresh pair of eggs for his stubborn little softshell. He skipped the cherry tomatoes, and sliced a bell pepper instead that he made sure to put on the opposite side of the portioned plastic plate. 

Donnie sniffed his fresh plate of plain eggs suspiciously, but it passed his inspection. He crunched into a piece of bell pepper so eagerly that he must have been hungry. Splinter sank back in his chair with an exhale that left him feeling like a deflated balloon. 

Leo, eating the discarded tomatoes out of Donnie’s original breakfast, giggled at him. He was the first of Splinter’s babies to start speaking, and the sound of his bright voice tripping eagerly over clumsy human words rarely failed to coax a smile out of his father. 

“Thank you, baby,” he said, poking Leo on the edge of his beak and earning himself another peal of bubbly laughter. “I’m glad one of us speaks Purple’s language or I might have set us up for failure big-time.”

“‘Course I do! ‘Cause we’re twins!” Leo said happily, with only half an idea what the word meant, but happy for any reason to be one of a pair with his best friend. Donnie knew very well what the word meant and simply nodded along, because he was happy, too. 

Now that they’re older, and Donatello no longer needs a translator, he finds himself returning the favor instead. Leo is far from nonverbal—Leo talks too much—but he hardly ever actually says anything. He can pontificate and harangue and lecture to lengths of absolute absurdity without giving a single word of substance away that he doesn’t want to give away. 

Donnie can read him like a book. Like one of his favorite books that he doesn’t actually have to read, because he knows every page by heart. 

The summer after the world didn’t end, Donnie’s twin becomes someone unfamiliar. 

He’s self destructive in ways that aren’t immediately obvious. He seeks out things that scare him, lingering above the death drop an extra second even though he’s been afraid of heights since he was fourteen. 

It’s obvious that he’s trying to train himself out of weakness. No more fear, no more lazy Sunday mornings, no more silly Nardo. 

Raph and Mikey have clocked it, too, in their own ways. At first Raph was pleasantly surprised when Leo beat him to the dojo for training, ribbing him amicably when he was also the last to leave. But then Leo started turning down Mario Kart tournaments and ninja tag in favor of shutting himself away and working working working to correct an internal ugliness that just didn’t exist. Mikey’s used to being the exception to every rule, used to arms opening for him wherever he goes, and the way his sweet, sunny smile slips every time Leo talks around joining him on the sofa for Kitchen Nightmares reruns—or explains away why he’s skipping dinner—is one of the worst things Donnie’s ever seen. 

At the very least, Leonardo doesn’t lie to Donatello’s face. He’s stopped looking him in the eye altogether. 

You’re not going anywhere without me, Donnie thinks at him, ready to dig in his heels and fight like hell. 

It’s hard to say how long it would have gone on, but one late night Leo limps home and Donnie is waiting for him, arms folded, tolerance for foolishness nonexistent. 

“What, are you tracking me?” Leo jokes half-heartedly. And then, when Donnie doesn’t blink, he adds, “Wait, actually?”

“Don’t waste my time with questions we both know the answer to,” Donnie says, and points Leo directly towards the medbay. Leo, who had been angled toward the bathroom instead, likely because he can close the door and suffer in private with no one the wiser, sighs loudly and course-corrects. 

The lights in the medbay are stark and bright, humming to life when Donnie flips the switches. He clocks the way Leo looks over his shoulder, to see how far the light has traveled past the open door, restless with wondering if he’s going to have to save face in front of someone else. 

All of this? All this behavior? Donnie hates this. 

Larger-than-life Leonardo seems small as he boosts himself up onto the edge of the bed. The infirmary is the one place he never puts on airs, the one place he takes seriously because his family’s health and safety has never once been a punchline to him. He peels off all his false layers at the door. He’s back to not meeting Donnie’s eyes. 

“Tell me where it hurts, and be specific,” Donatello says. 

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” Leonardo replies. His mask of wily good humor limps along a lot like he had limped through the front door, like the least funny thing in the world. “That’s why between the two of us I’m the team medic.”

“And I’m two minutes from pulling the fire alarm and making this a house party,” Donnie says frankly. His tone isn’t gentle, isn’t quite angry. He’s somewhere in the middle, gentleness and anger fighting for the spot that affection has never once surrendered and never once will. 

He hates the way his twin’s eyes get wet, staring down at his own bruised knees, knuckles stark white and standing out like a string of pearls where his hands are bunched in the thin blanket he’s sitting on. He hates that it’s come to this, the quiet of midnight in the medbay, the brightest light in Donnie’s life dimmed and miserable and so clearly struggling. It’s laughable that Leo really thought he could have hidden it forever. 

Donnie sits beside him on the bed and says, “What if I quit?”

The non-sequitur takes Leo by surprise. He was clearly expecting a full frontal assault and glances sideways at Donnie briefly. 

“Quit what?”

“My bad, I should have been more specific,” Donnie allows. “I meant, what if I quit being a ninja? I have better things I could be doing, and I don’t like getting hurt.” Leo is staring at him fully now, totally bewildered. Flabbergasted, even. It melts some of the sternness Donnie has been careful to shore up for this conversation. “Would you love me less?” he asks. 

It would have been kinder if Donnie had slapped him. “Don’t say that,” Leo says, barely any air behind it. 

“Are you more capable than I am?” Donnie steamrolls on. “Are you better at caring about people than me?”

“Of course not. I don’t think—I didn’t say—”

“Then why do you have to be perfect if I don’t?” Donnie presses the advantage ruthlessly. “Why aren’t you allowed to struggle and doubt and spectacularly fuck up every now and then without raking yourself over the coals for it?” 

Leo glances over at the door automatically, like Raph is going to be summoned by the bad word. He’s sixteen, he’s just sixteen, Donnie wants to scream it loud enough that those resistance fighters in Casey’s future who thought it was a halfway decent idea to put a child in charge could hear him. 

Earlier Donnie thought that Leo looked smaller here. Now he thinks he can tell by looking how much weight he’s lost since August. There’s a deficit of Leo in this world and his whole family is feeling it keenly. 

Raph wants to scoop Leo off the sofa when he stays up too late and tuck him into bed, wants to listen to him filling the comms with chatter on those nights when patrol stretches long and dull. He misses his little brother, the messy, gangly, growing up little guy Raph used to get to carry.

Mikey wants to bicker over who gets to play Sonic in Smash Bros and to eat cookies while they’re still hot from the oven with the person he admires so much, who taught him all the best cheats in Smash Bros and that fresh cookies in the falling apart stage, pre-icing, are better than ones that have cooled. 

‘Sometimes you gotta get burned to get results,’ ten-year-old Leo had announced, but he was always the one who lifted the cookies off the sheet pan, he never let Mikey burn his fingers.  

That goofy, clever kid who was always getting them all into trouble and talking their way out of it again is worth a thousand made-up Master Leonardos. 

Leo keeps his face lowered, shoulders hunched, because he knows what he’ll see if he scrapes together the courage to meet Donnie’s gaze. He’ll see the love blazing in his twin’s face like one of those digital billboards towering above Times Square and somehow he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve it. 

Donnie doesn’t give a damn what Leo has decided he deserves. Donnie’s going to love him anyway, whether he likes it or not. If Leo wants to grow up so badly, then he can stop acting like a kid pushing vegetables around on his plate and swallow the truth. 

It’s okay if he doesn’t. They can be kids awhile longer. It’ll be like when they were babies, when Donatello would rather go hungry than stomach certain textures. Leo never let Donnie sit alone at the breakfast table, keeping him cheerful, babbling company, even when their brothers had moved off to play. 

This time Leo is the picky eater, and Donnie isn’t going anywhere without him, either.

[lady-lostmind]

TROUBLE

Written for @steddiebingo Kissing Booth Prompt: Jealousy

Rating: T | WC: 1195 

Thank you @oh-stars for betaing!!

Eddie is ripping his way through a solo at practice, trying to nail the transition between the solo and chorus. He groans in frustration when he misses the same note he has the last three run throughs. “Fuck.”

Gareth tosses his drumstick at him and thumps his bass pedal. “Eddie, come on, man. We’ve been at this for like an hour already.”

Eddie scoffs. “It’s been like twenty minutes, Gare.” He snatches Gareth’s stick up off the ground and throws it back. “Go from the top of the verse again.”

Gareth and the rest of the guys groan and roll their eyes as Gareth counts them in. Eddie focuses hard on making his fingers move the way they need to, nailing the parts of the song he already has down, gets mostly through the solo and– misses the same note. 

“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!” 

Jeff sighs. “Maybe we should table this one for–”

Eddie shakes his head. “No! I’ve almost got it. Just– From the verse again.” 

The guys eye him wearily but start again. Eddie’s sure he’s going to nail it this time. He just has to figure out what he keeps snagging on and he’ll be good. He can do this, he– misses the same damn note again! “FUCKING HELL!” 

Gareth groans behind his drums. “EDDIE! What the hell, man?” 

Doug takes his bass off and goes to head inside. “I need a fucking break, dude.” 

Eddie throws his hands up in defeat. “Great. We just got started!” 

Jeff sets his guitar to the side and shrugs. “Run through it a few times while we grab some snacks.” 

Eddie watches as they all head inside and turns to Steve where he’s been sitting in the corner watching this absolute trainwreck unfold. “I can’t believe them!” 

Steve just shrugs and takes a drag from the joint Eddie rolled for him as payment for agreeing to be his ride today. “Just keep going. You’ll get it.” 

Eddie sighs and cracks his fingers. Okay. He’s got this. He runs through the parts separately a few times, making sure he has the solo figured out. Then he does the whole first part of the song, letting the muscle memory take over on all the parts he already has down. He keeps going, flowing through the solo again, convinced he’s got it this time and– he misses the whole transition. He groans, tugging on his hair in frustration. “Fuck me. This is impossible!” 

Steve sighs and gets up and starts walking over to him, joint still dangling from his lips. 

Eddie stares at him in confusion as he comes up behind him and goes to wrap his arms around Eddie and his guitar. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Steve leans forward and looks at him over his shoulder and talks around the joint in his mouth. “You’re skipping a beat. That’s why you keep getting off.” 

Eddie’s brow scrunches. “What the fuck are you talking ab–”

Steve swats Eddie’s hands out of the way and starts playing through the solo, Eddie’s fucking solo, flawlessly. And Eddie is just standing there like an idiot with his arms held up awkwardly out of the way so Steve can play. Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock and he stares down at Steve’s hands moving effortlessly along the frets. “What the fuck?” 

Steve huffs a laugh in Eddie’s ear, a puff of smoke filling the air around them. Steve gets to the part Eddie keeps fucking up on and slows down, leaning in close. “Right here.” He plays over the spot a few times, showing Eddie the beat he’s absolutely been skipping. “You miss that rest and it throws you off. See?” He plays through it again and goes right into the chorus, no problem. 

Eddie nods dumbly, still just staring at the way Steve’s hands look on his guitar. His brain feels scrambled with this new knowledge. Steve just waltzed over here and dropped the bomb that he can play guitar as good as, if not better than Eddie, by ear, and is acting like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just completely rock Eddie’s entire world. Because holy shit this is hot.

Steve is hot. 

Which like, okay. Duh. Obviously he has eyes and knows the guy is objectively attractive. But he has always just been…Steve. His friend. But now…Eddie is blushing. And if he’s being honest, he’s a little hard. Which is mortifying considering Steve’s hand is basically right over his dick. Eddie has never been jealous of an inanimate object before. But fuck if he doesn’t wish he was his guitar right now with Steve’s hands working over it like this. Eddie shakes his head with a laugh and leans back a little, lifting his hands to run his finger through his hair before lacing them behind his head to give Steve easier access. 

Steve runs through the rest of the song before letting go and stepping back. He gives Eddie’s shoulder a little squeeze and plucks the joint out of his mouth so he can flash him a smile. “Try it again–” He flicks the ashes off the joint. “I bet you’ll get it now.” 

Eddie just stares at him with wide eyes as Steve goes and flops back down on the shitty couch in the corner with a cocky grin. “What the fuck, Harrington?” 

Steve takes a drag from his joint and shrugs. “What?”

Eddie scoffs. “What do you mean ‘what?’” 

Steve’s smile stretches wider on his face and he sinks into the couch more. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Since when do you play the fucking guitar?”

Steve shrugs. “Since forever. My mom made me pick an instrument to take lessons on when I was little.”

Eddie scoffs. “And you never thought to mention this before?” 

Steve takes another drag, the smoke billowing out of his mouth as he shakes his head. “No. Why would I?”

Eddie chuckles, his mind still spinning. “Why’d you let me fumble through this shit when you knew what I was doing then?”

Steve shrugs and nods to the guitar. “Play through it again before they get back.” He looks up and locks eyes with him. “Tell them you figured it out.”

And– oh. He waited to show Eddie until they were alone so he could take credit for figuring it out. God damnit. He’s being sweet on top of everything and– 

This is no good. Eddie can feel the sparks of a crush catching fire in his chest, threatening to burn him alive. He clears his throat and nods. “Thanks, man.” 

Eddie shakes his head, trying to focus again. He starts at the beginning of the solo, making sure he pays better attention to counting out the beats and– nails it. He flies right through and into the chorus. 

He lets out a satisfied sigh, a smile pulling at his cheeks as he looks back up at Steve who is beaming with pride as he starts clapping. “Knew you could do it, Eds.” 

A blush rises on Eddie’s cheeks and he nods, trying to shove the swell in his heart down before it gets him into trouble. “Thanks.” 

[allertonhoe]

Congrats on 500!! for the requests: rafe + c8 please :)

of course!!! ahhh thanks for the request, i hope you like it!!! 🥰🥰

prompt: arguing all the time about everything and nothing (somehow love starts seeping into their arguments)

500 follower celebration!

You'd met Rafe Cameron when Sarah brought you to Tannyhill for the first time. You were new to Figure 8, and she'd come up to compliment your shoes one day when you were walking around the local mall. The two of you becoming fast friends from there.

You'd recognized him from around the area, his intense aura unshakeable. Not to mention he wasn't the worst-looking. But for some reason, in contrast to his sister, he'd decided to be the absolute bane of your existence.

"So are you another one of Sarah's strays?" He grilled, seeming to appear out of nowhere when the girl left you to yourself for a few minutes.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," he provokes smoothly. "She's always out collecting whatever scraps move into town."

"Well, clearly all the decency in the family went to her and Wheezie," you grumble, his brows raising in bewilderment at the witty rebuttal.

"You just don't know me well enough yet, darling." he asserts.

"I can't say I'm too impressed with what I've seen," you scoff.

"Well, you better get used to it if you plan on sticking around my sister," he winks arrogantly.

With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered back to wherever he came from, leaving you to wallow in whatever he'd just stirred up. He gave you an inexplicable feeling, one that made you nervous for a reason you couldn't quite place yet. And while that might've been the first time he went out of his way to bug you, it would be nowhere near the last.

* * * * *

"Hey, darling," Rafe greeted brightly as he slipped through the door.

You were spending the night at the Cameron's house, but Sarah's ensuite was currently undergoing renovations, leaving you to use the shared bathroom down the hall. Something you hadn't found to be a huge deal until you were plagued with Rafe's presence once again.

Being in the midst of scrubbing your mouth, you just rolled your eyes and ignored his strange conduct. Letting out a squeak when he passed behind you to make his way to the other side of the cramped room, pinching your hip in the process. And while you shot him a dirty look at the gesture, he was more than pleased with himself. Grabbing his own brush and launching into the mundane routine without further dispute. 

You couldn't place the energy between you, a heavy silence filling the space instead of the usual vitriol you saved for each other. You were probably just getting a bit delirious because you were tired, trying not to fixate over the way his hair looked kinda cute when it was messy at the end of the day or how his sweats hung a bit too low.

Returning to the chore, you spat the minty toothpaste into the sink before bringing the brush back to your mouth. Not expecting him to follow suit, his signature grin settled on his features. His eyes meeting yours in the reflection, inadvertently sending shockwaves through your body.

It wasn't too often that you found yourself alone with Rafe, and when you did, it was unsettling to say the least. Like all the animosity you'd grown towards him shifted into another feeling. One that you couldn't really explain, or maybe you just didn't want to.

The tension between you was palpable. Holding each other's steady gaze through the mirror, like the simple task of brushing your teeth was now some petty competition. Your stomach twisting the longer you spent in there with him, without any disruptions.

You repeated your previous action, Rafe once again following your lead and doing the same. Not realizing that every time he did mimic you, he'd scooch a little closer to you until you were basically hip-to-hip, his warmth radiating onto you due to his proximity.

Not interested in putting up with his endless badgering anymore, you finally cleaned out your mouth properly. Hearing him snicker quietly as you made your exit, flipping him off as he muttered a faint, 'sweet dreams, darling,' as you rushed back to Sarah's room. Far from his constant teasing.

* * * * *

With another humid summer day in Figure 8, Sarah had called you over to drink and lounge by her pool. The lazy pastime being the perfect opportunity to soak in the beautiful weather without exuding too much energy. However, she made sure to omit that Rafe had invited Topper and Kelce.

It started off cordially enough, the two groups keeping their distance—you and Sarah off to the side, basking in the hot sun while the boys occupied the pool. But it was like clockwork. Sarah retreated back into the house to refill your cups, only for you to be smacked by a petite, wet basketball from the other direction only moments later.

"Heads up!" Rafe proclaims a little too late, him and the boys snickering at the childish antics.

"Nice, Rafe. Thanks." You snap, throwing it back towards them but missing entirely. The plastic skimming across the surface.

You shut your eyes to recreate some sense of tranquility, hearing a bit of movement from the pool before a large shadow covered you. Feeling water gently drip onto your exposed skin, you were brought back to reality to see that Rafe was hovering over you.

"Do you mind?" you sass, your sunglasses only doing so much to obscure your glare.

"Just admiring the view," he flirts, not moving from his place.

"You're such a pig. It's truly a mystery to me why girls drool over you as much as they do," you scold in disgust.

"No, it's not. You've been checking me out all day too," he counters boldly, your face going red at his presumptuous (but accurate) callout. "Don't need to get all shy about it."

"Go away." You reiterate, your patience already wearing thin.

"Fine," he concedes without any argument.

That's when he lifted you bridal-style, wasting no time turning back to the pool and jumping into the deep end with you in his arms. Gripping your waist as you swam back to the surface, as if to make sure you didn't drown.

You gasped for air as you popped out of the water, not having anticipated his sudden ambush. You pushed him off you hastily, brushing your wet hair out of your face as you scowled at him. The sound of Topper and Kelce's laughter only riling you up further.

"You're such a douchebag!" You fumed, shoving him further away, not that it did much.

"Lighten up," he remarks, his tone sounding less mocking than usual. "Looked like you were getting all hot and bothered over there."

Not thinking it through too much, you splashed him back. The older boy giving you an amused look, clearly not as affected by your retaliation as you'd been to his. You weren't sure what pissed you off more—how easily he could get on your nerves or how unapologetically smug he was about it.

"Wow, real mature." he teases.

"Says you." you declare, only for him to splash you back. "Why don't you go entertain your friends? Leave me alone for once,"

"This is more fun," he dismisses, sending another small wave towards you.

"Rafe! Stop it!" You protest again, mirroring his attack.

He floated closer to you, taking your wrists and holding them midair to halt your efforts. Looming over you easily with his bulky stature, his ocean blue eyes locking you in place as they met yours in challenge. Your surroundings seemed to fade as he held you. As if there wasn't anyone else around, let alone a few feet away.

Everything stood still for a moment, this unspoken connection returning as you held his gaze. You figured your eyes were playing tricks on you when you saw his flick downwards. You weren't in the most innocent of positions, you were only wearing a bikini, and it's not exactly like he was the definition of a gentleman.

And just as easily as when he snuck up on you, his hands were on your shoulders and dunking you back underwater. Catching you off-guard again and completely ruining whatever had temporarily risen between the two of you. Reminding you why you couldn't stand him to begin with.

* * * * *

With the absurd size of the property and all its impressive features, Tannyhill was the perfect party spot. And with Ward and Rose out of town every other week for business trips, the older Cameron siblings made sure to take full advantage of that whenever possible. Which included tonight.

Rafe found you a few hours into the gathering, not making his feelings a secret as he stormed over to you with an unimpressed look. You didn't react, knowing he was just seeking a fight. Leaning against the counter in their kitchen and chatting with your girlfriends, sipping a red solo cup of your own concoction.

"Turn this shitty music off," he commands, making you smirk triumphantly.

"What are you talking about?" you feign, exaggerating a pout.

"I know you took my phone off the Bluetooth and connected it to yours. I wouldn't listen to this girly crap." He seethes.

"I think it's a better fit," you shrug, taking a sip of your drink. "Has anyone even complained?"

"Yeah. I am," he indicates with exasperation. "You don't even live here."

"Sarah said it was fine. Nobody wanted to listen to your shitty playlist anyway. Sorry to break it to you." you retort, giggling as his temper flared.

He didn't bicker with you any further, instead grabbing your arm and dragging you through the busy halls. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten frustrated with you over something so trivial, but you couldn't say he usually let it get to him this much. Too tipsy to give a shit about his overly hostile behavior or how he was leading you into his father's empty office, ensuring to lock the door behind him.

"You're the biggest pain in my ass, you know that?" he growls.

"Little old me?" You taunt, relishing how you had the upper hand. "Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Rafe."

"Ever since Sarah brought you over here, all you've been is a fucking brat," he accuses bitterly.

"Yeah, because you're such a gem," you contend. "Fine. If you hate it that much, I'll let you control the music downstairs. Damn..."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he huffs, only deepening your confusion. "This has nothing to do with the damn music."

"Then what's your fucking problem? You're really being a buzzkill-"

He cut off your rambling, throwing you off-balance as he kissed you fiercely. And as irritated as he might've been, it was still tender and deliberate. Taking your cheeks in his hands like he was savoring it in case it was the only time he'd get to do it.

He pulled back after a few seconds and rested his forehead against yours, neither of you saying anything right away as you caught your breath. His eyes widening as if he realized what he'd just done, opening his mouth to presumably start apologizing, but you stopped him before he could.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as you brought your lips back to his, bringing him as close as you possibly could. Rafe grasping your hips and pinning you against the wall, his kisses becoming more hungry and urgent once he knew you wanted this just as much as he did. Sinking his teeth into your bottom lip like he was staking his claim, tugging the flesh gently as he receded back again.

"I can't fucking stand you," you whisper, your contradiction only making him smirk wider.

"Keep telling yourself that, darling." he chuckles, the two of you spending the remainder of the night hiding from the crowd and reacquainting yourselves.

[8thekat]

Hey, so I'm the kiddo who submitted the 19th request for the 20K subs thing (AKA the 'thirsty booger' XD) I just wanted to say thank you so much for providing us fans with your comic. I've been reading this for a while and absolutely love it. I was so happy my request was accepted (I wasn't sure it would be since it had a wee bit of romance and maybe you wouldn't want to draw that and probably skip it.) But I guess it worked out. I honestly didn't expect to be a winner out of hundreds of comments, but I'm glad I did. I know this wasn't a question, but I just wanted to let you know that I LOVE your work, and having the opportunity for my prompt to be drawn is amazing. I read this when I was going through some stressful times and it just generally made me happy and feel better. So I wanted to say thank you for indirectly helping me get through those times. I've reread your comic several times and it always relieves a little bit of stress, or makes me not think about it. I get you might not be able to read this or anything since you probably have hundreds of people messaging you on here, but if you see this, thank you so much. For your comic, for being a good person, for your animations and art, and just overall everything. You're an amazing (and CRIMINALLY underrated) artist and I hope this gets through to you. Keep up the good work! You have my support. ❤️❤️❤️

Okay first of all, who put this bowl of onions here 😭😭😭

Second, thank you so so much ❤️😭 it brings me a lot of happiness knowing my silly little comic brought so much joy to others or even helped others through tough times. Genuinely, that makes my entire day 🥺 I'm so happy to know I could do that for others.

Supporters like you are what really keep me going, too. tbh if it weren't for all the people that seemed to love the series or my art so much I probably wouldn't be so motivated to keep making it 😂 So I have you to thank just as much ❤️🤍❤️🤍

That's a big reason I wanted to do the 20 requests on Webtoon to try and give back to the community which I really need to get on a roll with soon asj;dhga;sd I still have like 9 more request to finish I promise I'll get to them soon rahhhh

[cloudcountry]

i just want to extend a reminder to every minor on here. please be careful. please do not post nsfw. please do not interact with adults who have a) stated they don't want to interact with minors or b) create nsfw content. i get that it's not going to stop minors from consuming said content but for your safety and theirs be careful.

[stealingyourbones]

Out of all of the people The Ghost King Phantom expected to relate to, it definitely wasn’t the scrawny red headed photographer of the Daily Planet. Jimmy Olsen has gotten so many temporary superpowers over his time being Superman’s friend. Hell, he once gained a 4th dimensional being’s reality warping abilities when he was given said dimensional being’s powers during a fight. Sure there’s a dozen or so heroes with the same amount of powers he has, but none as suddenly granted to them as a all powerful god that can relate to a teenager.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A-Qing, the little fox.

[luxaofhesperides]

For ghostlights: baby Ellie + tired Danny + Duke the baby whisperer?

He has no idea how his parents did it. 

Babies are exhausting. Toddlers more so. Any infants in the strange stage in-between? Doubly so. 

Ellie is wonderful and sweet and cute and such a terror that Danny genuinely has no idea how his parents managed to raise not one, but two kids. For all their eccentricities and absent-mindedness, he and Jazz turned out pretty well. Ignoring the whole halfa thing because that’s more his fault than theirs even if Jazz says they shouldn’t have created the dangerous environment in the first place.

That environment is exactly why Danny refuses to let Ellie go to his house in Amity Park. His parents say they’ve disabled all the weapons and ecto-sensors since he’s had to reveal himself as Phantom, but he knows that things slip their minds and if they can’t guarantee that the house is safe, then Ellie isn’t going in there. Simple as that. 

This means that they live somewhere else now. Danny had thought about it, during the hours Ellie was asleep and he was awake, exhausted and worn down to his bones, and took Jazz’s advice to accept Vlad’s offer of buying a house for him. Except he argued Vlad down to an apartment in a city of his choosing where he wouldn’t stand out too much and he would be safe, or as safe as he can be, from anyone trying to hunt down ghosts. 

So here they are. Standing in the empty living room of their new apartment in Gotham. 

Gotham may not be very safe as a city, but it’s good for two ghosts trying to pass as normal. 

Danny sighs yet again, and looks at the space he’ll need to fill. At least Vlad is footing the bill. It’s the least he can do for creating Ellie. Frostbite was the one who was able to stabilize her, though it was almost too late and resulted in her reforming as a baby, just one and a half years old. Jazz is the one who’s choosing most of the furniture, thankfully, so it’s something that Danny doesn’t need to worry about it.

It’s a new start to their lives and it feels so empty. So overwhelming. How did his parents do it? How do any parents do it?

Ellie smacks a small palm against his cheek and babbles lightly.

“I know, Ellie,” Danny says, giving her a tired smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll have this place looking good in no time.”

He adjusts her in his arms, then heads towards the bedroom. It’s the only room that has any furniture, and all that’s there is a bed, a crib, and a bookcase. There are a few boxes on the floor, labeled ‘bedroom’ and ‘clothing’ and ‘books’. Most of it came from his bedroom in Amity Park, but he’s pretty sure he caught Jazz sneaking a few things in before they closed the boxes and loaded them up into the car. 

“Can you be good for five minutes?” he asks Ellie. 

She babbles again and smacks his shoulder.

“I’m taking that as an agreement. Just let me open these boxes and start unpacking before you start causing trouble, okay?”

Ellie makes another sound, but it seems agreeable so Danny carefully lays her down in the crib and gets to peeling off the tape on the boxes. The opens the one labeled ‘bedroom’ first, finding blankets and sheets folded and stacked in vacuum sealed bags. One of them is his old childhood blanket, the one he carried around everywhere that was faded with age, barely blue, with white bunnies decorating it. 

He was so small when he had this. It makes him oddly emotional to unpack it and pass it on to Ellie, draping it over her so her pudgy little hands can grab at it. 

This is no time to cry, though! He forces himself to focus and makes his own bed, shaking out the sheets and fluffing up the pillows. He’ll worry about washing everything later; Vlad made sure to get an apartment with an in-unit washer and dryer, which means he was actually sensible while apartment hunting for Danny. 

He doesn’t mean to flop onto the bed once it’s made, but he ends up there anyways. He’s barely gotten a full six hours of uninterrupted sleep since Frostbite deemed Ellie healthy enough to leave his care. The drive up to Gotham was long and wore him down to his bones.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does, drifting off as he wonders, distantly, when Jazz will be back from getting them dinner.

Ellie wakes him up at dawn with a loud cry. Danny jolts awake, heart pounding in his chest as he panics because Ellie isn’t here, she’s supposed to be in his arms, where is she? And then he sees the crib, where Ellie is staring at him through the bars, and he nearly collapses with relief. 

“Morning, El,” he says, voice rough from sleep, as he picks her up. She just stares up at him, then leans forward and rests her head against his shoulder.

It’s quiet moments like these that make his heart melt. Ellie’s had a hard life already; he wants to give her a better one, this time around. 

A quick check of the time on his nearly dead phone shows that it’s barely past six in the morning, and Jazz texted him a few times. All about furniture, saying that she didn’t want to wake them and that food is in the fridge. 

It’s only the mention of food that makes him realize how ravenous he’s feeling. Danny makes a beeline for the kitchen, ignoring everything else, and pulls out the boxes of take-out Jazz left stacked in the fridge. He devours it like he’s been starving for weeks, then gives Ellie her Ecto-Jello, the only food she’s allowed to eat until Frostbite gives the okay for solid, human food. 

Once he’s got her burped and cleaned up, Danny looks out of the kitchen and realizes that Jazz was very productive while he was asleep. The living room isn’t empty anymore; a dark green couch is against the wall, a low, rectangular coffee table made of dark wood in front of it. Two armchairs are on both sides of the couch, and a television has been installed, fixed into the wall. 

Jazz is asleep on the couch. Her legs hang off an armrest and she’s drooling slightly. 

Her phone is charging on the floor, so Danny takes it and snaps a picture of her for later teasing, then sends it to himself and writes a note to her that he’s going out with Ellie to explore the neighborhood.

He’s finally feeling more settled, energized from sleep and food.

In the warm dawn light spilling in through the windows, Danny looks down at Ellie and thinks that they’ll be just fine after all. 

. . .

Four months ago, Danny had hope. He was optimistic. 

Gotham was a fresh start, a new lease of life for Ellie. It is Danny’s attempt to be a single parent, sacrificing college for Ellie, and he’s planning to go out and beat the gangs black and blue if they start anymore shootouts in the next year.

He had just gotten Ellie to sleep. She was actually peacefully taking a nap.

And then a drive by shooter raced down the street, gunshots echoing down the road, and Ellie work up crying. She still hasn’t stopped, despite how Danny rocked her, soothing her as best he could.

They had been outside when Ellie fell asleep, her head on his shoulder. He had been catching up with Sam and Tucker when the car drove by, people ducking and crying out to avoid the bullets. Danny instinctively covered Ellie and made them both intangible, saving them from any stray bullets, but they ruined her nap and he needs to make them pay for that. 

“Shh,” he soothes, “You’re okay. We’re both fine. It’s okay, El, it’s okay.” 

Her little hands clutch at his back, twisting the fabric of his shirt, and she lets out a heartbreaking wail. He pats her back, hurrying down the street to get back to his apartment building, ignoring the looks people were giving them as they passed by. 

“I know it was scary, but you’re alright. You’re always safe with me, El.”

Ellie’s cries down down a little, but they don’t stop. She whimpers, burying her face against his shoulder as he finally reaches their apartment building.

The door’s locked, which wouldn’t be a problem except Danny can’t get his keys from his pocket. He knows he has them! But his pocket refuses to relinquish them and he has to stop every few seconds to pat Ellie’s back, trying in vain to calm her down. 

“We’ll be inside in a second,” he tells her, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, “as soon as I can get these freaking keys!”

“Hey, you alright?”

Danny startles, whirling around so fast it makes Ellie go quiet, clinging to him so she doesn’t get flung into the air. There’s a guy standing before him in a gray hoodie, looking at him with clear concern. It speaks to Danny’s level of constant exhaustion that he hadn’t clocked someone sneaking up behind him. 

The guy offers an awkward smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you or anything. Um, do you need me to open to door? I live here too.”

Danny wonders for a moment if this someone dangerous, someone hoping to hurt Ellie, but she starts to cry again and he steps to the side. “Please. I can’t get my keys.”

“I’m Duke, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Danny,” he replies, watching as Duke pulls out a large key ring, jangling with the amount of keychains on it, and easily opens the door. “I’ve been here a few months, but I’m usually inside. Or walking around in the mornings with this little monster.”

“That would explain it,” Duke says as he holds the door open, letting Danny in first. “I’m usually in classes at GCU, but I decided to take a mental health day after my lab, so here I am.”

Danny walks in and waits for Duke to follow, making sure the door closes properly behind them. “Thanks. How is GCU? What do you study? I was thinking of going there myself once she gets a little older and can go to school.”

“Oh, I’m majoring in English and Human Services.” He goes to say more, but Ellie wails again and Danny winces.

“I’m so sorry. That drive by woke her up and it’s really rattled her.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. I get it, Gotham is rough to kids.”

Danny tries rocking her back and forth, but it doesn’t help. He resigns himself to another hour of her crying before she exhausts herself, and makes for the stairs, going up to the fourth floor. Duke holds open the door again, then follows after them. It makes Danny wonder if Duke is planning to do something to them, then decides he can beat Duke in a fight, so it’s fine.

Duke doesn’t try to hurt them or steal Ellie away. He opens the door to their floor and stops before they do. “I’m in here,” he says, “If you ever need me to open more doors.”

“Thanks. Um, actually, I might need help opening mine?”

Duke just smiles and makes his way back to them, following them farther into the hall until Danny stops in front of his apartment. 

“If I could just get my keys,” he starts.

“Here, let me hold her for a second so you can get them,” Duke offers. Danny wants to insist that it’s fine, but Ellie cries directly into his ear and Danny, at the end of his rope, passes her over. 

Like magic, Ellie settles as soon as she’s in Duke’s arms. She sniffles and hides her face away, clutching to Duke’s hoodie, but she stops crying. They both go still, surprised, and stare down at her. 

“Seriously?” Danny says as he finally pulls out his keys, “Are you trying to say that I’m the problem?”

Ellie babbles lightly, and Duke turns his head to futilely hide his grin.

He grumbles as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. Ellie is acting as if she’s never been upset before a day in her life, making herself at home in Duke’s arms. 

“I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own blood.”

Duke laughs as he follows Danny into his apartment, lightly patting Ellie’s back. “It’s always the smallest, cutest ones that do this.”

“Yeah? Do you work with a lot of kids or something? Used to being betrayed by the little ones?”

“I don’t work with kids per se,” Duke says, “But my foster family is a hot mess and the youngest of them likes to keep us all on our toes.”

“Family,” Danny says in a tired, fond tone.

“Family,” Duke agrees.

With his door open and Ellie calm, Danny’s ready to just lay face down on the floor for the rest of the day and not deal with anything else. He moves to take Ellie back, holding his arms out, and Duke tries to pass her over.

The key word being tries. 

Ellie tightens her grip and kicks at Danny. She refuses to be taken away from Duke, making him awkwardly try to pry her off his hoodie. Danny really hopes Duke doesn’t notice how she goes slightly intangible to make his hands fall through her arms and legs. It shouldn’t be noticeable, but it’s hard to focus on anything but a kid that clings to you, so Danny holds out for Duke’s goodwill and silence.

“As nice as it is to meet you, you need to go back to your… parent?” Danny nods when Duke looks at him in askance. “You need to go back to your parent. Okay? Come on, kid, he’s waiting for you.”

Ellie shakes her head, makes a frustrated noise, and then turns and reaches out a grabby hand towards Danny. 

She still refuses to be taken from Duke when Danny tries to pick her up again, so he settles with just letting her hold two of his fingers. 

“I’m so sorry about this,” he says to Duke, face burning. This is why he hasn’t been going out and being social since he moved in; Ellie is a handful even on the best days, and Danny doesn’t want someone to judge him as unfit to parent her and have her taken away.

Duke shakes his head, stepping closer. “It’s all good, man. I don’t mind. It’s not like I had any plans today. I’m already skipping my classes, might as well spend it with you two than sleep all day.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to invite you in, but I know Ellie can be a lot and not everyone wants to spend their day off with a baby.”

“I’m sure. Besides, I’d just be down the hall anyways. It’s no skin off my back, man.”

“Well,” Danny says, stepping to the side to give Duke full access to his open doorway, “Come on in, then.”

Ellie keeps them connected, one hand in Duke’s hoodie and the other holding Danny’s fingers, and though her cheeks are still red from how hard she had been crying, she’s calm now with her eyes shining with mischief. 

As the door closes behind them, Danny realizes that this is the first time someone he’s not related to has been inside his apartment. Not even Vlad has come in, always choosing to invite Danny and Ellie out for lunch instead. 

It should make him nervous, but Duke is calm and easy going and kind. 

He’s making silly faces at Ellie to make her laugh, completely at ease with her in his arms, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. 

Gotham is a second chance at life for Ellie. It’s a sacrifice for Danny, to be alone and without friends or family around. He’d been ready to give up everything for Ellie, to focus solely on raising her, but with Duke filling his apartment with laughter, he thinks that he can make a life here too.

All he needs to do is take that first step, reach his hand out, ask Duke to stick around.

He can do this.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 278

You know what I’ve gotten obsessed with and inspired by? Dredge. 

You know what is also fun? Merfolk. What’s even better? Lovecraftian corrupted merfolk. Especially if say, one goes with the Lazarus Waters being a form of ectoplasm. So, in this? Lazarus waters are like lakes, while Amity Park, thanks to the Portal, and the barriers? It is an entire sea. 

There are islands, small areas that were once the tips of buildings that have gathered more landmass around them. There are mangroves, trees not like anything on earth or anywhere else stretching up in canopies dark enough to block out the sun, yet lit by the green waters. 

It goes deep. Mariana Trench deep, despite it being impossible. The GIW have explored for caves or tunnels, they’ve tried to find some sort of explanation, but there isn’t one. 

Now all that ecto? That has an effect on people. They mutate, they change, they adapt. Anywhere else would have been a slow death- something the GIW might have even been counting on. But Amity Park? It was founded by witches, it was the hotspot for the supernatural, even before the Fentonwork Portal. They’ve been dealing with this sort of energy in microdoses from the moment they first began to live in the city in any generation. 

But they begin to adapt. Shift into something… other. Some stay contaminated, clinging to human forms as they form homes on the tiny islands, fishing and farming what they can. Others become Liminal, almost seeming to meld with fish, some similar to ones of the Living and others something just to the left. Similar yes, but not quite… right. And then there are those that have truly melded with the energy of the dead, forms torn asunder by it, ripped apart and made anew by it. 

The first sign back when the barrier was activated, when they could no longer leave and were trapped were the fish in the lake. And now they are the same, with gazes of something Else, with gnashing teeth and a hunger gnawing at where hearts once were. 

But they aren’t monsters. They’re still themselves. Just a little… Other now. 

[shorthaltsjester]

me as an imogen’s selfishness built from her isolation is one of the most interesting things about her truther (which, before someone vagues me on twitter . i don’t think this doesn’t mean she can’t and hasn’t been altruistic but that’s a separate post) + someone who loves when my favourite characters have their lives threatened and/or they die. i am eating well after last night’s ep.

as someone who cares for the world of exandria and despises everytime ashton opens his mouth about the gods and clocked into ashton and ludinus wearing the same hat a while ago . having to listen to them talk about how they’re better than ludinus because (checks notes) they want to do exactly what ludinus wants to but their motives (the exact same kind of trauma that made him tell ludinus to “grow up” . me BEGGING him to take his own advice) are better ??? i’m not eating as well but what can you do.

my grip on this campaign as a completionist who Is enjoying cr even if i don’t think this is a particularly strong campaign is truly resting on the shoulders of imogen impulsive-and-single-minded temult, fearne “if the world’s burning i want a front row seat” calloway, orym “only member of the group capable of a thought for the ‘little guys’ the party claims to stand for” of the air ashari, and chet who is there for vibes (and to protect his family). also shout out to braius for joining the one party where betraying them would make him easily break into the top 3 morally upstanding members of the party.

[hasenkidudoneanythingwrong]

ENŪMA ELIŠ

unfiltered ver 🤔 do we fw it

[theroseyhues]

And thats a wrap folks!! Happy day 30 and 31 of hermit-a-day-may to all who celebrate!

This has been a great month full of so much cool art. A huge thank you to Luna for organizing this event for the second year in a row. You do so much to make sure this happens and it is SO appreciated.

So, same time next year?

[tickle-bugs]

The Ol' Kentucky Welcome

Summary: Eggsy’s attitude gets him into trouble at Statesman HQ. Whiskey and Tequila show him how they handle mouthy recruits with too much pride.

Anon: Hey!  Love your work.  I was trying to think of something I haven't read.  So, kingsman and golden circle.  Maybe eggsy, whiskey, and Tatum s characters get real drunk one night, start teasing each other and a full out brawl of a tickle fight happens!!!  You can do it!!!  Thanks! 

Loose handwaving at and spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle.

Becoming a Kingsman had done wonders for Eggsy’s impulse control and sense of self. He’s got restraint now, and better judgement—he doesn’t blindly chase a whim without considering the consequences first. 

This is what he tells himself as he poaches a bottle of premium Statesman Reserve whiskey from a supply closet rather ominously labeled ‘This Ain’t For Sharing, Friend’. He makes sure to shuffle the bottles to disguise the large gap left behind on the shelf.

He settles in at the Statesman briefing room table, loosening his tie and shirt collar. He unbuttons his jacket and, in a rare flash of bad manners, kicks his feet up onto one of the nearby chairs.

The thought of Harry scolding him for it tugs at chest. 

“Now what do we have here?” Whiskey whistles lowly, ducking into the doorway. Tequila fits in beside him. Eggsy gives a mocking salute before popping the cork on the bottle. He grabs a polished crystal glass from a platter on the table and pours himself a hefty bit. 

“Looks to me like we’ve got a thief, Whiskey.” Tequila arches his brow. “Y’ain’t learned your lesson yet, Galahad?”

“Gentlemen.” Eggsy smirks and lifts his glass. The sharp kiss of the liquor burns his tongue, but it washes back with a smoky smoothness unlike anything he'd ever tried. He smacks his lips loudly, enjoying the slight twitch of Whiskey’s eyebrow in response.

“Thought you fancy-types were supposed to be polite.” Whiskey puts his hands on his hips. 

“And I thought you brutish types couldn’t make something so delicious.” Eggsy angles the glass in the light. The liquid seems to glow. 

Tequila ducks past Whiskey and takes a seat at the table, helping himself to a glass. He clinks glasses with Eggsy and they share another sip. Both of them sigh in unison, sinking deeper into their chairs. Whiskey throws Eggsy’s feet off his chair and takes a seat. 

“You’re lucky I ain’t reportin’ you to Ginger Ale for theft.” Whiskey fixes himself a glass. He takes off his hat and rests it on the table. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair.

“Report me for what?” Eggsy cocks his head. “You fine, upstanding gentlemen cracked open a bottle of your own reserve to share with your guest and I just had to say yes. Would hate to be impolite.”

Whiskey glares. Eggsy sips innocently. 

“I like this motherfucker, Whiskey.” Tequila laughs, muffling himself in his fist. Whiskey shifts his glare. 

“‘Course you do. You can’t keep your mug outta trouble to save your life.” 

“Least my mug ain’t ugly,” Tequila grumbles. Eggsy snorts. Whiskey turns to fish for a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. As he leans forward, a silver shine peeks out of his pants pocket. Eggsy gently plucks a shiny lighter from Whiskey’s pocket and tucks it into his own. 

“Champagne mentioned you’re a cheeky bugger.” Eggsy knocks shoulders with Tequila and winks.

“I dunno what that means.” Tequila frowns. They both watch Whiskey fumble around for the lost lighter and keep smooth, straight expressions. 

“You get into shit. He’s fond of you?” Eggsy gestures at him. Tequila nods. 

“Yeah, well…he wasn’t always. I’ve always been a bit of a firecracker. Didn’t make the best choices. Got people hurt. Built up a reputation for bein’ a problem, and Champagne started makin’ me own it.” Tequila watches his whiskey swirl in his glass. Eggsy hums thoughtfully.

“Sounds like Harry. He didn’t let me get away with shit. If I did something reckless, it was my arse on the line. But sometimes it paid off.” Eggsy smiles and thinks of stealing Harry’s cab on his way out of initiation. 

“To good mentors.” Tequila inclines his head respectfully and raises his glass. Eggsy clinks their glasses together. 

The three of them pass the time draining the bottle and looking out over the twinkling lights of the distillery buildings. A boyish mischief settles into Tequila, one that grows as the liquor in the bottle sinks. Whiskey starts to slur his words, but he maintains a hunter’s focus. 

“Tell me somethin’, Eggsy. What brought you to Kingsman?” Whiskey watches him over the rim of his glass. His stare is piercing. 

“Hm. Harry did. Not so different from Tequila, I reckon. I’d made a right fuckin’ mess and Harry saved me from it. Gave me a job. He saw something in me that no one else did.” Eggsy traces his fingers along the edge of his cup. He glances absently towards Harry’s cell and sighs quickly. Whiskey follows his gaze. 

“Did your lepidopterist friend teach you to have sticky fingers, or do you just like causin’ problems?” Whiskey holds his hand out. Eggsy rolls his eyes and hands over the stolen lighter.

“I’ve always been good at nicking things. S’fun.” Eggsy grins and produces Whiskey’s wallet. Whiskey grumbles under his breath and snatches it. 

“Feels like you’re the only one of your people that ain’t all hoity-toity. What other secrets are you hiding?” Tequila leans forward. The question grates against Eggsy’s better instincts. He searches Tequila’s face for the slightest bit of ill will. All that sticks is the way light catches softly on his eyes. Eggsy hums and turns his eyes to the ceiling to think.

“Well, my girlfriend bein’ a princess isn’t much of a secret anymore, so…I was a gymnast for a bit.” Eggsy grins. Tequila’s eyes light up and he starts snapping in Whiskey’s direction. For each snap, Whiskey gives a disgruntled hm until eventually they’re just swatting at each other. 

“Whiskey, don’t we have them flippy bars down in the gym?” Tequila sniffs, blinking as the liquor hits his sinuses. Eggsy perks up. A spark of excitement picks up atop the warm flush of liquor in his stomach. 

“We do. For Statesman agents. Y’know Rum and Cognac get real touchy ‘bout their stuff.” Whiskey raises an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re workin’ together now, ain’t we? ‘Sides, Rum and Cognac ain’t here. Let’s walk him down there. I wanna see what he can do.” Tequila claps Eggsy on the shoulder. Eggsy gives his best winning smile. Whiskey grumbles, then downs the rest of his glass. 

“Fuck it. Fine. Five minutes.” 

…

They stumble down to the Statesman training facility, passing by a very tired Ginger Ale who opts not to ask why Eggsy’s wearing Tequila’s hat (pretty simple, it’s ‘cause he nicked it). Whiskey puts his thumb to a scanner and the wall unfolds for them. 

The lights click on in rows, lighting the industrial space. Eggsy gasps like a kid on Christmas morning. 

Sophisticated weight training and combat equipment sit in neat rows. Eggsy locks in directly past that, drifting unconsciously towards a heaping pile of chalk bags. Pommel horses, beams, bars, and hanging rings sprawl out on a spring mat, all in pristine condition. A few launchpads and trampolines lay near the equipment. Eggsy laughs incredulously as he takes it in. Nostalgia flutters in his chest. 

Eggsy immediately unbuttons his shirt, folding it cleanly and crisply. He shoves it and the cowboy hat into Tequila’s arms, adjusts his tank top, then works to unlace his shoes. The moment his feet are free, he sprints for one of the springboards. He hits it clean, just like he’d learned, and pushes off the vault, twisting through the air. His landing is a bit messy, but it’s functional, and he takes off to the parallel bars next.

The alcohol writhes in his system, but he doesn’t care. How can he? It’s been years. Coach’d told him he was good enough for the fucking Olympics and he hadn’t touched a set of bars since. The flex of the bars is a comfort to him. He flips and twirls, holding crisp handstands and tucks through muscle memory alone.

He dismounts beautifully from the parallel bars to the pleasant thrum of adrenaline and a smattering of applause. 

“Hoowee, that was somethin’!” Tequila ruffles Eggsy’s hair, destroying the last hold of the gel on his head. Eggsy laughs and swats him away. 

“Hats off to you, kid. Takes a lot of skill to pull that off.” Whiskey nods in respect. Eggsy returns it. 

“I ain’t gonna lie, I thought you were gonna fall on your ass. I’m impressed.” Tequila slugs his shoulder with a brassy laugh. 

“Thanks, Tequila.” Eggsy grins roguishly. “Mind givin’ me a boost?” 

“Sure.” Tequila follows Eggsy over to the high bar. Whiskey loudly clears his throat. 

“Boys, this has been…eye-openin’, but we really should get goin’. Early start tomorrow, I imagine. And this one’ll be fit to collapse when the time difference catches up.” Whiskey inclines his head towards Eggsy. 

“Sorry, bruv? Can’t hear you all the way over there.” Eggsy gestures to his ear with a cheeky grin. 

“I said—“

“No, no. If you have something to say, come whisper it in my fucking ear.” Eggsy snickers, hearing Merlin’s voice in his head. Whiskey rolls his eyes and saunters over. 

“Look, I respect you ‘cause Champagne respects you. Other than that, you’re still a brat that oughta fall into line. Let’s turn in for the night. Both of you.” Whiskey raises his eyebrow. The honey tones of his voice make his annoyance all the more amusing. 

“What’re you gonna do about it? Get me with your skipping rope?” Eggsy smirks. Tequila mutters a quiet aw hell and takes a step back. 

“Maybe I will, you little shit.” 

Eggsy comes to terms with a number of things about himself in that moment, and he puts them all away to process sober. Instead, he gestures for Tequila to give him a hand and reaches up for the bar. 

Tequila picks him up by the waist, and it’s not the smooth, assisted lift he’s used to. It’s the clumsy grip of a drunk surprised by weight. Tequila does lift Eggsy up to the bar, but at the cost of his dignity— he spasms and makes a high-pitched noise when Tequila’s fingers press into his waist.  

In hindsight, he should’ve seen the way Whiskey’s eyes narrowed at that. 

“What the hell was that?” Tequila squints up at him. 

“Nothin’. Thought you were gonna drop me. Bugger off.” Eggsy kicks weakly in Tequila’s direction. He backs up, hands raised. Whiskey steps in, hands on his belt. 

“Get off the bar, Eggsy.” Whiskey sniffs authoritatively. The logical Kingsman agent buried in Eggsy’s brain sets off warning bells, but Drunk Eggsy, who is obviously of much sounder mind, ignores it. 

“Make me, Whiskey.” Eggsy starts to swing in the space he has. Not enough to kick anyone, but enough to look like he will. He manages to rotate clumsily around the bar once, then hangs back down in front of Whiskey. 

“You want me to embarrass you in front of your new friend? Okay.” Whiskey steps up to Eggsy and makes a show of sizing him up. Then, quicker than the draw of his pistols, his hands latch onto Eggsy’s sides and squeeze until he’s screaming and plummeting off the bar. Eggsy’s short life flashes before his eyes as he falls bodily into Tequila’s arms. 

“Are you fucking mental?” Eggsy goes to shove Whiskey, but Tequila holds him back. 

“Woah, watch that mouth of yours!” Whiskey laughs, eyes glittering. “You told me to make you. Your wish is my command, friend.”

Eggsy kicks, trying to break Tequila's hold, and he catches Whiskey right in the balls. He makes a noise like a wounded donkey and folds over. Eggsy snickers. Whiskey whips his reddening face up and glares. 

“Now you’ve done it. Tequila!” Whiskey tosses something his way and he catches it. Eggsy barely has time to react before his arms are bound and hoisted in the air above his head. His toes brush the ground. The bar above him creaks in protest but does not give. 

Whiskey puts his hands on his hips again. Eggsy wonders if that’s a cowboy thing or an American one. 

“Skippin’ rope, bitch.” Whiskey grins, sharklike. “Now…you done with the whole insubordination routine or am I gonna have to give you the ol’ Kentucky Welcome?” 

Eggsy snorts derisively. He tests his bindings. They hold steady. Fear starts to pierce through his liquid courage. 

“I’m honored, bruv, but I’m in a committed relationship—“

Whiskey clicks his tongue and crowds into Eggsy’s space. He immediately steels himself for violence—what else would there be besides violence? He’s been jumped before. He’s no stranger to the predatory tilt of Whiskey’s head. He sets his jaw and glares. 

“When Tequila first joined up, he carried a bit of them clownin’ instincts with him. That didn’t fly with Champagne. We had to figure out a way to take him down a few pegs without hurtin’ him. So, the Kentucky Welcome was born.” 

“Aw, fuck you, Whiskey. Seriously, man.” Tequila pipes up from behind Eggsy. 

“What does this have to do with me? I know you Americans love to hear yourself talk, but I’m not interested.” Eggsy tries to pull free. Nothing. Whiskey’s gaze gets softer, more mischievous. The change is deeply unnerving. 

“Well, you remind me of Tequila. You’ve clearly got a good head on your shoulders, but you’re a little shit. So I’m gonna deal with you the same way we used to deal with him. Last chance, kid. You comin’ quietly or are we gonna have to drag you?” 

Eggsy flinches when Whiskey reaches for him—years of habit die hard—and prepares himself for the hard crunch of knuckles into his ribs. Instead, he’s met with a gentle and persistent scritching. 

A confused noise bubbles up at the back of Eggsy’s throat, quickly chased by a wobbly smile. He ducks his head and bites his lip. 

Oh what the fuck? 

Kingsman had taught him to resist the most painful and stressful of scenarios, but they’d never taught him what to do about this. Tilde’s maybe the only person who knows that he’s ticklish, and even then…he can convince her to let him go by kissing her senseless. Eggsy doubts that’ll work here. 

“Uh oh, Galahad. Don’t tell me something’s botherin’ you?” Whiskey presses an insincere hand to his heart. Eggsy’s brain stutters for a moment as he realizes that Tequila’s the one scratching at his ribs. 

“Fffffuck you.” Eggsy exhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes--nope, that’s worse. So much worse. 

Whiskey tickles under his arms and Eggsy yelps, bright laughter tumbling after. It shouldn’t be this bad—Tilde’s done far worse to him in jest, but somehow the teasing grin of his begrudging allies gets under his skin. His arms flex as he tries to pull himself up and away, but his strength collapses with every breath. 

“Aw, y’all are twins.” Whiskey leans around Eggsy to smirk at Tequila. 

“Whiskey.” Tequila’s languished tone being hilarious really doesn’t help things. Eggsy’s entire face scrunches as he tries to find his way back towards composure. A hiccup sneaks into his chest, and then he’s giggling incessantly. His chest feels like the sparklers he’d run around with as a kid, bright and fizzling and dissolving with every breath. 

“Y’know, I wish I had tried this when I first caught y’all. Prolly woulda gone a hell of a lot faster.” Tequila’s voice floats past Eggsy’s ear. Eggsy manages a giggly growl and a halfhearted headbutt in his direction. Tequila tuts at him and folds his fingers into Eggsy’s waistline. 

He makes a noise at a pitch that threatens to shatter every lightbulb in the room. Tequila’s calloused fingers strum Eggsy’s nerves like guitar strings and it tickles, fucking shit—

Tequila hooks his fingers just so and Eggsy kicks. Whiskey snags his ankle before a second devastating impact can occur. They make tortuous eye contact. 

“Whiskey—“ Eggsy attempts to appeal to the cowboy’s humanity with what Merlin fondly calls his nuclear puppy eyes. 

Grinning wickedly, Whiskey shakes his head and reaches for his trapped foot. 

Eggsy’s eyes bug out of his head. 

He wrenches his leg free, twists his hands, and flips upwards. Managing a gold-worthy handstand into a dismount, he frees his wrists and lands smoothly. Eggsy playfully curtsies. Tequila starts to clap. Whiskey smacks him upside the head.

“Alright, I’m done playin’ around. Grab him. If we’re caught down here at this hour it’ll be my hide.” Whiskey gestures for Tequila to step in. He does so, still a little off-kilter from the liquor. 

Eggsy rushes in, expecting a clumsier rendition of the fighting style he’d been so painfully introduced to. Instead, Tequila smoothly blocks his blows and hoists Eggsy over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes. One of his arms locks behind Eggsy’s thighs as they start to walk for the door. It takes him a moment to even process being upside-down. The sway of Tequila’s gait shakes some blood into his brain.

“Aw, y’all are twins.”

“—deal with you the same way we used to deal with him—“

A lightbulb clicks on in Eggsy’s head. He shouldn’t…but he could…but he shouldn’t—

He shoves his hands under Tequila’s arms. Before he can blink or breathe, they’re in a heap on the ground. Tequila’s cackling dead weight presses the air from Eggsy’s chest.

“Thought you’d put up more of a fight, bruv.” Eggsy’s eyebrows raise. Tequila shrieks at him in response. Eggsy manages to wiggle free and hop lightly to his feet as Tequila gathers his wits. 

“There’s one of you and two of us. Be wise.” Whiskey cracks his neck. Eggsy looks over at Tequila and smirks devilishly. Tequila pales. 

“I like those odds.” 

The flurry of motion as they charge each other sets off the ‘fight’ center in his brain, but there is some comfort in knowing no harm is on the table. Eggsy flips and twists out of their grasp, taking advantage of his flexibility to pull off increasingly ridiculous dodges. He neatly sweeps both Whiskey and Tequila’s legs out from under them. 

“Little help?” Whiskey gestures lamely at Tequila. 

“Nah, I’m done. Y’all are nuts.” Tequila lays on his back, putting his hat down over his face. He folds his arms behind his head. Whiskey curses at him. Tequila gives him the finger. 

Whiskey grabs Eggsy by the back of the shirt--really, he should know better--and Eggsy sweeps him again. Whiskey’s ready for it this time, though, and he manages a pin faster than Eggsy can roll away. Whiskey plants himself on Eggsy’s back like he’s settling on a bull. 

“Aren’t you tired? Goddamn.” Whiskey sighs. Eggsy winces at the texture of the mat against his cheek. 

It reminds him of Roxy and agonizing training sessions, of hours of sweat and bruising and his face stinging from being slammed into the mat. Even past the wave of grief, he remembers the shape of her smile when she would lecture him about letting her pin him on his stomach. 

“Indefensible,” she’d say, prodding the back of his ribs. “You’re a sitting duck like this.”

And every time he’d roll his eyes, hooking his fingers behind her knees--

Oh. Hm. 

As best as he can, he reaches back and latches onto Whiskey’s thigh, squeezing just above his knee. Whiskey hollers and tries to phase right through the floor. Eggsy rolls them over and pursues, squeezing and squeezing until Whiskey is a wheezing pile on the floor. 

Eggsy flips onto his feet. He knows he’s imagining the fond, ghostly squeeze on his shoulder, but he puts his hand on the spot anyways. 

“Now I’m tired. Goodnight, fellas.” Eggsy salutes with a wide grin, stepping over both cowboys. He gathers his belongings and saunters for the door, whistling pleasantly. 

Whiskey rubs a hand over his face as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Kid’s fuckin’ lucky I like him,” Whiskey grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

“Might not wanna speak too soon. He took your hat.” Tequila puts his own ten-gallon back on his head and gestures towards the door with a whistle. Whiskey growls and shoots to his feet. 

“Motherfucker! Eggsy!”

[so-long-soldier28]

i need to be writing but i have the ✨ depresso ✨