#Haunting Here at Pigeon Place
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((@townofcadence continuing from here !!))
" Snrkgg..."
One blue-grey eye opened with a start, the remnants of a hazy dream drifting off into the murkiness of his subconscious. Cautiously, he lifted his hat off of his face and raised his head.
" Th' hell? " he murmured, sitting up and immediately on the alert. Were those voices he heard? He rubbed his face with some irritation before he dropped his hat back on his sandy-blonde head. Slowly he got to his feet and crept to the doorway of the room he'd settled in for the night. Or well. As quietly as one could wearing spurs.
He pushed the ruined door open, wincing when it gave a loud creak and stepped out from behind it peering out across the landing and the stairwell beyond. A little moonlight from an open hole in the roof above didn't exactly help his vision and he squinted and pulled his hat down lower over his eyes.
Something pale flashed in the utmost corner of his vision, farther down towards the bottom of the stairwell and he jerked his head around and stared. A cold sweat began to build up against his forehead. He heard faint footsteps but the moonlight didn't exactly help him see much of anything.
If there was even anything to see....This place wasn't...haunted was it? Shit. It was weirdly plausible now that he thought about it. Surely he would have seen a flashlight or heard a car driving up if it was just some kids fooling around. Right?
And there was this weird...aura? He didn't know how else to explain it but whatever it was, it was steadily growing and filled him with an inexplicable dread. Something hazy tugged at the far reaches of his memories, such as they were.
As silently as possible he backed further down the hallway, retreating hastily in the shadows, feeling his way along the wall until his hand closed around another doorknob and he swiftly ducked inside this new room. Cobwebs hung everywhere. It appeared to be a library or study of some sort...
...why are you looking for me...
...candles glittering with a wicked blue flame...
The sheer strength of that sudden vivid imagery in his mind made a cold sick chill wash through his body. He stumbled to the window, pressing a hand to his face, trying to get himself together for a minute.
What the hell had that been?
He heard the creak of footsteps going across the landing outside the door and panicked thoughts whirled through his head. Goddammit. If it was a ghost of some kind how was he going to escape?
His eyes darted towards the rotten wood paneling crisscrossing the window.
Cross. A cross? Did that work against ghosts? He desperately wrenched it off, turned it around and brandished it at the door, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited.
#Haunting Here At Pigeon Place#hol horse#jace#opal#(but if you’re a ghost and I'm a ghost)#(hehe this won't be a disaster at all)#(prepare yourself he does really stupid impulsive stuff haha)
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(( 👻 from @just-another-rhinestonecowboy Coincidentally my guy who is a rambling man decided to settle in/shelter for the night at what looks like just an abandoned house. He's not got a clue that it's haunted.))
👻 to enter a haunted house
@just-another-rhinestonecowboy
Jace hums, bouncing on his heels as he follows Opal up the weather-worn steps. The house looms, an ancient dilapidated home of two stories. The walls and railing are coated in moss and fungus, where the paint has peeled and cracked, and they have to duck under a drapery of spanish moss where it's collected on the roof from the overhead live oaks. It's almost picture-esque-- if what you're looking for is a place that sent a chill down your spine. A haunted house, most locals swore up and down, where you could see a man's sillouette in the second story windows at night, or hear a woman singing and the sound of her weeping child she was consoling, if you were inside.
And that was exactly what Jace was here for; the Pigeon Residence was far from the most haunted place in the world, hardly even a blip on most paranormal investigators' radars, but that was what made it so perfect. It wasn't-- it wasn't fake, like you might see at some 'most haunted places in the world' where they were selling you a haunting. He wanted smaller cases, ones that others might not ever hear about. This was about the history, about sharing stories of those that came before, and maybe, just maybe, one of these days seeing something real, if he kept trying. It wasn't about treading the same ground for the attention, which was fine, but not what he wanted. This was.... hopefully a place for something real. Or maybe the next one might be-- or the next!
It didn't really matter, though; he loves these places, and the lives that lived here, or even looking into things for his community when it came up. He would happily spend the rest of his life researching and trying to understand, even if it never amounted to more.
Opal takes point, her short hair bouncing with her equally peppy steps, like a small cloud streaked with pink and blue. She has a bat nocked against her shoulder, her favorite wooden one with a few nails jaggedly sticking out, and a few little doodles he'd painted on the wood for her, including a bunny and a few hearts and stars. He's never seen her use it, but the sight of the weapon alone was usually enough to scare off anyone who might want trouble, so it serves a protective purpose, which works for them, for sure.
He slips the fabric handle of his camcorder over his palm, and records a shot of her bouncing her way down the dusty, rotting hall. "This is th' Pigeon Residence. Isn't it breathtakin'? Y'don't see paneling like this anymore in houses." He pans over the walls, carved delicately with small floral designs. A few petals are missing, but most remain-- he only holds back from touching them, to feel the raised wood beneath his fingers, when he considers how old the place is, and how delicate they might be. But even after so long in disrepair, they stand out, elegant and beautiful. "Th' owners of this place were Delilah and Dalton Carver-- the name Pigeon came from the work Delilah did an' what they became known f'r."
The two pass into a larger room, one with a skylight, long since opened to the skies above. Glass littered the floor and crunched with the dead leaves beneath their shoes. Cages line the walls as well, rusted on both hinges and delicately thin bars. Hanging rods were broken above them, and fabric tattered to pieces by moths and other insects as well as time lay in frumpy piles near where they might've been drawn. Inside the cages are, unsurprisingly, leaves, but also dozens of cobwebbed nests in the different enclosures; he's sure if he dug into the litter, he might find feathers and shells, too, if they survived. There's also a few cigarettes, evidence of newcomers who visited before them.
He lets his hand appear on the corner of his camcorder, gesturing around the domed room. "This is the aviary. Mrs. Carver kept birds-- pigeons-- which were sometimes trained as messengers. She was said t' have kept a variety of species, and her birds were considered the most well-trained you could get for at least a hundred miles. Whether that's true 'r not isn't really in any of th' primary sources, but a lot of accounts I've found adored her birds. She also sold some of the eggs as well, f'r pretty reasonable amounts at the time-- and it makes for a great cover too. If everyone has pigeons f'r small bird husbandry, it's a lot harder to tell when a pigeon is where it shouldn't be. And pigeons are great birds to use for 'n information network."
He pans the view up at the sky, moving so the moon was visible through the smudged glass and open, empty panels. He lets the camera slowly sweep its way down, to the pillars of the room, to the intricate decor of the walls, and even to the tiling on the floor. "Th' Carvers weren't wealthy, and looked after their own affairs between the both of 'em, as far as I've read. Dalton was a carpenter. The house is large and very specialized, for both his and his wife's work, because he built it himself, from th' ground up. Each intricate piece was hand-carved by Dalton himself. It's pretty amazing t' think about."
"Dalton, my man!" Opal grins, spinning in place at a snail's crawl, to see all the walls one by one. "That's one hell of a work ethic, gettin' this whole place here all spic and span."
Jace chuckles as he films her. "Definitely. They both worked very hard. We should see if we can find his workshop, I would love to see if any of his tools are left."
"Lead the way, sugar~." She gestures like a butler might offer someone an open door, and he lets out a breathy sound before taking point, moving further inside.
#Hol#rp#justanotherrhinestonecowboy#haunted meme#ask meme answers#here me out#it's not actually haunted#but they initially get surprised and think Hol is some spirit haunting the place lol#long post#sorry about it being so long it's just setting up but i usually keep actual replies pretty short! so it should pair down when they meet#Opal Noble#Haunting Here at Pigeon Place#ic Jace
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City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 13
Cass looked up as Jason came out of Danny’s room. He looked better.
After Danny had been stabilized, Cass had taken Jason away from the safe house and to Jason’s place with the gym in the basement. She knew what it was like to have that need to act— to hurt to ruin to end— burning under her skin. She gave Jason the fight that he needed, letting him punch and kick until they were both covered in bruises and he was shaking apart in her arms.
Today he looked better.
“N is going to stay with Danny,” Jason said with a little nod backwards.
Dick, Jason, Tim, and herself had all been taking turns staying with their new brother. He was sleeping a lot right then; he was waking with nightmares a lot too. Waking up with one of them touching him seemed to help him calm the quickest so they took turns staying close.
“Red?” Cass asked with a little tilt of her head.
Jason glanced at the clock on the oven as he opened the fridge. He wasn’t really hungry, but eating out of habit. “He’ll be over here in two hours, I he doesn’t get distracted.”
“Be nice. Red cares. He’ll be here,” she said.
Jason seemed to settle on something and popped the top off before throwing it in the microwave. “Yeah… yeah. Danny’s pretty much wormed his way into all of our hearts, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. Will for rest too.”
Jason snorted. “As if he already hasn’t with B. They didn’t need to meet for that. You know how the old man is, a real bleeding heart of stone.”
Cass rolled her eyes and ordered again, “Be nice.”
Jason frowned at her but she just smiled serenely back until he rolled his eyes. It was a win enough for her.
The heated food was set on a trivet between them and Jason stuck two forks in it.
“I’m thinking we get O in here in a few days,” he said around his own large bite of lasagna. “Danny is healing better this time, but we don’t know what sort of set back this will cause mentally and all. Having another set of hands would be good.”
“O will like him.”
“Course she will,” Jason said with almost a scoff.
“No O and Red,” Cass added thoughtfully after she had chewed her own bite. This was definitely Jason lasagna and not Alfred lasagna.
“Yeah… I don’t think I’m going to trust those three in a room together for a long time,” Jason said with a dawning sort of horror. “Danny took apart the remote here and now it has buttons for services I didn’t even know existed. I swear it will change shows on its own too if no one is paying attention to it. It’s useful, I guess, but a little creepy.”
“Ghost brother,” Cass said with a little shrug.
Jason’s eyes narrowed before he let out an exhausted sounding sigh. “I hate that you might be right. Our controller could be haunted now.”
“Alas poor Yorick?”
“Wrong character,” Jason said, pointing with his fork, “but that is a play with a ghost in it so good job.”
Cass smiled happily at the praise. “Once Red is here, you and me errands?”
“You just want to buy Danny another present,” Jason said, jabbing his fork in her direction.
“Yes,” she said with zero shame.
Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine, but we have to do groceries too.”
-
Babs had been warned that Danny was still very skittish, but he hadn’t actually expected him to freeze like a scared rabbit when she came into the apartment. She stopped rolling forward and moved her hands to where he could see them both clearly.
“Hi Danny,” she said with her kindest librarian voice that she had. “I’m Oracle. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Danny shook his head, the motion ran through him like a shudder and whatever had frozen him shook off him like water off a dog. His smile was still shaky though, so Babs didn’t think that whatever the reaction had been was completely done.
“Hi, Oracle.” His voice was soft, rough, a little broken.
She’d heard from a number of the bats about the latest development and the trauma that went with it, but it as still something to see someone that looked like a young Bruce covered in bandages and looking more than worse for the wear.
“Are you alright if I come in? If you aren’t, that’s alright. I’ll just talk with Nightwing in the hall for a little.”
“No, you can come in,” Danny said, sitting up a little straighter. His eyes flicked over her again. “It’s just… your hair reminded me of someone is all. No one… no one bad.”
Babs offered him a smile and came the rest of the way into the apartment. “If that changes, just let me know.”
“It’s fine, really,” Danny said, though the words were still a little bit of a whisper.
“Well then,” Dick said, interrupting the end of the oddly tense moment, “Babs, do you want any hot chocolate?”
“Thank you, but without the mountain of whip cream I know you liked to put on it,” she said, giving Dick a playful glare.
He shrugged unrepentantly. “Danny?”
“Yes please,” he said. He was fussing with the blanket he had been sitting under, folding it up just so.
Babs moved towards the kitchen to give him a little bit of space and the illusion of some privacy.
‘What was that about?’ Babs asked Dick silently through raised eye brows, a slightly twisted frown, and a subtle nod towards the living room.
‘Not a damn clue,’ is what Dick’s shrug said back.
It almost made Babs sigh.
Danny was still a complete mystery to her. While they were being good and had avoided taking blood or fingerprints from Danny, Barbara had at least been trying to find Danny’s path through the city. She’d been saying for days now that the boy was like a ghost.
She just didn’t expect that to be as literal as it was.
The nickname had lost any of its fun.
“Danny, whipped cream for you?” Dick asked.
Danny’s eyes darted from Dick to Babs.
“Oh, feel free to have it like N,” Babs said with a smile. “I just don’t have the sweet tooth that he does.”
“She never has, it’s tragic,” Dick said with a sigh as he started to warm a pot of milk. “So, whipped cream.”
“Um, yes,” Danny said.
“I will take sprinkles though,” Babs said. “Do you have the little—”
“Bats?” Dick scoffed. “Of course I have the little bats. You can’t have proper hot chocolate without the little bat sprinkles.”
“Of course not,” words serious but unable to help the little smile that she sported.
“You all really like the theme, don’t you?” Danny asked, though he was smiling too now.
“The boy in the hoddie with the Bat logo on it does not get to talk,” Dick said and tossed a large marshmallow at Danny with pin point accuracy.
Danny caught it effortlessly and started to pull it apart with a little shrug. “Hood got if for me as a present.”
“Of course he did,” Tim said as he finally emerged from wherever he had been tucked away. He handed the tablet he was carrying over to Danny before he sat down in the neighboring armchair. “He’s just trying to claim you first, as if him and I didn’t find you together.”
“Hot chocolate, Red?” Dick asked while Danny was busy looking bewildered at that.
“Sure, but add some coffee to it?” Tim asked.
“No,” Dick replied far too cheerfully. “But seriously Dandelion, a Bat logo from a Bat means something.”
Danny’s face scrunched up at that and he looked down at himself. “I don’t think… he was trying to claim me?”
Babs snorted. “Oh, trust us, he was absolutely claiming you. He probably felt that he had to do something material to even start to compete with B.B., as if he wasn’t cooking for you all the time.”
Danny stared back at her with wide blue eyes. The open surprise and desperate want was odd to see on someone that looked so much like Bruce. Damian certainly never let himself appear that way.
“And Red is already souping up your tablet, I’m assuming— though if you really want an improvement let me see it,” she continued, talking over Tim’s little snort, “and N is making you the special hot chocolate. Even Signal is thinking what he can get you and Spoiler is whining that she hasn’t met you yet.”
“She is getting so annoying,” Tim whined while Danny stuffed the shredded marshmallow in his mouth, likely to get out of saying anything. He looked more than a little teary eyed. Tim gave him the out by continuing, “We’ll have her over one morning when she’ll be tired and easily distracted by waffles. You’re not up for the full Spoiler experience yet.”
“Trust Red on that,” Dick interjected as he stirred the coco, “he dated her.”
“I don’t know what either of us were thinking,” Tim said with a sigh. “We are both way too high maintenance in different ways for it to have worked.”
“You were still waiting for you bi awakening, baby bird, you were missing out on half the options,” Dick said. He dropped one of the oversized marshmallows in each of the four mugs before pouring the scalding hot chocolate over it.
Babs left him to his sorcery and wheeled over to the couch before working her way onto it. Danny helpfully moved the blanket out of the way and then offered it back after. She draped it carefully over her legs.
“So what did Red do to your tablet?”
“I actually didn’t do anything,” Tim said, and then had to pause. “Well, not after I gave it to Danny at least. I was just making sure everything was still good. Danny’s been tinkering with it.”
Danny gave a little shrug and picked at the edge of his hoodie.
“Do you like engineering then? Or inventing?” Babs asked, trying to encourage Danny to open up a little.
“Yeah, my— I—, I mean…” Danny stumbled over his words. He lost some of his color with each false start until he was worryingly grey. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I used to at least.”
“Danny, hot chocolate,” Dick said with impeccable timing as always.
Danny whispered a thanks and took the almost overflowing mug. He could basically hide behind the mound of whipped cream and he definitely tried to. Babs took the offered mug with a much more modest dollop but an absurd amount of bat sprinkles. Her lips twitched up in a smile as she took a sip.
Tim’s portion was somewhere in between Bab’s and Danny and of course Dick’s was practically laughable. It’s a wonder he didn’t make an absolute mess of himself drinking it as they argued over a movie to watch. It was clever of the Bats, really, they had started to narrow down how long Danny had been a test subject by what movies he had seen or not.
It was somewhere between seventeen and twenty-three months.
Nearly two years.
They were all lucky that Danny had made it out at all. They all knew the statistics of something like that.
Hot chocolate turned into dinner turned into Danny cuddling Dick on the couch and eventually resting against Bab’s legs. A good sign about her acceptance, according to the birds.
“Oracle?”
Babs had thought that Danny was asleep. She reached out to run the tips of her fingers through his hair. The lights from the movie that was still playing glinted off her pink nails. “Yes, Danny?”
“If I asked… would you be able to find someone for me?”
She tilted her head. “The person that I remind you of?”
“Yes. Just… just so that I know she’s okay.”
“Is she in danger?”
“No, she’s not like me. She’s…” Danny cut himself off, swallowing back the words.
“But you’d still like to know.”
“Yes.”
Babs hummed. It was technically an abuse of her powers, but they were something she abused all the time. “Yes, if you ask me to, I can find out if she’s okay.”
“Okay. I’ll… maybe I’ll ask. Thank you.”
“Of course, Danny.”
---
AN: I struggled with this chapter at first, but it was because I was jumping right to Barbara meeting Danny and not giving the others some more time to deal with the change in Danny. They still haven't really dealt with it, right now they're focused on healing and getting more help through Babs being around.
All our poor Bat's. So attached already and so traumatized.
But not as traumatized as Danny...
Stay delightful, darlings!
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Here I sit, considering Blood Blossoms.
It can be safely assumed, that the species originally developed their Anti-ghost properties to drive HUMANS and other things with, well, SOULS? Away? But as some enterprising human likely did, was selectively bred for purely Anti-ghost properties.
As with most things in nature, we can only assume it was originally to allow for unfettered spread of its seeds. Likely even had an effect on other PLANTS, allowing it more soil in which to grow. A "Blight Blossom" if you will. Or "Life's Bane".
But! That is not what I wonder about.
I wonder about the OTHER end of the evolutionary niche. Like plants with berries, meant to entice birds and other animals into carrying their seeds to new and fertile grounds.
Are there Ghost ATTRACTING plants?
And I don't not mean, drugs, though that certainly WOULD be one means of attracting potentially symbiotic relationships. I mean plants that smell unusually good. TASTE good. Have developed around high ectoplasmic areas.
Do they only exsist in the Realms? Or are such plants possible to find in the living Realm?
If I found them, dug them up carefully, and transferred them to a brand new home, freshly built on untouched land... would it be haunted in short order? Or would the plants die, because the environment could no longer support them?
The most LIKELY contender to exsist? Would be some sort of extoplasmic berry. An EXTREMELY hardy and slow growing vine, that likely grows in places of high extoplasm. Such as old war zones, grave yards, old hospitals, and cities with particularly high death counts. Or Amity. Really, anywhere it can find a LOT of Ectoplasm.
I imagine the berries would literally glow. Like neon battery acid. Reminiscent of blackberry bushs with long creeping vines and hooking thorns. Darker, red black leaves.
DEEPLY lethal if the living ingested. The comparison to battery acid being not made lightly.
The berries, I imagine, would basicly be sugar water and ectoplasm. Sweet ecto. The plant "realizing" that ghosts need ectoplasm. If it HAS ectoplasm, they will come get it. And if the form the ectoplasm is pleasing? They will cultivate the plant to get more.
Because that's what it does. It passively gathers ectoplasm from the air, water, and soil.
Into a nice, neat, EDIBLE little treat.
After all, it's not like there's a hole to the Zone just lying around! Do you know how hard it is to luck out and find a natural portal? How are we to feed ourselves? Sit here and suck air?
Yes, the portal makes the plant effectively redundant. But! Much like pigeons? It doesn't stop EXISTING just because ghosts aren't using it now. Just going unharvested.
Which? Is probably why there are so many new ghost animals. They ARE berries after all. Danny should probably talk to people about that. It's irresponsible to just up an leave lethal fruit where humans might find it.
@hdgnj @nerdpoe @ailithnight @the-witchhunter
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The Folly of Men -
Chapter 3: #228B22
AO3 - MASTERPOST
[GENERAL TW: Swearing, lukewarm violence, lots of POV changes, and mild body horror.]
-
Damian was still being watched. The summer storm had well and passed, but the eyes he felt on the back of his neck were persistent, following him no matter where he went. He drove himself mad, tearing his room and the rest of Wayne Manor apart for bugs, asked Oracle to scan the city while he patrolled, and even pulled in a favor with some magic users to ensure he wasn't being haunted. Nothing! It was concerning his family, but Damian didn't care. He kept himself surrounded by others at all times whenever he left the house. Something was out there, ready for him to be truly alone. He didn't want to give them the opportunity.
The day came when he was assigned to patrol with Orphan since Batman was with the League but was separated due to the Riddler's schemes. They had solved the riddle already, thankfully, but Damian was intercepted while on his way to their meet-up point.
Pru, a former League assassin, caught his attention from one of Gotham's rooftops, and he swung down to meet her.
“Assassin,” was his only greeting. Damian was not a fool. No matter what had happened between Pru and Drake, she was still dangerous. He drew his sword easily and pointed it at her neck, reminding her that he was still a threat as well.
Pru didn’t look too happy to see him either. “Don’t give me that shit, Robin,” she snarled. “I’m just here to pass on a message.”
“I believe you are loyal to my brother, not me,” Robin hissed. “Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”
“Because it’s important!” Pru looked frustrated. “Eth Alth'eban is on lockdown, and I barely managed to get out. I can’t get in touch with Red Robin; every time I try, something happens and messages are re-routed or destroyed. Lightning strikes on the communication towers in Antarctica, the encrypted server that runs through Bolivia crashed from a fucking hurricane, even the goddamn carrier pigeon got drawn off course from high winds in Brazil! Do you have any idea how erratic the past two weeks have been? It’s like something is out to get me!”
“So why come to me? You’re in Gotham now.” He pointed out.
Pru threw her hands up, exasperated. “Because Nightwing told me Red Robin is out of the country to help with flooding in Qatar! Apparently, there’s a fucking tropical storm hitting it for the first time ever! You’re the one who really needs to hear this, anyway, so I gave up and found you. It seems Gotham won’t let me leave until I say my piece.”
Damian considered the situation. Pru really did look like she’d been through hell and back. She looked furious at something, and her clothes were still damp from rain. Except it hadn’t rained in Gotham for a while. Not since…the summer storm. The back of his neck tingled again, and he glanced around. Clouds were closing in. Fuck.
He sheathed his sword. Pieces from this puzzle were starting to fall into place, but he needed more information. “Say what you must,” he nodded to Pru while tapping his comms to alert Oracle to the conversation. He also activated his emergency tracker, hoping Orphan or Nightwing would find him in time. Their conversation would end quickly once the woman relayed her message, and Damian wasn't about to force Pru to stay because he was nervous about being alone.
“Finally,” Pru sighed and sat heavily on the rooftop, not minding the glass that dug into her hands and thighs. “Your grandfather has a new Heir.”
Damian blinked, pausing. He wasn’t quite expecting that.
“I only knew about this early because they killed my inside man in the medical department. I got a hold of his notes, and it looks like they were in the middle of treating an unknown entity, and the files all referred to it as the ‘Demon's Heir.’ I'm not Red, so I can't be sure, but the records don't start in a way that would suggest they made a test tube baby or another clone."
"And it is not my cousin they are treating? Perhaps grandfather has changed his mind and declared Mara his ideal Heir."
Pru stared at Gotham's roiling clouds, looking frustrated. She didn't seem to notice anything strange about them. "No. Mara al Ghul was in Kuwait until recently. She and the others from the Demon's Fist were doing something on orders from Mother Soul. It's above my pay grade, so I can't tell you much more than that other than they left suddenly without finishing their business. I'll take a guess that Mother Soul will be pissed about that. I do know that the medical records were updated two days ago to reflect a stab wound to the entity's chest. Their name was also updated: Phantom."
Damian considered Pru's words. He turned the clues over in his mind like stones, carefully examining anything that might hint at deceit. She was telling the truth, unfortunately. "So someone named Phantom has claimed the role of Demon's Heir, and my cousin most likely heard this news first and abandoned her post to attack the usurper," he summarized. "And my grandfather has closed off his city for one reason or another, presumably to either train or protect Phantom. Am I correct?"
Pru nodded. "That's pretty much it, birdie. Whatcha gonna do about it?"
He ignored the jab. "I will consider my options," he said stiffly. "Now that you've served your purpose, leave Gotham immediately." Orphan, where are you?
The former assassin laughed and hauled herself to her feet, brushing off the glass and dirt that stuck to her clothes. "I'll consider it. I've been running around for weeks; Red Robin won't mind if I crash at his, will he?"
"He will."
"Tough shit. See you around!" Pru jumped off the rooftop and into the alley below, not giving a shit about potential muggers as she waltzed into the night.
He was alone.
Damian watched her go before tapping his comms again. “Did you hear everything?” He asked Oracle, but no reply came except static. He expected this but cursed anyway. Thunder started to rumble overhead; he felt it deep in his bones. Whispers of electricity started crawling along the rooftop, following wires and coming dangerously close to touching him. He was forced to back into a corner on the rooftop and hoped his rubber-insulated boots were enough to prevent a shock. The feeling from earlier was stronger than ever. Someone was watching him. They knew he was finally alone. Obviously, Orphan nor Nightwing would get there in time, so Damian would have to deal with this himself.
He turned in a circle, straining his eyes to see through the cloud cover. He still couldn’t pinpoint their location, but he knew they were up there. “Reveal yourself!” He barked, hand on his weapon.
A moment passed. The air pressure changed, making his ears pop uncomfortably. His eyes were trained on the sky as rain started to fall. The clouds above the city gathered wildly, swirling together and reaching down toward him. The bolts of electricity that crawled over the rooftop raced together and rose up to meet it, becoming large bolts of lightning that could do real harm to the city if even one got loose. He stepped back into the corner even further, watching the mass of storm clouds finally get low enough to spread out across the building like a thick fog, revealing a figure in the vague shape of a man.
Great. Of course, it was something magical. He'd be having words with the magic users from earlier.
The man wasn’t touching the ground. In fact, Damian could hardly make out his legs as his broad form blurred from the wind, snatching bits of his green body away. Smaller rain clouds encircled his waist like a belt, and his hair looked more like jagged horns sitting against his brow. While he wore a well-loved weather vest and thick gloves, the rain around them would have soaked the man through by now. But he was perfectly dry. Damian was a little envious.
The man was smiling at him, but not the kind of smile that welcomed him into the conversation. No, this man of clouds and lightning was holding himself like someone was forcing him to be there. His red eyes looked like a swirling red cyclone, and his overall air was disinterested and tired.
Damian flinched as the man opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except drawn-out screeches and clicks. It sounded like thunder was crashing right next to his ear or a tree getting struck by lightning. He didn't like it. The man frowned, realizing Damian couldn't understand him, and cleared his throat to try again.
“Hello, little Robin,” the man eventually tried, this time in Arabic. His voice was…strange. It sounded like he was gasping with every word, and the thundering sound was still there, muted and layered under the greeting. "I'm sorry, I forgot the people of this world are not natural speakers of the Realm's language."
“I am not little,” Damian snarled, likewise in Arabic.
“Of course not,” the man waved his hand. “A ghost’s size does not determine their power. I greet you nonetheless, little Robin.”
Damian had a feeling that speaking with this man was going to be infuriating. “Who are you?” He demanded. “And why are you in Gotham City?”
“You may call me the Navigator,” the man bowed a little, stiff in his back like he wasn’t used to the action. The Navigator, it seemed, was used to being in power. But by bowing to Damian, he showed his reluctant submission right off the bat, hoping to appease him and have a civil conversation. “And I believe you have a hunch as to why I’m here. You noticed me pretty quickly, after all.”
“So you are the one who’s been stalking me.”
“In plainer terms, yes.”
“I presume you’re the one who’s been messing with Pru as well?”
“You would presume correctly,” The Navigator's face scrunched and swirled like he was making a face of disgust. “I would rather have sent my sylphs to do it, but the Scepter insisted I do this part myself.”
More new information. If Damian remembered, sylphs were elemental wind spirits. So the Navigator was either a spirit himself or someone who could control them. But he said ‘ghost’ earlier. How did that fit in? He didn't look like the undead Damian knew of.
And ‘the Scepter’ was said with an inflection that suggested it was a name. Scepters were symbols of royalty, but Damian didn’t know anyone who actually used one or went by that name. It was no title he’d ever heard of. Whoever they were, they had to be more powerful than the Navigator if they had truly sent him after Robin.
“Aye, I can hear your brain working from here, little Robin.” The Navigator rolled his eyes, stretching the tiny cyclones. “You three are so similar that I’ll never find peace.”
“I don’t quite follow. State your business quickly; I’m losing my patience.”
The Navigator waved his hand, summoning a tablet out of nowhere. He tapped on it a few times clumsily, like he wasn't used to holding it, and then tossed it to Damian. The boy caught it easily and examined the thing. It looked like a normal tablet, similar to the ones Drake made and sold. It had a shield logo stamped on the back with Egyptian hieroglyphs engraved around the edge. It was warm to the touch, and Damian felt a little tingle as he turned it over in his hands. This was filled with magic.
The screen was made from something other than normal glass, that much he could tell as he scrolled away, trying his best to absorb the information quickly while keeping an eye on the stranger. It was a contract, he realized. The contract had been written on papyrus and then scanned in digitally. Half of it was written in a language he recognized but couldn't read. The other half contained details on limitations for the Navigator and instructions he was to follow regarding 'ghostlings,' 'The Guardian,' and...Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne.
Damian paled beneath the mask. His full name was in this contract. This was about him. The magical being before him knew who he was. He sped through the pages faster, frantically looking for answers.
...And as stated previously, the Navigator, Ancient of Storms, will grant Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne his blessing. This blessing will last the entirety of Damian's natural life until death returns him to the Realms. Upon completing the blessing, the Navigator will dispatch one guard to watch over Damian until the Scepter returns* but will not interfere with him personally.
During this period, the Guardian will fulfill the contract between the Gardener, Ancient of Growth, and one Ra's al Ghul. *The Scepter will enter The Guardian's time loop, and therefore, the Navigator may return to the Realms once the time loop is closed again. The runaway ghostlings will be promptly returned to their Lairs and Haunts in the correct dimensions.
As one last note, the Navigator will also refrain from fucking around with The Sword and The Shield unless he wants to find out what they can do. (I'm serious, too. The Shadow is busy, but I'll still find out if you try something, and I will kick your ass with no hesitation. The other two will be more than willing to punt your ass into Soup Time, as well.)
Upon completing this assignment, I release you from your bind, Ancient of Storms. Return to your Lair and rest with your sylphs. Thank you for your service.
Upon signing, all parties agree to abide by this contract until its terms are met. May the End take our souls if it is ever broken.
The Navigator, Ancient of Storms
Jasmine Nightingale, the Guardian's Scepter
At the bottom, under the signatures, Damian spotted a smaller note addressed to him.
Damian al Ghul, I look forward to our first meeting. Don't forget to bring your sword!
"You," he breathed heavily, glancing up at the mass of clouds. "Explain. What on earth is this?"
The Navigator cocked his head a little too far to the left. "I thought it was pretty self-explanatory," he said in a bored tone. "I was essentially sent on a ravenger hunt to find you and some escaped ghostlings. You shall receive my blessing whether I like it or not, and then I'll leave you to return to my Lair. Hopefully, I'll never have to grace these rotten clouds again!"
"It's 'scavenger hunt.'"
"Huh?"
"Never mind. You are useless at explaining. What is this 'Ancient of Storms' title you have? What are these Realms this contract speaks of? Why must you give me a blessing?"
"Ughhh," the Navigator rolled in the air, groaning. "I'm the embodiment of storms, isn't that obvious? I'd rather deal with Plasmius now than talk with a naive ghostling like you. What kind of ghostling speaks like this anyway? It's rude! I've been practicing my manners; the least you can do is humor me. At least Phantom can figure shit out on his own; I don't have to explain anything to him."
"Phantom?" The name caught Damian's attention. "You know Phantom? Who is he? What does he want with my grandfather?"
"Dunno, little Robin. That's between the Scepter and the Gardener. They had a contract in place decades before your grandfather was even born. And since I'm not allowed near Phantom for a while, all I know is that he's been handed over to Ra's al Ghul for a chance at recovery. He was involved in an incident recently. I don't know the details, but he's hurt so badly it's turning the Realms upside down. That's why I was sent away; I thrive off chaos."
"So, again, you are useless," Damian snarled. He turned away, which, in hindsight, was a stupid move, but he was so angry at the lack of answers that he didn't care. He buried himself back into the tablet, scanning through the contract again, looking for anything useful. Everything seemed so organized, yet the information he wanted felt just out of reach.
He vaguely heard the Navigator mutter in surprise. Something about freaky time visions being too accurate before a blinding white hot pain spread across his body. He dropped the tablet, falling to his knees. It felt like lightning was crawling under his skin, burning him from the inside out. He was distantly aware that he was screaming but didn't know how to stop it. Then the pain was gone in the next instant, and he was left collapsed on the roof, eyes screwed shut as shudders racked his body. He smelled burning flesh. A misty touch brushed away his damp bangs, cooling his brow.
"Yup, I'm pretty sure he's still alive," the Navigator murmured. "Well done, little Robin. Perhaps the Scepter knew what she was talking about when she said you could house my power. Either way, I've said my piece. The rest is up to you. Goodbye, and I hope to never see you again. Feel free to pass on those ghost rabies to the Gardener if you ever see him, though."
And with a rumble of thunder, the presence of the spirit disappeared, taking with him the gentle rain and green storm clouds. Damian lay on that roof for what felt like ages, staring into nothing and dazed from the pain. Nightwing eventually found him, however, with Orphan not far behind.
"Baby Bat!" His elder brother cried, sliding to a stop beside him and gathering Damian in his arms. Cass hovered next to them, unsure of what to do.
"Baba," he croaked in return. "The tablet..."
"Don't worry about that," Nightwing pushed his bangs back, just like the Navigator had. "Are you okay? You're shaking; Oracle lost contact with you over an hour ago and you never showed up to the rendezvous spot. What happened?"
Damian tried to tell him. A being made of storms came by, looking for me by name. He wanted to say. He cut off my comms and shared a contract with me. Then he struck me with lightning and left. We need to bring the tablet back to the Cave for analysis.
But his throat was too dry, and Damian's mind was in too much pain to form the words. As he curled up in Nightwing's arms, all he could mumble was the word 'baba' again and drop his head to the side. Nightwing cursed, instructed Orphan to grab the tablet, and swiftly made the trip back to the Cave with a sense of urgency. Damian groaned the whole way. His body was tender, and every jostle sent tiny shocks through his nerves.
He must have passed out at some point because he remembered skirting around Crime Alley one moment and Alfred checking his vitals the next. The butler gave him a gentle look and dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth. "Where's-" he tried to ask.
"Quiet, Master Damian. Master Dick will be here in a moment." Alfred soothed. Damian dropped it and settled back into the medical bed. When had he taken his clothes off? How long was he out?
A few minutes later, his siblings got the message that he'd awoken and stormed the med bay. "Baby Bat!" Cried Dick, sliding into the room and bolting to Damian's side. "Are you okay? Do you remember us?"
"Yes, baba." Damian croaked. Alfred held a glass of water to his lips, and he sipped carefully to soothe the burn in his throat.
"Dickie told me you got one hell of a shock," Jason, the second eldest, stood in the doorway, arms crossed and staring at them. Cass hung from his side, overwhelmed with anxiety. Steph was shuffling an exhausted Duke into one of the other medical beds, simply so the boy could feel included but still get some rest.
"I did," Damian confessed. Dick gripped his hand tightly, helping him sit up better. "I've been feeling a presence stalk me over the past few weeks, and tonight, I was finally confronted when Cain and I were separated." He left out the part with Pru for now but relayed everything the Navigator had told him, including the details he'd seen on the contract.
Everyone stayed silent as he spoke, but Dick looked like he was ready to bite someone by the end of the story.
"I'm calling everyone back to the Cave," he decided. "This is a Code Addams."
Jason shook his head immediately. "I'm all for punching storm cryptids," he said. "But you know this doesn't fall under Bruce's emergency plans."
"He's right, Dick," Steph frowned. She sat on the other side of Damian's bed, playing with his fingers lightly, and he didn't have the energy to move her. "We can put out a warning, but this sounds like League business to me. Most of us won't really be any help when it comes to al Ghul family drama."
"It's not 'drama,' Brown. Grandfather has taken a new, unknown Heir that has connections to several powerful entities if I'm not mistaken."
Steph nodded. "Yeah! Drama! And if that freaky storm demon shows up again, then we're even less equipped to deal with it. B's not even here right now to help, so we're on our own for this one."
"I'll even send Babs a copy of the contract; she'll probably be able to find something we can't." Jason started tapping away at his phone with one hand, updating the BatKids group chat on the situation and unloading the work onto Barbara.
Dick looked devastated. "But-"
"Hey, Dami?" Duke groaned, cutting everyone off. He was tangled in the thin sheets of the bed now, squinting at the youngest Wayne like he was staring at the sun. "I was kind of half-listening, but you said something about the lightning strike being a blessing, right?"
"Correct."
"Okay, um. Are you aware you glow now? Well, glow more than you used to?"
"...I was not aware. What do you see?"
Duke shuffled and threw an arm over his eyes. The lights of the med bay were giving him a migraine, but he refused to leave now. "You used to just look like a lamp. Now, you look like a bolt of lightning," he said. "There's electricity following your nerves. And your eyes are glowing green—just like Jason's when he's mad. Whatever you got hit with, it's definitely doing something to your body. I just don't know what."
Everyone paused at that.
"Well shit," Jason eventually broke the silence, bringing Cass even closer like a teddy bear. "Looks like we should get a hold of Talia and Bruce, at minimum. Demon Brat, you should probably go to Eth Alth'eban if you want answers."
Damian thumped his head against his thin pillow. "Fuck."
"Potty mouth!"
-
Danny was starting to get tired of waking up sore.
At least he recognized the room. It was the same one as before and actually decorated like a patient's room, not an underground bunker with his own blood splattered on the walls. He groaned, trying to shift his body. How much was he missing? His lungs were back, obviously. They felt raw in his chest. His vocal chords were also half-baked, but speaking wasn't really an issue right now.
What mattered was his pounding headache and the fire beneath his skin. He had started to sweat in his sleep, which is something he'd never done ever since he had died. Danny tried to glance down at this chest. (Had someone slipped his bones back into place?) The bandages were professional work but pulled away easily when he tugged on them. He hissed as they caught on fresh scabs and drew tiny amounts of blood.
His torso was a fucking mess. Danny was underground for ages, he knew. The GIW treated him like an immortal lab rat by tearing open his body every day to poke around and take samples. It was a miracle they didn't find his broken core, which was hidden deep behind his heart.
The cuts on his torso were being held together by surgical staples; no doubt any stitches or glue dissolved when in contact with his blood. His skin was flushed, puckered, and oozed green. The stab wound was fresher and looked nastier than what Lunch Lady could cook up. It was probably infected. He most likely would have scars even as a ghost. Frostbite once told him that wounds to the soul were the hardest to heal, and Danny didn't see himself getting over this anytime soon.
He laid his head back, staring at the smooth ceiling. A whine built in his throat. Why did everything have to hurt? He just wanted to go home.
But where was home?
His home was gone.
He had nothing to return to.
His parents pretty much disowned him the moment they sold him to the GIW.
The whine turned into a quiet sob, and he let himself sit there and shake. All he had ever done was try to be a good son to his parents, a good friend to Sam and Tucker, and a good brother to Dani and Jazz. Why did it have to be up to him to save others? Sure, it was kind of fun, but the stress of protecting both humans and ghosts got to Danny fast. The others didn't understand. No one understood. And now they never will because Danny was gone and had no home.
And there was that heavy pain again. His core became impossibly cold, uncomfortable against his human heart. It was pulling at his skin and at his bones. He gasped and cried, balling up the bandages in his fist. Was his chest caving in? His core felt like it was trying to turn him inside out and tear him apart.
Why was no one there to help him? Why wasn't he good enough to be saved? Was it because he couldn't save that little girl? Were his failures finally catching up to him? He'll do better, he promises...
Desiree must have heard his silent pleas. The door to his room opened, and a single man entered. It took a moment to recognize him through his tears, but Danny eventually saw that he was the same man who had soothed him to sleep previously.
"Ra's al Ghul," Danny managed. The man nodded to him, coming closer to stare at Danny while he writhed on the bed.
"You are having another panic attack."
"C-can't-"
"The doctors say you have lungs once more. Use them."
"It hurts-"
"Then let it hurt," Ra's didn't look away from Danny. He was cold but not disgusted. He expected Danny to be strong enough to handle this himself. "You are my Heir now; either embrace the pain or let go of what torments you. Become stronger."
"I can't!" Danny sobbed. His shoulders shook with the effort it took to speak. "They'll come back-"
Ra's firmly said, "They shall not."
"You don't know that! I'll be cut up again!"
"You are not from this world, Phantom. Whatever torments you cannot follow."
The words slowly sunk into his brain. The weight was lifted off his chest for a moment. Another world? He wasn't in his home dimension? The GIW didn't exist here? His parents weren't waiting around the corner with a bone saw and handcuffs?
That was great, but that also meant he truly was alone now.
There was no way for him to find his way back, was there?
The pressure from his core lessened, and his body stopped trying to eat itself. His chest expanded again, allowing him to breathe properly through choked sobs and broken groans. He clenched his teeth, trying to stop the tears. He really was useless.
"You are not useless, Phantom." Ra's had a hard light in his eyes. "As mentioned before, you are an al Ghul now, one of my grandsons, no matter what you were previously. You are very valuable to the League now, and I refuse to let you go."
Danny sniffed. "I can't offer you much," he said. "I remember that Undergrowth promised you power and knowledge, but I'm practically a high school dropout, and I'm so weak I can barely lift my head."
"So you shall regain your strength. I have lived a long time, grandson, and I shall live even longer. Your recovery will be swift when compared to the erosion of time."
"Mr. al Ghul..." Danny said defeatedly. His throat felt thick from all the crying. "I couldn't even keep my town safe. All I'm good for is killing kings and pissing people off. I don't want to bring you that kind of shame."
Ra did not show any signs of his satisfaction with Danny's words, but Danny could taste it in the air. "So you were a warrior, yes?"
"I-uh, sort of? I'm a ghost, and I died two years ago. Ghosts fight for every reason and no reason. I kinda had to learn on my feet or risk getting Ended."
"A warrior who cannot die. A man who has the will to act." Ra's appraised him like a prized cow. "Yes, I shall be able to use you, child. The al Ghul legacy shall never die out if you become the Demon's Head. Phantom al Ghul is a...fitting name, I suppose."
Danny wrinkled his nose. "I don't know what half of that means, but okay. And my name isn't really Phantom; that's just my title and hero name. My real name is Danny."
"Then, Daniel-"
"Danny!"
"Daniel, now that your tears have stopped, let me call for refreshments and fresh bandages. We must discuss the Gardener's contract and your usefulness in great detail."
Danny sighed. He was calmer, but now he had to do an Ancient's magic paperwork? He'd rather let his core swallow him whole.
At least someone needed him again.
-
The group followed Jazz’s decision without a second thought and stepped through the giant portal alongside her. Luckily, it led right to the edge of the In-Between, where Clockwork and a few others resided in their individual spaces. Jazz yelped as she realized there was no solid surface to land on and flipped around in the air uncontrollably. Sam and Tucker had the same fate. All of them kind of bobbed around like ducks in the water before Danielle sighed, gathered them all up with some rope from Tucker’s pack, and hauled them along in the vague direction of Clockwork’s tower.
For a space called Long Now, it didn't take very long to reach the tower, even with Dani hauling along three passengers. Everyone was pretty quiet during the ride, still processing what they had seen in the underground facility. It was a little strange. None of them felt disgust or fear at Danny's actions, but anger and sadness at what he was forced to endure. Not once did they consider abandoning him, even though others might have shied away from his monstrous outburst.
Jazz wondered what Clockwork could possibly say to them that would make the whole thing better. She just wanted to see Danny. She wanted to sit down with him and watch shitty kid's movies while they huddled under that one big quilt her parents had. The one that was gifted to them as a wedding gift and the one they added to when something important happened. She felt horrible thinking about it now.
Jazz would probably never see that quilt again. And if she did, she would probably burn it.
"We're here," Dani quietly announced, untethering the group from her body as they touched Clockwork's island. Long Now was a special place even in the In-Between. The tower's foundations were in varying stages of decay, and much like its owner, the building warped from looking good as new to 'about to fall over' kind of old right before their eyes. Everything felt so fragile.
They entered the lower entrance, climbing a spiral staircase past rows and rows of clocks lining the walls. Everything was ticking out of sync, which usually annoyed Jazz to no end. Right now, she couldn't care less.
Reaching the top had a lack of fanfare. One minute they were passing the biggest fucking grandfather clock they'd ever seen, and the next, they were in Clockwork's main room at the top of the tower, facing the old ghost himself.
Clockwork didn't even look at them. He seemed exhausted.
"We're here," Jazz announced. "Tell us what you know."
"No greetings, Jasmine? I thought you raised Danny to have manners, so where are yours?"
"Locked behind the walls of Fentonworks. Tell us what you know, Clockwork, or I'll break everything here." She snarled. It wasn't an empty threat, and everyone knew it.
"Please, Clockwork," Tucker added. "We saw your message. Where's Danny?"
Dani started crying into Sam's shoulder. "Where's my brother?" The ghost girl sobbed. "I want to see Danny!"
Clockwork sighed. He was aging rapidly, growing wrinkles as they watched. "Daniel is safe, for now. I hid him in another world. However, the flow of time has changed. New paths are being forged. If things continue as they are, Daniel will become something worse than Dan."
Danielle muffled another sob.
"Daniel did something I did not expect while having his rampage in Yellowstone. It will take a delicate hand to make sure his actions do not cause him to go down the wrong path."
"What did he do?"
Clockwork looked them each in the eye. His eyes were glassy and blank, like the face of a new watch, but his sincerity was enough to reach them. "He sealed off the Realms."
Tucker choked. "I'm sorry, he wHAT??"
"Daniel, in his explosion of sudden power, sealed off the Infinite Realms from your home world's influence. Only the power of an Ancient can break that barrier now. The only portal still open is the one located in Fentonworks, protected by the strongest shield your mortal world has to offer. Vortex had to be sent out to collect ghostlings who didn't return in time. By sealing off the Realms, Daniel effectively declared they were under his protection and claimed the title 'Guardian' since only Guardians have the right to seal off worlds."
Jazz's mind was spinning. "He...sealed off our world. Did he do it on purpose?"
Clockwork shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. This was a decision made by Fate alone. He was simply the strongest power source available that was also willing to defend the Realms to his End. The Realms responded in kind and claimed him as Guardian. That is a title and a burden he will share forever."
"Oh, god..." Jazz sat heavily on the floor, reeling from the shock. Dani left Sam's shoulder and crumpled into her lap, still crying. Tucker and Sam also offered each other comfort, leaning on each other as Clockwork's words sunk in. "So, what happens to him? Where is he now? What future do we have to avoid?"
Clockwork waved his staff, summoning a few large clocks with reflective surfaces. The clockfaces glitched and changed to show different pictures of Danny, all doing various things at different stages in his life. One had Danny laughing with a group of strangers. Another had him shaking hands with a green-skinned man. A third was him sitting in a hospital bed, getting stabbed in the chest. They cycled through different pictures and videos, and it was hard to look away.
"This is the future we must avoid." Clockwork motioned to the smallest clock, which showed a furious Danny screaming into the vacuum of space, tears pouring down his face. A large rip into the Realms tore open from his Wail, and the stars surrounding him started to get sucked in.
"If this future comes true, Daniel will destroy not only your home world but the Realms as a whole," The Ancient explained. "Because of his new link to the Realms, no one will be able to take the title of Guardian from him. He will become a destroyer and tear apart every universe and every timeline. Everything will just...End."
"That's horrible," Sam whispered. "What's the tipping point?"
Again, Clockwork looked them deep in their eyes. "Your betrayals."
"WHAT??" Danielle screeched, whipping around.
"You betray him by dying, Danielle. You melt in his arms and ask why he didn't save you. Samantha, you betray him by leaving him. Your home world is never unsealed and you can't stand not being able to see your grandmother again. Tucker, you betray him by lying to him. You say you're on his side but end up stabbing him in the back for a 'good cause.' Jasmine, you betray him by acting just like your parents." Jazz felt tears prick her eyes, but Clockwork kept going. "You see the monster he has become and can't look past it. The four of you betraying him would be his last straw, and Daniel would rather tear apart the universe than be reminded of you four ever again. And so he does."
Sam protested, "We would never!"
"You wouldn't." Clockwork agreed. "But you can, and in some ways, you already have. That is how time works. If you do not want to bring about this end, you must actively fight against this destiny like Daniel has fought against Dan."
Tucker whipped out his PDA, already taking notes. "What's the game plan, then? I would rather eat Dash's underwear than stab Danny in the back. If I have to throw hands with an evil version of myself from the future, I'm willing to do that, too."
Clockwork smiled at them for the first time since their arrival. "That was the right response," he told Tucker. "You're already taking a step away from that future. But for the best ending for everyone, all four of you will need to connect with the Realms as well."
"But we don't have the same power that Danny does."
"No, but your will is just as strong as his. Prove to the Realms that you're willing to fight, protect, and love just as much as Daniel. Become his support. Do it right, follow in his footsteps, and the Realms shall accept you with open arms. You will be bound together as a family for eternity."
The four looked at each other. Jazz gently wiped away the remainder of Dani's tears as they pondered over the ghost's words. Connecting with the Realms would probably mean giving up some amount of their humanity, especially if it truly was a forever thing. They might follow in Danny's footsteps a little too closely-but for their friend and brother? They would do anything.
"Fuck eternity!"
"Tell us what to do."
"We'll always be there for Danny."
"I don't plan on eating any underwear, but I will fight evil me if that's what it takes."
Clockwork shriveled up, folding in on himself several times before unfolding into a child, like a phoenix (but without the fire). He looked less exhausted now, less like the promise of the End was no longer hovering over his shoulder. "Become the Guardian's Shadow, Danielle. Take up his mantle while he is away and keep the peace in his stead. Be the Guardian's Sword, Samantha. Be at the front of each fight and kill when he cannot. The Guardian's Shield will be you, Tucker. Your wish to protect those around you will come true, and you will gain the power to shield them from harm. And Jasmine-"
Jazz held her breath.
"You will have the most difficult job. You will be the Guardian's Scepter. His symbol of power. You will work behind the scenes to stage events that shall work in his favor no matter what."
She released her breath, surprised. "A scepter? Like the symbol of royalty? But wasn't the position of King given to another?"
"In sorts. Daniel helped elect a council to rule the Realms and refused to be a part of it. However, you shall be his Scepter, only wielded in times of need. You will take the dark and harsher jobs that shouldn't be brought to life. You will pull the strings to ensure the timelines stay together, and he never strays from the path."
"How would I do that?"
"You need to become my apprentice."
-
After Jason's statement about coming to see Ra's in person, the whole Batfamily blew up. Words were said in person and over text, and Damian was too exhausted at the time to get a word in edgewise, so let Jason argue for him. Eventually, Bruce had to take a moment away from his League duties and settle the matter over a conference call. After debating, he allowed Damian to return to the League of Assassins, provided Dick went with him. The man was already on a leave of absence from his job to cover for Batman, and he could keep a level head when dealing with the Demon's Head.
So off they went as soon as Alfred gave Damian the all-clear. Strangely enough, he had no side effects from being struck by fucking lightning. Well, almost none. He did feel flush every once in a while, and his veins burned like there was liquid battery acid in them, but other than that, he was fine! No, he didn't need another cold press, Alfred! It was only a few hours by plane; he'd be fine!
And honestly, with the news that Eth Alth’eban was on lockdown, Damian thought it would be harder to enter the city. Undetected, at least. Sadly, they were found out immediately and had a group waiting for them as they touched down. As soon as he stepped off the Batplane onto the private airstrip in Yemen, he was quickly surrounded by the 'welcoming' entourage of assassins. They took his bags, herding him toward a black car as Dick jogged to keep up with them. Damian was glad they didn't do a pat-down in their rush; he'd hidden the tablet under his clothes just for this purpose.
"Hey!" his brother shouted. "How did you guys even know we were here?"
"This is a League matter, Nightwing." The head of the group, a one-eyed man named after the god Balor, whom Damian recognized as part of his grandfather's elite, barely turned to look at Grayson and dismissed him entirely.
“No, this is a family matter,” Dick leaned against the door of the car, preventing Balor from opening it and shoving Damian in. They stared at each other long and hard.
“You are not an al Ghul.”
“Damian was nearly killed by a storm demon and told there was a new Heir who is somehow connected to said storm demon. I’m not leaving him alone.”
Balor considered the options before him, glancing at Damian. His one good eye assessed him. The boy simply raised a brow. “I’d prefer it if my baba came with us.”
The assassin’s face twitched, which was the equivalent of a snort of disgust, but gave in to Dick’s demands and herded them both into the car. Two more assassins slid in on either side of them while Balor took the passenger seat. The driver barely glanced at the airport security as they drove the vehicle off the tarmac and into the middle of the desert.
The drive felt long. Damian held a stoic face whenever Balor looked at him and refused to engage in any conversation with Dick. Even when the AC was turned off, everyone started sweating, and his brother was threatening to sing show tunes until they turned it back on.
He ended up singing, of course. Damian just zoned out as his brother started warbling through the entire soundtrack of Hairspray. Truly, the man had questionable taste. For their credit, the assassins made it through the entire performance of Hairspray and halfway through High School Musical before the driver slowly leaned over, never taking their eyes off the desert landscape, and flicked the AC back on to blast. They lasted longer than Bruce would have.
Dick still finished the High School Musical soundtrack despite getting what he wanted. No one ever said he did things half-assed.
Finally, Damian spotted the maze of canyons that housed the Assassin City, Eth Alth’eban. Damian wasn’t sure if his elder brother had ever been there before, but the tight hold he had on his hand suggested that Dick either had very complicated memories of the place or was anxious about being in enemy territory. He wasn’t really interested in asking.
As they approached, the main gate was large and imposing. The sun was high in the sky now and beat down on them to reflect all the minute details that had been carved into the gates. They were gorgeous pieces of work, ones that Ra’s was no doubt very proud of. Guards were there to welcome them, examining the vehicle from top to bottom to ensure nothing strange was being brought in from the outside world. Damian glared at his brother when the man leaned forward to take the attention off of him and the hidden tablet, loudly asking the outside guards when they could go in yet.
One of them narrowed their eyes at Dick. “An extra?” They hissed in Arabic. “This was not approved by the Demon’s Head.”
Balor jerked a thumb at Damian. “His choice,” he responded simply. “The Bats are never alone. The Head is aware of this." Since when? They never called ahead. Damian felt the burn of lighting in his veins again. He caught Balor's eye in the rearview mirror and realized that the man's eye color was much lighter than it was supposed to be. It was shifting between gray and blue, like a cloud, and stared at him with unusual intensity.
Fuck. Of course, the secret guard that was mentioned in the contract. It must have gone into effect when the Navigator returned to wherever he came from. How did he know they would end up in the Eth Alth'eban?
Whatever was said next, Damian missed, but eventually, the gates opened, and the car was let through. Dick was quiet once more, staring at the lush city, probably trying to figure out how to do a backflip off the tall buildings. They headed straight for the palace that was past the training grounds. Most people were taking a noon daybreak, so the grounds were empty when the car pulled up next to the designated drop-off point.
Balor motioned for the group to leave the car, and the two assassins tugged on Dick’s arm painfully, practically dragging him along and not allowing any room for him to wander off. Damian wasn’t touched, but he was no less shuffled in the same direction. They went up the steps, through hallways lined with servants and fountains, following a path Damian recognized easily. They were headed to the medical wing.
His mind raced. Was he ready to meet this ‘Phantom’ fellow? Would he insist on fighting to the death to prove his worth? Had his mother gotten his message and made it here before him? So many questions ran through his head, yet this was not the time to ask them. Damian bit his tongue and instead played the part of the perfect al Ghul. Silent, deadly, and proud.
Balor was leading the way. He studied the older man's back carefully, looking for any other inconsistencies in his behavior. There were none, except for a single cloud symbol stamped into his neck that shimmered the same color as Vortex. Did this mean he was possessed? Was he another one of the Navigator's blessed? Did Damian also have the same symbol? No one else seemed to notice the mark, so Damian put it in the back of his mind. He'd have Dick check his neck later, just in case.
They'd reached the end of the medical wing now, where Damian knew the rooms were sealed off for quarantined patients.
Indeed, a pair of guards stood in front of the extra set of doors. Balor nodded to the guards and pushed through without stopping. The quarantined corridor was short, with only six rooms, three on each side. Five were marked with a little green flag by the door, indicating their vacancy. The sixth, the farthest on the left, had a little red flag displayed. Damian pushed his way to the front of the group and beelined for the door. This was it. Soon, he'd have some answers.
His grandfather opened the door before he could knock. The al Ghuls looked at each other, noting how much had changed since they had last seen each other. His grandfather looked…well. He was healthy, and there were no visible injuries. His clothes were immaculate but simpler than his usual ornate robes. It felt like Ra's was dressed for a close social visit, not for taking over the world and planning murder.
"Damian," His grandfather was as short as ever, however. "You are late."
"Good to see you too, old man," Dick snarked. Ra's ignored him, waving a hand to Balor, who promptly shut the door again before Dick could walk through after Damian. The two were to wait in the hallway, apparently.
Damian moved further past his grandfather, forgoing the greeting. His eyes were glued to the hospital bed. Draped in rich blankets and wrapped in soft cotton bandages, a boy around his age was sitting up and staring at him with green eyes similar to his own. He was holding a glass of Lazarus water, raised to his lips like he was about to drink it. Honestly, if it wasn't for his incredibly pale skin and wispy white hair, the boy could have been his-
"Holy shit, we look exactly the same!" The boy lowered the glass, staring at Damian in wonder. His voice was double-layered, like the Navigator's, and it grated on Damian's mind with the sounds of screaming and creaking ice. "Are you Mr. al Ghul's other grandson? This is so freaky!"
Ah, so this was Phantom.
-
#dpxdc#pondhead writes#the folly of men fic#no beta we die like danny#long post#really long post#I asked myself how many titles i can give people and my hands took that as a challenge#the reason undergrowth and vortex go by those weird ass names is because the words for their name don't exist in the dc world#add that to ghost speech and basically it's easier to give themselves a title over the centuries#clockwork is just dramatic
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Holding on..(oneshot)
Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: you notice Bucky is been more quiet then usual. He’s not talking to anyone, not even you. Bucky becomes withdrawn, his eyes are more puffy and sleep deprived, you notice he’s not eating as much either.
Warning: ‼️ ANGST, MENTIONS SYMPTOMS OF DEPRESSION AND SLIGHT GORE, SOME COMFORT, PANIC ATTACK.
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I’m usually up at ridiculous times in the morning, I’m quite productive in the early mornings. So I simply walk around the avengers tower until I feel sleepy enough to go back to bed.
This was one of those mornings.
I travelled down to the kitchen to go and grab a snack, I looked out of the big windows to see the beautiful pink and yellow sunrise. I smiled at how gorgeously detailed the sky was. I continued to walk downstairs. As I entered the kitchen I saw a figure, I immediately recognised who it was. I smiled widely, happy to see him
“Hey Bucky-” Bucky turned around. My smile slightly faulted.
My eyes travelled to his face..
His eyes seemed like they were sunken in by the dark eye bags it looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I took a closer look at his eyes and they looked red and puffy, like he’s been crying, fresh tear stains glided apon his cheeks. My stare slowly appeared downwards to his chest and ribcage, his body looked skinnier, malnourished. I stared at him not completely recognising the person in front of me. What happened to the other Bucky?
I looked at all of him…together. A concerned feeling settled in my chest.
I thought about a way to approach him. I softened my tone and eyes
“Hey buck, Are you alright?” Bucky responded with a nod and a grunt. His face was expressionless, numb even.
Bucky pushed past me and quickly walked to his quarters. I instinctively ran after him. I approached his door to his room. And softly knocked on.
“Bucky..” I called apon him softly. There was no answer. I decided to push down on the handle, I wander into Bucky bedroom. It was dark and messy.
“Bucky?” I gently called out to him.
My eyes wandered throughout his room, until I saw his balcony doors were open, the curtains were softly blowing towards me, almost leading me onto the rail. I gulped hardly, I felt sick to my stomach, wandering what i could find. Hopefully an alive Bucky I thought.
As I got closer I saw a silhouette of a figure sat down. I breathed out a sigh of relief. I got closer to Bucky, Bucky didn’t even looked over to see who it was, he was curled up, leaning against the railing. A shiver went down my spine. I decided to sit down with him I sat the other side. Not once did he look at me, to which I found bizarre. I saw his Adam’s Apple bob up and down. He looked so tired…
I spoke up.
“I understand if you don’t want to talk. But I won’t be leaving you like this. We can just sit here in silence if that’s what you want. But just know that I’m here for you.” I placed a hand on his knee to let him know that I am actually here. I saw Buckys jaw clenched and his eyes quickly glance at me then to the hand on the knee.
Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes looking down. It looked like Bucky was having an internal conflict
“I can’t cope anymore.” I sat there in silence waiting for him to say more
“I hear there screams…there screams. The ones that I killed” his voice broke a little.
“There cries for me to stop, to have mercy on them. . They haunt me. Every goddamn face is attached to me in my dreams. There’s not one moment of peace where I get to just take a breath, without the reminder that I’ve killed someone.”
I nodded gently, still listening.
“I am….bearly…hanging on and nobody can see how much pain I am in.” The tears in his eyes began to fill, as his voice cracks.
“I just can’t do it…anymore.” Bucky broke down, his breathing became unsteady, as tears streamed down his face his chest rised up and down quickly, as I could hear him struggle to keep calm. I slowly moved myself closer to bucky. I cupped his hands, and brought them forward so he looks at me.
“James. Breathe.” My gaze was soft I looked him in his eyes, and took a breath, held it, and let it go.
He repeated the action. Slowly he began breathing more steadily.
“What was that?” Bucky asked, he averted eye contact.
“It was a panic attack.” I responded.
“Bucky look at me. You need to understand that you didn’t have a choice in becoming the winter soldier. What you did…it wasn’t your fault, You hear me?. You fought back for as long as you could. You did your best. You tried, and that’s all anyone could ask for.” My words were firm but reassuring. I saw buckys body somewhat relax, however I could tell he was still on guard.
“Can I hug you?” I asked, he looks like he could use one. Bucky slightly nodded.
I moved myself next to Bucky, I held my arms open. He moved in slowly, I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze. He let go first and instead rested his head on my shoulder.
“Your not alone James, you’ll always have someone in your corner even if you don’t think you do”
“Mhm” he responded, I looked over and saw that Bucky was drifting off, his eyes looked so heavy, he looked like he could just collapse at anytime.
“Come on buck. Let’s go to bed” I slowly began to stand up. I grabbed Buckys arm and hinted at him to stand up too. He reluctantly got up. I led him to his bed. To which he shook him head and said:
“No. I don’t sleep there.” He pointed at the floor I saw a thin cushion, and a blanket filled with holes. I turned around to him.
“I understand however, just for the rest of the morning sleep on the bed please” I compromised with him, hoping that it would get him to understand that sleeping on the bed for one night wouldn’t hurt him. He nodded. I pulled back the black duvet, Bucky sat down on the bed, and eventually laid down, I saw he had shoes and a jacket on so I took them both off, too make him slightly more comfortable. I placed the duvet over him, and moved the hair out of his face.
“Goodnight” I smiled.
“Wait. Could you stay here until I atleast fall asleep ? I would feel better if I had someone in the room…” he looked a tad guilty.
“Sure” I smiled. I went over the the cabinets and picked out a soft blanket. And made myself comfy on the small chair he had in the corner.
Eventually quiet snores could be heard from Bucky. I felt like I could take a breath. I felt tired as well, so I decided to take a nap..
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helllloooooo thank you for readingggggggg I hope it was okay :)
Goodbyeeee
#pietro maximoff#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky x reader#iron man#steve rogers#stucky#natasha romanoff#bucky barnes#the falcon and the winter soldier#the winter soldier#incredible hulk#she hulk#thor odinson#bucky x y/n#natural hair#1950s#makeup#natalia dyer#mua#motd#motion graphics#Spotify
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A/n l kinda rush this sorry for the spelling mistake cause lm am going to the movies
Yandere movie theatres as you work there yan coworker always want try to ask you watch a movie in the tape room on braeks don't mind the rope in there
as yan costumers always trough away there popcorn or drops it purposely to see you again
Y/n at the counter doing there job yan customer walks up: you again what need another fill again here take it leave
Yan customer blushes grabs popcorn: aww can we watch a film together or l can watch you ..and film
____
Oh and it's haunted movie theatre room 6 is shut away from the public unknown deaths you went in the one time you got lock in the big TV thingy came alive and a bunch of faces pushing the screen a a giant eye appeared looking at you on screen it spoke sroundred the room "you may live just keep coming back to me it's been so lonely seeing a cute pet like you has brought this ancient anomaly whatever you call me l do have a bunch of trapped souls to replace your coworkers and to play on screen for you entertainment only l see you worthy"
you look around in silence the room has a haze your in its realm you shouldn't have eaten that stale popcorn from the bin cause you forgot lunch and ran out of, you start to walk back to the door, a figure manifest from the wall to stand in your way it was tall multiple mouth all over its head a eyeball in the middle of it coler bone under neck it had dark gray skin it talk in multiple voices all wanted to talk to you at once
"I don't know what you said buddy but lm out lm not dealing with what my mind is making up from stale popcorn"
"This no dream lm very real you can touch me please touch we watch in shadows this our place our home there are others but lm you favourite l collects pigeon skull that flew into the movies and made it into a necklace for you or not human flesh is yummy to" it looks at putting it chest down to see you closely
"Nope lm out" you walk back to your counter to give food out you go to the popcorn machine you look only to see a hand you poke it with a box please let be a prank multiple hands grab the box and fill up the box with popcorn handing it back to you it grab you wrist
"Bad multiple hand machine that not a crane machine let go"
"Darling is everything okay" yan customer got concerned trying peer over your shoulder
"Don't call me that my hand just got stuck ha" you lean down at the hand a smack it as is caressing your forearm and to your cheek and come out with a mouth on a palm of a hand "you are our prize" it let go haveing its fill
you walk back to the customer she gives you tip and wink and leave everyone and everything is weird at least they pay is good
#yandere#tw: yandere#yandere blurb#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere teratophilia#yandere insert#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#yandere cinema
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Bailey Adler - An Intro
((Notice: I wrote this while extremely goddamn sleepy, so if I need to elaborate or make something clearer or whatever, lemme know and I'll try my best after I get some sleep))
So, I try pretty hard to keep this sideblog restricted to canon-only stuff. But if I'm gonna start talking about my silly little fanfic on here, I ought to talk about the oc it centers around
Takeoff is the first arc of Bailey's story, and serves as her origin. The front half of it, I like to imagine, takes place in the background of a Flash comic. The back half of it, which I'm currently writing, is a backup or secondary story. Bailey's theoretical solo wouldn't start until she takes up the Golden Eagle mantle, passed down from Charley.
(fun fact: I came up with her around eight years ago, and she's actually what led me to learning about Charley -- but I decided I would have more fun (and achievable) to try and explain how and why Bales was inheriting a mantle, than trying to come up with a new, unused name for her)
Bailey's a complicated character, and it's hard to summarize all the stuff she's got going on. She's very emotionally-driven, and she wears her big bleeding heart on her sleeve. She doesn't exactly like this about herself, but she's been trying and failing to change this for two decades; it's in her nature. And, really, it's the fact that her emotions do run so deep and strong that leads to her becoming a superhero.
Bailey grew up in a small Oklahoma town, and as far as she's concerned, the less she has to talk about that, the better. She moved to Central City to try and not only start a new life, but to forget her old one. Helping her best friend with the rent was a bonus.
Unfortunately, the past won't let Bailey just walk away. Bailey lands a job at a local museum -- no, not that one -- just in time for a haunted suit of armor, a cold case disappearance, and a whole lot of mystery to cross her path. As secrets start to rise to the surface, Bailey finds her own family history might just be tangled up in this web. And untangling it all might mean facing the parts of her past -- and her relationship with her mother's side of the family -- that she really doesn't want to.
Bailey discovers her great-grandmother, Rachel Faulkner, was born Rashel Tavros, of Thanagar. And while this does explain a few things about Bailey's own life -- in particular, why she's always been stronger and tougher than she wants to admit, and why she's always overestimated other people's vision and hearing -- it also leaves her with a lot of questions, and a sense of duty she can't quite shake. She's forced to acknowledge that she's not a normal human. She has gifts and abilities that set her apart from the rest of the populace. She has power -- and we can all finish the old adage.
But she also made promises to her father and sister that, on some level, she feels like she's breaking if she starts being a superhero. Reconciling that and dealing with the guilt, however, are just things she's going to have to do. She does inherit the Golden Eagle mantle from Charley, though I won't say exactly how or why until after Takeoff's finale gets published. (because otherwise I'm not gonna ever write it)
A lot of Bailey's character and story revolve around the ideas of breaking out of cycles of abuse and neglect, what really defines a family, and a whole lot of stuff I'm struggling to put into words.
But while Bailey has, like, so much angst and emotional turmoil, she's also just a big ol' goober. She talks to random pigeons and sings along to the radio while she does chores. She gives her friends stupid nicknames as a form of affection. She offers the neighbor kid cookies because she baked too many at three am, and then realizes how fucking weird that is as a complete stranger. She flirts with people and then freezes like a deer in the headlights when they flirt back. She spent the first twenty-ish years of her life dreaming of being Space Indianna Jones. She's a history and literature nerd, and she will infodump at you about the similarities between art movements across three different planets.
She's a giant dork, and I love her
#i am INCAPABLE of shutting up about her and my other ocs over on my main#so you'd think i'd have an easier time with this#but most of what i have to say about her is all disjointed thoughts#and idk how to actually TALK about my ocs or projects in a way other people can understand#Bailey Adler (oc)
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Do you recognise this?
Prompt number: 7
Fanfiction Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3
Rating: mature
Characters: Astarion, Dark Urge Tav
Warnings: violence, mentions of trauma/abuse
The city smelled of death everywhere she turned. Blood and desperation were written on the walls and streets and Sael knew that this was not a safe place for her to stay in. Violence surged through her veins and even bright days offered no salvation. The sun couldn’t touch whatever filth she carried inside of her chest.
And yet, in quiet moments it also called her. Baldur’s Gate, filled with murder and deceit and power hungry villains. Life pulsing through the very stones, but she sensed the secrets that lay waiting in the dark tunnels and that she had to go there sooner or later. She was not the only one of her kind and she longed for a single memory of her past. To consider how many she had slain before she awoke with a tadpole in her brain.
Sael sighed and pushed her back against the bench. Sometimes she feared that the others would be able to see her thoughts. Especially with their connection and new abilities. But they’d found this fountain surrounded by green and a myriad of flowers and some of her companions asked to stay awhile. Gale certainly seemed entranced by feeling the sun on his face while reading a book and Shadowheart picked up a flower or two and would never confess to doing so.
She herself had no eye for beauty, but enjoyed the water glistening in the sun. It seemed calming and like a balm to an open wound.
Astarion joined her after a moment, sitting down and crossing his legs, while he watched the artful display. He looked statuesque and reminded her of the stone figures that they had seen around the city.
"Do you recognise this? This place, I mean." Sael turned her head sideways to watch his face and how it moved. His features looked haunted, weighed down by memories, some of them he’d shared, others not.
“I do.”
He waited a minute before continuing. “Cazador made us hunt for prey here. It’s a spot for young couples to declare their love and exchange promises of a lifetime together. What silly, little thoughts.”
Sael couldn’t help but feel a stir inside her chest, imagining the thrill of the hunt and the screams of the victims. She rubbed her forehead and licked her lips as if trying to find a taste of blood on them.
“Silly indeed.”
To imagine being young and without worry in the world, strolling through the gardens and admitting your love to a sweetheart. It would never be her and it would never be him. They had to fight tooth and nail to carve a future out of the shit that was thrown at them. Sael almost laughed about the bitterness they shared, all of these lost moments. They should have brought some wine and complained about everyone being more fortunate than them.
And then happily fed some pigeons.
Sael reached out for his hand and gently placed her fingers atop of his. “It is a lovely place though. If you ever want to make a promise, I’m here.”
Astarion raised his eyebrows, a hint of a deeper emotion in his eyes. “How tempting.”
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AO3 Stats tag game
Thank you for the tag @queer-cosette!
Rules: check your AO3 stats and answer each question with the correct fic!
Turns out all of mine are Miraculous Laydbug,,, which,,, not much of a plot twist, but yes.
Most Hits:
les illuminations en douche et d'autres miracles pubères (9,229 hits total)
Shower epiphanies and other pubescent miracles: of Marichat, emotional teenage delinquency, adults' questionable understanding of how the world works or should work, political power play, investigations, reveals, memes, half-baked meta, and the first-ever Save Nooroo Foundation (that the author is aware of).
Or, simply put: canon on crack, featuring Adrien “romantic pro-gamer” Agreste, Marinette ”Schroedinger’s Very Tired™ friend” Dupain-Cheng, Gabriel “you don't need the two most powerful objects in the universe, you just need a therapist” Agreste, Plagg and Tikki “five more minutes of this and they'll be throwing hands with the Meta Consciousness for putting them here" the kwamis, and many, many more.
Main relationships: Lovesquare, DJWIFI (morphing into Chloninya), unhinged Gabenath, and team dynamics
Second most kudos:
I Know What You Did in the Cat-acombs - collab fic w/ @galahadwilder, @maggies-scribblings, and @veebeejeebies (366 kudos total)
Two part-time superheroes get lost in the creepy catacombs, but spooky skeletons, rabid rats and akuma apparitions are the least of their problems.
Written for the @mlwritersguild's October 2020 Event, for the prompt 'Haunted House'.
Main relationship: Lovesquare/Adrienette main
Third most comments:
i'm just so bad at things i don't understand (20 comment threads total)
Human!AU. Tikki and Plagg are childhood friends who fell apart following a tragedy at their hometown in Normandy, but one day Plagg walks into her confiture shop in Paris asking for her help and she finds herself unable to refuse him. Working out their own ghosts is not their only problem, though, not when the son of Paris' most infamous fashion magnate runs away and collides with them.
***
She regrets it. Of course she regrets it: yesterday she got blinded by the image of the boy she used to know, the one who lived on the dairy farm just outside of Saintévie with his dad and their workers and no siblings and thus no friends to speak of at all, not until he’d met her and the rest of them, at least.
He was always a shadow, though, and they’d all told him as much once and he’d jokingly replied that there was only one sun he’d ever want to be cast off from but wouldn’t tell them which, and it hurts her to think he might have meant–
Maybe shadows are the burns suns never get to inflict upon the land, Tikki thinks, but if they have no sun to follow, their tendrils turn into annihilating flames.
Maybe this is why the fire started.
Main relationships: Plagg/Tikki, Plagg & Adrien & Tikki, Tikki & Marinette, Adrienette
Fourth most bookmarks:
well somewhere along the way in our words i must've gotten lost (45 bookmarks total)
Written for a blog request for the @mlwritersguild:
Beelya where Queen Bee visits the Césaire house after Alya writes an article about her fighting Mr. Pigeon alone. Normally Chloé would like the publicity but Alya had titled it ‘The Birds and the Bees’. After that she ends up coming back to complain about her mother. And her father. And about the fact that her oldest friend seems uncomfortable around her. Her visits becomes weekly, then almost nightly. (Don’t forget to include Chloé redemption (and some “Bee Movie” jokes).)
*
Alya isn’t quite sure how she ended up here, in a place where she isn’t even surprised Chloé would seek her out to talk about her dad, where she wouldn’t even mind her doing so, where she would expect it, where she would–
(–thud.
She might be in trouble.)
Main relationships: Alya/Chloe, Team Miraculous
Fifth most words:
tried to touch you but you're cutthroat (stay to see it unfold) (4,426 words total; technically #2 in this list is the fifth longest, but I thought I'd discounted in the interest of showcasing more stuff)
If you scratch your claws against enough things, eventually everything around you's gonna give. It's not science. It's what being a Cat Wielder is.
Some of them just learn it the hard way.
(Or: The life and times of Chloe Bourgeois.)
Main relationships: Chloe/Luka, Team Miraculous (AU - Black Cat!Chloe and Ladybug!Luka)
Least words:
Similarly to Coco, my shortest is also a Valentines Day drabble for the @mlwritersguild event last year.
too much could be an overdose (100 words total)
Main relationship: Adrino
Tagging all the people in #2 and whoever else wants to do this!
#ml fanfic#ml fanfiction#ml fic#adrino#adrienette#plikki#chlolya#chloalya#gabenath#ml lovesquare#lukloe#chloeluka#adrien agreste#marinette dupain cheng#chloe bourgeois#luka couffaine#alya cesaire#nino lahiffe#gabriel agreste#nathalie sancoeur#ml fluff#ml angst#ml crack
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🔥Sinful Sunday🔥
Deja Vu: Chapter 3
Fandom: All Spiderverses
Ships: Parksborn(Webb), Peter 2/Peter 3,
Rating/Word Count/Status: Explicit, WIP
Tags: Angst fic, fill-in scenes for Andrew!Peter post TASM2 and during NWH, backstory chapters, hurt comfort, Sick!Harry, Goblin!Harry
TW: Mentions of suicide attempt, hospital scenes, needle mention,
Summary:
The quantum pull has Parker flying backward, up, left, and then down at speeds faster than the interstate average. The force pulling in the center of his gut like an umbilical cord is worse than it was the first time he Quantem Lept, and when he reaches up to touch his ears, he notices one of them is bleeding. Parker screams the entire way down. He knows he does because his throat aches and his lungs beg for oxygen, even if he can’t hear a sound.
He’s lucky that of all the things to fall on in New York City he falls on grass, but still, thanks to the intense speed and force of gravity, it fucking hurts when he lands. He startles a flock of pigeons when he craters the earth, but thankfully, because of the location, there aren’t many human patrons to notice his explosion. Something cracks like its broken, but the adrenaline currently coursing through his veins has him standing without thinking twice. Another thing he notices, when he can keep his vision from spinning, is that Pete is nowhere to be seen. The suffocating, haunting knowledge that he was alone, trapped in his own pathetic universe again soaked through his skin like a chill in his bones, threatening to freeze them. Panic builds in the hollow of his throat.
The only other person who happens to be within eyeshot stares at him carefully, and Parker's sense starts to tingle once more. Potential Threat?
Parker takes a step forward anyway.
“Hey uh, excuse me, what day is it?”
Now the ruddy-complected man’s glare is angry, defensive.
“Can't you just check your phone?” He growls.
His attitude pisses Parker off, but he dug into his pocket either way, frowning before showing the asshole the shattered front of his dead cell phone.
“Can't you check yours?”
The heated man scoffed, turning and flipping him the bird before shouting,
“December 4th, 2017 dickhead!” over his shoulder.
December 4th. Of 2017.
2017.
Three years.
Three. Fucking. Years.
He had spent a grand total of 4 days in Peter 1’s universe, maybe a week, tops, but somehow, here, now, it’s 3 years later. Which meant Parker hasn't been in his Queens, for three years. He hasn't gone to work, paid his rent, checked on May, or seen Harry.
His gut tightened and all other thoughts halted in place at the memory of Harry.
Harry, who he had already abandoned once to the horrible place just 200 feet to his right.
And now, even after Parker swore he wouldn't, he did again. It didn't matter that this time it wasn't his fault. Because Harry would never give him the chance to explain that now.
If he was even still alive…
#sinful sunday#deja vu#parksborn#into the multiverse#tasm 2#andrew!peter angst#andrew!peter parker#tobey!peter parker#peter 2/peter 3#the amazing spiderman 2#petercest#find me on ao3#kofi support keeps me out of capitalisms clutches#links in bio#reblogs are free ways to support me!#i post new stuff every sunday
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The museum disappeared. All the exhibits, all the people admiring those exhibits, the crimson walls and the carpet the same colour as the night sky, they all faded into an abyss that resembled a silkier version of the museum carpet.
Everyone aside from myself had vanished, but I wasn't alone.
What crept in front of me was a bipedal being covered in a thick coat of feathers, like an elongated version of a pigeon, except with a reptilian snout in place of a beak. I stood frozen in place on the invisible ground, attempting to force myself to speak, but I knew what was looking over me.
It was a velociraptor. The fossil I had been posing next to just a few minutes before, given...well, I would say "flesh and blood", but his form looked gauzy. It's a ghost, I thought to myself, like I was in a dream where you would just accept things like that as fact.
What took longer for me to accept as fact was the velociraptor speaking.
'Hello,' he said, spectral lips stretching around needle-like teeth, 'my name's Ivan.'
All I did was stand in silence, involuntarily shivering from the chill both Ivan and the void brought me.
'I suppose you're wondering why you're here,' said Ivan, looking over me as he paced around me, 'and well, you're wondering how I can talk. It's one of those things you pick up after dying and since I've been haunting my remains for eons now, I've managed to pick up a number of things.
'But back to the matter at hand. You posed next to my fossil for a photo -' I did. My girlfriend and I were at the museum and she took photos of me next to the dinosaurs with her phone. '-and when you did, you said "Clever girl".'
I can't believe the first words I spoke to him were, 'That's a line from a movie.'
'I know it is,' Ivan replied, raising his head to better meet my eyes, 'but it still brought back memories I would rather forget.'
He then explained how many other raptors would insist he was female, as that was the sex he was assigned at his hatching.
My second sentence spoken to him: 'The more things change.'
'Indeed,' sighed Ivan, looking down at his clawed feet.
Feeling an iota of comfort, I added, 'And I assume...you don't like it when we portray raptors...without...'
'Feathers? Oh, that actually reminds me of a story we would frequently tell each other while feasting on our hunt. According to the story, raptors used to look as they did in your movies, but one of them found a magical garden and picked one of the flowers. The garden was owned by a powerful spirit, who cursed the raptor and all raptors to always have the petals from the flower on their hides forever.
'That's a good memory. Not like what you dug up.'
'I'm...sorry.'
'I'll let you off with a warning,' Ivan added, 'as I know you did not mean to offend me. Hopefully, you'll be a bit wiser.'
I returned to the museum, wiser than I was before. Since I was wiser, I went back often to meet with Ivan. He would tell me about what it was like when he was alive and I told him of my favourite dinosaur-related media when I was a child.
I also told him about another trans man in my neighborhood. I told Ivan this trans man had been told by some jerk that when they dig up his bones, people will call him a woman.
That jerk perished the next day, his remains unidentifiable.
#humour#writing#humor#stories#dinosaur#dinosaurs#fossil#fossils#lgbtq#cw transphobia#tw transphobia#transphobia#gore#cw gore#tw gore#ghost#ghosts#velociraptor#velociraptors#raptor#raptors
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A/N: PART 11 of the Bedlam au! Today we detour on an Other case :)
X
The cavern Haru descends into is dank and dimly lit, and bears the distinct stench of guano.
"What I don't get," she says once she drops from the rope and lands alongside the rest of the Bureau, "is why they decided they had to build their underground shopping centre here. Surely there are other, less-dragon-infested caves around."
"It was probable cheaper to buy this cave, and then hire somebody out to deal with the dragons," Other Muta grumbles cynically. "And apparently that somebody is us."
"That, or it'll be a location choice," Other Toto adds.
Haru waits for Muta's inevitable snap-back (and, privately, she agrees more with his hypothesis) but it never comes. "Or that," is the reply instead.
The Other Baron summons a small sphere of light and deposits it into Haru's hand. It bobs gently just above her palm, and is comfortably warm to the touch. "Ready to go?"
"Sure." She leans towards him. "How did you get Muta and Toto to stop arguing?" she whispers.
He stares at her, and Haru gets the distinct impression he would blink, if he could. "They do argue. You've seen them."
"Back at the Bureau, sure, and they've never really got into a full argument," she says, thinking that the most Other Toto and Other Muta got to was light bickering. "I mean out here, on cases."
The Other Baron smiles. "It's a case. They don't argue on cases."
Haru's nose wrinkles, and the Other Baron laughs. He starts down a tunnel, another small ball of light in his hand. "From that expressing, I'm guessing the Toto and Muta of your world don't make that sort of distinction?"
"I don't think I'd ever seen them work together," Haru admits. She decides that one time they locked her and the previous Baron in a haunted house in an attempt to get them to talk didn't count.
(In their meagre defence, no one had known the place was haunted at the time, and it had been Valentine's Day. Sometimes, it was a minor miracle that Baron had not discerned her true feelings earlier; apparently she'd been so obvious to everyone else, she might as well have had a flashing neon sign above her head.)
"A shame," the Other Baron hums. "They really can achieve so much when they put their heads together."
"Oh, they do that plenty often. So long as you count headbutting."
The Other Baron laughs again, and it makes Haru's heart soar and ache all in the same moment. Not for the first time does she grieve that she couldn't still have this easy relationship with the Baron she'd once called hers.
"So tell me about these dragons," she says, pushing aside the sudden mourning. She follows as closely alongside Baron as the narrow passageway will allow. "I mean, we've met dragons before, and usually one is enough of a handful, let alone a whole infestation."
"These ain't yer usual dragons, Chicky," Other Muta calls to her. "These are like the pigeon equivalent of dinosaurs."
"So... small?" Haru asks hopefully.
"And pretty dumb. We could round 'em up with a net, and the rest would just sit and watch."
Haru finds herself waiting again for a "birdbrain" remark, or some other quick dig at Toto, only to be surprised once more. They duck through an arch, and the tunnel abruptly opens into an expansive cavern.
Haru almost whistles – and then thinks better of it when she sees just how many dragons cling to the ceiling. "We're gonna need some big nets then," she says. "And possibly a couple of years."
The cavern's roof above is glimmering with the hoards of tiny greater crested dragons slumbering along it, perched like bats and about the same size. They emit a gentle glow, their throats an embering red from the fire which simmers in their chests.
Other Toto lands on Haru's shoulder – in this world, it seems only the Other Baron has been altered to a human height – and offers her a reassuring smile. "Greater crested dragons are territorial and will defend their home if threatened – but fortunately for us, they only do so with creatures smaller than themselves, and given that generally they don't live long enough to grow any bigger than a rat, we should be fine."
"Depends on the rat," Haru murmurs, but dutifully allows Baron to place what appears to be a camping peg in her spare hand. "Is the plan to capture them all with a really big tent or..."
"These are threshold wards," the Other Baron says.
"They look like camping pegs."
"That's because they are," he says cheerfully, "which I have engraved with wards that establish a one-way barrier. Set three down within an area, and they'll create a barrier that enable someone to exit, but not to enter."
Haru turns the peg over in her hand, revealling what looks like a rune etched along the side. "So when the dragons leave to hunt..."
"Which they do regularly, upon nightfall, they won't be able to return and will have to find an alternative home." He passes a set to Other Toto, who flies off – presumably to stopper any higher exits.
"Have you tried this before?" Haru asks.
The Other Baron attaches one peg to the top of the arch they'd entered through. "Not with dragons, admittedly, but I've heard this method is very effective with clearing bats."
"Bats, dragons, what's the difference?" Other Muta remarks. "It's not like one can breathe fire or anything."
Haru wedges the tent peg into the right hand corner of their entrance just as Other Muta does the same with the left. An iridescent sheen shimmers across the tunnel opening just as the ground shudders.
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@womenofthehouseofblack fest is coming up soon which is so exciting but in the meantime they invited self-recs of house-of-black-ladies fics so here are a few of mine 🤗
An Incident at the Dorchester Hotel, London - 4.8k, tonks/lupin and a tiny bit of narcissa/lucius
Lupin and Tonks get into trouble on a mission for the Order as their relationship is struggling to bloom.
Lucius Malfoy cast a wary look around the room, and Remus held his breath as his cold eyes passed across the closet. Tonks's fingers encircled Remus's wrist, and even through his ridiculous white gloves he could feel the steadying warmth of her little hand. He was afraid to move for fear of drawing attention to himself, and he wondered with a sort of deranged awe whether that was exactly why she had chosen that moment to touch him.
The Gift of the Nymphs - 1k, andromeda/ted
Andromeda bides her time at a garden party as she plans to escape her family.
Her little cousins are running around and swatting each other with sticks they've broken off the pear tree. Earlier, Sirius ran up and hugged Andromeda around her waist and she cupped his sharp-chinned, grinning little face in her hand.
"Have you been good?"
Sirius shook his head wildly.
Beside him, Regulus made an indignant face and muttered, "I have."
She scooped them both into a hug.
That hug is going to have to last her forever, she thinks now, because in eleven-and-a-half days, she is going to leave and never see any of them again.
the fiction of realness - 4.5k, tonks/lupin, andromeda, teddy
How Tonks and Lupin haunt each other in life and their families in death.
Ted doesn't visit her. Not even when she packed up all his clothes for donation and gave his model trains away to Arthur Weasley. Sometimes he's in her dreams, but it's different: in her dreams he never died, it's fifteen years ago and they're with little Nymphadora in her red mackintosh, squinting through bright summer drizzle at the pleasure pier. Or they're in their little newlyweds' flat above the dry cleaners, delivery trucks rattling the windows, tangled together in the wallbed and bumping noses as they kiss. It doesn't feel like a visitation as much as a righting of the terrible wrongs time has done to all of them.
Nymphadora doesn't visit either—what a harranguing Andromeda has in store for her if she ever does. Andromeda doesn't expect she will, though: in fact, the thought opens up a terrible emptiness. If it were possible, Andromeda thinks, Nymphadora would at least come and visit Teddy. Remus might too, she has to admit. She's never seen a baby so spoiled nor kissed nor cooed-at nor wept-over as that child was by his mum and dad. Sometimes the little boy smiles in his sleep, and wriggles in his cot with some secret excitement, and Andromeda thinks perhaps that's Nymphadora, leaning over him unseen, tracing her weightless fingertips over his fat cheek, whispering to him in the silent language of the dead.
The Wood Pigeons - 8k, tonks/lupin
Tonks and Lupin bond over a bird's nest on the ledge outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place
"Sorry," she said, and first Remus wasn't sure if she was apologising to him or to the pigeon, but then she reached out and brushed at the bird with the backs of her fingers. It hopped off the nest with a kerfuffle of outraged flapping and a hoarse coo. The two eggs, pebbly and creamy, were exposed for just a moment before the pigeon sat herself back down on them and fluffed her feathers up even bigger and rounder. Tonks made a vibrating squeal at the sight.
"Don't mean to be an arsehole," she lamented to the bird. "But my shift starts in twenty minutes, I can't wait round here all day while you have your lie-in."
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Sick
I am a ghost
in my own house
I walk these halls
and mourn.
A place I used to live,
I was seen and loved, adored.
Now I sit alone at night
quietly in my bed,
drawing blood as I bite my cheeks,
As thoughts swirl in my head.
Is this all I’m meant to have?
All there is for me?
Do you even care I’m here
waiting desperately?
I am a ghost
In my own life
afraid to leave these halls.
Silently I mourn the girl
I was before the fall.
Now a sickness lives in me,
a sorrow deep and true.
I can’t escape these walls I’ve built,
my only solace, you.
But you have turned away
And I am here alone.
The place I used to love
No longer feels like home.
I have built a prison
And locked myself in,
only I hold the key,
but my demons keep it hidden.
Somewhere in my mind
I want to be set free,
but my sickness binds me up
And won’t let go of me.
Will I forever be
a victim of this spell?
Will there ever be a day
When I, at last, am well?
Or will I haunt these halls
and mourn my life each day
while my troubled mind
Eats my life away?
~pigeon head~
12.5.2022
#writerscreed#writeblrcafe#spilledink#lit#originalpoetry#poeticstories#poetwhispers#literature#poetry#my writing#writers on tumblr#pigeonheadsmumblings#brokensoulsreborn
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"Living Ghosts" #16: "The Empty Sandals"
From my reparenting series “Living Ghosts.” In which a trans lesbian combat doll named River, reunited with and reparenting her younger self now named Emi, finds a picture of one of their old pairs of sandals, and contemplates how heavy the empty space within has been.
A Story:
They were simple enough: a pair of well-worn sandals, probably hot in the Mediterranean sun where they'd been posed on the balcony tile. There were many other images in the set of photos that mother and daughter were reviewing together, taken decades ago by family, back in the day when Emi should have been seen by them. Many were taken while she was still with them, but this latest folder began the week after she'd left home, flown the nest for college.
And it was that image of them all-- the sandals in the balcony sunlight-- that made Emi gasp and sit up in her seat. "Oh…"
Beside her, River paused in mid-scroll.
"What's up, honey? You need me to stop?"
The girl shook her head, stuttering over words half-formed, before she pointed at the workstation's screen emphatically. "This. This says it all. This one image."
"Huh…" The cyborg looked from the image, to the younger self who'd grown so vibrant in her care, and back to the image from all those decades ago. "…oh…yeah. yeah…"
The mark of her feet in the well-worn, abandoned sandals. An empty space.
"They were good sandals, or at least I thought they were. Not like I felt real enough in my own body at the time to know the difference." Emi's gaze fell, her eyes distant as she remembered. "They chafed."
"They didn't fit right," River sighed, leaning forward to peer intently at the image. "Just like everything else back then. They didn't fit right but nobody cared…"
"…but Beirut swelters," Emi interjected, "so it's not like I could've worn shoes…"
"…so I wore them until I chafed," her mother added, "and was walking around with my ankles bandaged. Because those long walks were the only place I felt like I was anything resembling real."
She'd walked the length and breadth of the city, from the lighthouse to Pigeon Rocks, from the Beirut River to the far side of Haret Hreik. On concrete and asphalt and dirt and grass and shit and glass, she'd pounded ground in search of herself, until the sandals wore out and her feet needed care. And yet, she'd been invisible the whole time. The sandals might as well have been as empty as they were, when they'd been photographed that August day on the old balcony.
"All that time until I actually started listening for you, it was like I was haunted by it. By the empty space in the old sandals."
River felt Emi's hand grasp her own and squeeze gently, skin brushing synthskin-- warm, tangible, real. She turned to find her daughter-- lavender-blue Dutch braids, knife-sharp pleats and eyeliner, all of her, whole and bright and present-- offering her a hopeful smile.
"It's okay, Mom. You're okay. You're here, I'm here."
"Thank you, Emi," River replied, smiling around her tears, "for never giving up."
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