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riality-check · 8 months

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The eagerly awaited part 2 of the DILF!Steve concert saga is here!! Part 1, in case you missed it.

"You're not going."

"Come on! I haven't thrown up in an hour!"

"The drive to the venue is an hour and a half."

"Steve-"

"And if you throw up in my car-"

"Oh my God-"

"I'll kill you."

Steve doesn't need to see Dustin's eye roll in order to feel the full force of it through the phone.

"I'll just kill you. You'll have a headstone within the week that says Here Lies Dustin Henderson: Rightfully Murdered for Puking in Steve Harrington's Car," he continues as he packs Capri-Suns into the cooler for the car ride.

He doesn't remember ever being that thirsty as a kid, but if Anna wants strawberry kiwi, Anna gets strawberry kiwi. It helps that it's Steve's favorite flavor, too.

"I'd need a big ass headstone to fit all of that," Dustin snaps.

"Your big-ass ego would demand no less, shithead," Steve shoots back.

"Swear jar, Daddy!" Anna calls from her room, across the house because while she doesn't listen to Steve when he's right in front of her, she can hear him break the swear jar rule from halfway across the world.

He zips up the cooler, fishes a quarter out of his pocket, and throws it into the half-full soup can next to the stove.

(A quarter doesn't mean much, but Anna doesn't know that. The day Steve teaches that kid about inflation is the day his pockets become permanently empty.)

"Did she just swear jar you?" Dustin asks from over the phone.

"You baited me into it."

"I did no such thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You're not coming, though, are you?"

Dustin sighs, and, for all his teasing, Steve does genuinely feel bad. "I still feel like if I breathe wrong, I'll hurl, so, no. I don't think I'll manage the car ride, nevermind the actual show."

"Sorry dude."

"Don't be. Some dickhead will live stream the whole thing on Instagram, anyway. I'll live vicariously through them."

Steve snorts and picks up the cooler. He got Anna dressed beforehand, so it's just a matter of getting her to stop playing with whatever toy she dug up - Play-Doh has been the fixation of the week - in her room so they can go.

"Besides," Dustin continues, and Steve hates where this is going. "Anna loved the show, and you've got a reason-"

"Nope," Steve says, knocking on Anna's door. "Don't finish that sentence."

"All I'm saying-"

"I know what you're gong to say, which means you know my answer. I don't date."

Anna opens her door. From the little Steve can see inside, there are at least three containers of Play-Doh open and strewn across the floor. He thinks her Barbies are involved in it somehow.

"Time to go," Steve says, and he thinks, Please don't let there be Play-Doh in the Barbie hair.

"Five more minutes," Anna tries.

"Nope. Clean up and roll out."

"Hi, Anna," Dustin says through the phone.

"Uncle Dusty!" Anna shrieks, and she starts jumping up and down. "Are you comin', too?"

Dustin sighs, and Steve can't tell if it's at the nickname or if he's still cursing the universe. "No, but you and your dad have a great time, okay?"

"Can you, can you tell Daddy I should get five more minutes?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Anna, to her credit, ignores him wonderfully.

"If you clean up," Dustin says, because he's actually Steve's favorite person right now, "you get to do more headbanging at the concert."

Anna gasps like Steve didn't already tell her that earlier today, and she gets to work on putting her toys away. Steve helps, of course, and he finds that there is, in fact, Play-Doh in two of her Barbies' hair.

Fun. They're going to turn into Buzzcut Barbies when Anna goes to sleep because he can already tell that they are the furthest thing from salvageable.

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting Anna in the car, deploying the first two of many strawberry kiwi Capri Suns from the cooler, and making the drive to the venue, which Steve does with minimal road rage and accompanied by the Disney radio station.

Success by all metrics, really.

Dinner might as well be now, so Steve shells out a truly disgusting amount of money for overpriced chicken nuggets and fries at the venue. Anna will only eat half her portion but say she's hungry later, but that's what the snacks and water Steve smuggled in via his jacket are for.

They get to their seats, dinner finished up, just as the lights go down for the first opener. Steve looks to his left, half-expecting Eddie and his friends to be there before remembering that they won't be.

He tries not to feel too disappointed. He fails miserably.

The seat next to him, however, isn't empty. There's a note taped to the back of it, one addressed to Steve and Miss Anna, so Steve feels alright taking and opening it.

At the top, there's a messily scrawled phone number. Underneath, it says:

Here's my number. Probably a bad idea to call with all the noise. Texting works, though you should do that after the show. I'll be a little busy until then.

-Eddie

Steve puts the note in his pocket, puts Anna's ear defenders on, puts his own earplugs in, and looks at the stage, where-

Hang on.

He squints at the stage, where four guys have started playing a song that, frankly, sounds too much like literally all the music Steve listened to yesterday for him to care about all that much. The drummer is pretty small, with wild, curly hair. The bassist looks familiar. The lead singer, who is very talented but not to Steve's personal taste, also looks familiar. And the guitarist-

No way. No way in hell.

It's a total coincidence. Lots of guys have long, curly hair and heavy jewelry and big eyes and are wearing formal wear, for some reason, and catch Steve's eye, and-

"Thank you for such a great welcome!" the guitarist says, and his smile totally isn't doing anything to Steve, thanks very much.

Anna stops moving, where she's standing next to Steve, and climbs up into his lap to get a better look at the stage. She looks out, then back at Steve, then out, then back at Steve, making a face as confused as Steve feels.

Some days, he thinks he ended up with a clone, not a kid.

"I'll get off the mic in a second. I only do the talking because Jeff," the guitarist points at the lead singer, who ducks his head, "is really shy."

Jeff. That name is definitely relevant, but Steve is a permanent resident of denial.

"We fought about what song we were going to include next in our set list, so much so that we didn't decide until yesterday and had to consult a tiebreaker."

Okay, maybe Steve is a less permanent resident of denial than he thought.

"So, thank you to Miss Anna, who did great at headbanging for her first time-"

Anna whips around so fast, her forehead nearly collides with Steve's jaw.

"And to Steve, who's a big fan of American Psycho."

At the song name, the crowd loses their minds, and if Anna wasn't sitting right in front of him, Steve would join them.

Because what the fuck is happening right now?

His question isn't answered. In fact, about five more questions pop up in its stead when, during the bridge of the song, Jeff puts on a clear rain jacket and picks up a prop axe.

Please, God, don't let this traumatize my kid, Steve thinks.

Anna, thankfully, doesn't get scared. When Jeff brings the axe down, again and again, Steve's weirdo daughter fucking smiles. And giggles. It's kind of cute, actually.

When the song ends, she turns back to Steve.

"That's Eddie onstage," Steve says, and saying it, somehow, makes it real.

"I thought so!" Anna says, and she turns back to watch the show. Steve puts an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall off his lap when she bangs her head to the music.

The rest of the songs, in Steve's opinion, are better than the opening song. They're more melodic, which Steve can definitely get behind, and each of them has a gimmick onstage, all based off of various horror movies. It's ridiculous, but also really, really cool.

And Eddie, onstage, because it is the same guy who flirted with him and was so sweet to Anna yesterday, is really, really hot.

Steve has never had a thing for guitarists before. He's never had a thing for musicians before. Hell, until a year ago, he didn't realize he had a thing for men.

Eddie is. Uh. Yeah. Really doing it for him.

Steve doesn't know whether it's his enthusiasm, or the way he moves, or seeing his hair tied up, or the fucking dress pants and suspenders, or just his hands, but he does know he has to get himself in check because this is an all ages show and he's here with his daughter.

He already knows he can't add these songs to his grading playlist, not when they're accompanied by visuals of Eddie playing his guitar.

Sweet Jesus.

"Alright, that's our set!" Eddie says. "Thanks, y'all, for sticking around for us, and let's give it up for the next act!"

The crowd, including Anna and Steve, cheer as they exit and the lights go up.

Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to add Eddie's number to his contacts, and is greeted by not one, not two, but sixteen missed calls from Dustin Henderson.

Naturally, Steve calls him back. "Who died?"

"What the fuck?" Dustin yells, and Steve just puts the phone on speaker to save the rest of his hearing. "Did Eddie fucking Munson just personally thank you from the stage?"

"Swear jar, Uncle Dusty!" Anna says.

"Sorry," Dustin says. "But Steve. Answers. Now."

"How do you even-"

"Instagram live. Is Eddie the guy you were telling me about yesterday?"

Steve takes his phone off speaker. Prior experience tells him that this conversation has a less than zero chance of staying PG, nevermind PG-13.

"Yeah," Steve says. "He is."

"The one who flirted with you, and you forgot to ask for his number."

"Well, I have it now."

"What?" Dustin shrieks, and Steve is incredibly thankful that he didn't take his earplugs out.

"He left me his number on the seat."

"Text him."

"I was going to, until I saw that you called me sixteen times."

"Jesus Christ, Eddie Munson was flirting with you."

Steve rolls his eyes and hands a pack of gummy bears to Anna when she taps his arm. "He could have just been nice. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"Have you looked at him?"

"Wow, Dustybuns, I didn't know you were homophobic."

"I think it's the complete opposite of homophobic to try to get you laid."

"Hanging up!" Steve shouts because a part of him will never see Dustin as any older than thirteen, and no thirteen year old should ever say that.

"Text-"

Steve hangs up the call. "Can I have a gummy bear?"

"No," Anna says, mouth full, in her seat, legs swinging.

"I bought them."

She shrugs. "You gave them to me. Mine now."

Steve stares. She stares right back.

He sighs and opens a new pack of gummy bears.

With his mouth full of sweet Haribo corpses, Steve takes out the note and adds Eddie to his contacts. Before he can overthink it, he sends him a message:

I guess I don't have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we're even on that front, I'm a teacher, and Anna's full time job is preschool.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and focuses on making this a good experience for Anna, who somehow wormed her way into a conversation with the intimidating-looking couple sitting next to her.

Because it's totally not like a literal rockstar is going to text him back. Right?

Part 3!!

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perfectfeelings · 3 months

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You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy.

C. JoyBell C.

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kiirschtein-archive · 1 year

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⋆ 「 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢’𝐬 (𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞) 𝐦𝐨𝐦. 」 ⋆

feat. — toji fushiguro x f!reader, kid!megumi

word count. — 1.4k

content. — sfw, non-sorcerer au, established relationship (marriage), mostly just fluffy domestic stuff, reader is addressed as ‘mom/mama/mommy,’ toji’s kind of a bad parent but he’s working on it, brief mention of toji smoking (cigarettes), overprotective!toji, very minor suggestive themes (from toji 🙄 he’s a walking cw/tw)

notes. — idk. this has been incessantly on my brain pretty much from the moment i woke up today, even to the point where i was writing half of this at the laundromat lmao. mother’s day yesterday had me feeling some type of way, so here have some fun headcanons from a strange eldest daughter!!!! (i might end up doing a set of these for gojo x reader too 🤔)

⋆ 「 — he’s not your biological son, but you’ve been around since you started seeing toji when megumi was still a baby. but now, a few years later, you might as well be his real mother. you certainly act like it and feel like it, so toji gladly initiates the conversation about official adoption. it just makes sense. you eventually explain the situation to megumi as best as you can simply so that he doesn't grow up thinking he was lied to or anything of the sort, but as far as he's concerned, you're his mom whether it's by blood or not.

⋆ 「 — and oh, megumi’s a mama’s boy. i imagine he’s just a little bit of a healthier kid vs. canon given the better family situation, but he’s still always a bit of a grumpy baby, appreciating his autonomy and trying to be as self-sufficient and mature as he can be. but he’ll most certainly run to you when he needs help, is truly hurt, or just needing a bit of comfort. you’ve always treated him so softly and kindly with understanding, so he honestly feels more comfortable coming to you most of the time instead of his dad.

⋆ 「 — he likes the way you organize the bookshelf in his room or fold and sort his clothes in special little ways. he gets upset any time toji tries to put a book back in the wrong place or can’t figure out where his damn socks are. gumi will scowl and say, “that’s not where it goes.” or go deadpan and be like, “mom always keeps the socks in the bottom drawer.” disappointed that his father can’t even remember. toji just grumbles and says, “your mama’s gonna ruin you.”

⋆ 「 — has called you 'mom' basically since he was old enough, but don't let him fool you. megumi will drop the big boy act and come out with 'mama' or 'mommy' when something's wrong or he's really excited. he'll come to you with quiet tears and sniffles, a little ashamed that he's crying, but present to you a scraped elbow, "mama... it hurts." you clean up the scrape and explain to him the little medical details in a somewhat understandable way to help him focus on something besides the pain, and you tell him that it'll be okay, and that it's alright to cry. or on the flip-side, you and toji take him to the zoo, little gumi on his dad's shoulders, and he gasps and points excitedly, "look, mommy! look at the big elephant!" and it feels incredible to see him be so spirited.

⋆ 「 — along the lines of the art from this post and the thought i had about it earlier, just imagine that you're at some event (maybe like a birthday party or something), and toji's been hauling megumi around. they're both so over it at this point and are like 'please get me out of this' so as soon as toji walks past the obnoxious inflatable bouncy house, he smirks and just YEETS that kid inside without a second thought. after regaining his breath, megumi just looks at his father with the most EVIL little scowl as other kids bounce around him with smiles. by the look on that child's face you could've swore that his father had just done him the ultimate betrayal.

so gumi slides out and hurriedly makes his way over to where you're sitting off to the side, quietly climbing into your lap for a little bit of solace. he wiggles in close to your chest and you tuck him under your chin with a ‘come here, sweetpea,’ rocking slowly and humming something soft because he always seems to like it when you do.

toji comes over and you look at him through narrowed eyes. "kids are supposed to like shit like that," he says.

"you know he likes when things are more quiet," you respond, and toji rolls his eyes at how you seemingly spoil your son.

"just thought it might be good for him to try and get along with the other brats." toji tries to cover up the fact that he tossed his kid for the sheer personal enjoyment of it.

you huff in disbelief. "oh, like you get along so well with everyone?"

he scoffs and moves in behind you, leaning down to place a kiss on your neck. "i get along with you," he says almost suggestively.

you just keep stroking megumi's hair and give the top of his head a gentle kiss. "yeah, well not today," you say, shooting a smug, resolute smile towards your husband, ultimately taking his son's side.

⋆ 「 — outside of his alone time, megumi would honestly much rather be with you instead of other children. toji thinks it's probably unhealthy and you're inclined to agree, but you also don't want to force megumi into situations that will just make him miserable. so, when appropriate, you don't mind at all pacing around with him in your arms or have him walk next to you (maybe holding your hand if he’s not in a ‘big boy’ mood), teaching him about the things you see in the woods, the park, or even the museum. when toji's not away working, he'll join too because it admittedly makes his heart feel soft to watch you two together. it always has, because you've been doing this with megumi since he was a baby. it never gets old. if it wasn't already so difficult trying to figure out how to do things right by his son, he'd want you to give him even more babies.

⋆ 「 — megumi likes doing things with his dad sometimes too, though. toji tries his best to do it right and watch both his mouth and his temper. you like seeing them getting along, even if it's just quietly watching tv or a movie (probably a cartoon where toji gets kind of into and will ask the occasional question like "why does that one stupid chick keep doing that?" and megumi just shrugs like, "i dunno. she is pretty dumb.") or playing ball outside because gumi's starting to show some athleticism. but you have to remind toji that he can't always be so rough or competitive with games because megumi is literally a child.

⋆ 「 — toji can also be way too overprotective of you two at times. you'll be out and about and he'll just be wearing such an intimidating expression as he walks behind you both, on the lookout for anyone who might want to cause trouble or take the wrong sort of glance at his wife. he'll even snap at people for walking too close or like cutting in line or something petty, and you have to tell him stop acting like an attack dog and looking like the grim reaper because dear god you're literally just having lunch at the park. even at his age, megumi's just eating his ice cream and looking at his dad with his little baby deadpan expression and thinking "this man really needs to take a chill pill." other times he can be more relaxed, however, obviously confident in his ability to protect you. it depends on his mood. but that still doesn’t stop him from being embarrassing and going off on people in public if something happens.

⋆ 「 — you also know all of gumi’s favorite meals and snacks. it’s yet another one of those things where, if his dad does it wrong, megumi expresses a disappointment beyond his years. toji will be making and packing his son’s school lunch just as instructed by the notes you gave him, but it’s by no means as neat and meticulous as when you do it. toji’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth with furrowed, concentrating brows, his free hand shakily reaching for a cup of fresh coffee, and megumi’s standing there with his little backpack, criticizing his father the entire time. “mom doesn’t do it like that,” he says.

“well mom ain’t here right now. and it doesn’t matter how the sandwich is cut, is still tastes the damn same.”

gumi doesn’t even physically react, still wearing the same neutral expression, just waiting for his dad to hurry up. “mom says you shouldn’t smoke. and she also says not to use bad words.”

toji scoffs and then smirks. “well mommy uses all sorts of bad words you don’t even know about when her and daddy have play time.”

megumi’s already almost late for school and can barely feel his feet from how tight his dad tied his shoelaces. he also asks you later about “play time,” and you want to absolutely murder your husband over it.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #c. — toji fushiguro #hc. — toji fushiguro #fluff. — toji fushiguro #c. — megumi fushiguro #hc. — megumi fushiguro #fluff. — megumi fushiguro #my writing.

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feral-ballad · 2 years

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Claire C. Holland, from I Am Not Your Final Girl: Poems; “Jess”

[Text ID: “I can’t exist in a way that comforts you.”]

#claire c. holland #girlhood #womanhood #excerpts #writings #literature #poetry #fragments #selections #words #quotes #typography #poetry collection

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 month

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Okay but a darling who tries their hardest to "fix" and train their yandere. They put up with every bloody, obsessive shenanigan in the hopes that they can have a semi-regular relationship with the person they thought they were dating. You see, everything was fine the first month of the honeymoon phase-- regular cute dates and normal presents like bouquets and nicknacks-- even if they were overly frequent. It didn't take long for Yandere's true colors to show, possessiveness chaining Darling to their home and rushes in relationship milestones that normally take years to achieve.

By the third month, Darling has moved into their Yandere's home. Sure, it's fast, but how else are they going to alter a bloodthirsty stalkers' bad habits? But Darling didn't realize how much of a chore it would be to handle their Yan 24/7. Other than the constant reassurances of love and physical affection, they have to talk them down from murdering any coworkers or adding a military-grade security system to the home in an event of Darling trying to escape break up with them.

"I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

" I love you, there's no one else, how could you accuse me of that!"

Even with Darling complying continuously, wearing the ankle bracelet their Yan begs them to keep on, not leaving (or atleast, not telling Yan when they do) the house without their loving spouse-- Yandere still has paranoid visions, imagining footsteps at night, clothes that belong to them that they think are from another. But Darling is persistent, denying any sort of sneaking around and consoling their Yan in the process. I mean, who could sneak around when all they do is think of and take care of someone else continuously? And even when Yandere gets threatening, drugging takeout that was supposed to be a fun surprise and keeping Darling in the basement for a week, Darling always waits patiently for them to come back to their senses, to negotiate and bribe their way back out when Yan brings meals and requests cuddle time.

Maybe once or twice they've worried about being murdered, but they know their Yandere just loves too much, has too much affection for them to rationally contain. So they see the beast as tameable, talking them down off ledge after ledge, never bolting even with open doors and free feet. But will that be enough to convince their Yandere, to satiate their fear of abandonement and desire to trap before their prey can even think of escaping?

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thedreadvampy · 1 year

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Losing my shit about this article in which a transphobic Tory was so busy panicking about existing in the vicinity of a Trans that she almost certainly misheard "jeans" as "penis" and decided that not only was this a problem with the other woman, but also that the world must be informed of this pressing danger.

"a trans woman! I had to stand directly behind her....I thought, 'this is going well', I'm handling The Situation fine'..."

translated: I saw a tall woman with broad shoulders. How would I get out of this alive? I thought. she has a PENIS. PENIS PENIS PENIS. through some force of PENIS I mean will I managed to PENIS behave normally towards her. My hands were PENIS PENIS PENIS shaking as I tried to dry them. summoning up all my PENIS courage I said 'dryer's crap innit'. she turned to me and said " yeah I'm just goiPENIS PENIS PENIS"

It's been a week and I'm still shaking. This proves trans women are the problem and I'm not weird. I'm fine. It's fine. If you think about it I'm the hero hePENIS!!!!!

very this

#red said #it's just. I'm obsessed.#everyone on Twitter is saying 'never happened' and i think they're wrong #this absolutely did happen and she's been obsessing over how vindicated it made her feel enough to WRITE AN ARTICLE ABOUT IT #because she MISHEARD SOMEONE IN A CASUAL CONVERSATION #i lay out my reasoning thusly: if you were INVENTING a scary trans woman in bathroom story out of nothing. why would it be this?#why would you go with 'we had a banal conversation until she said a sentence that makes no sense and that no human has ever uttered #but which does coincidentally sounds almost exactly like a mishearing of a very NORMAL thing to say in the circumstances #then she left and nothing else occurred'#if you were going to INVENT a story you would probably make it MAKE SENSE or SOUND THREATENING #i truly believe this is a very authentically told account of what she thinks happened #because who would. by means other than mishearing. think 'I'm going to wipe my hands on my penis' makes any sense at all.#a) 'I'm going to dry my hands on my genitals' says the presumably fully clothed woman #b) who then proceeds to leave without doing anything threatening #c) WHO SAYS PENIS THREATENINGLY? sorry it's writing out 'penis' repeatedly that made this jump out to me but like. who says that?#you might hear someone talk casually about their dick or cock but i stg it's only doctors and TERFs who casually use the word penis much #it's so. clinically descriptive. it's a weird use of language. but it IS. something you could plausibly mishear from 'pants' or 'trousers'

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stay-close · 3 months

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Sometimes all you can do is lie in bed and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart.

William C. Hannan

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csuitebitches · 4 months

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On Being a Powerful Speaker

in order to be a good speaker, you have to be a good writer. that doesn’t mean publishing 100 books and making it on NYT’s best selling list.

writing your thoughts, challenging your own assumptions and stances, writing about “controversial” ideas and playing the devil’s advocate, questioning the known, will allow your mind to become clearer on what you truly stand for. It will allow you to understand exactly who you are and what you believe in. It will help untangle all the jumble in your mind because you have to pen down your thoughts. Writing things down takes more time than thinking things, which gives you the time to reflect as well. Once your idea has been presented on paper, you will feel a sense of clarity. When asked to spoken about said idea or subject, you’ll be able to speak clearer because you’ve already spent time thinking, reflecting and challenging yourself. You may realise that you need less time to remember certain words, you’ll be able to retrieve things from your memory faster, your vocabulary will improve vastly and hopefully, your rationality will increase.

how should one go about such an exercise if you can’t think of subjects on your own?

Look for any one articles in the news. Any one article or a book. Read just the headline and the sub-headline/ read just the summary of the book. Now pause. Think about what it just said - do you agree with it? Disagree? What are your initial assumptions? What are some things you’re thinking of? Write it down. Now read the whole thing. Were your hunches right, or did the author challenge your initial assumptions? Do you agree with the author or still disagree? What were things you felt the author did not clarify or consider in their argument? start writing things down.

You do not need to be a good speaker in order to be a good writer; but perhaps, you do need to be a powerful writer in order to be a good speaker.

#ceo aesthetic #that girl #c suite #powerful woman #strong women #personal growth #productivity #getting your life together #balance #Speaking #writing #public speaking #speaker #How to speak #Confidence

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resqectable · 3 months

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Close your eyes and imagine the best version of you possible. That’s who you really are, let go of any part of you that doesn’t believe it.

C. Assaad

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 3 months

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R̸̜̈́u̵̟͘t̶̺̓ḧ̵͇l̷̟̋ē̶̘s̵̨̎s̵̩͒ṋ̵̋e̵͙̐s̵̡̈́ś̸͙

Get in the Water prompt Storm alternate version Animatic Fanart

There was a spell, Constantine had explained after his own trip to the afterlife. Something to contain Danyal's soul long enough to resolve his unfinished business, to keep him still and away from the influences of his fellow dead. And if that didn't work, Constantine continued, then there were ways to force a spirit to rest. It was better for a ghost to move on by themselves, but if there was no other choice...

Damian hoped Danyal would choose to rest on his own. That he'd let him explain, finally.

Danyal had been weak. Strong in a fight, but too weak to kill, and that infuriated Damian. But he was scared more than he was angry. Because that weakness would get Danyal killed, could get Damian killed, could get the League killed. Even the newest recruits had a stronger desire to kill than Danyal.

He was the weakest link in the chain. And while their mother had taught them to be ruthless, Danyal had remained limp with mercy.

They needed Danyal's body. It would be Danyal's tie to the earth, Constantine explained as he joined them on the Batplane. The souls of the dead don't often linger on the mortal plain. The magician had speculated that the only reason Danyal had managed to manifest in the waters below Gotham was because of Damian's presence, but his remains would keep him stable this side of life for however long it took to heal his soul.

But was that even possible?

"I don't know, kid," Constantine admitted during the plane ride. "Wish I had a better answer for you, but... Your brother is a siren now. And from the sound of it? He really wants you dead."

"Then why didn't he kill me?" Damian argued. "He had hours to do it... or minutes..." The time he spent in that green world felt longer than the ten minutes Father couldn't find him, but... "He had me in his grasp and let me go. Doesn't that mean he didn't want to-"

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'Playing with your food?'" Constantine asked instead. "Sirens aren't known for letting their prey go. If we're out here, its because he wants us here."

They--Damian, Father, Constantine, Grayson, and Todd--landed in Nanda Parbat after a few hours. There was a crypt inside for members of the Al Ghul family who didn't use the Lazarus Pits. It was there Danyal's body was entombed. They would have to steal it.

And it was unfortunate that Constantine got them caught within five minutes of entry.

Damian glared daggers at the man as they were led towards the Lazarus Pit. Constantine shrugged. "What? I don't want assassins chasing after me because of some light grave robbing! Besides, we need to explain the situation anyway-"

"And what, precisely, needs to be explained?" asked a woman from inside the chamber. The heroes were pushed inside, only to see Talia Al Ghul standing where her father should have been. The Lazarus Pit hissed and boiled behind her, casing the cave in a ghoulish light.

Damian could hear laughing.

Father stepped forward. "Talia. Where's Ra's?" Grandfather was the biggest threat to their plan succeeding.

Mother... looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I do not know. At the present moment... the Demon Head is missing."

You could hear a pin drop. "What do you mean?" Father demanded.

"It's as I said; he is missing. Yesterday, he was alone in the Pit, and hours later, no one could find him." She glanced behind her, at the waters, before looking back at them. "I had assumed he'd left to care for the League's interests. Now-" She tilted her chin up, looking down at them. "What exactly do you need to explain? What is so important that you break into my home to tell me?"

Stepping forward, Constantine explained. Mother looked grim as he spoke of Danyal, but did not interrupt. "We want to put his soul to rest. But for that, we need access to his body-"

"You dare ask for such a thing?" Mother snarled. "As if I even believe you. My son would never-"

"Your son?" Grayson snapped. "From the looks of it, you didn't care for either of your children!"

As the group descended into an argument, Damian heard laughter again, Danyal's high pitched giggle harmonizing with something deep and bone shaking. The Lazarus Pits loomed over him, beckoning him, whispering. Damian took a step towards it as his mother said, "I don't even have his body!"

"What?" Damian snapped at his mother, focusing back on the conversation. "But the crypts-"

"After your brother's murder, the Demon Head ordered for the culprit to be found. But they were never discovered." Because the culprit was Damian, he knew, and no one else ever learned about it. "I wanted to place him in the Pits immediately, but I was ordered to stay my hand until the murderer was caught. But..."

"He never was," Damian finished for her. "And then you put Danyal into the waters?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes. "And he never came back out. Even if it was too late, he'd still come back as the undead, but he never rose from the waters."

"Then this is entirely my fault."

"Finally," Danyal whispered in his ear, breath chilling his skin.

Damian did his best to ignore it. Danyal was haunting him. Danyal needed to be put to rest. If they couldn't do it Constantine's way, then they had to put him to rest another way.

Grayson looked troubled. "Robin, it's not your fault-"

"I'm the one who killed him," Damian confessed. Everyone stared at him. Grayson, horrified; Mother, blank; Father, betrayed. Damian continued, "I overheard you and Grandfather arranging a fight to the death, and I knew who would win. I couldn't... I couldn't allow Danyal to die without the Al Ghul name, in disgrace as the one who wasn't good enough. So I killed him, assassinated him, and now he's haunting me for revenge." Damian looked at the Pit. "So go ahead, Danyal."

"Damian, what are you saying?"

"Danyal wants revenge on the person who killed him; I'm giving it to him." Todd was staring at him. Damian might not be able to see past his helmet, but he could feel the respect coming off the man. "Danyal, I know you're here. Please come out." If he focused long enough, he could just making out wheezing breaths. "I can hear you, please-"

Father grabbed Damian by the shoulders. "Damian, listen to what you're saying! You're offering your life up for nothing!"

"B's right." Grayson placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's got to be another way. You don't have to do this!"

"Yes I do!" Damian ripped himself out of Nightwing's grip. "I'm the one who killed him! I'm the one at fault! My brother is suffering because of me, I have to save him-"

Stepping between them all, Mother slapped him across the face.

And the Pit's whispers fell silent.

Damian stared up at his mother, cheek throbbing with pain. She glared back. "Cease this behavior at once," she snapped. "There's no need to get so worked up over a ghost, of all thing-"

"T̴̯̃al̵̬͂ị̴̿a̵̮̕ ̵̼͐A̴̗̕l̷͈̆ ̴͚̓G̵͎̀h̷̻͒u̶̜͋l̴͍̀."

This time, everyone could hear Danyal's voice, filled with static and corrupted. Damian swallowed as his dead brother continued,

"D̸͕͠o̶̪̅ ̸͍̆ỹ̵̗ö̸̲ũ̸̧ ̶͖̚k̶̻͊ņ̸͐o̸̹̚ẘ̸̙w̷̛̹ḧ̸͚́o̷͉̅ ̵͈̑I̶̪̽ á̵̞m̶͙̂?̸̻͂"

The cavern shook as the Lazarus Pit bucked, a wave forming in the absolute center of the water. The wave rose, pillaring up above their head and brushing the ceiling. A cold wind rushed through the room and blew out the torches on the walls, leaving only embers and the occasional florescent behind. Damian braced himself for the waters to rush out and flood.

Instead, the water fell back into the pit, like it had never risen in the first place, leaving behind a lone figure in its wake.

"Danyal," Mother whispered.

And the dead boy glared back at her with pure contempt.

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