#jazz: let's unpack that

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC X DP Fic idea: Retired-Rouge.

Danny gets into making teddy bears. He didn't start that way; honestly, he was mostly trying to fix Bearbert Einstein after his mom accidentally burnt him with a misfired ray gun.

Jazz had broken down into tears, and it had ripped apart his heart and his core to see her so distressed. He went to the local- and only- fabric store in Amity Park to find materials and try to repair his sister's beloved teddy bear when his mom's attempts to fix the bear only made him look worse.

Just his luck that the only fabric shop for miles around was Weston Fabrics and that the person manning the cashier was Wes himself. The other boy had nearly thrown him out when Danny walked in, but thankfully his older brother Kyle had talked Wes down and helped Danny find fabrics for Bearbert.

Surprisingly, Wes had even helped him set up one of their sewing stations to get started on Bearbert.

The strange part was when Danny turned the machine on and found his hands moving independently. As if he had been doing it for years, he expertly put together the bear and even went through the other fabrics to make him new outfits. Wes had watched the whole time, raising a brow when Danny got up to pay.

"Thought you didn't know how to sew?"

"I thought so too. Must be a ghost thing." Danny replied then smirked as the redhead glared.

"A ghost thing?" Wes all but sneers. He still trying to expose Danny as Phantom and had yet to get proof, even with Danny teasing him in the open. As it were, Kyle, who was unpacking new needles rolled his eyes behind the red hair teenager.

"Yeah, since I have a protection core as Phantom, it sometimes transfers into my human side. Do you know how teddy bears guard children at night against bad dreams? Same thing"

Wes pauses, then slowly blinks; he whispers with a small baffled smile, "That's kind of adorable. A teddy bear to keep you safe through the night."

And Danny? He didn't mean to, but he found Wes sort of hot at that moment. Not the Wow, that guy is a celebrity hot but a Be careful who you call ugly in middle school because Puberty made them delicious over the summer break hot.

He will admit that he returned to Weston Fabrics to flirt more with Wes and made so many teddy bears as a disguise. The good news was that all his works were a hit, and even some kids at school started asking for special commissions when word got around about the special Nightmerica teddy bear he made for Sam's birthday.

He makes money, gets a boyfriend, and when he donates the teddy bears to a local hospital, he discovers a new power. Through items he made himself, Danny can send waves of comforting energy to the people around the item, like a miniature zen distributor. The patients that have his toys start to show greater rest from both nightmares and lower anxiety, depression, and general sadness.

He lets Wes name this power, which later becomes the name of his teddy bear business- Phantom Relief. After dating for two years and graduating, both boys agree the spark had been lost but remain good friends. Danny takes his thriving teddy bear-making skills to his new college in Gotham while Wes leaves for Star City.

In Gotham is where things get....stranger. See, Danny knows someone new to the city will never truly understand a city's problems. But the rapid amount of homeless kids is so shocking he starts making clothes and blankets to try and give them out because they shouldn't be out there freezing like that! He even tries passing along some teddy bears to them, hoping to soothe their pain with some Zen waves.

The key word is tries.

Gotham kids do not trust or like free handouts. Danny burst into tears when a thirteen-year-old asked if he wanted the kid to use his hand or mouth in exchange for the new blanket. The street kid seemed surprised when Danny was horrified by the question. No one else found it strange, the kid said, wrapped in a Superman blanket that Danny made only a day before, it's just how things are done around here.

The worst part is the homeless thirteen-year-old is right. Everywhere he looks, Danny finds more people needing protection- physically, emotionally, and mentally. Gotham is just filled with people suffering. He couldn't keep up. It's tearing him apart trying to help everyone.

His core feels like it will burst from all the overloaded cries of help it can pick up. One night Danny can't take it anymore, so he shifts into Phantom and flies out to the old Drake manner, abandoned since Janet Drake's murder, where the cries are muffled, and dials Wes' number with shaking hands.

His ex picks up listens to his sobs and tells him "You can't save people who don't want to be saved. But you can try to reach them in a way they understand."

It's precisely what he needs to hear.

Ancients, but he misses the man sometimes. Why did Danny ever let Wes Weston go? Well, as they say, Right person, wrong time. Maybe that was why.

So Danny decided the only way to get to Gotham was to be like Gotham. And who were the people that dramatically changed the city with every random plot? With every random heist?

Gotham Rogues.

So all Phantom had to do was become one, which shouldn't be too hard since people in Amity Park still debated if he was good or not years later. He fixes up his Phantom suit to something more Gotham villain, keeping the colors but removing the jumpsuit and adding a suit and vest alongside a mask and two giant needles.

He appears in Crime Alley- because that's where the most cries come from- and just challenges everything and everyone to take the area from him. He fights off so many gangs- even Red Hood, who puts up a great fight- but after the dust settles, he now runs the place.

He then starts- fixing the place. Starts sending out clothes for the homeless, starts fixing up buildings, gives Phantom Reflief out-teddy bears to kids, fake emulates to adults, starts sending the gang kids back to school, forces landlords to lower the housing, and illegally makes everyone get along.

He spreads his tyranny to the rest of the city, fighting the good and bad sides of the law. The bats give him one hell of a challenge, but Danny beat the Ghost King when he was an untrained brat. This is nothing. Batman gets better with every fight, and so do his associates.

Things look good until the Joker tries him too much when the clown somehow gets to Wes. Has the love of his life tied to a bomb with enough Joker Venom to fill half the city, and Danny sees red.

When he comes to, it's to Wes holding him in his arms, whispering reassurances, and Joker nothing but a smear on the ground. Danny can't live with what he's done; he runs away, shifts into his human side, and vows to never be Phantom again.

After four years of peace due to Phantom's hostile takeover, Gotham mourns the loss but doesn't fall into so much crime now that the ghost crime lord is gone. Danny thinks he's done his job and chooses to melt into the background. He opens a little shop for fabrics and custom-made teddy bears.

Wes finds him, agrees to try and rekindle their love, and a year later agrees to the marriage.

All is well until seventeen-year-old Tim Drake strolls into his fabric shop. Clutching a superboy teddy bear, he gave a shivering fourteen-year-old the first week as Phantom Gotham Villain with a stern look in his eye.

"Phantom- I need you to help me find Batman, who is lost in time, or I will expose your secret identity to the rest of Gotham."

Well, shit.

[luxaofhesperides]

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

He has no idea how his parents did it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She babbles again and smacks his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Family,” Duke agrees.

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

The key word being tries. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can do this.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #58 Part 3

Gotham Academy High School was the sort of school where almost everyone was elite in some way or another. Some of them were from old money like Damian who held himself up to a very high standard in his academics and was the top of the class. Others from new money like Dash and the rest of his cohorts became very hateful of somebody like Danny who was given a scholarship by Bruce Wayne, in their eyes Danny was taking advantage of Damian not even knowing that Damian approached Danny for companionship two years ago.

This also meant that everyone including the teachers would compare Danny and Damian to each other even though they weren’t brothers. That didn’t matter though as Danny was associated with them so that was all the reason they needed.

Danny groaned as he sunk into the seat next to Damian. The lunchroom was filled with chatting students and Danny was glad he shared the next class with Damian, which happened to be English. Dash never bothered Danny when Damian was around, probably because Damian had threatened the jock. How he was threatened Danny didn’t know, Damian never told him what happened and he was a little scared to ask. 

The guy hadn’t stopped harassing Danny since he and Jazz transferred a couple years ago. The school year had barely begun and Dash had made Danny his primary target like he was making up for lost time over the summer. Danny sighed as he dropped his paper bagged lunch on the table with a little plop. Jazz had packed for him this morning hopefully before his parents arrived and contaminated the entire kitchen.

“Dash again?” his sister asked across the table, she was seated next to Tim.

“I was paired against him in dodgeball again,” Danny lamented, his head resting on his arms that were crossed on the table.

“Danny, could you just talk to Mr. Lancer or something?” Jazz asked before she took a bite from her sandwich.

Danny sighed again and unpacked his lunch, “I have but no one will listen! They all act like I’m lying or something.” The teachers at this school probably wouldn’t listen to a charity case like him. Dash was a football player and had plans to become captain of the team. Everyone at the school loved Dash and it was precisely why everyone except maybe the four students at the table they were seated looked down and sometimes even bullied Danny.

Danny ignored it all eventually, it was better just to let the jock tire himself out. 

Once Danny and Damian finished eating they made their way to English. Luckily it was easy to carry the material for a class that only required a small binder and whatever book they were reading, in this case it was ‘gone with the wind’. Danny didn’t really care about reading old literature like this but he did what he had to maintain the grades he had. He’d endure anything, even Dash’s bullying, to become an astronaut.

Danny could hardly concentrate today through his afternoon classes. For some reason he had a bad feeling that something was going to happen. He tried his best to ignore it, he was probably just tired or something. Soon the school day was out and Danny packed up whatever homework he had for the day and headed outside to wait with Jazz. Damian and Tim were probably wrapping up their classes. Tim had an AP class that ran an extra 30 minutes and Damian’s last class was art, they were doing a painting and it wasn’t unusual for Damian to finish up what he was working on as he found out over the last few years that he enjoyed painting.

“… Do you think it’ll work?” Jazz asked a hint of hesitation in her voice. Danny knew she was talking about the portal, the both of them had talked about it before. Danny glanced over at his sister, he could tell she was having trouble sleeping lately, her face looked tired and her posture was stiff with her arms crossed in front of her. Both of them had anxiety about the possibilities the portal possessed, and they were especially worried that their parents wouldn’t take it well if the portal didn’t work. 

He was equally concerned that it would work. “I hope not…” he said eventually. It was something that brought the siblings closer as the whole of their family fell apart. How their parents managed to pull off getting the funding in the first place seemed to be a miracle. Everyone called their parents crazy and dismissed all of their science as ludicrous garbage.

Danny wondered how they even managed to stay under Batman's radar, he thought that something like this would be cause for the vigilante to look into it but maybe the thought of ghosts was just that outlandish that even the dark knight himself thought it to be crazy too. Danny himself didn’t believe in anything his parents published, some of the papers even seemed to be biased somehow, even though his parents hadn’t ever actually encountered a ghost. That last part was probably the reason no one bothered to actually investigate his parents, there wasn’t really much to investigate.

The siblings waited in silence and eventually Tim and Damian showed up after their classes and the four headed to Alfred waiting by the car. 

If anyone tried to start a conversation with Danny he wasn’t paying attention. If he was being honest, his parents' portal scared him a lot. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous about it, both him and Jazz renounced the thought that ghosts could exist. Something deep down in his guts told him that he should turn and run, that what his parents were attempting was taboo and that his parents were tampering with forces unimaginable. 

No one was going to listen to a fourteen year old though so Danny kept his feelings to himself and ignored them. 

Soon they were pulled in front of their apartment and true to their word, Damian and Tim asked Alfred to park nearby. Danny and Jazz took a hesitant glance at each other as they walked into the house. 

[gemini-sensei]

How Keene!Reader and Hawk get together:

CW: Robby's Twin!Reader; slight smut, angst, and hurt/comfort. Nothing graphic.

✨️ all their flirting turned into a fwb relationship (and if Hawk is bad at a fwb thing, Keene!Reader is worse). They fuck when her dad isn't home, they fuck in his car, they fuck anywhere they can. They kiss and makeout, whisper to each other about how hot and sexy they think the other is.

✨️ it's a few weeks in and in the middle of fucking, Hawk blurts out "I love you" and Reader fucking comes.

✨️ when they're done, she cries out of embarrassment and mortification. She can't believe she just did that. Hawk has to assure her that it's okay and it isn't just that that has made her upset. She's never had a good relationship, never stable. She's scared to love Hawk even though she's been falling for him for a while now.

✨️ he holds her and let's her cry it out. When she finishes crying, she tells him she's sorry.

He lifts her chin so she'll look at him while he speaks. "It's okay, Reader. It's nothing to be sorry for."

She has such deep seeded problems stemming from her parentage and that's a lot to unpack. He knew that before jumping in bed with her. But he's unafraid to face it with her. Just not now.

Right now, he assures her. "I did t say it because of the heat the moment."

"You didn't?"

"No, I do love you."

She feels better to tell him. "I love you too. And I'm not just saying thay because you said it... I am glad you said it first though."

Him saying it first makes her feel safe and secure. As she lay in his arms, sharing little kisses and sweet nothings, she feels like she can finally let her guard down around somebody.

✨️ they don't tell anyone this is how it went down. To their friends and families, they kind of just got together unceremoniously. Like one day they were flirty friends and the next they were dating, kissing and holding hands.

✨️ he calls her babe in front of her dad and he physically grimaces. Johnny cannot stand it. Hit has nothing to do with his daughter growing up and everything to do with him having taught Hawk "how to get babes" and firmly stands on the hill that his daughter isn't a babe. Hawk will die on his own hill, the mole hill that he turns into a mountain everytime he addresses Reader as babe. It touches a nerve in Johnny and they're bound to fight over it someday.

✨️Robby and Demetri going on double dates with Hawk and Reader, usually movie and milkshake dates. Robby and Reader agree to see whatever superhero or sci-fi movie their boyfriends are jazzed about, but sometimes Robby and Demetri try to get a concrete answer out of them on when they started dating. They ask questions like "what was your guys' first date like?" and "how long have you two actually been together?" They get no real answers, partly because Hawk and Reader know they don't wanna know and mostly because the two enjoy messing with them. So they get a jumble of answers, usually wrong or flat out absurd.

[liveontelevision]

The Truth | Slow-burn Lucifer x Reader

Ok, i'm high, and it's late, so im posting this here without an ending just to let some people see this. Im wondering if anyone would be interested in a multi part series with this premise? It'll have its romance and fluff and smut, but i feel like theres alot to disect from this.

Unedited.

Heaven has been, and will continue to be, difficult with this redemption project. It took years for them to set up any sort of communication system with Charlie to even tell her when Sinners were redeemed. And even then, the best they could offer was a large counter hanging across the marquee outside the hotel. It simply said Redeemed Souls scribbled across the top and essientally would *ding!* every time a soul would ascend. There was no warning. Residents would simply disappear; all their belongings were left behind, and it happened while asleep or when demons died. Instead of resurrecting like all wayward sinners do, they would simply.. not. It would get gruesome at times, seeing a demon die and simply not get back up.

Still, the numbers grew. After the hotel was proven to work, sinners were essientally packing the rooms. And when more demons were redeemed, Charlie would take notes on their progess and apply it to future excersises. It was finally a thriving business! Charlie did it.

You had heard of the hotel's success a few months after the counter was installed and would occasionally walk by to see the number go up. It felt like you were trying to convince yourself to just go in, but something, maybe doubt, would always stop you. Your life was similar to an average sinner (drugs, sex, alcohol), but even those who have done worse were going to Heaven.

What was stopping you?

For once, the streets actually looked barren. Of course, it still had enough flow for regular business. Not everyone was buying into the redemption thing, but it definitely couldn't compare to the bustling streets you were used to. This made you uneasy. Friends and local business owners, you became aquintances with disappeared suddenly. It was deathly quiet. Discomfort aside, how could you possibly be upset about sinners becoming sparce?

You gave in. Almost all your hellbound friends were gone. If they could do it, so could you. Maybe that was another reason sinners attended the hotel; sheer loneliness.

You packed up the little belongings you had and approached the hotel after avoiding it for the past few months. The number was in the thousands at this point. Why did that make you so uneasy? Pushing those feelings aside, you entered the hotel and were met with dozens of friendly faces. The lobby had become a giant bustling hub with a bar, and there were some classroom type areas down a hall, you assumed for activities. Lively jazz music was playing softly throughout the area, echoeing against the ivory walls adorning red banners. It seemed like some kind of conference was being held here, but this was just how the hotel looked at its peak.

You were quickly ushered to a front desk, an imp checking you in and handing you a folder filled with paperwork and pamphlets.

After being shown to your room on one of the higher floors, assuming the rooms below were all filled, you were met with the sweet aroma of freshly baked apples. It seemed to come directly from your room, but peeking inside, you noticed there was no sign of even a personal kitchen. Before you could even ask, the imp who led you to your room ran through their scripted introduction.

"Your room number is 5 and is located on the 67th floor if you missed it. If you get lost, just make sure you head as far as you can go down the corridor to the left. It's closer to Lucifer's office than Alastor's studio, so keep that in mind as well. The room was personalized to your liking the moment you checked in, so all you need to do is unpack your belongings."

The imp droaned on, clearly exhuasted from saying these directions to every sinner that comes through.

"Any questions -"

"Well, I-"

"Can be answered in the lobby."

Your quizzative appearance drooped to an irrated one. You barely processed anything they said as you stepped into the room, feeling such a nostalgic warmth. The apple scent from before had dulled to a more comfortable level, and the room was filled to the brim with an aesethic that you would dream of having when you were alive. Suns and moons decorated the walls through hanging pieces, tapestries, and beaded artwork. The lights were always dimmed, and your bed was plush with an absurd amount of decorative pillows. Your desk doubled as a vanity with adjustable lights just in case, and your bathroom was large. Already stocked with your favorite soaps, oils, and washes, you suddenly had the urge to take a bath. You decided against it, just taking in the heavenly room. Maybe that was a part of the whole process, pure comfort.

You had so many questions about the redemption process. After plopping down at your smooth wood desk, you began to look through the thick pile of paperwork that you'd been holding this whole time. Inside, it held your room key, 67th Floor, Room #5. You pocketed that in the meantime, flipping through a pamphlet provided. "Wayward sinners, welcome! Explore the history of Hell and the redemption process! Keep in touch with demonic friends as you ascend! Be Better!" The bright text made your eyes squint, quickly scanning it before setting that aside. It's something you've seen on the streets before, nothing new. You finally look at some of the paperwork. There were rules, like no weapons or drugs, avoiding flings, etc. Then there were policies.. your room was searched on occasion with consent. If you were found to be a frequent drug user, you had a daily limit for drinks at the bar. Those made you cringe. It's a bit controlling, but for a greater cause, I guess.

Then, you reached the bolded text Redemption.

It had almost no details about what Heaven was actually like, but there were rules. Lots of rules. These papers were almost glowing, and it looked like they were written in golden ink. These must have been provided by Heaven. They warned that "the divine light will choose you when it finds you worthy" and "you won't need any belongings in Heaven" and a specific section that made you shiver.

"Heaven is a place for winners. Once you've joined the angels, all memories from Hell will become void. Memories from Hell could bring distraught and discomfort to previously residing angels."

Who would want this? What have you gotten yourself into?

•••••

There were mandatory meetings you would begrudgingly go to. There were other demons in a similar state and others who were running to attend every activity possible. They must not have read the paperwork, too frantic to be saved. Or were they okay with it? You shake your head, honestly trying to forget those readings any chance you get. A lot of the New Resident meetings were basically warnings that this is a place of rehabilitation. You'll be put through scenarios similar to A.A. or interventions. You'll have control over your privacy, but "we at the hotel are determined to get you to heaven!" So, they'll occasionally do random check ins and such.

After one of your beginner trust exercises, you roamed the halls, peaking in occasionally to see what others were doing. There were activities like yoga, crafts, therapy sessions, it was.. great..

You'd see the founders around. They were speakers at larger conferences, Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor were far too busy to attend every exercise with this number of residents. There were optional lecture areas, one of them being The History of Hazbin Hotel. After attending from pure curiousity and boredom, you got a good understanding of who all the founders were and their role in the system. There was a nice section on the first 2 souls accepted to heaven. Sir Pentious, previously a murderous death machine inventor and operator, and Angel Dust, previously a drug addicted, porn star.

They wrote it to make them seem worse than they were when they first arrived, probably to make redemption seem more achievable. It made you cringe. You listened on, hearing about Charlie's uprising and her childhood. And her father.

You read the same storybook that Charlie would use to ease her nerves in the past. Lucifer, who was banished to hell, forced to see the wicked and evil outcome of free will. Lucifer, who lost the will the dream. Why would this man want to send his people to such a horrid place? Thinking back on it, you did notice that he wasn't really involved in any activities or was even seen around the hotel. Even Charlie, you'd cross on rare occasions in the halls. She had truly become a beautiful and powerful demon, you'd think, reminiscing on the choatic news broadcast she was on that you watched years ago.

You developed a sort of dissonance for Lucifer. Sure, he was the most powerful being in Hell and physically rebuilt this hotel and its success, but he didn't make sense. It seemed like he hated heaven. How could he not? He was banished from his home by his own brothers, just for loving and dreaming. And he wants to send people right to their door? It just baffled you. Very slowly, it became an obsession. What was his deal? You learned about his life through meetings and lectures, pamphlets, and even material from the infinite library they provided. Your desk was quick to become a mess of books and notepads you'd use. You rarely left your room, making sure to avoid any activities that involved "making friends." That sounded so stupid to you. You'll make friends with demons, then assend just to forget them? You couldn't have been the only demon questioning this whole situation, so why were sinners even here? You spiraled. This whole operation was beginning to make your head spin.

•••

Time went on, and while your mental state was improving, it still didn't break your hyperfixation on where this hotel could've gone wrong. It used to be small and friendly, some sinners would stay, some would give up, and some ascended without them even knowing. But now, it was a bonified operation. Something had to happen in the meantime to change its course so drastically. And you wanted to find out.

On average, sinners were in the hotel anywhere from 6 months to 2 years. A year has passed since you arrived, and while you kicked any addictioms you had, you weren't one to participate in many activities. This obsession drove you mad, clouding any thoughts of redemption you might've had. You had even been appointed a therapist for one on one sessions, which you would go to begrudgingly. You'd spin tails about your life and make it seem like a nostalgic bliss that you wanted to return to, buttering it up for this stranger in front of you. That gave them enough of a distraction to keep them from questioning your research. After this painfully long year, seeing hundreds come and go, you realized you had to go to the top. It seemed like the King of Hell may be the only one who might understand you. In a desperate attempt to get any comfort in your overthinking, you'd talk to other sinners about your thoughts, but they rarely gave you the time of day, like you were a babbling maniac. Because you were a babbling maniac.

But Lucifer? He has to understand. There has to be a reason he's not openly participating in the hotel. But he's here, right down your hall even. It was never as easy as walking up to his office and just questioning him, no matter how often you tried. It was either locked, or you could hear voices from inside. When the door was open, the office was spotless, and no one was inside. This was around meal times, breakfast most often and late into the night. Sometimes, you go inside to snoop and hope that maybe he'd walk in on you and you'd be forced into a conversation before he'd eventually kicked you out. That never happened.

It was a late night for you. There was a gala going on in the lobby, celebrating the 10th reunion of the hotel's renovation or something like that. Of course you didn't go, you were too busy hunched over the paperwork sprawled across your bed. It was a compilation of policies from the papers you got on your first day, random notebook pages and scribbles, and some photos collected from a variety of magazines. You'd essentially given up trying to look presentable. Your hair always tied sloppily out of your face and mainly wearing oversized sweatshirts and shorts that would disappear under the flow of your sweaters. You paced across your room. Every time you stopped to look at your work, you'd become riled up and continued to walk in circles.

"None of it makes sense! What the actual Fuck is wrong with Hell??" You spoke out loud, stopping in your tracks to look at your weakened state in the mirror on your vanity. Suddenly, tears began to run down your cheeks before you could even feel yourself choke up.

"What's wrong with me..?"

You looked back down to your bed and let out a growl, swiping all the papers off your bed in a frenzy. Random papers floated around you, frustration collecting in your body as a headache. You rubbed your temples with a sigh before taking a walk outside the room. You went to a vending machine that was provided on each floor, that had essientally anything you could want as a midnight snack. Along with some other necessities, you used some cash to get painkillers and a bag of gummy candy. Sauntering back to your room, you noticed a trail of your research peaking out your open door. You must've left it open in a hurry. You followed those papers that definitely weren't there before, to see a figure standing in front of your bed, some of the papers in hand. Your stomach dropped, just the sight of someone seeing your vulnerability made you flush.

"H-Hey! I left my door open, but that doesn't mean you can.. just -" your voice trailed off, catching red glowing eyes in your dimly lit room. It was fucking Lucifer. He blinked, his demon red eyes returning to a soft yellow. You had no idea how to react to this sudden encounter, scanning anything in the room to change the subject.

"Your Highness! Right, uh.. Good evening.. sir..? Erm.. How can I help you..?" You attempted to talk to him like you hadnt been secretly wanting this for months. After you managed to finally make eye contact with him, you noticed it; he was crying. Both of you squint at the sudden brightness hitting you, as you turn on your overhead light.

Thick, wet tears fell from his incredibly tired eyes. He looked like a mess. He wore what would've been an incredibly formal and modern tuxedo get up, but was soiled by his stature. His blazer had fallen off his shoulders, revealing a half tucked, wrinkled, black dress shirt that clashed with his porcelain skin. His shirt was unbottoned a good deal, and the tie loosely dangled undone. His face was worse. His eyes were incredibly heavy, those tears still trailing from his eyes to the bottom of his chin. The golden locks that looked so quaffed on magazine covers were a mess as well, strands falling loosely across his eye line. You noticed a soft pink across his entire face and a slight sway to his stance. Once you approached him a little closer, the smell of alcohol immediately hit you. This angel was plastered.

You look at the papers in his hand. One held a very aggressively scribbled picture of his face from a magazine, and the other held an antonized page from the handbook you received on day one. Just from those papers alone, you could understand your motivations. The redemption policy was scrutinized and scribbled over with phrases, "What does this have to do with redemption?" "What happens to your memories?" "Who's really running things?"

On the picture of Lucifer, a large red phrase across the front;

"How could he let this happen?"

You wince, immediately recognizing what information he's taken in.

"You're right.. Fuck, you're right. How did i let things get this far? What would Charlie think if she- Damn it!" He was muttering under his breath, not understanding his intentions.

"I'm sorry, it's such a mess in here, i wasnt expecting guests." You stop yourself, using defensive sarcasm probably wasnt the best move here. "Uh.. you can- um.. here.. " you fumble around your things and finally clear off your desk chair, beckoning the king to sit. He stumbles, his bottom hitting the seat with a thud as it begins to roll back from the force. You let out a nervous chuckle, beginning to neatly pile up the papers on your bed until you had a place to sit, facing him from the edge of your bed." I'm.. sorry, that you saw all this.. it's just crazy.. shit.. I'll get rid of it." You apologized like a kid who got caught stealing. Lucifer slowly blinked his eyes before wiping his tears with the cuff of his shirt, sniffling quietly.

You quickly reached past him to take a nearby tissue box and plop it in his lap. You sat silently, his ragging breath and sniffles filling the quietness of the room. He collected himself enough to process what you had said. "Oh! No, nono need to. Not any of my business what you do in.. your own.. room.." he looked around and cleared his throat before realizing the irony in his words. "I apologize, i shouldnt be in a random sinners room at this hour. I'll be on my way." He spoke as clearly as he could, being drunk and sobbing only moments ago. He stumbled to stand as he attempts to dust off his already askewed suit. He turns his back to you, beginning to leave.

"No! Shit- I - excuse me.. Mr.. Lucifer.. Sir..." You quickly stand and reach your arm out in his direction. He turns on his heels, acting as regal as he could, considering the situation. "This.. mess... this is.. all I've been thinking about since i came here... this hotel..? Is a fucking prison! How can heaven be so stubborn that they have to bring their rules and policies down to Hell? I dont understand how you could -" Your voice became increasingly aggressive as you realize you were about to scold him for your theories. You begin to shrink into yourself, believing this powerful being would kill you on the spot for such disobedience.

Lucifer was looking at you, dumbfound, at the intense passion you were imitting from your words. He realized how much you were cowering in his presence, and the feeling was extra reminiscent of his time in heaven. People above him, glaring upon his dreams with disgust and him not having anything to say. He shook his head and placed a hand on your shoulder. He did his best to send a smile your way, but he wasn't sure how that worked out in his state. "You're right. This hotel has become a god damn nightmare. I wish i could say more, but it's been a looong night." He drawls out his words before using the hand on your shoulder to keep his balance. You took his arm and hesitantly wrapped it around your shoulder, attempting to brace him up as you walk towards his office. It wasnt that far, just right down the hall, it shouldnt be an issue as long as no one sees you." Mmy name is Lucifer- oh, oh! This here, this is my room." He eargly pokes his finger at his obviously labeled door. "Okay Lucifer, think you'll be okay from here?" You try to talk with confidence, while you process that the king of hell is using you to stay on his feet. He nods and opens the door, stepping in with a sigh of relief. He spins around on his feet to face you from the doorframe.

"Be here tomorrow. At lunch. I'll tell you everything." His voice was stern and clear, and you couldn't tell if that was from the alcohol or not. He sways away and grins his toothy grin, saying, "Good night!" He shuts the door before you have a chance to respond. Could that have been drunken babbling? If it wasn't.. what does he know?

[everybodyshusband]

per aspera ad inferi ; chapter two

[aka: the university ghouls fic]

aeon & dew [& sunshine] (ghost band)

teen and up | gen | 2.8k words (4.5k in total) | alternate universe (university), transmasc aeon, transmasc dewdrop, transfemme sunshine, angst

@ghoultrifle has been my SAVIOUR writing this one, so thank you isaac for pre-reading this for me and helping me with phrasing and all that jazz <3 obligatory @midnight-moth and @divine-misfortune tags because they also enable me with this au far too much :))

you know the drill, snippet and ao3 link under the cut !!

“I– I’m trans too.”

If Dewdrop is surprised he doesn’t acknowledge it and Aeon is grateful for that. He knows he’s not like a lot of other trans people his age, knows how lucky he’s been to have a supportive mother and a competent doctor. “Oh. Well, that’s good then.” He nods, mostly to himself, Aeon thinks. “I’m Dewdrop.”

“Aeon. I’m first year.”

“I know,” Dewdrop says. “It said on the slip.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m in my second year. Biomed, you?”

“Um, psychology.”

Dewdrop nods thoughtfully. “Sounds interesting. I’m majoring in neuroscience, all that freaky brain shit is cool.”

“Yeah,” Aeon agrees, lapsing into silence. He’s not sure how to move the conversation on from here. Luckily for him, Dewdrop speaks next.

“I was planning on heading out with a few friends. Do you want me to stay and help you unpack or do you want some time alone?”

“Alone time would be nice, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course. Moving away from home is scary. So’s sharing a room with a stranger. You unpack and shoot me a text if you need help. Here’s my number.” Dewdrop scribbles his phone number down on a bit of loose paper and hands it to Aeon on his way out the door. “I might stay in my friend’s room tonight, give you a bit of space. I’ll let you know either way. Have fun unpacking.”

[read the rest on ao3 !!]

[cinamun]

Are you still confused? | Next

Before a brief break in the story, can we just unpack these heavy arcs right quick? Follow me:

*Um also, just one update today because these pixels have been emotionally exhausting... but I digress...

Dear Readers,

Just as one couple rebounds through turmoil, indecisiveness and a potential break up, another couple is dealing with a surprise family member stolen by the state and yet another couple is dealing with gaslighting, emotional abuse and manipulation.

Whew...

Its all been so much. As we were watching with our fingers crossed Hope and her Beau work through some very valid issues, and while we watched Indya and Darren take in a little one and remind a loved one about the critical importance of family, Mercy Carruthers writhed in pain. Surprised with a Winterfest ring, and not quite knowing what to do, Bishop took advantage as he usually does.

Its not that Jackson Carruthers, Jazz Pianist is any competition, its just that Isaac Bishop Blackburn can never give what Jackson could. Mercy, realizing this, couldn't bring herself to submit to marriage. To her, only one man is worthy of marriage and that man is resting peacefully. Maybe she breathed a sigh of relief when he took the ring back, even if inaction cost her dearly in the next room.

As for now, stay tuned. Let's take some deep breaths, let these moments marinate and hope for the best for all involved.

[zombiestarter]

too good to be true — steven grant

୨୧ ꒰ synopsis ꒱ whilst moving in to your newly shared apartment, a box full of figurines shatter and leave you saddened. reminiscing on your first date, steven is determined to cheer you up.

୨୧ ꒰ genre ꒱ fluff

୨୧ ꒰ warnings ꒱ n/a

୨୧ ꒰ word count ꒱ 1k

a/n: first post! ahh, i’m so excited to see what this account has in store for me.

“careful, careful,” steven’s voice trails off, making sure not to trip with every step he takes. “we’re almost there. need a break?”

you shake your head, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead before quickly holding onto your side of the couch. “no, i’ve got it. it’s just… why did we choose one of the hottest days of the year to move our stuff?”

the brunette couldn’t help but laugh, taking the first step into their newly shared apartment. a sigh of relief escapes both of your lips once you both let go of the couch.

“alright, time for a well-deserving break.“ he says, mostly to himself as he dusts off the dirt from his jeans. absentmindedly, steven extends an arm to grab you and pull you into a hug. noticing that you were not at his side, he furrows his brows to find you rummaging through a set of boxes that were placed at the counter.

“something the matter?” he muses, wrapping an arm around your waist before pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. 

you furrow your brows, opening the last of the boxes and gasping. “no!” you exclaimed softly, a frown settling on your features as you gently pick up the broken pieces of a glass figurine. “our figurines. they’re all broken.”

steven watches as you pull up a stool, sitting on the newly polished wood, and try to put all the pieces back together. to your dismay, the figurine was unfixable. “all of our stuff…”

steven’s gaze softens, placing a hand over your shoulder as he looks into the box. Looking into the broken shards of what used to be memorabilia of their time together. It’s bittersweet, really, trinkets and figurines from years back are nothing more than disposable now. steven has hope, rummaging through the pieces of ceramic in the box before pulling out a glass penguin, “well, look at this dapper little fella.” he muses, gently tapping the black bowtie it wore. a tap too many led to the figurine’s head falling right off. “oh, bollocks.”

an airy laugh escapes your lips, and with a sad smile you pick up the pieces of the glass penguin. “this was on our first date.” you teased, elbowing his side. “you took me to the zoo in the middle of december.”

steven’s eyes brighten at the memory. warm scarves, knitted gloves, tight hugs, and uncoordinated dances to old pop rock, and jazz. a day he could never forget. “yes! we almost got soaked at the penguin exhibit.” he says, the corners of her eyes crinkling as he smiles. “i bought you this little guy to remember our first date.”

both of you reminisce in comforting silence. you sigh, pressing your cheek against your palm as you pick up another broken figurine. “so much for the memory box.” you mutter, placing the broken fragments back into the cardboard box.

“memory box?” steven says, amused.

“title is a work in progress.” you say matter of factly. “or at least it was.”

steven takes your hands in his, “i’ll make it up to you, darling.” he says. “promise. always.”

giving his hands a small but reassuring squeeze, you smile fondly before shaking your head. “no, no, it’s alright.” you say, a small peck on his lips. “we still have a lot of stuff to unpack.”

steven returns your kiss just as softly, hand lingers on her before reluctantly pulling away. loving gaze follows your figure as you walk to another room. 

the rest of the day went by with you and steven putting things and organizing rooms. once night had fallen, you were the first to race to the shower after such a long and hot day. steven was quick to work. skimming through an array of vinyl before pulling out a record and placing it over the player. glasses of wine sitting on each side of the decorated table as the food cooks on a low fire from the kitchen. both of you had made the decision to order takeout after finishing up with the apartment. however, as you showered steven had made the decision to get started with an actual dinner, not just some gyros you spotted on the drive home. 

home. 

to many, a home would be their house or even a town they used to live in. but to steven grant home is where he can find comfort and safety. where he is truly welcomed. home is…

you open the door and step out of your shared bedroom, hair still wet from your shower. steven has his back turned against you. “steven?” you muse, eyebrows furrowed together at the home-cooked food on the table. “you made dinner?”

his fingers go right to the record player, he knows exactly the right one to play. only when frankie vallie’s voice fills the living room does he turn towards you. 

you're just too good to be true

can't take my eyes off of you

walking towards him, your smile never fades. a smile that incarnated his tender adoration for you. arms wrap around your waist before you instinctively lay yours on his shoulders. 

you’d be like heaven to touch

“is this what you were hiding?” you ask, looking into his eyes with a smile. 

“a little,” he revealed, the corners of his eyes creased with amusement. “i don't need a trinket or a glass figurine to show how much i adore you, dear.” his eyes scan your features, hand brushing against your cheek. “i only need you.” 

you let the music guide you, with the help of steven’s soft swaying to the music as he held you close. you’d break a thousand more figurines if it meant you could stay in this moment for as long as you wanted. 

“pretty impressive that you managed to do this in such a short time.” you tease, laying your head against his chest as you both sway to the music. 

“shh,” he says, pressing a finger to your lips. “no words. just us, dear.” 

with that, he ends the night with a needed kiss.

main masterlist / moon knight masterlist

tag list in reblogs

[steddio]

Most of the time, Eddie likes being in jazz band. He likes having at least one class he’s guaranteed to pass. He likes being around music geeks. Likes the smell of the band room and the routine of unpacking and re-packing instruments from cases. But for two days in February, jazz band partners with the show choir for their biggest and most successful (and most unfortunate) fundraiser of the year. Singing Valentines. Where any Hawkins High student can pay a dollar to publicly serenade (or humiliate, if you ask Eddie, but nobody ever does) the person of their choice. And Eddie does not like being in jazz band for that.

Mostly it’s the same story every year: boys’ last minute ploys to get into their girlfriends’ pants despite having failed to get a dinner reservation; girls and their genuine desire to do something sweet for a friend; and, Eddie’s least favorite category, jocks riling each other up.

Monday, February 13th, 1984. Day one of Eddie’s hopefully last year of singing valentines (although who is he kidding, Mrs. O’Donnell is never going to pass him), goes smoothly. He gets to skip his afternoon classes in favor of playing mind-numbingly boring pop songs on guitar to accompany some choir girl whose name he can’t remember. Nobody really pays him any mind, too busy jeering at the valentine victim, and he can let his mind wander to the absolutely sadistic campaign he’s planning for Hellfire. He almost, almost lets himself believe he can get through this stupid fundraiser without incident.

After school, Eddie is loading his guitar into his van, making a mental list of things he needs to pick up from the store before Wayne starts his night shift, when he hears someone shout “Hey freak!” from across the parking lot. He tenses, turns slowly, and sees Tommy H jogging up to him.

“Yo, where do I buy one of those singing things?”

Eddie’s brain takes a minute to realize he doesn’t need to make a run for it (yet), long enough that Tommy has repeated himself (and not nicely, either, why can’t it ever be nicely with these assholes).

“Hey, freak, are you deaf? What’s the deal with the singing?”

One of these days Eddie will tell his high school bullies to fuck right the hell off but today is not one of those days because as much as he hates singing valentines and Tommy (it’s actually too close to call which one he hates more), he does like to support the arts and help fundraise for band and all that shit. And he also really, really doesn’t want to get his ass beat. He digs around in his jacket pocket for one of the order forms and holds it out.

“Uh, just, uh, fill this out and then it’s a dollar.”

With surprisingly little fanfare other than shoving the paper and cash at him with way too much force, Tommy makes his generous contribution to the Hawkins High Jazz Band, and leaves Eddie to stare down at the name written on the order form.

Steve Harrington. To be serenaded in Mr. Sommers’s fourth period history.

“Jesus H Christ,” Eddie moans to himself. As if having a stupid crush on Hawkins’ golden boy wasn’t bad enough, now Eddie has to watch him look embarrassed and maybe blush and do that shoulder punching thing that jocks do to look macho that always makes Eddie think about a firm grasp on his own shoulder and, whoa, okay, not the time buddy. He takes a brief detour to the band room and adds Tommy’s order to their stack for tomorrow, drops off the money, and prays that maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to get out of it.

Tuesday, February 14th, 1984. Eddie doesn’t get out of it. Instead he spends all morning dreading fourth period. So of course before he knows it he’s in Mr. Sommers’s class, trying to hide behind the tiny frame of a different random choir girl, and playing guitar for King Steve himself.

Steve is, as Eddie had imagined for way too long last night, blushing. A soft rosy flush creeping up his neck and warming his cheeks. Eddie is trying so hard not to stare at his lips, which are curved in a self-deprecating smile. Tommy is in the back row, beside himself with laughter, and Steve keeps briefly glaring over at him before turning back to listen to the performance politely, always the gentleman. Eddie tries to concentrate on playing chords, but he could probably do this song in his sleep, and the siren song of Steve’s hand running through his hair, and his goddamn freckles, is too strong and he can’t look away.

He swears there’s a brief moment when Steve catches him staring, their eyes meeting in an electric charge, before the song is over and the room is filled with jeers and halfhearted applause and Eddie can make his escape with the sinking certainty that he’s never, ever going to get over this crush now that he’s seen what Steve looks like overwhelmed and flushed.

Saturday, February 14th, 1987. Despite the fact that Eddie has spent most of his life criticizing Valentine’s Day for its heteronormativity and capitalist agenda, he’s still a romantic at heart. And this year he actually has someone to romance, someone who doesn’t treat him like a dirty little secret. Someone who he knows, from experience, will blush oh so prettily when given even the slightest show of affection. Which is how he finds himself once again serenading Steve Harrington, this time with a cheesy pop song carefully selected from Steve’s tape collection.

“Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my skull,” Eddie croons, relishing Steve’s heavy gaze on him, soaking in the affection.

“Only you, can cool my desire, oh I’m on fire,” he sings, and hates that Springsteen just fits so right. Because Steve’s face is flaming, and Eddie wants to soothe the burn (preferably with his tongue).

As the closing chords fade away, Eddie waits, loathe to break the silence that sits heavy between them. Steve opens his mouth, closes it, and Eddie is waiting for breathless praise, or something sappy, because goddamn it he deserves it after that.

“Ok, it’s a tie.” Steve is grinning, looking mischievous. Eddie’s confusion must be evident on his face because Steve clarifies: “It’s a tie between this and the first time you serenaded me.”

Eddie gapes at him. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget?” Steve is definitely messing with him, except, there’s something sincere in his eyes. “You had the cutest blush, I thought about it for weeks after.”

Eddie stammers, outraged and more than a little embarrassed. “I can’t believe it, I had the biggest crush on you, I was trying so hard not to stare! There’s no way you noticed!”

And Steve, altogether too earnest, sends Eddie spiraling. “How could I not notice you, Eds? You’re lovely. And not exactly subtle…”

Eddie barely remembers to move his guitar aside before he’s throwing himself toward Steve, murmuring “you’re lovely” and “sweetheart” and “my angel” between kisses. When they finally break apart, breathless, Eddie can’t help but tease, “You know, I’m not sure I’ve maximized my serenading potential. Maybe third time’s the charm…”

[bleubrri]

⟡ ゚ ៹ moving day - connie springer

connie insists on piggybacking you past the threshold out of your apartment. he justifies it as an ode to all the times he’s ‘hauled your drunk ass to bed’, though you’re pretty sure his tally outnumbers yours. you’re feeling surprisingly mellow—the movers had come early to pack up the bulk of your stuff. now all that’s left are your suitcases in the outside hallway and the memories nestled between your ribs (plus, the forgotten magnet under the fridge that connie will spend close to a week mourning the loss of).

you love this place. it’s been good to you. familiarity and comfort coat the walls of your home just as much as the tacky orange paint in the living room, like you’d always been here and always would be. though, it’s time for a change. new beginnings and all that jazz. you don’t suppose it matters where it is that you get to call home, as long as you’re sharing it with connie.

he’s dragging his feet as he makes his way down the hallway, feeling you nuzzle into the crown of his head as he clings to the backs of your thighs. it makes you smile, the way he doesn’t skip over the creaks in the floorboards, savouring the little squeaks under his boots as if he hasn’t been complaining about them for the past 3 years. you’re passing the open doorway of the front room, morning light streaking through the windows and highlighting the disturbed dust particles that sparkle under its rays.

and suddenly you’re on the brink of death, all the memories of your life here flashing behind your eyes in a way you’ve only ever seen in movies. every burnt dish of lasagne setting off the smoke alarm. every summer heatwave in your underwear with the ac blasting and ice pops melting on your tongues. every meticulously rolled blunt pressed to your lips by the tips of his fingers. the abandoned tv series and the kitchen-stuff mini golf course and the tangled limbs lost in the couch cushions.

you glide your cheek across the pinpricks of his buzzcut, pressing your face to his and tugging on the studded lobe of his ear affectionately. “i’m gonna miss this place.”

you can feel his cheek squish further against your own under the weight of his smile. “yeah.” he sighs, “‘least the new place let’s us have pets!”

“connie springer, we are not getting a pet.”

“what?! why?”

“you can’t be trusted!” you smirk into the curve of his neck.

“can’t be—i just signed a lease!” he jostles you on his back and revels in your yelp-giggle. “i want a kitten and a puppy. and one ‘a those big ass fish tanks.”

you hum, perched in the front doorway of your eccentric little apartment with arms wrapped securely around your eccentric little love. connie shuts the door, clicking the lock and sighing dramatically.

“y’know we might need some energy for all this unpacking.” you pipe up. “you wanna get mcdonalds or something on the way ove—”

another yelp escapes you as your boyfriend immediately lets go of your thighs, leaving you dangling, clinging to his neck and shoulders as he grabs the handles of your suitcases and bolts down the hallway towards the lift. thundering and whooping, leaving your neighbours with the perfect lasting impression of you.

#: @i4sgwr @sheluvzeren

[camp-mithril-lake]

Don't add plot to Oops

Don't add plot to Oops

Don't add plot to Oops

It does not need to be serious.

Let it be fluffy baby story.

Whatever you do DO NOT INCLUDE SERIOUS CHARACTER MOMENTS FOR THE G1 CART–

Damn it, Rodimus, can't you just hate your incredibly loving evil dad? Do we have to unpack his feelings about being created as a Decepticon for a war that didn't exist yet and how early violence led to his own violent relationships? Skids and Nightbeat, can't you not seek to understand Prowl? Jazz, please stop trying to unpack your toddler's half-remembered trauma and nightmares. Sunstreaker, you and your brother do not need a traumatic backstory that closely aligns with Drift's at times and raising him also be healing your own inner child and lead to certain realizations about him not having the same habits as you. Drift do not get emotional when Rodimus points out how your attitude towards food and other things has changed in this life due to Sunstreaker’s parenting. Getaway stop becoming a fucking Momma's Boy just because you love Hot Rod and he's a great parent who you realize is closer to you in life experience as a warborn Cybertronian made to fill a role in Magnus's team. Mirage, what the actual fuck.

Optimus–

Actually, yeah, you're good.

[sailor-artemis]

5 Songs I'm Into Right Now

Thanks to @riftdancing for the tag! I love talking about music so this was perfect :)

1. acloudyskye - Surface

I decided to check out this album after seeing it pop up in RYM's new music since I'd heard one of acloudyskye's previous albums, and this song just sunk its hooks into me and won't let go. That guitar line. The piano chords backing it up. The production. The lyrics. The vocal delivery. The vibes. The main guitar riff and the chorus ("If you're there, can you hear it?/They're shooting flares in the distance/They won't find a trace of us/We'll be gone when morning comes") both live in my head rent free. This is a song that ends a character playlist I'm working on, and that spot is well earned.

2. 2hollis - all 2s

Fitting to go at number 2, I stumbled on this while trying to find more electroclash in the vein of Justice and decided to give it a spin. That first 30 seconds or so is what grabbed me: the simple synth line & choppy vocals that becomes a Wall of Noise after 16 bars. Don't know what it is about it, but that kinda noise just scratches some part of my brain the right way, and this song does it like few else. The synths in this are also fun, and I love the hype energy this has. Just a banger.

3. Fever Dolls - Gennifer Flowers

You can blame @reversalsun for this one, I got it from their playlist for one of their OCs (Anja, the one I made a drink for, as it happens), and it's wormed its way right into my brain. I love the very "theatrical" delivery of the verses with a lot of meat to unpack in the lyrics that's counterbalanced by the shouted chorus: "And if I've got the power to take it (got the power to fake it)/Gennifer Flowers got the power to shake her debasement". Basically, I wanna see the musical this is from, and the fact this band has only a handful of singles is a crime. Thanks Sam!

4. The Hives - Tick Tick Boom

A classic garage rock tune that made its way onto a playlist I put together for Lehon'a's time in Shadowbringers. In my head this soundtracks the final fight with Emet-Selch, with Lehon'a lording her superiority over Emet in the lyrics: "Yeah, I was right all along/Yeah, you were tagging along/Exhibit A: on a tray, what you say as I throw it in your face/Exhibit B: what you see, well it's me I put you back in your place". And that main guitar riff and the iconic "tick tick tick tick tick tick tick BOOM" where everything cuts out just make this song.

5. The 8-Bit Big Band - Can You Feel The Sunshine? (originally from Sonic R)

This one is YouTuber Adam Neely's fault. I decided to rewatch his video on how Video Game Music has spawned its own jazz scene and how it fits into the culture of jazz at large, and this is one of the songs that he helps perform. Just from the snippets in the video, the main hook managed to get trapped in my brain, and now I'm obsessed. The original song is a fantastic eurobeat adjacent track, but this jazz version just adds some extra spice. I especially love the vocalist really showing off towards the end of the number. Highly recommend watching the YouTube video which shows all the performers in the studio playing (and the Adam Neely video too), it's super cool!

Tagging (though no pressure to do it if you're busy or otherwise don't wanna): @reversalsun @zylphiacrowley @ga-keaton @ferrocyan @gatheredfates and any other passers-by who wanna share some cool tunes!

[eyeslikewatercoolers]

WIP Wednesday- She's All That AU pt 3

After a little bit of an unintentional break (mental health & all that jazz), She's Going to Be Popular is coming back! Here's a look into chapter 3.

Marcia paced the living room floor for ten minutes, anxiously waiting for her sister to get home. Knowing little about doing hair and makeup, she asked Jan to come home from college to help her get Anetra ready for the party. 

It wasn’t exactly cheating to use Jan to help, or at least that’s what she was hoping. It would just be family helping family if Luxx asked any questions. 

Upon hearing the garage door open, they let out a sigh of relief. They walked into the mudroom to see Jan carrying a backpack and duffel bag full of clothes, trying to get through the hallway. “Thank God you are here. Why are you late?”

“I was helping Jackie study for her Economics test, but then you said this was urgent,” Jan explained as Marcia followed her into her old bedroom. 

“It is urgent, she’s going to be here any minute!” Marcia peeked through the curtains to look at the driveway again. 

Jan started unpacking her bags as she glanced at her sibling, “Helping you and your friend to go to a party isn’t really that urgent.” 

“It’s urgent for me.” Marcia pointed out as they looked over the makeup and hair products that Jan had taken out and placed on the bed. Marica picked up a slightly larger box and read the label for cherry red hair dye. “Why do you have this?” she asked.

The older sister shrugged “Crystal said that it was too bright for her, so she gave it to me.”

“Isn’t that your friend that wears the overalls with little rainbows painted on them? She thought the red hair dye was too bright?”  Marcia walked closer to the window to keep an eye outside.

“I think it’s because she’s trying to impress this girl that’s in our chemistry study group but Jackie says-” Jan was interrupted by Marcia’s sudden squeal of excitement.

Watching a pair of headlights pull into the driveway, Marcia quickly turned around “She’s here! I’ll go get the door.” 

After about an hour and a half of hair and make-up, and another thirty minutes of finding a dress in Jan’s old closet that fit Anetra, time was getting close to leaving for the party.  Marcia was pacing the living room again, waiting for Jan to bring out Anetra for a ‘grand reveal’. 

At least she had the twins to keep her company this time, as they were patiently waiting on the couch. They arrived a few minutes earlier so that all four could go together to Kerri’s party. 

“How long does it take to put on a stupid dress and heels?” Marcia asked out loud, turning on her heel. 

“Zippers can be really confusing, maybe it’s that.” Sugar pointed out as Spice watched Marcia pace like she was watching a tennis match. 

Marcia looked at the large wall clock and sighed, “They are taking forever. What is taking them so long?” 

“I think we have a good reason for taking so long, Marsh.” Jan peeked around the corner, with a grin on her face. 

Marcia turned to face the hallway, raising her eyebrows “Well?” 

Jan stepped out to clear the entryway of the hall “Ladies, may I introduce the new, not improved, but different-”

“Jan, we don’t have the time for this!” Marcia raised their hands in impatience. “Just get her out here.” 

“Fine.” Jan huffed like an annoyed teenager, and peaked back into the hall, waving to motion to come that way. “Come on, you look stunning!” 

Slowly appearing from behind the wall she was hiding behind, Anetra absolutely did look stunning. The black sequined mini dress showed off her toned long legs with silver stilettos worked well as a nice complimenting outfit. 

But what really shocked everyone was Anetra’s hair color. She now had dark red hair, curled into light beachy waves. Her striking brown eyes were no longer hidden behind glasses, her elongated features on full display. 

Marcia felt completely shocked as she stared at her friend. She had no idea how much time passed until she felt a hand on her shoulder. 

“I think Marcia might be broken.” Spice’s voice pulled her back into reality. 

She cleared her throat before speaking, “Y-you look amazing.” she stuttered out. 

Anetra looked at the decorative mirror on the wall, “Really? All she did was dye my hair and put makeup on me.” she said in a deadpan tone. 

“But you’re hot now!” Sugar added, as her friends nodded in agreement. 

“We should get going, Luxx says that the party is already starting,” Spice said, looking at her phone.  

Marcia took Anetra’s car keys off the table and handed them to her, “Let’s show you off.”

[yourneighborhoodneighbor]

and you're always free to begin again ch4

(masterpost to my fics while ao3 is down) AO3

fic under the cut

previous chapter

Dany had thought, he really really thought, that nothing in the life he had lead now would ever even come close to being as horrible as losing killing his brother and his general upbringing by the League, but he wasn't really done unpacking all of that now that he had the luxury of time and distance so he was not gonna think about it had been.

Like what Sam and Tucker had named as “DFL” (for Dany Fenton Luck, which was his special and personalized brand of the better known Fenton Luck) dictated, no, demanded, he had been wrong. Because of course, that was just how things went for him.

At this point, Dany had been Phantom for three years. He had been the crown prince of the Infinite Realms for two years (and would become king and actually rule when he fully died), and he liked to think that he had actually been really good at dealing with ghosts and ghost hunters now. It had been difficult at first, not because he didn't know how to fight (that was actually what he knew how to do best and was therefore the easiest part of the whole situation), but because getting like a bajillion new powers and no instruction manual for any of them had been a whole mess. Was a whole mess, because for some reason he just kept on getting power, it was frankly almost ridiculous. He had learned though, and even eventually gotten on good terms with most of the people he had fought with, after learning that apparently he now needed to get used to an entirely new social structure and customs again, when he already had a hard time with that as it was.

Besides, ghost stuff was way easier than alive human stuff, since dying had at least granted Dany with some instinctual in innate things, like and understanding of any language, including ghost speak, as well as built in sensors for things like when he was nearing someone else's haunt and such, once he was actually taught how to interpret those internal signals correctly.

The point being, Dany had had things Under Control. He'd had Protocols, and Scripts, and Rules to deal with the way his life was now. And he had liked it, even if the GIW and Jackson and Madeline made things stressful and sometimes overwhelming to the point of meltdowns or shutdowns (He knew what those were called now! Thanks, Jazz!).

But he had been Fine! Kinda! Really! He promised!

That is, he had been fine, until…

Until a while ago, when things had decidedly become incredibly less fine, and way more unfine.

He wasn't sure how long, exactly, it had been since his DFL had struck again. And this time, in the worst possible way. In a way so bad it almost surpassed Dany's worst moments, including his own death and everything that came with it, something he had not thought possible.

It had all simultaneously become a blur and was seared in his mind in uncomfortable detail and focus.

He had been in his room, alone, holding a chocolate milkshake in one hand, and singing softly with the other, a song he had learned with his brother on one of their last missions together, when they were 6 years old. It had appeared in a princess movie, the first they had ever seen, which they had managed to catch through the window of the house right next to the one where their target for the mission had resided. It had been the only movie they ahd ever watched, before Dany had come into his new life, that is. He only ever rewatched that movie on his own, feeling it too special to share with anybody else, especially since his brother would never be able to watch another movie.

Regardless, he had been sitting  alone and singing softly in between sips of the chocolate milkshake, too caught up to pay proper attention to his surroundings, foolishly thinking he was safe enough to let his guard down. It had not been.

Jackson and Madeline had come in with guns blazing and traps already firing, Fenton Thermos activated and sucking him in faster than he had been able to react, save for dropping the shake in his hand.

He had woken up strapped to a metal slab, the cold and crazed looks of the fenton parents leaning over him, scalpels and other equipment in hand. He had known what was going to happen immediately. He had fought as much as he could, but in the end, nothing, not his assassin training (that he still kept up with, as a connection to his brother, even if he hated the League), his ghost powers and prince training, his Scripts and Rules and protocols, nothing, had been able to save him. No one had been able to either.

He had had no other option than to watch and hope it was over quickly as he was cut open, his innards taken out and weighed, cut, observed macro- and microscopically, tested, as he was sewn shut and cut back open over and over to test his healing, how he had been bled dry and injected with a myriad of substances he did not even want to think about, as he had been experimented on over and over and over again.

At some point he had grown almost numb to it, only detachedly noticing all that was happening, as new things were taken out or put in, as people in white suits came in and started helping the two mad scientists, and as the time passed in uneven lapses, until that condemned moment when he had felt the most awful he had ever felt, the moment they had finally managed to find his hidden core, when they had touched it and held it and experimented on it as well and no, stop, it hurts, he hated that, please, Jazz, Dami, he couldn't, he couldn't he couldn't-

After that, Dany thought about his siblings a lot, in the spare moments he was left alone, numb and unfeeling in the face of that last violation he had been subjected to.

About Damian, who had always had his back, had always taken care of him and accommodated him the best he could when he did not even know what was wrong and why, when it had not been his job because he, too, had been a child. A child he had killed.

About Jazz, who had taken him in and taken his aggressive demeanour in stride and had done her best to help him and make him feel loved and wanted and safe. Who had taken even his status as an experienced assassin in with a calm face and open arms, and had simply asked him how he felt about that, what he wanted to do about that. She too had been a child, if an older one.

He thought about Sam and Tucker, who had taken one look at him and decided that even if he could break them in half without so much as blinking, he needed some Friends and care, as Tucker had said. Who had always tried their best to be by his side, and had stayed there even after he died, after he confessed about his true past.

Looking over his life, it had never been adults who had taken his side, who had looked and him and decided, made the choice, that he was someone they wanted to care about and for, that he was worth more than what he could give to them or do for them, who decided that him being Dany, however that was, was enough.

His thoughts were interrupted by the heavy lab door being opened again. Great.

He did not even bother with trying to turn his head, not that he had the energy to move much. It was just more pain coming. He closed his eyes, too tired to stay awake, much less try to fight uselessly again.

A soft clink and the feeling of his straps and cuffs loosening had him snapping his eyes open again. This had not happened before.

A few blinks helped to focus his gaze, falling on the familiar red head of one of the most important people in his life, one of the strongest and best people he had ever met, including anyone at the League: Jazz.

What was Jazz doing here? Was she not in college? She should go away, she could get hurt, they would hurt her, they would strap he to a table, Dany had to get her out of there, he had to-

Through his spiraling thoughts, fueled greatly by his starving obsession and bruised core, he heard a far-away sounding voice.

Oh. That was Jazz. Jazz had been talking since she had come in, he just hadn't realized.

“-e okay, it's gonna be okay no, I promise. Shit, Dany, I'm so sorry, I had no idea you had been taken until Sam called me telling me you had missed school twice and weren't at home, and then mo- no, Jack and Maddy were talking about Phantom and I thought you were in the lab but you weren't and I'm so sorry it took us two months to find the GIW facility you were, I'm so sorry, Dany, I'm sorry-” he could hear her rambling. He wasn't sure she knew he could actually hear her now. He was still pretty out of it.

He tried to say something to let her know he knew she was there, but all that came out was a broken whimper. It was enough.

Without stopping her movements of setting him free, she turned to look at him directly in the eyes, worry and fear and certainty and fire and rage in her gaze.

“Dany,” was all she said. Dany thought he understood, she had said his name enough times for him to know what she meant. Words she had never really said but had instead made, from the moment she had first seen him, hiding and angry and afraid, huddling in the corner of the visiting room at the orphanage.

I will care for you. I will care about you. As long as I'm here you will not be alone, will not be made to fight on your own. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.

Jazz meant that and so much more. Dany knew just how to respond.

“Jazz,” he croaked out, voice more air than any real sound. Dany knew that to Jazz, that was enough. She also understood.

The storm that was his sister finished with the last of the cuffs, before gently and slowly bringing her hands up to his face, holding it gently.

“Dany,” her voice turned harder, sharp and deadly like it had never needed to be before. “They are dead. Jack and Maddie are dead now Dany, and will never hurt you again. I made sure of it,” she said with finality.

Dany's head reeled. Jazz had killed her parents? For him? Jazz, who he had promised not to kill for, because she cared about people and that sort of stuff, had gone and done something she did not approve of much, for him? To make sure he not only was safe, but stayed safe?

The stars and the storms and the erupting volcanoes and powerful ocean waves had never come even close to describing how Dany saw Jazz. Supernovas and black holes and nascent and dying stars had never been as magnificent as Jazz. And then here she was now, going over the very borders of the universe with her growing greatness, standing over Dany with hands capable of such destruction, yet holding onto his face with more gentleness than would be needed to hold a spiderweb without it breaking.

Dany suddenly felt too full and too much, cries that grew into sobs breaking free of him at such love and care being exerted on himself, some of the cracks in his core starting to mend.

Jazz just helped him up, carrying him in her arms and letting him cry.

She walked past unconscious people in white suits, past an orange and a teal body, past ghosts flying around wreaking havoc, past all the destruction and the rage around her. She walked calmly past it all, like the moving eye in the middle of a storm, cradling Dany like she had never held something more precious in her life.

The last thing Dany remembered before he closed his eyes and was taken again by unconsciousness was his sister, his big sister, setting him gently in the back of her small car, laying a soft kiss to his forehead and telling his to rest, telling him he would be okay, she would take care of things now.

The sheer amount of love he felt is what pushed him the rest of the way down.

next chapter

[orchidyoonkook]

Life, Book, and Writing Update (long):

Hey guys, just writing a little long overdue letter to let you know whats been going on in my life and why I haven't been as active, so lets dive in.

Firstly, my job. My job has been hell on wheels from the middle of May and continuing on until now. I have been semi-actively looking for a new one the entire time this has been happening, with little to no luck which sucks (job market is HELLA insane where I live rn), but it is what it is. My job wont give me hours and therefore I am not getting money and so I'm really stressed because in order to live and have a roof over my head I basically sit in my house all day stressing over many things such as:

The next life update; Moving. I'm moving! After three years in my very first apartment I'm moving with my partner into a nice new place with a friend (the only way we could afford too). But that has also been extremely stressful as it was something that was quite literally decided down to the minute and we were worried we weren't going to get a place on time but we managed with 4 days to spare. This last week has been helping our friend pack and move and unpack and try and figure out who's keeping what and what's going where and more brain vomit I won't bore you with. But that's been.... a lot on my plate in my irl. Taking up most of my thoughts.

Which brings me to why I haven't been updating my writing frequently. My writing is different from other folks on here in the sense that writing isn't an outlet for me. I don't do it to destress or to get my feelings out or any of that jazz. My writing is because I enjoy telling stories, and for me I have to be in the mindset to write otherwise I can stare at the page all day and get zero done. All the words jumble kind of like that one scene from percy jackson (movie) and it's a mess. That's what's been happening these past few months of editing. I'll get a couple paragraphs in and then it's like my brain goes into tv static. I hate it, but every little bit of progress is progress.

And lastly, the book: The pre-order was Not a scam, Not fake. Very VERY much a real thing. I have the paper with me and everything. I haven't taken your info and done anything with it, I super duper pinky swear promise. It is sitting securly where I asked you to give it to me, has not been touched or tampered with, and I will be working on making them so so soon to get out to you wonderful humans who wanted them. Once moving is done and I have a printer again with ink that works it's my number 1 TO-DO.

If you have signed up, you WILL get your book. I promise. I have a wonderful human who I met on here who can vouch for me too, she's met me irl and knows I'm a real human with the best intentions, just a little busy, brainfogged and battered from all of it.

If you have ANY questions about it please PLEASE feel free to reach out and ask. I will be 1000% transparent with everything.

But yeah, that's the gist of it, personal family drama and life aside. I'm trying my best, and nothing has been forgotten. I will be completing everything, in time. I promise.

I hope that's okay.

I love you,

Yoon <3