#wanted this to have a cryptid sort-of feel

[vioshortforviolence]

Locals speak of a wolf-man spotted in the woods.

They say he only appears during the foggiest of nights.

Sometimes a man, sometimes a wolf, but never a werewolf.

"Beware!" The farmers warn, "Beware! For he will steal away your goats while you sleep unaware!"

"Beware, beware!"

Oof, Tumblr's compression butchered the quality of the photo, please click it for a much sharper image!

Version without foreground fog under the cut, because my perfectionist self couldn't decide which version I liked better, lol

[oneluckydragon]

"What do you remember of being human, Echo?" The question is out of the blue and unexpected. But Sora offers a patient smile and tilts her head in curiosity, just enough that one of her ears flops over. It's endearing, if anything.

But Echo wishes she hadn't asked.

"Not much. Distinct memories are cloudy." A tired tone says softly, a pained recollection in her eyes and an acrid haze in her soul that endures, endures, and endures, "But I remember the discomfort more than anything. My body always did feel wrong back then. Misshapen. Condensed. Like it was too small for everything buried underneath, and that ache went so deeply some days that it would make my skin crawl. I hated that part the most."

At that, Sora's expression falls. She looks inexplicably sad, as if she'd hoped for a different response, a gentler one despite knowing the harsh truth about the dark future and the struggles Echo must have suffered. "But you had Grovyle, right? I'm sure he took care of you."

"He did, Sora, of course he did." A sigh, a flick of an ear and claws clenched tightly into the churned earth pressed under her paws. "I doubt I deserved his attention, though. I was too busy being angry at the world to give any care back."

In my lore, Echo does not look fully human during their time in the dark future. Since they were Darkrai before becoming human, and as a result of Palkia's reckless shattering of the Dimensional Portal which distorted both time and space, Echo's transformation was broken and accidental. They ended up looking pretty messed up and definitely (not) human. A lot of their characteristics as Darkrai carried over but rather morphed into something else.

And Grovyle, growing up in a world where humans have been extinct for longer than any living pokémon has been alive, has no concept of what a "true" human looks like. The only thing he knows is descriptions of humans from glyphs and texts in old ruins. Thus, he mistakes Echo for an actual human. And Echo, not knowing what a human looks like themselves due to amnesia, accepts this identification with nothing better to use.

[sourfrootz]

I have some HC's that you might like.

Shadow is naturally soft and warm, like a cat, and was made to be like that So Maria would like him more. Nowadays, Sonic uses this as an excuse to cuddle with him more during the winter.

Shadow has a flower garden. This garden is full of Maria's favorite flowers, which are from a book. He is very, very protective of these flowers.

Shadow's eyes are reflective, and have led to some hilarious situations when he's raiding the fridge, or making himself during the night. In a pitch-black room.

Shadow has a room full of plushies, including a life-sized Werehog plush. Don't ask where or how he got it, you won't get an answer.

THANK U I LIKE THESE VERY MUCH ....!!!!!!

i luv talkint about character hcs esp shadows he is so so so cool i luvvv him so much :'3

i also have a similar hc that shadow can adapt his body temperature to the weather !!!! so hes either a portable heater during cold days or a cooler during hot days !!!!!!! maria and sonic n rouge won bc shadow = perfect cuddle buddy (he lieks it.... hes touch starved LFMAOOF)

AND AWE ☹️ yesyeys i feel like thwy also had their own garden up in the ark that he would take care with maria and he kept that habit even after so long ☹️☹️ im so sad ☹️☹️

YES imagine someone walking in on him in the middle of the night getting himself some midnight snackies and just jumpscaring them accidentally (rouge is a common victim)

he has a stuffed animal collection thats so cute.... he cuddles the werehog plush everynight (canon) (source: dude trust me)

[inga-don-studio]

I think I’m good to call my short break over; I’ll try to catch up as best I can over the next couple days, but I’m still going to try to take it easy. We’ll uh … we’ll see how well I stick to that plan …

Also I haven’t seen my queue this short in AGES, considering it’s been flirting with the 300 post limit a lot recently. It’s far less overwhelming! Feels good!!!

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[bootlegspiders]

Hey, so for Watcher fans who may not wanna pay for another subscription or just wanna watch something new here are some other youtubers you should take a look at if you want to get a spook or learn some history

(* = potentially triggering topics covered usually associated with crimes, so be careful)

Ghost Hunting and general spooky vibes:

AmysCrypt - Your typical ghost hunting show with two Australians traveling the world, though I will say they do go to places I've never heard of before and they do very good research. And there are some goofs along with the spooks.

The Ouija Brothers - Two British dudes finding ghosts in England. The vibes are generally pretty chill and it's a good time

The Paranormal Scholar - A mixed bag of all paranormal happenings from ghosts to demons to cryptids and aliens. Sort of an overview to deepdives on various paranormal occurrences. The research is immaculate and their voice is very soothing in my opinion.

Paranormal Quest - Ghost hunting in the US, sometimes goofy sometimes serious, but they do go to some interesting places and some familiar ones too

Weird History:

ObsoleteOddity* - This guy is great, like 80% of the things he covers I've never heard of before. Very atmospheric, fun little visuals, and a large variety of weird events and people for topics.

Georgia Marie* - A little bit of everything, but she focuses on strange things that have happened, lgbt history, true crime, and historical disasters. She covers enough of everything that I'm sure you'll find something

Stefanie Valentine* - I'm not sure if she even posts anymore, but I thought what she was doing was great. Think Vampira or Elvira but for older true crime and ghost stories, I think the latest covered would have been like early 1900s. Idk I just thought it was like a cute spooky lil storytime

Caitlin Doughty or Ask A Mortician* - Pretty sure y'all would know who she is but just in case, she's a mortician who covers topics relating to death! From odd ways people have died, or odd things that have happened to people after they've died. And just odd or tragic things that have happened through history. It's silly, but done with levity and care and respect the topics deserve.

General History:

Part-Time Explorer - Mostly history on ships and ghost towns with the occasional train. Lots of research and interviews, very well done and worth checking out even if it may not be your thing.

History's Forgotten People - Talks about sometimes obscure, or sometimes not, historical individuals. Even if you've heard of the person in the topic, they'll talk on something obscure about that person.

History Tea Time with Lindsay Holiday - A heavy focus on royalty around the world, a generally upbeat dive into historic individuals.

(Or you could always go watch time team, that's an option and it's my guilty pleasure love me some archeology)

True Crime:

There are so many out there, so I'll just recommend two of my favorites

Gabulosis* - She focuses on vintage cases 20 years or older (literally in her opener) and is well researched and respectful. Another one that talks on cases I've never heard of that deserve to be heard.

Mysterious WV* - True crime and missing persons based in the West Virginia area and neighboring states. Idk how to even explain the vibes. This guy is just great please watch him trust me you won't be disappointed.

That's all for now, feel free to add your own recs out there!

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Tim pulls a fast one on Batman for their mutual benefit. Everybody giggles. Danny goggles.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

(Additional TW: I think this counts as a panic attack ngl)

On the one hand. The room Danny’s in has a killer view of the earth from the moon.

The wall is basically just one big window. Danny is also apparently permitted to mash his face into the glass and ogle the Earth from Space for as long as he wants until the stinky dad, whoever he is, finally emerges from the depths of the building.

Diana’s the only one beside him today. She looks nice—nicer than usual, in her armor and bright clothing rather than soft scrubs and hair net. She can push his chair without getting tired—she could probably fly and carry him too, if she had to, so. Danny’s maybe counting on her liking him if this stinky dad tries to be mean.

So. Diana (nice lady) and Danny (half-dead ghost boy) are quietly seated in a dim, peaceful board room, absorbing the early morning (?) space radiation when the door hisses open across the room.

In the doorway is a long, dark, shadow of a man.

…And the green guy!!

Okay, if the stinky dad man brought a friend to this meeting the same way Diana’s meant to supervise him, Danny feels like he’s been lawyered up for the sake of some kind of court trial. This is not fair. Danny wasn’t able to review his case with his legal representation before this.

Well. Danny fumes. Whatever. His lawyer is Diana, the most powerful living being he’s seen ever in his life, and she can totally kick the green guy’s ass. Hell, Danny could probably kick the green guy’s ass.

...You know. If he wasn’t. Sick.

The stinky dad guy looks a lot like the blob his kid drew him as. That’s kind of neat—his suit is all black with little to no variation, which sort of just washes out the colors Danny might have been able to see if his eyes were still good. He’s very quiet, which is nice, and he’s very not-trying-to-read-Danny’s-mind, which is even better.

The two sit. Danny’s already in a wheelchair, so he just lets Diana wheel him to the table. The lady sits beside him in the spinny office chair.

Hello, the green guy opens with, already toying with the edges of Danny’s aura.

Danny sends back an abundance of ass-kicking emotions.

…Alright then, the green man capitulates, the barest hint of bemusement quickly stifled.

Good. Danny is mean. He’s awake enough to be mad about other people touching his aura from any end of his personal bubble.

But then the green guy…says stuff to the dad guy? And it’s very? Quiet?

Explanations, the green guy says. The image of a sign language translator at a baseball game floats over to him, and—

…Oh. He’s translating. For Danny.

That’s…nice? Nicer than Danny expected, honestly? Most of the time, people are perfectly happy to misinterpret him. It was kind of the way of the world at this point. Getting blamed for stuff, getting accused of stuff…

Man. If they turn out to be indoctrinating him for secret war purposes, at least they’re going all in. Danny might actually. You know. Like it here. A little.

He squirms in his chair, and tries not to look at anyone in particular. Diana—the lady who’s been nice to him—makes as if to straighten his hair for him, and remembers at the last second that he doesn’t like to be touched.

And sure. Danny doesn’t want to be touched. By bad guys.

…But Diana’s been really nice to him, so. Maybe. He scratches at the back of his neck, and ducks his head down—and remembers to use his words. “Yes,” he consents verbally. He can’t make eye contact. But he can…let her. Brush his hair back. A little.

Diana asks something long and complicated—and the green guy presses an image of Wonder Woman asking permission, being kind, being gentle­—up against the edges of Danny’s awareness.

Danny nods at the floor instead of at the lady. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s fine.

And her fingers carefully brush through the front end of his fringe, and Danny. Danny is so normal about it. He doesn’t even cry or anything. Not even in front of his friend’s stinky dad.

And she doesn’t do it like Mom did it. And she doesn’t ruffle his hair like Dad did.

But it’s. Nice. And she doesn’t pull.

…And she doesn’t hit.

Danny eventually leans back into his wheelchair. It’s a little bit embarrassing to be halfway in and halfway out, but. Whatever. The scary-looking-dad with the earsies on his helmet has his own teenager. He should understand what it feels like to get emotionally weird with your teen in a public place. If he doesn’t, well...he wouldn’t be a great dad, then, and his opinion would suck anyway.

Based on what Danny knows about the masked kid, Danny isn’t sure the guy would tolerate a bad dad. The teen seems kinda unhinged.

The man says something, and the green guy presses a number of translated feelings against Danny’s awareness: Greetings. Questions about Danny’s wellbeing. Curiosity, but not demanding.

“…Hello,” Danny says back, and. Waves.

The man waves back. He’s got little claws on his gloves.

…Like a cat? Is it to go with his ears? Danny wonders about the possibilities of the guy being cat themed. It’s possible, presumably.

So…they want to know how Danny’s doing? Danny shrugs, and he glances at Diana, since, you know, she could probably fill them in? She does speak their language. And she’s been here the whole time.

The lady leans in close to him, black hair falling out from behind her ear. “What do you want to say?” she whispers into her ear, hand covering her mouth from their watchers.

Uh. It’s up to…Danny?? Somehow??

Danny winces. “…Good?” he tries, unsure if the word he uses means okay or fine or well. “…Not…hungry?”

“Very good,” Diana agrees, a little louder. She looks proud. Being not hungry must mean a lot to her, then. It means a lot to Danny too—he can remember the sensation of his stomach rubbing against itself, friction pulling raw at his insides as acid ate at him.

It was. Bad.

It was bad.

Danny’s glad he’s not there anymore. Anyway, there’s a guy in the room who reads minds, and Danny doesn’t really want to share that memory with anyone ever; especially someone who could turn it back on him.

The stinky dad says something else, but he uses words too thick and long for Danny to understand. The green guy translates, pure conceptual recall brushing against Danny’s outer aura—Needs? Wants?

…Danny frowns.

Danny looks at Diana, who looks back at him. Wants, needs…? What?

“Do you need aniþing?” Diana whispers to him, which. You know. Mostly makes sense.

Does Danny…need anything? He has medical care, he has food, he has water, he has toys and brain teasers, even…he has people to hang out with, he has people who stretch his legs with him so that he can go back to normal…heck, he doesn’t even have to clean his own waste bag. There’s people who do that for him.

Like. What more could Danny ask for?

Danny shrugs. He just wants to heal up and run away. Maybe…maybe, if Diana is real and not just pretending to like him to keep an eye on him, she’d let him visit her later or something. Danny would do what Dani doe—did. What Dani…did. And he’d just go a bunch of places and come back when he wants to.

But. No. There’s nothing he really needs right now.

The pointy-eared guy and the green guy share a look and a couple quiet words. Danny flares his annoyance into the silence, but all he gets is a silent Apology/Apology, which isn’t answers.

Ugh. Danny leans over the arm of his wheelchair. This is kind of super boring; it’s more boring than it is frustrating, even.

The stinky dad guy says something else, and Danny feels the push and pull of something double ended tugging on the outer edge of his aura. Additional/information, giving/take?

Danny really wishes he’d brought a fidget toy or something. His nerves are ramping up but all he can do is contort his fingers together, feeling the strain in and the joints click as he pushes them together and twists them apart. They want…to ask him questions? No, they’re already asking him questions. They want Danny to…give them questions??

…Danny doesn’t really want to. Still, he probably…should.

“The…space station,” he says, using the wrong word for their big space building but not knowing the better one; “Is this…where…why is it?”

The black-caped dad grumbles something vaguely approving. A tablet pops out of the table—spooky—and the guy starts drawing on it, explaining all the way. The green guy simplifies more of the verbally complicated concepts for Danny as they go.

Anyway. So they’re in space because it’s their…job? Danny thinks? They do…fighting stuff. Which Danny knew. Because he’d seen them on the news.

But it looks like they do a lot of things—they clean up after storms, and chase regular bad guys and super-bad-guys instead of just big ones. And they stop bad aliens from hurting people on Earth.

The green guy shifts from a green-looking, pointy-headed, red-eyed form to a warm, brown, human skin tone. And even. Like. Human clothing.

Danny stares.

…And the guy immediately takes back his natural form, his body physically shifting and morphing, which, fair, but holy crap. He’s living, on Earth. He passes as normal, on Earth. No one snitches on him. No one’s selling him to the government for parts. No one’s trapping him in a cage and not feeding him.

This guy works here, and everyone lets him.

Danny shifts in his chair. He…he wants that. He wants that. He wants to pass as human and not have to worry about…about anyone getting rid of him. He wants to go back to school. He wants to hide, and never ever not ever be found by anyone or anything when he does.

“I want that,” Danny says. There’s no inflection. He feels dead. He is dead, but usually he doesn’t feel it. “What do I do for…that.”

Help/Searching/Finding? the green—alien—questions, but there’s nothing for Danny to find. He knows exactly where everyone he loves is—and unless they’re already fully formed in the ghost zone…

…Well. Danny has forever to wait and see if he’ll see his friends and sister again. Maybe he’ll find them again one day, in a world purely green and glowing.

He shakes his head.

The next question comes…softer. Gentler. The mental push feels more like a breeze than a gale. Friends…Home/family?

The question comes tinged with all sorts of sensations that Danny’s suppressed—warmth, security, happiness, oxytocin, fondness, pride and being the source thereof, warmth and love, love, love—

Danny’s sweating. He can’t stop. His hands are shaking faster than usual—he kicks the brakes off his chair with the heels of his palms, and jerks the wheels back, pulling away from the desk—

He’s halfway across the room before he hears the noise. It’s just. Noise. It’s Diana, carefully shushing the loud heartbeat churning in his ears, hands on his hand, trying not to cage him but trying to keep skin on skin contact. Her hand is on the back of his hand, and on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Diana whispers. Danny’s shaking. His whole body is shaking. “Shhh, sh sh sh. It’s alright, it’s okay.”

It’s not it’s not it’snoit’snotit’sNOT. His sister is dead. His friends are dead. His parents sold his captors the equipment to catch him and they didn’t care if he got hurt doing it and now they’re DEAD. They tore open his hometown down the middle just to catch him, they stole him—they took his dead parent’s things as tools to hurt him—they HURT HIM and there isn’t—he can’t—he can’t—

Something is holding him down, and Danny thrashes. He has arms, but they’re injured—he has legs but he needs a tail and he—and—

He cries into Diana’s arms, sobbing and wailing. It’s a miracle that the building stays together. She holds him tighter, and he cries even harder into her soft under-layers.

He wants to run away. He needs to run away. Someone is holding him, and he can’t even flicker through her the way he wants to; his core is already too strained just from talking.

Danny’s sick. He’s dying. He’s—

“Take a breath,” Diana whispers, calm and sure. She models it for him. Danny gasps in air. “Good. Lete it out slow. As bobbels in a straw.”

He tries to copy her he does and she’ll be so angry if he can’t do it right on the first try but she lets him try, over and over again, until Danny’s able to stop hiccupping and leaking tears and ectoplasm all over her and realize that she’s holding him like a baby. Like. Actually cradling him against his body armor.

…You know what. He’s too tired to even be embarrassed. Screw that. Danny leans all the way over her and goes completely limp. Someone else can deal with his him for a little bit.

She does. Diana just…holds him.

It’s nice. Mom and Dad used to do that for him, when Danny was still…more human, he supposed. More than he is right now.

Something else touches his hand. Danny looks blearily downwards.

The teenager’s dad gets to his knees and takes Danny’s hand—and he doesn’t need the translation to understand.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Danny blinks sleepily. What does his friend’s stinky dad have to be sorry for? He didn’t even do anything to Danny in the first place.

Danny won’t remember, afterwards, being wheeled back to his room for a nap. They must have wheeled him back, though, because the alternative is that Diana tucked him into bed like a baby, and that’s just kind of embarrassing to even think about for too long.

[starrysunbeam]

astrology observations 9

˚₊‧꒰ა ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

•leo south node/aquarius north node people need to feel special. they spent past lives in upper society (some even come from royalty), or having some sort of status symbol. they need to learn about different walks of life in this incarnation, & help society progress as a whole- moving from self-centeredness and embracing community.

•pisces moons make up some of the most prolific artists and creatives - elvis, frank sinatra, michael jackson, leonardo da vinci, edgar allen poe, patti smith, joni mitchell and robin williams. these natives aren’t just creative visionaries, but also rather receptive to collective energy, making them skilled at capturing cultural dynamics.

•aquarians make up many true crime content creators. this makes complete sense to me as they are adept with technology and are intrigued by subjects that are hard to fully understand (i.e. true crime, the paranormal, cryptids, conspiracy theories, etc)

•moon in sagittarius or the 9th house🤝running away from home (even if temporarily)

•most taurus moons and mercuries make up their mind about their values early in life, and don’t like their views being challenged by others.

•virgo midheavens get depressed when they don’t have a consistent & productive routine. they also constantly want to get better at what they do, very high standards for themselves.

•in my opinion, those with afflicted mars placements (especially moon-mars aspects) tend to have physical reactions to heavy emotions - aka psychosomatic illness

*reminder, all astrological health observations should be taken with a grain of salt*

[wolftoken]

Inhuman Vessels Headcanons [x reader]

a/n: sfw and nsfw down below :3 some of this is inspired by @amourtoken so go check out her blog pls !!

• masterlist •

Somehow, you’ve ended up with four cryptid boyfriends in your newly acquired forest cabin. Don’t ask me why, I’m just here to tell you about them. More cryptid content coming soon…

Vessel

- His claws and fangs stand out to you immediately

- He likes to lick you as a display of affection. His tongue is very long and has small teeth at the sides at the back, sort of like a goose’s.

- Picks you up just to hold you and walks around with you in his arms like a child with a teddy bear

- Will eat a leaf sometimes. A flower or two, maybe a buttercup. He likes to watch cows and sheep and deer munching on grass while he lays on the forest floor in the sun.

II

- He has pretty fangs and his eyes glow in the dark in varying shades of blue.

- He’s very interested in humans, and likes to study you as you go about your day. He also enjoys studying your body and seeing how different humans are to himself.

- Very big fan of your squishy soft bits, and likes to hold them while cuddling. Most often he has a hand splayed over your stomach. He’s very protective and likes to make sure you’re safe so covering your most vulnerable parts makes him feel good.

III

- Probably the most knowledgeable about humans, but he also looks the most inhuman. His eyes are completely black and his canines are long and thin. His height is quite jarring at first, and he struggles to get through your doorways, but he learns to navigate the house pretty quickly.

- He enjoys letting you know (and feel) how much bigger than you he is, holding your hands in his and tracing your skin with his claws.

- He’d like to try your human food, but finds most of it inedible for him. But he really likes salty and crunchy things and enjoys watching you cook or when you put on cooking shows on the magic box in your living room.

IV

- Very like a big house cat. He likes to lounge in the sun outside and watch animals go about their day.

- If he could he’d just cuddle with you 24/7

- Arguably the most human looking out of the four, but his canines are definitely too distinct to be human.

- He has a little more experience with humans than the others, but is still wary of making mistakes and scaring you off. He can be somewhat shy when asking to spend time with you because he’s unintentionally scared humans away before.

- At times he could be naive about human nature and didn’t think they would find him so scary but he’s learned his lesson about strangers.

• All together; SFW •

- They’re very gentle with you, as they’re stronger than any human could be

- They’re very interested in trying human things like food and technology, as well as human behaviours regarding romance. Basically, they want to court you. In their own ways, that would mean bringing you wild flowers and pretty rocks and bones they’ve found, as well as rubbing their scent on you by nuzzling your neck and chest and back. They wanted to feed you but you had to remind them their diet is a lot different than yours.

- They make a lot of sounds. When they’re content and comfy, they might purr or do that big sigh that dogs do. They’ll growl if they sense danger and it’s deep and menacing and unlike any animal you’ve ever heard. Playful whining when you don’t have time to cuddle or for 5 more minutes in bed, and little grumbles when you tell them off for scaring tourists.

• NSFW •

- If you’re afab they’re very much down for period sex. They will be munching, too. Blood tastes good and sure, it’s not all blood, but they don’t care. You taste good.

- Of course, they all share a breeding kink. They can’t get you pregnant but by god they will try.

- Gentle biting and scratching is something they can’t really help, but they’ll be very happy if you’re into it. Seeing their marks on you when they’re done with you makes them proud but only if they don’t hurt too much.

- With aftercare, you’ll have to teach them how to take care of you like you need it. They’re down to cuddle and will bring you blankets and snacks they find in your kitchen.

- If you want to attempt to dom any of them, they might find the idea amusing at first. But when you get started they’ll be whining and begging for you to fuck them. Having huge and powerful creatures at your mercy is a thrill like no other.

- I can’t not talk about the size of their cocks. They’re thick and long and you will need a lot of time spent on foreplay to get them to fit. But they all have a “I’ll make it fit,” mentality and when they do it’s agonisingly delicious.

[brewingcoffi]

UNDERTALE: YELLOW ‘REVIVED! CLOVER’ AU

PART 1

Explanation:

AS WE CAN TELL BY THE CUTSCENES, THAT DYING WITHOUT A SOUL ISNT IMMEDIATE. but slowly, it sorta drains away your energy, but seeing that Clover was literally hunched down during Floweys speech before having ENOUGH energy to drag themselves to position their last death place shows how REALLY strong Clover is. So, assuming that they DIDNT immediately passed away after they positioned themselves for prob a few last breath minutes really made me think.

What if Flowey decided to still keep Clover? They were ‘pals’ Yeah. Flowey decided to let them rest… BBBBBut, what if before Clover used their last breath. Floweys forced a TINY ounce of his determination into them. Making Clover a sort of a walking dying corpse.

Nevertheless, since it is shown that Clover has enough energy to drag themselves without their soul. In their now revived state, they can do simple movements by themselves. It’s just their legs can't balance anymore due to a lack of soul energy, so Flowey helps them with their balance and movements by being their support via using Vines as body strings.

Flowey and Them DO meet Frisk at some point,

Clover genuinely looks so tired which make sense because they literally got their energy sucked out after they lost their soul. Clover now has to drink ANY energy giving drinks or they barely functions for 2 hours (Forced to drink coffee.)

Character Info:

Clover & Flowey

Due to Clover's SOUL already being taken Encased in a capsule (Takes places during OG Undertale.)

Flowey mostly ‘Helps’ with their movements since without a soul, their control over their body are VERY WEAK. Revived! Clover can’t do Shit. Only thinks and blinks (But has enough energy to speak simple words.) of course, they can move their arms with any leftover weak energy. but it will never be enough to resists Flowey's control over their movement and actions.

I also wanted to add a detail that the vines will extend more rapidly and secure/support more, depending on what body part(s) Clover is going to use more effortly just incase of Clover was caught in a fight.

Qna questions that are answered for the lore of this AU:

Question 1. You think the lack of a soul might cause empathy/emotion issues like with flowey? Imagine flowey teaching clover to cope with it.

Answer:

“The answer is, Yeah! But, I have a feeling or a (hc of course) that it still has same affect upon losing your soul, slowly but surely. It would take Clover a few days or maybe one month in the underground to suddenly lose their concept of emotions, since like what happened after they lost their soul.

But Clover probably "tries' to hold onto their emotions to as long as possible, to make sure they don't ended up like flowey (I like to think that they slowly soon starts to act semi-like their genocide counterpart; ruthless and bold.)”

Question 2. Wondering how their friends would interact with how... "kind of alive" their body is. Or heck, how they and their friends would interact with the undertale cast.

Before the aftermath, how would Clover "kind-of live" in the underground? With all of the emotionlessness consuming their days, would they act like some kind of cryptid since they don't want their friends to see them as this... soulless shell.

Answer:

1.) I bet they would interact with Clover by treating them like a glass child (Which would start A LOT of conflicts, especially when the side effect of being soulless could affect their moral Justice as well.), and for the UT cast, it depends on your idea!

2.) Clover went into hiding and lived off caffeine and energy drinks(Or leftover food from their inventory.) But, Flowey being their pal would probably give them food if they don't, And Yeah! Clover became this ‘Cryptic entity’ that tends to lurk around where ‘Injustice or corruption’ happens. I like to see Clover, before the emotionlessness began; Was that Clover USED to be this ‘Peacekeeper’ vigilante. Relating to them acting like this ‘Cryptic’ due to them. Even in OG Undertale, I like to imagine that Clover appears for a short period of time and disappears from Frisk point of view(Like that Flowey Easter egg from the OG UT.)

Question 3. does clover tell flowey what limb or does flowey just know?

Answer:

Well, they used The first one, but until a few days or weeks, they’ve gotten used to it, so Flowey now just knows.

4. What exactly WAS flowey's plan for Clover

Answer:

The only logical and ‘in-character’ thought I had of Flowey’s plan; was that Flowey was going to use Clover against or perhaps use Clover as bait/trick the last human child, and help kill King Asgore. Which backfired.

And I also realized that Clover no longer has their Gun, so I wanted to give Clover a weapon to help ppl while also defending themselves. (Clover is used to range, so they probably suck-ass on melee weapons.)

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon; a fake cryptid and a real romantic.

“I think I’m gonna try making him a ruby and do that in a trilliant cut,” Superboy says decisively, which isn’t necessarily much progress towards “normal” friend-making but again, Clark doesn’t want to discourage either a hobby or a creative outlet for the kid. Or just literally anything that isn’t about being a superhero, even if the trilliant cut resembling the S-shield and making friends with a vigilante are only sort of “not about being a superhero”. 

Look, the kid’s six months old and was educated by ethically bankrupt scientists and absolutely exhausted grad student interns, absolutely none of whom had either normal childhoods or an interest in instilling any semblance of “normal” in their cloned Superman’s head. Clark’s not going to be picky here, he’s just gonna meet him where he’s at and go from there. 

Superboy has some unfortunate difficulties understanding the difference between celebrity attention versus genuine admiration and things like that, and also an unfortunate tendency towards causing a lot of unnecessary property damage and jumping to conclusions and temper issues, but he tries, and he clearly does think about things. There’s just a lot to figure out in the world, and he’s had to do it in speed-run mode and while being an active superhero. 

Really, Clark thinks the kid’s doing a lot better as a superhero than he would’ve done at his “age”, and he’d actually been that “age”. Superboy is frankly just about the best-case scenario that could’ve come out of a situation like Cadmus and also mercifully only seems to be minimally traumatized by the sorry excuse for a “childhood” he was provided, so . . .

“That sounds nice,” Clark says, smiling at him. “I’m sure you’ll do a good job with it.” 

“I’m gonna do a good job with it if it fucking kills me,” Superboy says, looking determined, which seems like a lot of intensity to put into making a gift for a friend, but again: six months old and educated by ethically bankrupt scientists. Clark is going to stick with the “meeting him where he’s at” approach. 

“Just do your best to start, maybe,” he says wryly, reaching over to pat the kid’s shoulder. Superboy grins at him, his expression turning pleased. 

“I will!” he says. “Wanna see some of the test ones?” 

“Sure,” Clark says, figuring Superboy will just–

Nope, no, Superboy just immediately stuck both hands into his jacket pockets and came up with two big fistfuls of a good dozen high-quality diamonds done in trilliant cuts. Very large diamonds. 

Heavens to Betsy, Clark thinks a little faintly. That is . . . that is so many diamonds for Superboy to just have in his pockets. They weren’t even zipped shut! They weren’t even buttoned! 

Superboy lays his series of diamonds all out in neat little rows on the ledge, because there are enough of them to require multiple rows, and then reaches back into his pockets for a few more, because of course there are more. Clark continues to feel vaguely faint and has absolutely no idea how to point out how much money this is. Even at lab diamond rates, this is so much money. Just–so much. 

At this point in his life Clark has seen entire planets made of diamond, mind, but he still grew up in smalltown Kansas as a farm kid, so there’s something about seeing quite this many virtually flawless ones just laid out on a Metropolis rooftop the same way he would’ve shown off his POG collection to his friends as a kid. Even the damn cuts are just shy of perfect. 

Well, at least Superboy’s enjoying his first hobby, he supposes. But also, Jesus H. Christ.

“They look good, kid,” Clark says, smiling at him encouragingly. No need to take the wind out of his sails, obviously. Though seeing them now, it does occur to him to wonder–“Where did you get the tools?” 

They must be good ones, because honestly he really wasn’t expecting results this good–or even half this good–from a six month-old teenager. Superboy could definitely ruin De Beers’s day with those.

Or their industry, again. 

. . . well, it is De Beers, so . . . 

“Oh, I don’t have any,” Superboy says, shaking his head. “I just use my TTK.” 

Clark . . . pauses, for a moment. 

Clark pauses for a long moment. 

“Tactile telekinesis can cut diamond?” he asks carefully. “This precisely?” 

“Yeah!” Superboy beams proudly at him. “Cool, right?” 

Clark looks very, very closely at the diamonds. The cuts on them are practically atom-sharp. 

Alright then, he thinks to himself even more carefully.

[pomefioredove]

please, PLEASE write a rollo x reader fic where rollo wakes up from a nightmare about his brother and where there to comfort him PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

let it be known that the only reason I started playing this game was because they added frollo. rollo is like a cryptid in the HoND fandom

summary: nightmares and comfort type of post: fic characters: rollo additional info: romantic, established relationship?, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, not proofread, rollo vaguely implied to have ptsd because I do and am a scholar in trauma nightmares ^-^

There's a certain point at which bad dreams and reality melt together.

Where the line blurs, and you can't be sure where the nightmare ends and you begin. They so often feel one in the same.

Rollo is familiar with bad dreams.

At one point, he thought there would be a solution. Something to hold them back, to release him from their sticky grasp. He journaled, for a while, but all that brought him was grief.

It happens like clockwork.

Four or five nightmares in one rest, for one to two weeks, at the same time every year. He keeps track of them. How could he not?

They culminate on a certain day, one he dreads in and of itself, and then slowly, painfully die off, leaving him wounded and alone.

It's dreadful.

And it's worse that he knows exactly why they happen.

You had once asked him what keeps him up at night, as a sort of conversation starter when you were first getting to know each other. What a strange question to ask someone, and in such a light-hearted tone.

He told you he sees no use for excess sleep when he can be diligent, instead.

Sloth is a vice, he said. Detestable.

You seemed to accept that as an answer, much to his relief. The truth was far too ugly for someone as pure as you to shoulder. He was only protecting your feelings, after all. And perhaps his.

Rollo hoped, for your sake, that you wouldn't notice. He was still getting used to the idea of sleeping beside another person, and the very last thing he wanted was to burden you with all of what he is.

To put it plainly, he didn't want to scare you off.

The first few nights were easy enough. Nasty imagery wrapped up in otherwise normal dreams, those of which could hardly be considered nightmares.

He'd wake up in a cold sweat, and toss and turn until he could manage to fall back asleep, never stirring you.

This time is different.

He wakes, not quite jolting, but certainly thrashing himself back into the present moment like an animal caught in a trap.

His eyes snap open, and there's nothing but darkness, his breathing, and the uneasy feeling of his stomach. It takes a moment for him to adjust to his surroundings.

You're still asleep. Thankfully.

He liked to keep some distance between the two of you, anyway. Rollo had to ease himself into the idea of being physically close with someone without being utterly repulsed.

The only reason he'd entertained the idea in the first place was because it's you, you, pure and good, who would never do anything to discomfort him, you, who even now, sleeps like an angel in his bed.

There's something unclean about that thought, although it's not your doing.

Rollo gets up, careful not to disturb you, and paces around the room while he tries to get ahold of reality. He reminds himself of the date, the time, his full name, anything that will shake the lingering terror coursing through is body.

He does not cry. He hasn't since...

Well. Never mind, that.

Now is not the time to make a fuss. He's not a child, he's not fragile, he can handle his own nightmares without needing someone to tuck him back in.

The dream was so terrifyingly, disgustingly real, though.

The nightmares which aren't nightmares are the worst sorts of dreams, because he instantly feels silly for scaring himself over something so mundane, even if that looming sense of dread and fear still makes him feel ill.

This one was but a normal conversation, with...

...He didn't want to remember it.

The point was more so that it felt so utterly real that waking up like this, having it fall apart around him like the rotting pages of an old book, was like having his head dunked in freezing cold water repeatedly.

Not a pleasant feeling.

He paces, back and forth, in front of the now-dead fireplace, trying to regain his bearings.

He's quiet; he so often is; and yet, still, roused either by the sound of his footsteps or the heavy, uncomfortable feeling in the air, you wake.

The sound of your voice nearly scares him.

Rollo turns to you, eyes wide as you sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. "What?"

"I asked if you're okay," you repeat, turning to the space beside you to check the time. "It's two in the morning."

His answer is immediate, as calm as he can muster, although there's a faint crack in his voice on the last word. "I'm well. I was just thinking,"

"Thinking? Now?"

He nods, and turns back to the mantle. His arms are crossed over his chest, acting as a sort of armor, protecting him.

You tilt your head to the side. "Did you have a bad dream?"

He hates how perceptive you can be, sometimes. It takes him a moment to think of a suitable answer- is it worth telling you the truth?

"I have bad dreams all the time," you say. "Like... all the time. Weird ones, too. It's nothing to be embarrassed a-"

"I am not embarrassed," he snaps, whirling around on his heels to face you. His tone softens when he sees the perplexed expression on your face. "I was just trying to tire myself before returning to bed. I didn't want to disturb you."

You shake your head. "I wouldn't have minded if you did. I understand... do you want to talk about it?"

He's silent, looking away again, which is enough of an answer to you.

"Then will you at least come back to bed?"

Rollo supposes he should. He doesn't want to risk worrying you any further. That would only stir up more questions.

He settles himself in bed, lying flat on his back with his arms crossed over his chest, more cadaver than human. You always found that position so amusing, for whatever reason, and even now you can't contain a laugh.

"Are you cold? You're shaking,"

Damn it. He is. He hadn't even noticed... and though his tremors aren't from the temperature, he agrees with you anyway.

"Yes. It's rather cold tonight,"

You hum a small note of contemplation and inch closer to him. "May I?"

Rollo's face immediately turns red, although he can't help but indulge himself... just this once. For your sake, anyway.

He nods.

You come closer, resting your head on his shoulder and putting an arm around his waist in the most comfortable position you can manage while he's lying like this.

Your body is warm, soft, comforting... all things that would normally repulse him, but it's you...

He pats the back of your hand with one of his in a reassuring, though awkward gesture. As much as he expected to feel his heart pounding even harder at your closeness, there's something quite... safe about the embrace. He can't deny it.

"Good night," you murmur, already half-asleep.

He closes his eyes, allowing his body to relax... just the tiniest bit.

"Good night,"

[absolutely-esme]

Monster!Tim Coraline AU Idea

This idea would not leave me alone.

It’s a cross between a meta!/magic!Tim au and a Coraline au.

Before I get into it, I feel like I should explain.  I was on a bit of an Eldritch!Batfamily and Cryptid!Batfamily kick.  Then I found a collection of supernatural Tim aus.  Then I stumbled across a Coraline au.  There’s probably also some inspiration in there from vampire au fics.

It didn’t really jell until the idea occurred to me of a scene where some frightened villain asks Tim “What kind of monster are you?” and Tim says “The hungry kind.”

...

The idea is that somewhere back along the way, Tim’s family tree includes some kind of supernatural creature which may or may not have been an eldritch entity.

The supernatural heritage allows Tim to acquire abilities from other entities he has defeated, and Gotham is absolutely full of the supernatural if you pay attention.

Of course, Tim’s power isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.  It actually comes packaged with some pretty nasty side effects.

One of those side effects is perpetual Hunger.  Tim is always Hungry.  There is no way to stop it.  He eats enough to stay healthy, but he still feels Hunger at all times.  Increasing his food intake will not help and will screw up his metabolism and cause him to need more for normal function.  If this was allowed to spiral out of control it could eventually reach a point where he was physically unable to eat the amount of food he needed to function and starved to death on a full stomach. 

Fixing it is stupid hard because this particular sort of magical inheritance is really fucking inconvenient.  And, of course, whatever is up with his biology also makes him insanely susceptible to addiction, so no coffee for him unless he wants caffeine withdrawal symptoms all the time for however long it takes to fix that.  The constant Hunger also makes it difficult to get enough sleep.  Have you ever tried to go to sleep on an empty stomach?  Not easy, was it?  Imagine that every night.

The Hunger is fairly central to the nature of the magic.  Whatever supernatural entity he’s descended from, it is the Hungry kind.  The ritual of defeating another supernatural entity, taking a bit of the defeated entity’s power, and incorporating it into himself serves as a sort of metaphorical devouring, (and metaphors matter more to magic than they do to normal biology).  That’s why he’s able to gain power and abilities from defeated foes. 

...

Tim’s relationship with his parents is complicated.  His supernatural heritage comes from his mother’s side of the family.  She did her best to teach him about it and how to cope with it, but a lot of knowledge was lost over the generations due to persecution forcing those like them into hiding more than once.  There may have been a few individuals who spiraled out of control and caused small-scale famines before losing their lives.  It only takes a few cases for people to decide that a specific category of people is simply not worth the risk of having around.  Janet always referred to herself and Tim (as well as anyone else sharing the condition) as “those afflicted with Gluttony.”  This is the closest they have to a name for the condition.

One of the important things Janet Drake teaches her son is to pursue his passions.  It is incredibly important for individuals like them to have things outside the self that they can draw satisfaction and fulfilment from, things that keep them going in the face of the relentless Hunger.  This is what leads Tim to his night-time photography of Gotham, and eventually to his fascination with the Bats. 

Janet’s passions are archeology and travel.  Unfortunately, traveling from dig site to dig site is not a particularly stable or safe environment to raise a child in.  She needs to do these things to remain in good health.  Without her external coping mechanisms, she could start spiraling.  If she starts spiraling, it might trigger her son to start spiraling too because children in their developmental years are delicate, and this type of hereditary magic is fucking inconvenient (there might be ways of managing things that make it easier to live with, but between the knowledge lost and the risks that come with experimentation, they don’t have much info on how anything works).  She comes home as much as she can without the risk of compromising both their health.

She also taught Tim how to calculate appropriate portion sizes based on nutritional data so as not to screw up his metabolism, and how to fix it if he does mess up.  She also stayed and managed the process the first time it happened because the process of returning the metabolism of one afflicted with Gluttony to normal after it’s gotten out of hand is difficult and unpleasant and Tim wasn’t old enough to handle it by himself.  The nanny that had overfed him hadn’t been malicious or unreasonable, she’d just been operating on the assumption that he had standard human biology.  It took months to get Tim healthy again.  It took several hefty bribes to keep things under wraps.  Janet doesn’t know if there are still people out there hunting their kind, but she’s not willing to risk it.

Janet may not know about the aspect of the family magic that lets them gain powers from defeating other entities.  It’s possible that she was holding off on explaining this until he was older and more ready for the responsibility of multiple superpowers.  It’s also possible that the knowledge got lost somewhere along the way and Janet didn’t discover it herself because she didn’t spend her childhood running around Gotham at night and was more the sort of person who would stay home and read when she had trouble sleeping.

...

Tim discovers his ability to gain abilities from defeating other supernatural things fairly early on.  The type of defeat can vary, but it has to be something of significance.  A fight will work for most, but there are other particular challenges that will work for specific cases.

The first things a young Tim is able to beat are these small things, invisible to most, that gain power from learning secrets.  What that power is used for, I couldn’t tell you.  They don’t seem to do much other than sneak around and learn secrets.  Tim doesn’t know if there’s a proper name for these things or not, but he calls them Secret Hunters.  They are absolutely everywhere in Gotham. 

Secret Hunters are invisible to most, but Tim is able to see them.  It might be because of his own supernatural nature, or it might be something else entirely.  If it’s hereditary it must have skipped his parents’ generation.  Neither of them seem to be able to see them.  Tim gains improved stealth and a sense for when something is hidden from catching Secret Hunters until they wise up and start avoiding him.  (Catching them works in place of a fight because secret hunters primarily operate on stealth and evasion.)

He can’t just magically know secrets, but he can tell when there is a secret.  (He still figured out Batman’s and Robin’s secret identities on his own merit.  The most this ability would have done is alert him to the fact that they had secret identities if that hadn’t already been obvious from the fact that they were wearing masks.)

He also gets various other abilities from other things he encounters while scrambling all over Gotham at night.  Nearly doesn’t get out of some of the scrapes he gets himself into.  He gains the ability to cut with his fingernails as if they were razors from something that nearly killed him.  He gains the ability to climb like a goat from a Jersey Devil.  Etc.

...

At some point, Tim is targeted by a beldam.  He doesn’t get the kind of warnings that Coraline does, but his ability to sense secrets lets him know that the Beldam is hiding something, and any child raised in any part of Gotham knows to be suspicious of things that seem too good to be true.  Tim doesn’t have a convenient seeing stone from the neighbor, but he does have the advantage of his own supernatural nature which the Beldam doesn’t know about.

Tim finds a button-eyed doll that looks like him after his parents leave on yet another trip, and thinks it’s a gift they meant to give him before leaving.  They do often bring interesting souvenirs.  It wouldn’t be at all unusual for them to find an artist who sews dolls to look like people and have one made based on pictures of him.  Later on, he discovers the key. 

This Beldam is older and more powerful than the one from Coraline.  She has more power and more past victims to work with, so she’s able to make a larger, more populated world. 

Oh by the way, I head-canon that the Other versions of people in the Other world are actually past victims of the Other Mother, remade and dressed up for whatever role she has them play.  The three ghosts were just the three most recent and not fully processed for use yet.  That’s why the Others are able to act against her sometimes (Other Wybie saving Coraline from the mirror, Other Father tossing the eye to Coraline) or say things she doesn’t want them too (Other Father says “so sharp you won’t feel a thing” and Other Mother kicks him under the table).

The Other Mother doesn’t know all that Tim knows, so the Other World has inconsistencies like Other Batman and Other Robin sitting across the table from Other Bruce and Other Jason.  She doesn’t know they’re the same people.  She just knows that they’re all important to Tim.  She also tries to tell him to “eat as much as he wants” when his real mother was the one to explain the dangers of attempting to eat to fullness for people with their condition.

There isn’t a cat to warn Tim but he doesn’t need it.  He can sense hidden intentions in everything, and he’s fully capable of uncovering the hidden secrets himself. 

Tim doesn’t have a cat, but he does have Other Robin, who might have been made from whatever remained of someone close to one of the people mirrored in the Other World made for Tim.  He doesn’t remember his life, but somehow he feels incredibly motivated to help a boy who cares dearly for whoever and is willing to let him know that they're living a good life out there in the real world.

Tim discovers the nature of the other world and sets out to free the souls trapped there.  He fights the Beldam will all the viciousness and desperation of someone who knows they’ve only got one shot.  He takes everything he can from this fight as he makes sure she won’t ever hurt anyone again.  He doesn’t stop until the beldam is well and truly dead.  Then he unravels Other Gotham and spills all of the souls out into the world where they can move on and rest.

This is how Tim learns to Sew.  He can’t make entire populated worlds like the beldam, but that’s mostly because he refuses to do what she did.  He can control things he’s made (though there’s limits on how much) and even see through buttons he’s sewn (onto cushions and such, he's not the Other Mother).  He also gets some minor illusory powers that let him make things look a bit brighter/nicer/cheerier than they are.  It takes quite some time before he’s comfortable with using these powers.  Trauma is a bitch like that.

Part of the reason this version of Tim was so desperate to do something about Batman losing it out of grief is because he already has Evil Batman trauma from Other Batman, and he doesn’t need that shit happening in real Gotham.

By this point Tim has a collection of powers that allow him to navigate the more dangerous parts of Gotham largely without fear.  Now he has to learn how to manage without using any that he isn’t one hundred percent certain he can sneak past Batman, which means he’ll have to divide his attention between learning from the training and not letting himself do things the supernatural way.  This is going to suck.

It does, in fact, suck.

Oh, it turns out some of the rogues are a bit supernatural.  He gains a bit of an intuitive understanding of the health of plants from Ivy.  He gains the ability to taste emotions from Scarecrow.  (Also, Johnathan Crane is a freaking weirdo, fear tastes like spoiled milk!)  The rogues with supernatural tendencies are freaking terrified of the new Robin because he always seems like he wants to freaking eat them.  The non-supernatural types don’t get it.

Eventually, Red hood breaks into Titan’s tower.  Tim, by this point, is very good at deciphering how supernatural entities work and is packing an extensive inventory of powers.  He realizes quickly that this is some kind of manipulative entity that feeds on rage and pain attached to an unwitting host.  When he realizes that the unknowing (and therefore unconsenting) host is Jason Todd, he tells the Lazarus Entity in no uncertain terms to give Jason back or perish.

Jason, who does not realize he has a malicious, mind-warping, supernatural parasite and believes there to be no one other than himself and Tim present, is understandably confused.

Tim decides that the Lazarus entity has had its chance and springs into action.

Jason is treated to the terrifying sight of just what Tim Drake is like when he’s not expending conscious effort on not being something out of a horror movie.  Suddenly he’s in the middle of a spider’s web and no matter how hard he tries to fight back everything around him is under the control of his opponent.  Furniture flies around on puppet strings.  Getting too close puts him in range of the freaking claws this kid apparently has!?  Trying to get away just leaves him caught in strings and the more he struggles the more entangled he becomes!  The new Robin is skittering and gliding around in a decidedly inhuman way. 

Jason honestly thinks he's going to die when he finds himself bound with Tim standing over him.  He passes out when Tim rips the Lazarus entity away from him and destroys it. 

Tim gains the ability to heal from defeating the Lazarus entity.

Jason is surprised and confused when he wakes up bundled in a handmade quilt with his head in Tim’s lap and a cool compress on his forehead, feeling sore but more well and whole than he has since before he died.

Jason later decides that his memories of the fight at Titans Tower must be some kind of weird fever dream caused by his body purging the last of the Lazarus Water from his system. It goes along with Tim's account of things.

According to Tim, Jason entered the tower, initiated a lock-down, and then collapsed on the floor. Then, Tim moved him closer to a wall where he was less likely to get stepped on than in the middle of the walkway and did his best to take care of him there because Jason was simply too large and heavy for him to carry all the way to the med bay by himself.

This is far more believable and less of a mind screw than what Jason remembers. Obviously this tiny, baby-faced kiddo who played nursemaid for a stranger who broke into the tower and now looks up at him with wide, starry eyes couldn't actually be the terrifying, predatory creature from the nightmare. It was all just a bad dream.

He's honestly glad he collapsed before he had time to do any harm. The poor kid will never have to know what Jason went there to do. Jason knows, though, and he'll do his damned best to make up for it. He may have flubbed first impressions, but he is going to be the best damn big brother that ever big brothered.

...

Tim might or might not go full on feral cryptid when Bruce is lost in the Timestream. I haven't decided. He will probably pick a fight with the Lazarus Pit much to the confusion and alarm of everyone around.

That’s all I’ve got so far.

[whereserpentswalk]

Everyone talks about your relationship differently now that your girlfriend is a vampire. She was turned a couple of months ago during a lab accident, it wasn't as violent as most non consenting vampire transformations, but it was still traumatic.

Nobody is openly bigoted about. Your freind group is pretty diverse, you know witches and a few werewolves and other assorted cryptids, but very few vampires other than her. And it feels like they're weird about her now, in this way where most humans are supportive but don't understand, or how most cyrptids see vampires as the monsters they have to prove they aren't like to be accepted.

People are suddenly more likely to take your side in an argument. More likely to be worried for your safety if she's mad at you. More likely to be afraid that she might hurt you. And they won't say why, but you know. And when you hug her suddenly it's more sexual, and when she has sex with you suddenly they're worried you're being manipulated.

You have to give her blood. Because you don't want to think of the terrible things she might have happen to her if she didn't have a steady source. And people think that she's going to use that to manipulate you somehow. But she doesn't. She wouldn't. And you could more easily use it to manipulate her, to threaten to withhold blood, if you wanted. But nobody ever accuses you. And people question how you feel safe when she could so easily physically overpower you now, how easily she could kill you, but you know she wouldn't, because you love eachother, because she's a kind person. And meanwhile if you chose to kill her you could so easily claim self defense, but you never would, and nobody would ever think you were a danger to her because of it.

And of course there's also the weird mourning. The way people say they miss her when they could still contact her. The way people talk about it as if it's a fate worse than death, as if it's something that will prevent her from ever feeling happiness again. How when you say that your girlfriend turned into a vampire they'll talk about how sorry they are for your loss, how they'll be so surprised that you're still with her. Or how when they learn that you're still with her they act like this is some sort of noble sacrifice you're making out of love, as if you wouldn't want to be with her. And of course the darker things, the threat of people who really think vampires are dead. The fact that her parents stood at her empty grave, the fact that her pastor preached that her soul is in heaven. The way that you know she'll never be safe outside of the city again.

Of course. There are things you've lost. Her body has changed, her muscles and fat faded so now that her ribs can be seen through her skin, her skin is blue and vainly, her eyes turned solid red, and her teeth now sharp and pointed like a shark's. Her back has sprouted wings, and her penis has been replaced with a fanged worm. And it hurts her. She doesn't pass for human at all, and it hurts her. And you tell her she's pretty, as much as people act like you're the victim for losing your human girlfriend she's much more hurt by losing her human body. So you pet her, and make her feel small and cute when the world considers her something dangerous and scary. And when she's upset about how her body looks you tell her she's still beautiful, or when that feels like denial you'll tell her that it's ok to be upset. And when she's sad that her body is cold now you'll cuddle her to make her warm. And when she misses sex, or hates herself for craving your blood, you'll let her drink from your breast or from between your legs, and people won't understand why but that's love, at least for you. And things will never be the same, but they can be ok, even if just for a small momment they can be ok. And you'll call her pretty, and she'll feel loved, she'll feel loved.

[ijustthinkhesneat]

I feel compelled to expand upon the previous fae/folklore! Batboys headcanons:

-Bruce is just a straight up normal human. I think this provides a great opportunity for angst because unlike his immortal? children Bruce does age and it terrifies them. And Bruce is young he’s in his early 30s but like his knees will crack a little or his back is slightly stiff after a bad patrol and it just sends them into a spiral because they cannot fathom their dad not being around forever. I can definitely imagine them trying to strong arm Bruce into becoming some flavor of unaging. You could go super dark or just more generally emotional angst but damn the possibilities.

-Cass is giving me shadow person. Very cryptid of her. I’m not sure that I have a clear backstory for her worked out yet. Either magic gone wrong or she’s another flavor of undead like Jason and Tim. I like to imagine she just hovers over people at night to be creepy.

-Originally I wanted to say Duke was a Will-o-the-wisp. But I’m not really sure it fits, especially since he’s primarily active during the day. Then it hit me. Mothman. My lamplight boy is a moth creature. I like the idea of him hiding his little antenna under a beany and wearing sunglasses. The wings would be difficult. But my boy is creative.

- I think Steph and Barbara are also human like Bruce they just are extra bad ass.

-Coming back to life as a magical creature warps peoples memories and emotions from both the trauma and changing into something not human. Tim is significantly less effected than Jason, at least outwardly, because he was only a toddler when he died so he didn’t have many memories or experiences to draw from, but Jason was super volatile. His memories surrounding Willis became even more dark while his memories of his mother sort of glossed over her absentee parenting and drug use. Jason can’t help but struggle with associating the negative learned experience he had with his first paternal figure with Bruce. Jason ends up going to live with Talia for a while because he doesn’t want to feel that way about his dad anymore.

-Basically I think Jason, at least mentally, is the most human of Bruce’s kids besides Damian because he actually lived a life as a human, where as Tim changed so young that he doesn’t really know how to be anything but his extremely disturbing self.

-I think Gotham just has major ‘I do not see it’ energy. Like The Batfamily? Demons from hell. The Wayne’s? Hot neurodivergent people. Did you see Dick Grayson unhinge his jaw like a fucking snake at a gala? No you didn’t he just has a really big smile. Jason Todd??? Has scales??? Nope actually he just developed early onset Eczema and he’s really self conscious about it how dare you! Tim Drake sucking the blood of the himbo blonde boy? Everyone knows Tim and Bernard are total freaks. Cassandra Cain is your sleep paralysis demon? Honestly fair.

-It’s totally a coincidence that strange misfortune befalls anyone who threatens the Wayne’s!

-Clark is Bruce’s favorite man to sleep on so he gets a pass. I don’t know why but a midwestern spin on the story of princess kaguya lives in my head rent free. Like Martha Kent is just shucking corn and then boom baby in the corn. We call that children of the corn. I still love to imagine him being like so perfect that it’s high key alien, but his little sharp nails and fangies! Maybe even slightly pointy ears. And like Clark fully thinks he is human, like his parents don’t tell him humans can’t fly until he’s in kindergarten, and even then they just tell him he is special and learned super fast and shouldn’t embarrass the other kids and Clark is such a Good BoyTM that he just never uses his powers in public cause he doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. Like bro doesn’t learn he is adopted until he is about to go to college, he is just straight up clueless.

-Clark learns Dick is a Fae creature when Batman brings Robin to the Watchtower cause he couldn’t get a baby sitter and Alfred doing some spooky shit like dusting the mausoleum. Like Batman just slinking around but there is this super colorful child with him. And then Dick turns and smiles and it’s just so wrong, like his mouth just stretching his face like some horror movie shit. Clark almost shots himself cause like what the fuck. Bruce told Dick to just ‘be himself’ so like he just thinks he’s being friendly. Despite being creepy as all hell Clark kinda thinks Dick is super adorable. Like was he spider crawling around the floor with all his limbs bent the wrong way while Bruce and Clark were talking? Yeah but then he just tugged on Bruce’s cape to ask for a juice box, like that’s a baby.

-Jason freaked him out in a different way. Since Jason is undead he doesn’t have a heartbeat and doesn’t need to breath so when he isn’t moving he makes literally zero noise. When he first met Clark he was just watching him from around corners and behind stair banisters and Clark was convinced he was losing his mind and hallucinating the kid from the Grudge. Then Bruce is just like “Oh you met Jason! He’s so sweet, just a little shy. He’s my second oldest! I think he likes you though.” And then a little grey blue slightly webbed hand just reaches around the corner to give a little wave and boom Clark would kill for him.

-Tim is similar in that Clark has trouble pinpointing his location because of a lack of normal bodily functions, but Tim has no idea what a boundary is. So like at first he’s a shy little toddler and then that night he’s crawling all over Clark and pranking him nonstop.

-Damian is a baby but like Clark looked in his eyes and just felt like this infant could see his past present and future and was judging him heavily. Clark was relieved cause at least he had a heartbeat.

-Cass lives to fuck with Clark. She’s Jason’s age but not only has no heartbeat and doesn’t breath, when she is in shadow form he can’t see her with X-ray vision. She can literally make herself undetectable to Superman. He learns this one night sleeping in a guest room at the manor. He gets the feeling he is being watched but can’t find anyone. Then right when he relaxes her arm shoots out from the darkness under his bed and grabs his leg. Clark screams so loud it cracks the window. And then just nearly silent muffled laughter as the arm retreats into the darkness. He X-Ray visions but nothing is there. He demands to stay in Bruce’s room after that. Bruce is just like “Oh that was just Cass. She likes playing practical jokes, she is my little princess!”

[connorsbonez]

Stalkers and Cryptids

Timeline: Pre-OT4, Middle of OT3

About: Tim and Wes have a conversation about fucking up and how to proceed afterwards.

Court Talk

Tim watched as Wes turned the basketball in his hands with a contemplative expression on his freckled face out of the corner of his eye. The ginger hadn’t said anything since he dragged Tim out to a basketball court, leaving them in prolonged silence, and the vigilante could only imagine what possessed Wes to bring him out here.

He wondered distantly whether or not he could come up with a good reason to leave early without guilt so he could go back to the cold case he’d been working on.

Tim just wanted to be able to drown everything out, ignore his personal problems, and hyper focus on cases so he could actually help someo-

He grunted as something slammed into his stomach, instinctually grabbing it before it registered to him what it was. Tim glanced down at the basketball in confusion before looking up at an unamused Wes with knitted brows.

Wes scoffed softly, his head rolled back slightly as well as his eyes at the motion before he met Tim’s gaze again. “You were making that face again.”

“What face?”

“That really dumb one when you’re slowly slipping into self-depreciation from overthinking.”

Tim frowned. “I don’t make that face.” Who was he kidding, he probably did.

The ginger raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, instead gesturing a hand over at the hoop. “Think you can make that shot?”

He pursed his lips, a feeling of frustration sparking in his chest, “What are you doing?” He asked, his grip on the basketball tightening. “Why are we here?”

Why are you still choosing to be around me? To have me in your life still?

“To rewrite the Declaration of Independence in a backwards Dutch-Ghostspeak love language.” Wes replied voice laced so heavily with sarcasm that Tim could practically taste it, crossing his arms as he leaned back on his heels. “We’re here to hang out, play basketball and I kick your ass at it, and I don’t know…” The conspiracy theorist paused, trailing off, the frown on his face softening as he looked down with a grimace at the ground for a brief moment. “…talk, I guess.” He ended the sentence awkwardly.

This is the weirdest breakup he’s ever experienced. Tim couldn’t help but think and he says as much, earning himself an incredulous look from Wes that quickly morphed into a familiar expression of ‘you’re such a fucking idiot’ and Tim used to think it wasn’t possible to have that look and have it still manage to look so fond (so painfully fond), but still very much annoyed, until the very first time he saw Wes make that expression at Danny and later Tim himself.

“Why the hell would you think that?”

Because I messed up, because my mistake got him hurt which in turn hurt you, because I’m a stupid horrible person who couldn’t not be nosy for one fucking moment and doesn’t deserve this and shouldn’t have had pretended I did.

“I think you know.” He answered vaguely, glancing away.

Wes’ eyes narrowed slightly, green eyes seemed to soften into a sort of understanding, an understanding much deeper than just getting what Tim meant and he couldn’t begin to imagine what Wes got. The ginger sighed and opened his arms, obligating the vigilante to bounce the basketball into his hands. Wes twisted the ball in his grip for a moment before he started bouncing it idly as he turned to face the hoop, Tim followed his gaze briefly before settling back at the theorist.

“I almost exposed Danny’s identity to a government branch that wanted to vivisect him and use him for experiments.” Wes confessed almost with an eerie casualness if not for the breathless way he said it, like he had to force the words out or else they’d never be heard, as he made the shot, the ball traced the rim before falling through the hoop, the bouncing was almost louder than it should have been as Tim stood in stiffened silence, trying to process what Wes just said.

Not that Wes gave him the time, continuing to plow through this conversation as he walked over to grab the ball, it seemed to shake in his hold as he stared down at it. “I’ve never been good at keeping secrets in the sense that I couldn’t leave things to lay, I didn’t understand that some things shouldn’t be brought to light. Ever. When I saw a mystery, I wanted to solve it and show it off to everyone and their mothers.”

Wes let out a huff that sounded close to a dull laugh. “Danny had a mystery that I had solved ages ago, it was pretty obvious for me, the problem was that no one seemed to see it too or believed me when I tried to tell them. Of course, I couldn’t leave it as that. I just had to get people to believe me and See The Truth.” His nose scrunched up at the end of his words and Tim thought that Wes’ green eyes seemed to glow for a moment under the setting sun.

“I did so many stupid things to try and prove it, things that Danny will probably happily tell you because some of them are downright mortifying. Like intensive stalking and publicly accusing him of being a ghost with his ghost hunting parents not two feet away from him.” The conspiracy theorist paused, taking in a breath as he bounced the ball a few times as if to comfort or ground himself. “The GIW hadn’t seemed so bad back then, for the humans at least, for those who didn’t know what they were really like and that unfortunately included me for a bit. And I was desperate at this point for anyone to believe me, so desperate that I fucking emailed the GIW about how I knew Phantom’s identity with some of my proof attached to make them believe me.”

Tim’s mouth was slightly hanging from that. “You what?”

Wes grimaced as he bounced the ball more harshly. “Yep. If Danny hadn’t broken into my house when he did to explain, it…would have ended much differently.” He finished his sentence after a moments of hesitation, turning again to throw the ball through the hoop again and going to retrieve it. Leaving Tim to process what he just learned.

Eventually Tim found Wes standing in front of him again, he looked at the ginger and licked his dry lips. “How’d you fix it?” He asked, his voice coming out more quiet than he wanted too. “How…did you get Danny to forgive you for that? He must have been angry with you.”

Wes blinked slowly, leaning back on his heels in a casual manner. “Oh. He didn’t.”

“What?”

“He didn’t forgive me.” Wes said slowly, like he was talking about the weather, as he leaned forward slightly and met Tim’s eyes again.

Tim stared back into green eyes as his body felt chilled, as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water onto him. An ugly bubbling feel squirmed inside him and made him ponder distantly if he was going to throw up or not. “But..you’re dating. You’re together.” He pointed out with a frown, confused on how Danny could date Wes if he didn’t forgive him.

The ginger sighs like he was an old man who just got told his dumbass grandkids were out doing something stupid and he needed to go get them. Wes let the ball hit the ground and roll off slowly as he crossed his arms. “Yeah. We are.”

“But..he doesn’t forgive you.”

“Uh huh.” Wes sighed again and scratched the back of his neck. “Look, here’s the thing Tim, no one’s obligated to forgive someone when they fuck up, majorly or not. It’s purely up to that person. But just because they don’t forgive that person, that doesn’t mean they can’t move on and grow from the experience, and maybe that results in those people losing contact or maybe they get close again as friends, family or lovers. It just..depends on the situation and the people.”

Wes paused to take a breath. “That’s not to, like, say there isn’t work both people have to put into healing that relationship, because there is. It’s so much work to repair that broken trust and mend the foundation so it can grow into something new.”

“Something new?”

“Well, yeah, there’s no fucking way that relationship is going to be exactly the same if it gets fixed.”

Tim swallowed thickly, uncomfortable and a little scared to ask his next question. “So..Danny’s never going to forgive me but with work he’ll hopefully still want to be with me?”

“I don’t know.” Wes replied with a simple shrug, making Tim blink widely in confusion. “What? What do you mean you don’t know?”

“It means, I don’t know whether or not Danny’s gonna forgive you and still want to be in a relationship with you. I’m not Danny, I don’t always know what’s going on in that cracked kaleidoscope mind of his.” Wes explained a bit too fondly as he poked at his temple. “But, if you ask for my personal opinion, you and Danny will be just fine. I mean, he’s dating me, on good terms with multiple of his rouge gallery, and is friends with two of his exes that have either successfully killed him or have tried too.”

That was so much information at once, holy hell. “What-“

“Plus, not to sound egotistical or anything, but what I did was arguably worse compared to what you did. You did it out of a source of concern and love, I did it for the ego boost.”

“Wes-“

“What I’m trying to say is,” Wes carried on, clasping his hands together, “there’s nothing to worry about as long as you guys do some simple little thing.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Wes inhaled and leaned forward slightly. “Talk to one another and figure it out.”

The vigilante paused and blinked several times because…that’s it? Really? And he asks as such, tone utterly confused. Wes laughed in response and shrugged, something he’s been doing a lot recently, as he gave Tim an almost flat look.

“Yep, that’s it. Shocking isn’t it? But yeah, that’s all you really have to do, just…sit down and talk to each other. Figure yourselves out and how y’all are going to continue from there.”

That…was a plan. Not something Tim did very much, both as a Drake and as a Drake-Wayne, but it was a plan nonetheless. It didn’t remove the anxiety that thrashed and clawed inside him, the fear and the what ifs. Not adding that there was something to this plan that was wrong in the way that something wasn’t even mentioned in it.

“What about you?”

Wes paused and his nose scrunched up in confusion. “Huh?”

“What about you.” Tim repeats his words again as he stared down the theorist. “Where do you stand in this situation, Wes? You’ve given me advice and how to proceed with this situation and what could possibly happen but you’ve never stated your own opinion on this.”

Wes frowned slightly at Tim. “I thought it was pretty obvious what my stance was on this.”

“No, no, not really. Well- kind of? Look, I guess what I’m trying is ask is…” Tim paused, resisting the urge to lick his lips as his heart squeezed painfully at the thought he’d formed. “..Should Danny and I…break up because of this, will we also be separating?” Tim’s voice slowly got quieter as he asked the elephant in the room, the dreadful question.

Wes blinked slowly, as if this wasn’t something the ginger had thought too hard about, and he was silent for a long moment which made Tim’s skin itch before he finally replied. “…No. I’m not going to leave you should you and Danny end up breaking up.”

Something loosened in Tim’s chest, only slightly but it was still a nice weight removal all the same.

“Really?”

Wes made a micro expression like he instinctually wanted to say something snarky before his face quickly smoothed out and he nodded. “Really.”

“Okay…okay. I think it’s time I go talk to Danny.”

•• End ••

What did Tim do? Who knows! Up to you I guess.

:)