#writing prompts I wrote

[badolmen]

“What do you eat then? Down here? There’s no sun.”

“There are roots. Here, let me show you.” It would be hard to follow him in the darkness, if not for the soft clatter of his hooves. The flickering torchlight makes him seem too small, too fragile - too much like an unweaned calf taken from its mother’s milk too soon.

“What happened to them?”

“Who?”

“The others. I’m not the first - and I know some have tried to…”

“This is my home. I know it well, they don’t. They got lost.” It is unsaid what fate befell them in this dark and unending prison. The Minotaur stops suddenly, and the startled hand that braces against his bare back is laid upon an old scar. He did not always escape the others unscathed.

“Sorry,” there’s the sound of movement, a too-human hand on stone. “I was just checking that we didn’t miss the turn - here.” His hands are warm as they lift another, smaller palm to the gouge in the wall. The torch light illuminates the markings, and the two different hands lingering over stone.

“How much further?”

“Not far. One more turn.” His words are truthful, the narrow passages opening to a larger cavern - the walls have been knocked down by brute force to make the small room livable.

There’s a dim pile of embers and a sooty clay pot in the center of the room. One wall has a threadbare approximation of a bed, and the other, dirt - black soil thick with the thready roots of the olive trees far, far above in the king’s garden. Water leaches from the damp soil, collected in a crude clay pan.

“Oh…it’s…” Words fail to convey the thought of Minotaur, a child too young to be on his own, living here for years. Growing up in the darkness, just scraping by, barely surviving.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? A bit cold. But the fire will warm us up quickly.” He sets the torch to the embers, handfuls of tinder gradually igniting and bringing more light to this damp, depressing abode. “Are you hungry? We can boil the roots - it’ll be easier for you to eat them that way.”

“You’ve had…guests before?”

“Or sorts. They don’t stay.” Those dark, soft, animal eyes shadow with loss as they dart back to the fire. “And they haven’t come back.”

“Oh.” Small hands take the offered clay cup. The water is earthy, Gaia’s milk run thin. “I’ll stay.” The Minotaur shakes his heavy head, tail swishing anxiously across the dusty stone floor.

“You can’t. Humans can’t survive down here, without the sun. You’ll get sick.”

Silence lapses between the two, the clay pot boiling and the pale roots growing tender in the water. When cooled and offered, they taste bitter.

“Do you know where the exit is?” It is a question asked with anxious curiosity, an undercurrent of sorrow already knowing the answer.

“No.” The fresh roots crunch between flat teeth. “I’ve looked. This maze was built to keep me and criminals sent here contained.” His furry face contorts, the expression of gentle suspicion alien on animal features. “What was your crime?”

There’s a soft sigh, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread.

“My brother was sent here. I challenged his sentence, directly. The king saw fit to send me to the same fate for daring to defy him in public.”

“Oh.” The Minotaur winces, too well acquainted with the haunting screams and pleas of the labyrinth’s victims to know one lost body from another. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I know. The king is the only one responsible for his sentence.”

“What crime did he commit, if I may ask?”

“He was born.” The words are raw, aching with fury and grief. “The gods cursed him - he was a monster.” The Minotaur huffs sympathetically.

“I understand.”

“More than most.” The tear shined eyes of the young woman gaze up at him with sad gratitude. “Thank you.”

“The food and water are the least I can offer, quite literally.”

“Thank you for being here.” The voice trembles, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I would have done had I been alone down here. Had I not found you.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome then.” The Minotaur shifts uneasily, awkwardly holding out a hand. “I’m Asterion, by the way. May I ask your name? I know you’ll leave to find the exit, but I’d like to remember you when you do.” The fragile hand that takes his has a firm and steady grip.

“My name is Ariadne, Princess of Crete.” Her eyes are sharp, clever and determined as she takes hold of his hand. In her other, she holds up a thin silver thread between her fingers.. “And I know where the exit is, little brother.”

Edit: Donate to Palestinians in Gaza

As punishment for your crimes you are thrown into the Labyrinth to be a living sacrifice to the Minotaur that lives inside. However nobody seemed to put together that since he is half bull; the Minotaur is actually a vegetarian.

[corkinavoid]

Tim, internally: I need to make sure my family doesn't start the shovel talk the moment we appear, I can do this, I just need to introduce him the right way

Tim, walking into the dining room, hand in hand with Danny: Bad news, Damian's grandfather stole my spleen four years ago. Good news, my boyfriend of six months returned it to me yesterday and even installed it back!

Danny, the picture perfect image of innocence: Hi!

The Batfam, who knew nothing about the missing spleen or the mere existence of a boyfriend in Tim's life: wh-

[saltymarshmall0w]

beatdown buddies

(You always read fics where the pit is instantly calmed by Danny’s presence, but what if it didn’t?)

Now, you have to understand, that Jason was long past attacking strangers in a blind fury. The Bats? Sure, all the time--- but he was working on that.

This particular scrawny, possibly-homeless stranger hadn’t done anything more than simply exist in Jason’s proximity. If it was any other Crime Alley resident, Jason would be much more likely feel a surge of protectiveness.

This guy though– he was different.

Locking toxic-green eyes to toxic-green eyes made the pit in his skin violently react. Before he knew it, he was hitting the guy with everything he had, and the guy was hitting back.

The groceries Jason had left his apartment to get spilled all over the ground as the two rolled.

Pulled hair, split knuckles, and bruised bodies, the guy’s fist hit Jason’s jaw for the umpteenth time, cracking his head back and making him look at the gloomy sky.

They only used their fists. Jason could feel the familiar ghost of weapons hidden under the other guy’s hoodie, but neither pulled their hidden weapons.

Despite it all, Jason and the guy shared blood-tinged smiles. Blood boiled under his skin in an exciting trill. He was angry, and it was fantastic.

He’s pretty sure he just made a new best friend.

Someone hit Jason’s back with what could distinctly be identified as a broom. He vaguely heard the sound of yelling around him, but Jason’s only focus was getting his next hit in.

Eventually, they were stopped by a familiar shade of blue and black. Strong arms pulled him off the stranger and pinned his arms down, locking their arms over his chest to prevent Jason from getting free.

“You need to calm down!” Dickwing’s voice lectured in his ear. “You’re going to kill him!”

Surprisingly, Jason settled in Dick’s hold, fight and anger drained out of him in the space of a breath. The fire under his skin didn’t keep flaming and flaming and building it just– stopped.

“Oh, Please.” The stranger was grinning widely, despite the model of developing bruises and cuts across his face. A burly man who Jason vaguely recognized worked at the store they were standing right in front of was both holding up and holding back the guy. “We were just saying ‘Hi’.”

The guy made eye contact with Jason. Blue, no hints of green anywhere. The guy winked. “Danny.”

Frankly, Jason couldn’t quite explain his actions. He felt stupidly chastized by Nightwing’s patented older brother stare of disappointment. Apparently, the guy couldn’t explain his actions either, as he disappeared the instant no one’s eyes were on him.

-

Jason arrived an hour early to Wayne Sunday family dinner. He missed cooking alongside Alfred, and offered his help.

He let Dick wrap an arm around his shoulder for a few seconds as a welcome. He didn’t seethe at Bruce simply being there. He chose to sit between Tim and the Demon brat when it looked like new fratricide plans were being drawn up by the younger.

The pit didn’t scream under his skin to hurt. Little things didn’t set him off, making him have to leave early. He wasn’t tempted to throttle anyone for existing around him.

The pit was just… quiet. Peaceful even. Well, as peaceful as it could get in the Wayne household.

It was a massive improvement compared to six months ago— hell, compared to last month.

He shrugged off inquiries about his black eye, citing it would heal quickly anyway.

-

Jason should have known he wasn’t safe.

Sure, he was on a roof one could only grapple to, across the city from crime alley, and dressed up as Red Hood.

However, Danny always reappeared periodically like a well-timed extremely therapeutic punching bag.

One moment, Jason was looking down over the streets of Gotham the next, he was being flying-kicked by a lithe frame. Something instantly recognized Danny so, rather the putting a bullet in him, Jason picked himself back up into a crouch and lunged at Danny.

“Hood? Hood what’s going on?” Someone called in his ear— Oh, right he had connected comms with his family that night.

Danny stopped suddenly, straddling Jason’s stomach, one hand fisting his collar, the other posed to strike. He blinked. glowing green eyes turned blue. “You’re not like, busy doing vigilante stuff, are you?” He asked.

Every bruise and cut from their last fight was gone, his baby face appeared as though it had never been punched in his life, making him look all the more punchable.

“Nope.” Jason answered, driving an elbow into the kid’s stomach and in the same motion ripped the comm out of his ear to toss it to the side.

Minutes later Danny was pulled off him, and the fire under his skin died down.

He blinked back into his surroundings to find himself on a rooftop with half of Gotham’s vigilantes standing in a circle around him, an unease that he could only read because he was so familiar with them written in all of their body languages. Batman held Danny slightly behind himself, keeping a firm grasp on the guy so he couldn’t escape.

“You claimed the rage was getting better.” Bruce stated in the way that meant he was supposed to answer his unasked questions..

Jason waited for rage and indignance to rise up in him, but rather he just considered that Bruce saw glowing green eyes and a brutal beat down and made a logical leap.

“It has!” Jason argued anyway. He sniffed and ran a hand under his slightly bleeding nose. It didn’t sting enough to be broken. “I haven’t lost my cool in months.”

“That’s what he has me for!” Danny chimed happily. His nose was broken, but Danny didn’t seem to mind the twin streaks of blood running down his face. “We’re friends with Benefits. It’s always healthy to have a little dead-guy on dead-guy action. You guys should really fight with him more often, his ectoplasm is rank.”

[stealingyourbones]

Dan works in the Metropolis Police Department and is frequently on scene helping with crowd control during Superman battles.

It starts with saving Jimmy Olsen from a piece of falling rubble. Then helping Lois into the barricaded off Superman fight zone because Dan can tell she’ll get through them no matter what for her story, he might as well go with her and at least be sure she’s safe. Then he helps evacuate an out of control plane that Superman had safely slowed down and gently landed.

It felt like a blink of an eye but suddenly Dan was a part of the small circle of civilians that Superman interacts with daily.

[liketolaugh-writes]

Prompt: Prison Break

Walker wouldn't have expected it, but one of the worst parts of being imprisoned by the GIW was watching Phantom suffer through the descending stages of violent obsession failure.

All of them were feeling it, obviously, but for most of them it was a slow decline - the pull of longing, developing over days and weeks into a sharp ache. Ember, ignored and silenced, was lashing out, kicking the glass walls and screaming for attention, even when it hurt. Johnny and Kitty, kept out of each other's sight, pressed against the walls closest together. Walker's whole body throbbed with frustration and self-loathing, needing to return to his territory and drag everyone back with him, away from this place of torture.

But Phantom, not three years dead and with an obsession that demanded that he keep everyone completely unharmed, had declined rapidly. Sure, for the first week or so, he'd been preoccupied with troubles of his own, strapped constantly to a table with hands digging through his insides. But then they'd started to spread out their attention.

At first, Phantom didn't seem to realize what was happening. He cried out in anguish and fear, trying to break open his cell and being punished for it, collapsing under the shock collar's control. Walker could almost see when he figured it out, when he started to clutch at his chest, and scribble constellations onto the walls and floor in his dripping ectoplasm with hands that trembled, trying to ease the pain in his core.

Then he started to curl up and choke on his tears, shuddering in pain whenever screams echoed down the hall. Finally, in between his own turns on the table, he started to shove his hand into his open chest, clutching his burning core directly, moans of pain rising into yells in nearly perfect unison with whoever else was the victim this time.

(Sidney had declined in nearly perfectly unison with Phantom, which a part of Walker hoped the punk hadn't noticed.)

If Phantom wasn't a halfa, he probably would've shattered into dust by now. It probably would've been a mercy.

When the yelling started, Walker almost didn't notice. Phantom, delirious with pain, for sure didn't. But before long, most of the rest of them had stirred to alertness, dragging themselves closer to the glass to peer down the hall. A troop of GIW stormed down the hall without glancing at any of them, and an alarm started going off. Phantom whined and rolled over, his hand buried in his autopsy wound while he shivered. (The scientists had tried stitching it closed, but Phantom just clawed it blindly open.)

"What's happening?" the Lunch Lady croaked. (Youngblood and Phantom were starving, and it was doing her no favors.)

"Prison break," Walker rasped. He recognized the signs. "Someone's here." He'd never imagined that it would be a relief.

[lazylittledragon]

Hello I love your bg3 content and your Dorian is so lovely! Can we get like an alternative reality with Dorian and Ascended Astarion? What would your headcannon be for them? 🙇

something like this, probably

[paingoes]

whumper pushing whumpee to the ground, ordering them to get back up, and kicking them back down each time they try. repeat as many times as you like. especially w whumper getting more snippy each time.

“i said get up” while they’re making it physically impossible

physically and mentally exhausting them in addition to hurting them. forcing whumpee to participate in their own abuse.

[oh-phoenixx]

"Discuss" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 415 words

-

Regulus was not one to broadcast his insecurities. He liked to keep them all to himself, as if saying any of it would make it too real. Instead of communicating his insecurities with James, talking about his worries, he would drop them casually in conversation and then refuse to discuss it any further. 

Such as: “Well, we’ll probably break up once you leave Hogwarts and I’m still here.”

This one, however, James did not inquire about. At first, he didn’t recognise it as a fear of Regulus’s. He had assumed that Regulus was planning to dump James the second he started his seventh year. And if that was the case, James didn’t want to know. He was happy to have the rest of his last year and then, hopefully, all of that summer with his boyfriend. Even if said boyfriend was ready to leave him the second they were apart. James would take whatever Regulus was prepared to give, and if that was less than a year of a relationship, then James would have to deal with it. 

It wasn’t until two weeks later, when they were lying in bed, not two bodies but a tangle of limbs and a lot of tired, murmured words of adoration, that it came up at all. 

“I wish we could have this forever,” Regulus mumbled into James’s jaw.

“Why can’t we?” James frowned, so close to sleep and so unprepared to talk about losing the love of his life.

“You’re going to break up with me before my seventh year starts,” his boyfriend said, so matter-of-factly that only James would be able to hear the underlying sadness in his tone. 

Ignoring the way his body protested in its exhaustion, James forced himself to turn in Regulus’s arms, pulling back enough to look down at the boy, whose eyes were barely open and whose lips were downturned very slightly. 

“I’m not going to break up with you, love.” James squeezed Regulus’s waist gently as he spoke, wanting his attention.

When Regulus only hummed in response, not entirely convinced, James moved his hands to cup his face. “Reg. Look at me. I’m not going to break up with you.”

And though it was Regulus who was being consoled, James felt as though his own body was much lighter than it had been at any point over the last few weeks.

Maybe they both had trouble voicing their worries. They would work on it. They had time. Neither was going anywhere.

[thevoidstaredback]

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.

So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.

Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.

Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.

At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.

Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.

Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.

The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.

The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)

Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!

Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!

"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.

Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.

"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."

"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?

"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.

"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."

"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"

Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."

"Excuses."

"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."

"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."

"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."

"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."

"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."

Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.

The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.

Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."

Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."

Storyboard Part 2

[is-this-even-relatable]

Misfortune Teller

tldr: An older Danny, apprentice to Clockwork, does a lot of field work across dimensions, resetting the timeline, queuing future events, and who knows what else. Occasionally, he warns people about such upcoming possibilities, to set them on the right path. How, you might ask? Well in this case... as a wandering fortune teller.

Crack-fic (oh god, it's getting long and my logic brain won't let it remain as crack) where Danny becomes Clockwork's apprentice after getting his GED. Living his infinite afterlife to the fullest. Inspired by this tumblr post.

Working for Clockwork had been... interesting so far. At first, Danny got frustrated by how vague and cryptic Clockwork was. He'd just shunt Danny off to some ancient time with a few words, his own time medallion (Danny carried it everywhere with him now), and then pop back into the portal, leaving Danny with only the faintest idea of where to go.

Eventually, after enough time (ha!) spent around Clockwork, Danny figured out that it just basically meant that he had free reign and to do whatever he wanted. Because if he went on the wrong path, (like that one time in Pompeii when he had almost caused the volcano to explode a few years too early), Clockwork would just pop on by, say another few cryptic words, and then it'd all be fine and dandy, or as he liked to say, "All is as it should be... Now stop practicing your wail by an active volcano."

After telling Jazz about that (it was supposed to be funny, not concerning), she just sighed and shook her head, with a forlorn "think before you act, Danny!" but hey, it'd turned out fine so far, so who cares how he does what Clockwork asks him to do, as long as it gets done, right? Even if it's with a liiiiitle more mischief than strictly required.

Besides. Danny was the one who had been doing time shenanigans across millennia, not Jazz. And he thought he'd been getting pretty good at it too! He'd actually started giving himself a different made-up background for each universe he visited. Sam and Tucker were helping him keep up with the identities on a spreadsheet, so if he had to go back to one he'd already visited, he'd remember who he'd said he was supposed to be.

---

He was on a call with them one evening while haunting Jazz's apartment, doing just that, when he felt a familiar tingle in the back of his throat, as well as a heightened awareness of the seconds passing by, that always accompanied his mentor's appearance.

Sam was talking about his past stint posing as a god of death when he cut in. "Hey- sorry to interrupt, Sam- Clocky's here, guys, I gotta dip."

"Aw, come on! We hardly talked any this past week since you passed your certifications, man," Tucker complained.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. Partly on you too though, you've been caught up outside of class, and Sam's schedule is nearly the opposite of yours."

Sam hummed in agreement despiter Tucker's scoff.

Danny missed hanging out with them as much as they had in high school, but hey, life goes on. Or at least, theirs did, to college. After finally flunking out of Casper High, he'd taken some time to get used to his responsibilities in the ghost zone, and when he had, he realized that he didn't really have much enthusiasm or timeleft for his human life.

And he didn't really want to go back home either.

But Jazz had made him tie up any loose ends before he noped-off to god knows where, which frankly, he had to thank her for. Getting his GED took a few years, but it was an accomplishment that could be attributed to Danny Fenton, no ghostliness required. Then he was able to let that tether go free.

Pulled out of his musings by a few more grumbles from Tucker, Danny said his goodbyes, promising to call the next time they were all available.

After hanging up, Danny swiveled around, anticipation already lighting up his eyes an ethereal green.

Clockwork, for his part, had been waiting patiently through Danny's lengthy goodbyes. Although he supposed that it tracked for the watcher of time to be patient. With his job, it'd be a nightmare if he wasn't.

"Phantom," Clockwork spoke, calm as always. "I have some tasks I need you to complete as my apprentice."

And Danny, always ready for adventure, didn't need him to explain any further. "Sure! When do you need me to be?"

Clockwork smiled at that. "I am fortunate you are eager. Follow me."

---

Danny popped into existence in this universe with a burst of cold air and static electricity. He found himself hovering by a clocktower above a sprawling, gothic city. Smog and light pollution obscured the stars above him, to his disappointment. He comforted himself with the fact that he'd probably have all the time he wanted to fly someplace less populated to see them later.

He started off by familiarizing himself with the city. As he flew, he followed the trail of power and met the resident city-spirit, a spooky- but kind underneath- woman draped in black lace, who told him her name was Gotham. He spoke in length with her about this universe, its heroes, and her knights. On that, she was very enthusiastic... or at least Danny thought she was, her projected emotions belaying much more than her gloomy exterior. She told him how her knights had been through a lot and would need some guidance fighting the darkness that pooled in her deepest corners, smiling with too much glee, filling lungs with fear, and terrorizing with cold hard bullets.

Danny could sense that the dangers she spoke of were growing in power, ever slowly. The longer they shadowed people's minds and hearts, an intangible thing grew that lent them more otherworldly pull than their physical forms had right to hold.

That must be what he was sent here for.

But... they were weak, pitifully so for him, infinite king as he was. And besides, he wasn't here in that sense. He was a messenger, a simple apprentice. And he could do this however he wanted.

Cue his talk with Lady Gotham, and subsequent idea to arm her knights. With what? Well, he figured knowledge would be a start. Flying high above the city invisibly, Danny noticed a sea of colors and lights by what appeared to be the city's pier. He flew down, noting that it appeared to be the setup spot for a travelling circus or carnival of some kind.

He considered what to do. One of Lady Gotham's troubles was a madman clown, right? Well maybe he'd be attracted to his ilk here... and with the danger came the knights. Maybe he could catch one of them here?

Danny was floating around at the entrance and beginning to formulate a plan when a flyer caught his eye. Looking for a mystic to read fortunes. URGENT!

Hadn't Clockwork said something about fortunes? And he hadn't made an identity in this universe yet...

A mischievous smile crept across Danny's face, splitting it in two with far too many teeth.

---

Half a city away, a man in all black, perched on the very same clocktower that Phantom had Appeared by, shivered as he felt an ominous premonition about his sanity in the near future...

Said man quickly opened his comms to check in with his many, many kids. Yet even after hearing back from each, he still felt apprehensive.

Somewhere even further, Clockwork laughed.

---

And that's how Danny found himself seated at a fortune teller's booth at a pier in Gotham, two days later, for the Tricksy Traveling Circus's grand opening.

[badolmen]

Hunting was an art of balance. Of knowing when a monster was too far gone to reason with, and knowing when a person was made a monster by the fear and hate of others. Werewolves usually fell into the latter category but - rarely - the Hunter was called to remove these supposed feral beasts.

This village agreed to pay in blood - they were truly at their wits end to hire a Hunter.

The Hunter didn’t hold it against the villagers - desperate people make desperate decisions, and when something seems to work, well, humans love to find a pattern.

“I take it they were mostly children - the sacrifices?”

The village elders nodded, worry creasing their sun weathered features.

“It killed the guardsmen but spared the young - and when the first was taken without any blood, we thought…we thought it was a good sign.”

“Not for your village. Do you know who this werewolf is?” The elders murmured among themselves, suspicions unfounded and self cannibalizing.

“It came from the woods - in the early spring. It lives out there, killing our men that try to hunt game. It isn’t one of us.” The man who spoke drew the Hunter’s attention from the elders, a peasant with gray streaked hair and crows feet at his eyes. “Hunter, please - it took my son. Is he…?”

“The sacrifices are likely alive, yes.” The Hunter, studied the man as he quietly sobbed in relief, shoulders shaking. The woman beside him, presumably his wife, held him and cried with him.

“You can save them?” The elders were quick to pester the Hunter, offering warnings a veteran of their craft knew well. “What trick will you play on the beast? Your weapons are worthless unless silvered, and it may hurt the children but…if there’s a chance you can bring even one home…”

“Of course I can bring them back. The problem is that they may not want to come back.” The villagers prickled at the suggestion.

“Why? What on earth - has it magic? Placed them under a spell or charm? It must be possible to free them - ”

“They aren’t bewitched. Werewolves are naturally social creatures, they crave a pack. If a lone werewolf happened upon someone it did not perceive as a threat, it would bite them, convert them to its pack.”

The man from before collapsed to his knees.

“No - no, my boy - please, that can’t be true.”

“It’s the most likely scenario.” The Hunter was pragmatic - they had no use to entertain futile hopes for these people. “Especially when you began sending it regular sacrifices. It saw them as children in need of protecting. Of family and home. So it gave it to them. I can’t imagine these young ones were too excited for you to send them to their deaths. Would you return to the place that so easily agreed to sacrifice you to buy themselves some peace?”

“Can - can you ask?” The woman finally spoke, a mirror of her husband save for her tearless, shining eyes. “Just ask - the children, the werewolf - we just want out boy to come home.”

“They’re lost - if the Hunter does not kill them all, more will arise. They said it themself - the beast will hunt for more pack members. We’re not safe until they’re all dead.”

“How dare you suggest - ”

“They were dead to us this morning. You were willing to sacrifice them every moon - and if what the Hunter says is true, your children won’t come home alive. One way or another.”

A brawl nearly broke out among the elders and villagers. The Hunter looked on, watching and waiting for them to settle before they announced their leave, heading to the woods unarmed.

They were deep in the woods when footsteps disturbed the moss soft forest floor. The Hunter did not turn around, knowing their stalker from the drama of the village square.

“Your husband will be worried about you.” They turned, observing the sharp eyed woman. She watched them with a mixture of pity and guilt. “What’s your name?”

“M-Maryam.” She stuttered. She hadn’t been expecting to be caught. “How did you know I - ?”

“You did not cry. You know your son is safe - the other children, too.” The Hunter sighed, the air growing damp with evening mist. “Is she related to you?”

“My sister.” She finally relented, arms wrapped around herself to brace against the chill of the approaching night.

“She must be young.” The Hunter glanced up at the darkening sky. Even cloudy, the call of the moon would be inescapable. “The first moon is always the toughest.” The woman’s eyes reflected gold, damp with tears.

“We thought - my parents taught us how to lock ourselves away, until we could control it. I thought I did everything right but…”

“She got out. You couldn’t stop her.” Maryam sobbed, nodding as the Hunter took a step closer to her. “Who did she kill?”

“Some asshole guardsman.” She scoffed, wiping tears away. “He didn’t deserve that but - my sister she just - hunted him down.”

“But she spared his child?”

“His younger brother, yes.” Her shoulder’s hiked up, an animalistic sharpness to her teeth as she snarled. “Then those damn elders…got the bright idea to start - start making offerings…”

“Do you know where she’s hiding them?” The Hunter gave Maryam a wide berth as she began to circle them, the growl in her throat defensive.

“I won’t let you hurt her, or any of them.”

“I know. Werewolves are loyal to their packs, as humans are to family.” The Hunter kept their eyes soft, palms open and empty. “You asked me to ask that she return the children, correct? That’s all I intend to do.”

“I don’t know where she is.” Maryam admitted, smelling no lie in the Hunter’s words. “But I can track her. I know her scent. I - I can only track her while the moon is full but I’ve - I’m scared she won’t recognize me.”

“She will know you. Every werewolf knows it’s own.” They nodded to the woods. “Lead the way.”

Darkness as thick as the dense trees would have blinded any human, but the Hunter and Maryam wove effortlessly through the foliage and underbrush. When a howl echoed across the land, it made their goal all the easier to locate.

The werewolf stood tall atop the mouth of the cave, ears pinned back and drool dripping from its jowls. The moonlight filtering through the clouds illuminated the long dried blood in its pale fur, glinting in her golden eyes. Maryam tugged at the Hunter’s coat, whisper rough.

“I can smell the children - my boy - they’re alive - ”

“Wait.” They cautioned softly, raising their voice to address the wolf. “I am told you are Maryam’s sister. Is that correct?”

The Hunter stood far enough away that the beast couldn’t pounce on them from its position. It snarled, pacing and knocking down stones. The Hunter dropped their voice to whisper, nodding to Maryam.

“Call her by name.”

“What?”

“Her full name. She’s too inhuman to reason with in this state.” They nodded up at the cliff. Maryam steadied herself, pausing before she spoke.

“I must change to speak her full name.”

“I know. Quickly - before she decides that we’re a threat to her young ones.” The Hunter winced in sympathy as Maryam howled, half in pain and half in relief as her bones shifted and her face stretched, accommodating her half-wolven features. The voice of a werewolf in a half-shift was hypnotic, almost human but distinctly not. Meant for luring unwary and curious travelers to their doom, in the old days.

The name worked. Maryam’s sister howled, writhing as she began to shift, naked but still covered in bloodied fur as she matched her sister’s form. The two snarled and barked at each other, language twisted and warping between animal and human. The Hunter drew their attention with a whistle, crouching low.

“The young ones you took, their parents miss them. Will they come home?”

“No.” The sister growled, hackles raised and fur bristling. “I am protecting them.”

“You stole them.” Maryam snarled, her own instincts and nature at war.

“I took them in when the village cast them out - they will not return. They don’t want to.”

“Is that true?” The Hunter addressed the pair of shy, pale yellow eyes peering from the shadows of the cave. “Do you want to stay out here?” The children’s voices warbled - too young to shift but nature still empowered by the full moon behind the clouds.

“I will not return.” Maryam’s sister hissed, jumping down in front of the mouth of the cave. “I will not be scorned for what I did to that awful man. I will not let his brother again know fear of another’s hand.”

The Hunter glanced to the eyes in the darkness, wondering which child was the boy she spoke of.

“I want my son back, Tabitha.” Maryam cried, pressing herself to the ground in submission. “Please, Antony - your father and I cannot live without you.”

“Then why did you send him to his death?” Tabitha snarled, snapping defensively when the Hunter nearly rose from where they knelt.

“We had no choice - the elders would have chosen another child and - and I knew you wouldn’t hurt him, that he would be safe - please, sister - please, my beautiful boy, just come home.”

A boy stumbled from the shadows, flinching when Tabitha rounded on him. But the Hunter spoke, keeping her attention while the child ran to his mother’s inhuman embrace.

“A good pack leader knows to let its members leave if they want to. Keeping them here through fear will not protect them. Look at them - you cannot provide for them all, not alone, not if you choose your wolf form between moons.”

“I will never walk on two legs again.” Tabitha barked, eyes watching her sister and nephew hold each other. “But…if they go back, when they are of age - like me - what if - the villagers will slaughter them out of fear.” She began to cry, howling mournfully. “I’ve doomed them, in trying to protect them - what have I done?”

“You followed your instincts, and your instincts kept yourself alive. And while not ideal - they are all still safe, and alive.” The Hunter slowly rose from the ground, hands still raised and open. “Let those that want to return do so. When they are of age, your sister can bring them here - safe to learn their instincts far from the village.”

“I agree to these terms.” Maryam nodded, still holding her son close. The sickening crackle of bone and flesh rearranging itself made her into a woman once more. “Sister, forgive me for failing you.”

Tabitha did not reply, shifting back into a full wolf and trotting into the cave. The half dozen children she herded toward the Hunter and Maryam were sleepy, dirty, but alive and well. One remained by Tabitha’s side, standing slightly taller than her shoulder, watching the Hunter and Maryam with dark, cautious eyes.

“I want to stay.” He mumbled, fingers running through Tabitha’s thick fur. “I have no home there.”

“Alright. Tabitha, the boy will need more than meat to grow. I can bring you what fruit or bread he may need.” Maryam smiled when her sister huffed in response, agreement in the wolf’s calm body language. “We should return before daylight - the villagers are too paranoid to trust.”

“They were just trying to protect themselves. But you’re right; listening to one’s instincts does not guarantee a proper response. Fear is the enemy of reason.”

“You sound too wise for such a young creature.” Maryam laughed, shaking her head. “I take it we’re not your first pack you’ve had to wrangle?”

“I’m a Hunter.” They flashed a fanged grin at the werewolf woman. “You’re far from the first, and you won’t be the last.”

Edit: Donate to Palestinians in Gaza

“Noble monster hunter! Thank goodness you’re here! We’ve had to sacrifice a villager to this werewolf each month to keep it at bay!” “That is quite possibly the worst course of action your village could take.”

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC My Brother in the Mirror

Damian doesn't like mirrors.

He never mentioned the fact to other members of the family, but they are detectives and vigilantes, it's their job to be observant. Which, after so many years, becomes a habit.

Damian doesn't actively avoid the mirrors - he has a mirror in his bathroom, he didn't express any discomfort over going into a mirror labyrinth at some carnival they've attended (he expressed disgust over taking part in something so stupid, in his words, but that's a whole another story), and he actually spent a few minutes in front of the funhouse mirrors when no one was looking, watching his own reflection distort in various ways. He also has no problems with his self-image - he doesn't mind pictures of him taken at any time (unless it's Tim, but that's, again, a whole another story), he's drawn a few self-portraits that were rather accurate and he liked them.

He just doesn't like mirrors. For some reason.

His family, both close and extended, never questioned it. They did some gentle research to see if the dislike was caused by some kind of problem Damian was experiencing without telling anyone, but when they found no proof of that, they've just decided it was some quirk of his. Everyone has quirks. Dick doesn't like eating cereal like a normal person, Tim despises sleep, Steph is at war with any color other than purple.

That is, until one day, Tim witnesses Damian sitting in front of a mirror.

He is not even aware of it - the whole family is having a game night, and through some arguments and rearrangements on the couch, Damian ends up sitting on the left side of it, where his back is turned to one of the three mirrors in the room. Tim, who's lost the last round, is slumping in an armchair nearby, pointedly looking away from the screen where Damian and Jason are enthusiastically competing over the first place in Mario Cart. Of course, Tim can't just not watch it since he needs to know their strategies. But turning back around would also be admitting defeat.

The solution? Easy, watch the screen through the mirror.

Which is when he notices it.

Damian in the mirror doesn't act the same as Damian in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see the real Damian moving around, shoving Jason with his elbow, fully concentrated on the game, and yelling something. Damian-in-the-mirror is sitting unnaturally still, the back of his head over the couch unmoving.

Tim forgets all about the game when Damian's reflection starts to turn around. Slowly and carefully, eerie in the way the horror movies are, the boy in the mirror turns his head around like an owl, his neck twisting inhumanely.

His eyes are green. Green like the toxic waste, like Jason's madness, like acid in cartoons, like the Waters of Lazarus.

Damian in the mirror smiles, his unblinking, gliwing eyes fixed on Tim, and his teeth are sharp and pointy, and there are too many of them, humans can't smile this wide.

"-im? Tim!" A hand nudges him in the shoulder, and Tim looks away from the mirror, finding Dick standing over him. The noise of the game room returns all at once, and, wait, when did it become quiet for Tim?.. He must have a strange expression on his face because Dick's easy smile falls slightly, and he frowns, "Is everything okay?"

Tim looks back to the mirror, but the green-eyed boy in the mirror is gone, and the mirror only reflects Damian as he is: sitting on the couch.

"Yeah," Tim shakes his head and forces a smile on his lips, "I just zoned out."

"Okay," Dick pats him on the shoulder and gives him the controller, "It's your turn now."

Tim takes the controller and turns around, facing the screen. Tim throws a quick glance at Damian, who had slid down on the couch so his head would not be in the reflection anymore. Tim sees the cold, warning hint to his eye, a clear do not speak of it message.

Tim doesn't like that the mirror is now behind him.

[whump-in-the-closet]

idk something about a character in a bar fight pausing for air and pushing their hair back, knuckles bloodied, before ducking a blow is making me scream

[nobigsecrets]

Bucktommy number 48 for the kisses prompt please!

48. …out of habit.

When they kiss again, it happens out of habit. Muscle memory, if you will.

It's been at least a month since Bobby's funeral, Tommy thinks. It could be four weeks or maybe five, he's not sure. It doesn't matter.

They've been living in some sort of limbo ever since, though. Ever since he took Evan home after that fateful night at the lab. He'd meant to make sure Evan would be safe, if not mentally then at least physically. He'd meant to tuck Evan into bed, maybe wait until he'd fallen asleep and then silently leave. But Evan had grabbed his arm, had all but clung to it, had looked at Tommy with red-rimmed eyes and whispered a broken, barely audible, "Stay. Please."

So Tommy had stayed.

Had lain in bed next to Evan, fully clothed, holding his hand.

Had been so full of his own grief that nothing felt real anymore.

Had stayed more nights at Evan's place then his own.

Had kept his distance as best as he could while still trying to be there for Evan as much as needed.

They haven't talked.

At first, they didn't talk at all, words failing both of them after what had happened. Then the funeral came closer and talking got a little easier. Organizational stuff at first. Reaching out to the other 118ers. Sharing memories and stories of Bobby, too, eventually.

Their first shifts after came and went and neither did Tommy offer to leave nor did Evan ask him to go.

Living together feels more comfortable than it should. Grief is still thick in the air and maybe that is why there's no room for the awkwardness that, realistically, should be expected. The irony isn't lost on Tommy that it was Evan's question to move in together that had broken them up initially.

Technically, they're still broken up yet here they are. Cooking dinner together. Eating together. Doing the dishes together. Spending the evening together on the couch, maybe not sitting as close to each other as they used to, but close enough that Tommy can feel the warmth radiating off of Evan.

Tommy's got a basketball game on on the TV and Evan's got his legs propped up on the coffee table, computer on his lap, researching--Tommy squints--the moon of all things and that's new. That he's taking interest again, that he's sharing random facts with Tommy again. It's still a long way to alright for both of them but Tommy sees the old glint flicker back into Evan's eyes when he starts yapping at him about tidal forces and how they're causing earthquakes on the moon, "they're actually called moonquakes, Tommy, how cool is that?" and Tommy knows they're on the right track.

It's a few minutes later, Tommy has just focused his attention back on the game that Evan scoots closer, holding his computer so that Tommy can look at the screen, too.

"Found some footage of the moon quaking," he says excitedly, leaning in and Tommy suddenly finds himself caught up in Evan's touch, his warmth, his smell in a way he hasn't allowed himself to notice... since. He soaks it all up greedily, all but ignoring the video playing on the computer screen and brings his arm around Evan's shoulder without thinking about it.

Evan immediately tilts even closer towards Tommy, like he's on autopilot, too, and they still fit together so perfectly. The video ends and Evan looks at Tommy expectantly--and then their eyes lock for a second and Tommy can't tell who leans in first but then they're kissing and it feels exciting like their first kiss and familiar like they never stopped doing this at the same time.

Tommy could get lost in the feeling of Evan's soft lips against his own but much too soon it's Evan who pulls back. Their eyes meet again and Tommy can't, for the life of him, decipher Evan's expression. He feels panic claw at his heart and he starts, "I didn't mean to--" without knowing how to finish that sentence.

Evan shoves his computer onto the coffee table without looking, something clatters to the floor but it doesn't matter because then he turns and cups Tommy's face between both his hands and kisses him again.

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

[quadrantadvisor]

DPxDC Danny/Jason Soulmates AU WIP

-

Jason's timer read 044389:21:08, when the display suddenly went dark. 44,389 hours. Five years, 24 days, 13 hours, 21 minutes, and 8 seconds until he was fated to meet his soulmate.

Or not. Because the time stopped.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He did his research, and with the resources at his disposal (namely, a batcomputer,) he knew for a fact that there should be no way to defy the fate of a timer. People had tried. Avoidance, isolation, putting a hit out on your own suspected soulmate. Nothing worked. Trying to delay the inevitable put you on the path to meet it. Sure, there were people who lamented the unfairness of their own situation, who were devastated they never got time with their soulmate, famous deaths on opposite sides of a battle, etc. But soulmates always, always met eachother, face to face.

Not him, though. His soulmate was dead. Five years early.

Bruce didn’t get it. Dick wouldn’t talk about it. Alfred only looked at him with pity in his eyes.

Jason wasn’t sad that he was the only person on the planet who’d never meet his soulmate. He was fucking angry, because it wasn’t fucking fair. It was another person in his life who was supposed to care about him that he’d never get to have.

So when he found out he had a mom, somewhere out there, who he’d never had the chance to meet… he had to go. How could he not?

-

It was Sam who noticed, when it happened. Danny had just finished a stupid fight with Boxy, and he, Sam, and Tucker were finally ready to call it a night. Danny de-transformed and grinned, shaking the thermos proudly. “Gonna get these guys back into the Ghost Zone,” he said, when suddenly-

“Danny!” Sam yelped, and snatched at his arm.

Danny stumbled, nearly dropping his precious cargo. “Whoa, Sam, what-?’ he stopped, looking as she turned over his arm, baring his wrist.

His timer was dark, like people who’s soulmates were dead. The numbers still showed, faintly, but they were stationary. The countdown had stopped.

Ice spread through Danny’s veins, like the cold that rushed through him when he went ghost, but worse, so much worse.

Danny’s ghost form didn’t have a timer, which honestly freaked him out, but as a human it had always behaved completely normally. When he turned back, it would be there, the time having elapsed just the way it was supposed to. It had been so reassuring. He was alive. He’d make it at least five more years, and be able to meet his soulmate, who would hopefully be able to accept him the way he was. He wanted that so badly. He wanted someone beyond his friends to talk to, to know him as a person and a ghost. He wanted to not be afraid anymore.

He’d just passed the five year mark, not that long ago. He’d been so excited to be that much closer to someone so important.

And now something was horribly wrong.

“Dude, that’s jacked up,” Tucker said, noticing the problem with wide eyes.

“Did anything happen today?” Sam asked, her expression hardened with determination. “Did you notice anything weird while you were transformed?”

Danny shook his head. “No, no it- it was running while we were at school, and we’ve been fighting ghosts since then. I don’t know when it would’ve…” Danny could barely make himself speak. “Is it my fault?” he said, almost to himself. “Did I spend too much time as a ghost and it just-”

Sam gripped at his hand. “No, Danny, it isn’t your fault. Whatever the problem is, we’re going to figure it out, okay?”

“Yeah man,” Tucker added, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, maybe your parents can actually help this time? Weird magic science is kinda their thing, right?”

Sam looked less sure, but nodded all the same. “You’re going to meet your soulmate. Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said, quiet, looking down at the stopped numbers on his wrist.

-

Edit: Added a readmore

[isasweetie]

so deadass this would NEVER happen but like could you ever see the boys (topper, rafe, kelce) getting high and horny so rafe let's them fuck u .. (in like s1)

hi screaming.

rafe is always stupidly possessive. it’s not his fault, you’re always getting attention from boys, and seemingly making no effort to stop it. even when his own friends flirt with you, you just bat your eyelashes and let it happen.

his friends aren’t subtle about liking you either. like tonight, for instance. rafe, topper, kelce, and you are all sitting on the outdoor couch on the porch. the boys are all snorting lines of rafe’s coke. there’s also a bong being passed around, and empty beer bottles on the ground. you’re taking hits off of toppers blunt, and of course he doesn’t mind that your lips touch where his were, that your lipgloss leaves a mark on the blunt.

when you leave to get another drink, the guys instantly huddle up to rafe.

they’re not trying to hide it, nor give rafe any lead up, as topper instantly says, “so you gonna let us hit or not?” silence follows.

rafe’s not mad when he’s deep in your ass, abusing it as he praises you, a wreck underneath him. but what he is mad about is the fact that topper is thrusting in your cunt, a part of you he assumed was meant only for him — yet you’re not fighting it. rafe’s too high to think too much of it, he was the one who said yes to this, anyway. kelce was the lucky man to get a blowjob from you, until three dicks inside you seemed like too much, so he took a break and is now simply jerking off.

your boyfriend isn’t a man who would give you up for anything — he’d rather die than let top and kelce fuck you by themselves, without him. so he’s always making sure to be a staple inside one of your holes, always making sure you’re not screaming topper or kelce’s name as they alternate inside of you. rafe’s in denial, as if they’re simple sex toys to amplify the experience.

“yeeeah, you like that, huh?” topper would ask while you’re screaming.

“mhm!!” is all you can get out.

“hey, dude, don’t talk to her like that,” rafe grunts, ever so possessive.

if you dared to utter something like, “oooh, feels so good, kelce!” rafe would manhandle kelce off of you.

there are white lines along your curved back, whoever man is not inside of you would be getting even more wasted and high until it was their turn.

the night ends with all the boys knocked out after the coke and exhaustion from going too hard. your lipgloss and finish is all over the three boys, it’s hard to tell which is which. you’re all sweaty, them especially. you’re back on rafe’s chest right where you belong.

“hey, baby,” rafe mutters when the boys are asleep.

“hm?”

“that satisfy your craving yet?”

you giggle sleepily. “not yet. maybe after a few more rounds?”

he scoffs. “crazy girl.”