#constantine slash

[killingdoll]

Six times Ray did the tie for John and one time John did for Ray

New chapter updated

#arrowverse #atomblazer #hellatom #john constantine #ray palmer #bisexual ray palmer #ray palmer/john constantine #john x ray #slash fanfic #ao3 #legends of tomorrow #lot

[shewhowillrise]

DC x DP Prompt

“So as the reasons stated, Anti ECTO Acts are not only harmful as a back door into the security of the Meta Protection Acts, it’s bordering on species destruction. I’m appalled this has passed right under our noses.”

Batman’s spirited (eh) speech from earlier kept digging at a nerve in Constantine’s mind.

“You seem pensive, are you alright?” Think of the devil, and he appears with his dorky pointing ears in tow.

“What? Yeah,” Constantine started, “I’m just surprised is all. What with your son being an ecto being, thought this sorta stuff would be on your radar.”

He shrugged as he went to leave, but was stopped by a winged gauntlet, “my son?”

“Yeah,” Constantine said, “the bloke with the red mask. I mean, it’s obvious, what with the fact he needs to kill and consume souls just to stay whole and sane.”

Batman’s mouth turned thin, “explain.”

Constantine snorted before sobering, “oh you’re serious.” He got the patented hng in response.

“You’re son’s a revenant, at least without a proper magical check up to make sure. That’s the typical prognosis when a person comes back from the dead after mur-”

“What,” Batman interrupted, “is a revenant?”

“An ecto being that needs to feed on souls to stay alive, or their demise avenged. Basically, their soul is unbalanced, due to the fact that when they came back, only their rage does. To get all the other emotions, they must,” he makes a slashing motion across his neck, “others to get those emotions from. Or, who ever killed them is offed by the person of their choosing. Well,” he thinks for a second, “it’s not a conscious choice but someone their soul chooses. Once the original perp is dead, the rage will rest, which lets in all the other emotions to stay.”

Batman huffed.

“Honestly surprised that the clown’s still alive. The amount of theatrics your son contains, I bet whoever his soul chose, got quite the show.”

#Jason Todd #john constantine #bruce wayne #Batman #batpham #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt

[torscrawls]

Royal Hot Potato

Summary:

The Justice League tries to summon the Ruler of the Infinite Realms to help them with a ghost problem. They expected Pariah Dark and were ready to do whatever they could to get him to agree to their terms. What they didn’t expect were two teenagers who juggled the title of Ruler of the Infinite Realms like a hot potato while snarking all the while.

Maybe Pariah dark would have been the better alternative.

Words: 2 958

Can be read on AO3!

-

The Justice League was going to fight fire with fire.

Their own efforts in stopping the enormous ghost masquerading as a storm hadn’t been very successful and after countless failed attempts at fighting it they had arrived at the conclusion that they needed to bring in an expert. Someone with a similar skill set. Someone who could at least touch the enemy that had arrived out of nowhere and were currently wrecking city after city and leaving devastation in its wake.

Or, more accurately; John and Zatanna had finally managed to get through to them that this wasn’t a problem they could simply punch their way through, like they usually did. He wasn’t bitter about it. Of course not.

Sadly the Justice League didn’t know of any ghost that was both powerful enough to stop the one currently going berserk on Earth and friendly. And even if he hated to admit it, neither did John. So they went with the next best thing; a ghost that they knew was powerful enough and that they could hope to manipulate. At least somewhat.

They were desperate, okay? And if it was one thing that John was sure of it was that Pariah Dark was very proud and didn't back down from a fight.

A fact they were banking on.

Hopefully they would be able to get their message across and convince him before he killed them all. Which was, admittedly, very unlikely.

John had finished drawing up the summoning circle on the floor in one of the meeting rooms of the Watchtower, the chalk and symbols looking ridiculously out of place in the very modern and otherwise clean room.

He sent the other two people in the room a quick look. Red Robin was studying the circle as if he was trying to memorize it—for all that John knew, he might actually be able to do it, the bats were all horribly smart like that—and Batman himself who was busying himself with the room’s only computer.

The grouch was no doubt keeping tabs on the ongoing fight slash evacuation going on down on earth and if Zatanna’s attempt to distract the ghost with her own weather-magic was still working. Considering the lack of demands to immediately go back down to Earth, John guessed that it was.

Which was good. John really didn’t want to have to do this by himself.

Still, it was only a matter of time before the ghost got tired of the distraction and went back to destroying, so this crazy idea better work.

After another beat of silence John shrugged and decided that there was no reason to delay their very probable, very imminent, death any further. So he crouched by the circle, put his hands on it, and said, “Let’s get this party started, then.”

It didn’t take long for Constantine to realize that something was wrong.

The summoning circle was struggling like a bucking horse under his hands and John almost bit through his cigarette as he redoubled his efforts. Either he had gotten something very wrong with the circle—unlikely—or something was very wrong on the other end of the summoning—not impossible—or, Pariah Dark must be even stronger than they had thought. Which would be bad. Very bad.

But John didn’t have time to warn the others before a pool of poisonous green spread across the floor, swallowing up the circle and lapping at John’s shoes before he took a couple of stumbling steps backwards.

From the depths of the eerie liquid rose a tangle of flailing limbs and twisting flesh. Of white hair and black cloth and pale skin and piercing green.

Then came the sound; warbled voices screaming and hissing and shouting and growling. The pitch rising and falling and setting his teeth on edge as the unholy sound took root in his sternum. Reverberated in his bones. Pulsed behind his eyes.

…Was this the Ruler of the Infinite Realms? This twisted mess of limbs and sounds? No wonder the summoning came with so many warnings. John had never before been scared of a ghost, but this, this was truly a horrifying—

Maybe this had been a terrible mistake. They already had one overwhelmingly strong ghost to deal with, why had they thought they needed another?

“John Constantine,” the being said with overlapping voices drenched in static and John took another shaky step back as he felt himself pale. “I've come for your soul.”

This was bad. Real bad. He was also fairly certain that he had no memories of selling his soul to whatever this thing was. And  whatever it was, it wasn’t Pariah Dark, which meant that their plan would fail.

Then the thing on the ground broke into sudden, pealing, laughter and when it spoke again it was with a much more human, albeit still echoing, voice, “I’ve always wanted to say that!”

…What?

Red Robin turned his pale face towards John and hesitantly asked, “A buddy of yours?”

“Fuck no.” At least he didn’t think so. Sometimes it was hard to keep track of all the different ways some of the creatures he knew could manifest.

John turned back to the ungodly abomination still on the floor of the meeting room. “Who are you? What are you? Why do you know my name?” 

Another laugh. “You’re famous!”

Then a distinctly separate voice from the first groaned and said, “And have generated a ridiculous amount of paperwork. Thanks for that.”

This was followed by the pile of twisting limbs separating, splitting in the middle and ending with two… Two kids.

That was when the pile of twisting limbs separated into two separate beings. Two kids. Both of them dressed similarly in black and white cloth, both of them with stark white hair and glowing green eyes. Both of them very much ghosts. The only real difference was that one looked to be a boy and one looked to be a girl.

The boy of the pair sprang to his feet and looked from Red Robin to Batman with sparkling eyes as he gushed, “Oooh! You guys are the bats!”

“And neither of you are Pariah Dark,” John deadpanned.

The girl didn’t so much jump to her feet as she levitated into something resembling a standing position as she wrinkled her nose. “No. That old man sucked. Don’t compare us to that maniac, thank you. He’s not in the picture anymore. I’m Dani!” She smiled and gestured to the boy, “And that’s Danny with a Y!”

John blinked. There was only one way that ghost titles changed hands, only one way that succession worked. “Not in the—Did you defeat him?”

That was… unthinkable. Terrifying. Pariah Dark was next to invincible, one of the strongest beings in existence. After all, that was why they had turned to him in the first place. The thought that he had been bested in any way was…

The boy—Danny apparently—shrugged. “Well, kinda? It was a group effort.”

“... Fuck me,” John breathed out as the dots connected, “You're the new Ruler.”

Danny looked uncomfortable. “No. Or, yes. It's complicated.”

John turned his gaze to Dani. “So then you’re the ruler?”

One of them had to be. The summoning had been very specific on that detail, even if he would have to study it later to see how it had managed to summon two beings instead of one.

She looked taken aback but before she could respond, Danny suddenly punched her in the arm. Instead of looking angry at the seemingly unprovoked attack, she grinned. “No, I’m not.”

John frowned. Maybe he had been wrong in his assumptions, but then why would the summoning circle have brought these two here? “So none of you are the king?”

Dani smiled, and it was too broad. Too teasing. “No, one of us is.” 

John turned back to Danny again with narrowed eyes. “So then you are the king?” 

“Yes,” he agreed with a nod, but the glint in the boy’s eyes made John suspicious.

Enough so that he turned back to Dani and asked, “Alright. Then you're not.”

She leaned over and smacked Danny over the head and smiled as the boy cursed before innocently looking at John and saying, “No, I am.” 

John threw his hands in the air. “Whatever, I give up.” 

They both nodded in eerie synchronization. “That's probably for the best.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Red Robin asked in clear confusion, “You’re not gonna kill us?”

“Why would we want that?” Dani asked.

Danny snorted and waved him off as he added, “Yeah, we have enough idiots to look after as it is.”

Red Robin blinked. “Thanks?”

Batman, who had somehow made his way over from the computer without making a sound, cut in with a gruff, “We don’t have time for this. We need your help to fight a world-ending threat and—”

Danny cut him off with a groan as he looked to the ceiling. “Seriously?? This again?”

Dani crossed her arms with an equally exasperated expression on her face. “Didn't we get a case like this just last week?? We should make sure we get paid overtime! This is getting ridiculous.”

“Yeah!” Danny agreed, both of them completely unaware of the tightening of Batman’s jaw at getting interrupted. John and red Robin both took a small step away from their seething colleague as Danny obliviously continued,  “You would think that people would learn, but noooo, let's mess with the highly dangerous—” 

John cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t making a big mistake in chastising the unknown—possibly royal—beings in front of him. But no one had ever accused him of being too respectful and they were in a hurry. “For fucks sake, back to topic!”

Dani turned to Constantine with an accusing, “I thought you would be more fun, man! The reports made it sound like you were a disaster.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint?” Even if he really was a disaster, these two didn’t need to know that.

He received a deep sigh. “It’s fine.”

Thankfully, Batman stepped in at this point, saving John from having to come up with something to say to that. “So, can either of you help?” 

The two ghosts shared a silent look before Danny suddenly screamed, “Not it!” at the same time as Dani exclaimed, “Dibs, not it!”

Danny laughed. “I said it first!” 

“Did not!”

“You mean you won?” Danny asked as he raised a challenging eyebrow.

“That’s unfair!” Dani complained.

What the fuck were they talking about now??

Red Robin turned to Constantine. “Is this really our best shot? This feels like a mistake.” 

Danny snickered. “A grave mistake?”

“That was a good pun,” Dani nodded seriously before a mischievous grin spread across her face. “You win.”

“Fuck!”

John had to agree. This had been a mistake. This was so much worse than anything Pariah Dark could have done.

Batman seemed to be nearing the end of his rope as he growled out, “We don’t have time for this.”

“Right. Sorry,” Danny said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “The ghost you’re having trouble with is Vortex, right? It feels like Vortex.” He smacked his lips. “You know, like licking the back of a vacuum cleaner?”

Dani nodded her agreement to that insane statement.

Batman frowned as he asked, “Vortex?” John had to commend him for his ability to stay on topic.

“Big cyclone stormy guy?” Danny said. “Looks like the result if the Hulk fucked a tornado?”

Red Robin nodded as if that made sense. “That’s him, alright.”

Dani punched a fist in her palm as a predatory smile crept over her face. “It’s been a while since I went a round with old Vorty.”

“Don’t call him that,” Danny complained with a grimace.

“Whatever. I think it’s my turn in the washing machine. Besides, I promised to kick his ass next time we met.”

Danny crossed his arms and tilted his head back in an exaggerated show of arrogance. “Well, last I recall I was the ruler of the Infinite Realms, peasant. Grovel before me!”

“My liege,” Dani said as she bent in half in an exaggerated bow and then promptly punched Danny in the arm before giving a cackling laugh. “Unlimited power! Aaah, I love the taste of revolution in the morning!”

Danny immediately bent in his own bow. “My liege.” Then promptly punched her in the stomach.

Dani bowed, “My liege.” Then punched him.

“My liege.” Bow then punch.

Red Robin watched the whole thing as if it was a tennis match and Batman looked more murderous by the second. John just groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Please stop.”

They both broke down laughing, leaning on each other for support.

Red Robin crossed his arms with an incredulous look on his face. “Are you seriously playing hot potato with the throne?”

Dani shrugged as she straightened back up, wiping the corner of her eye. “Take it up with the Ruler if you don't like it.”

Red Robin exasperatedly said, “You are the-“

“Not anymore, sucker!” She interrupted him with another laugh.

John was decidedly not drunk enough for this, so he put on his most serious expression and said, “It can’t possibly be that easy to take the throne of the whole Infinite Realms.”

It just couldn't. That would be… Worrying, to say the least. But these two had somehow managed to topple Pariah Dark so really, maybe it wasn’t that easy after all.

Danny gave a barking laugh. “You would think that, wouldn't you? We used to think the same thing! You are more than welcome to join us in our protest to the Observants.”

John flinched. He didn't want anything to do with them and he felt a grudging inkling of respect for the two tykes in front of him; anyone who stood up against the insufferable eyeballs were good in his books.

Dani snorted and cut in, “Yeah, and as if you don't shirk your duties every chance you get. We’ve heard the stories and seen the reports. And complaints. Ancients, the complaints…" she trailed off with a haunted look in her eyes. 

John took it all back. They didn’t deserve any respect. “At least I don't put a whole realm in danger by doing so.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You interested in taking over?”

“Fuck no.”

Batman stepped in with a no-nonsense, “So you're both the ruler?” 

They exchanged a quick glance, grinned, and spoke in tandem while nodding, “Both. Both. Both is good.”

Red Robin burst into laughter before asking, “Like a shared custody situation?” He seemed to be much more at easy now that the three of them hadn’t been horribly murdered.

Danny finger gunned him. “Exactly.”

No wonder the summoning circle had had a hard time with bringing the Ruler here if they essentially shared the title. John guessed that the mess of tangled limbs that had first arrived in the Watchtower was the circle essentially giving up and just spitting out both of them. He guessed that also explained the cursing and screams in the beginning. Luckily for all of them, ghosts were very malleable.

Dani tapped her chin in thought. “I think it’s more like a disease. Or!” she raised a finger as if she’d just had an epiphany, “Like a live bomb. I don’t wanna hold it when it inevitably blows up, you know?”

“Hey! So you give it to me?!” Danny asked with outrage in his voice that didn’t even manage to convince John, much less Dani who simply stuck her tongue out at him.

“Alright, sure. Whatever,” John waved them off. God, he hated teenagers. They were worse than all the demons of hell combined. “Then you can both take care of this bullshit. You can each defeat half of him if that makes you feel better.”

Dani pretended to swoon. “Oh nooo, you've defeated us with your logic! Here take the—” 

“Don't. Even. Think about it,” John bit out.

Danny snickered as Dani pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“Please, let’s get back on topic,” Batman said, and John didn’t think he imagined the exasperation in his voice, “Can you— both of you—defeat this… Vortex?”

“Hmmm,” Danny hummed before turning to Dani with a smile. “Tag team?”

“Sure! I’ve been wanting to show you my new sonic attack.”

Danny looked delighted. “Oh! When did you learn that?” he asked as he started flying towards one of the walls with Dani following behind.

“Just last week. I went to this supercool concert and when I tried to join in the whole arena—”

Red Robin called after them, “Do you know where he is? I could point it out on a map?”

Dani turned in the air to give him a deadpan look. “He’s a giant storm.”

“That’s fair.”

“Anyway, as I was saying. You wouldn’t believe the noise those big speakers can make if—”

And that was when they flew right through the wall leading out from the Watchtower and into space, towards Earth, leaving the three of them in sudden silence.

Until Red Robin broke it with an incredulous, “This was so not what I was expecting when you said we were summoning the Ruler of the Dead.”

John couldn't help but agree. He hadn't expected this either.

Batman gruffly asked, “Are we sure about this?”

John fished out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a practiced flick of his lighter. “Honestly? I wouldn't worry about Vortex. I don't think he’s going to be a problem anymore. You might want to prepare yourself for what comes after, though. I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them.”

#dp x dc #dp #danny phantom #dp fic #danny phantom fic #dp fanfic #phic #danielle phantom #my writing

[thatthirdtriplet]

Relationships:

Batfamily Members & Alfred Pennyworth Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson Martha Wayne/Thomas Wayne Bruce Wayne & Martha Wayne & Thomas Wayne Janet Drake/Jack Drake John Constantine/Zatanna Zatara

Characters:

Tim Drake Cassandra Cain Bruce Wayne Jason Todd Dick Grayson duke Thomas Damian Wayne Alfred Pennyworth Stephanie Brown Barbara Gordon Jim Gordon Jack Drake Janet Drake Ra's al Ghul Leslie Tompkins prudence Wood Zeddmore WashingtonOwens (DCU) David Cain original Characters John Constantine Zatanna ZataraKent Nelson Harvey Dent Edward Nygma Roman Sionis The Joker Hal Jordan (Green Lantern) J'onn J'onzz

Additional Tags:

BAMF Tim Drake BAMF Batfamily (DCU) BAMF Alfred Pennyworth I don't write slash or incest fanfiction so if that's your thing this is not for you alternate Universe - Time Travel possession mild Language implied Sexual Content Dark Character Implied/Referenced Character Death BAMF Cassandra Cain

Summary:

Tim and Cass must journey into the past to save the future. The rest of their family must battle a present evil that seeks to destroy everything. They all learn there is much more to their lives than they ever imagined.

#tim drake #cassandra cain #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #damian wayne #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #stephanie brown #barbra gordon #jim gordon #janet drake #jack drake #leslie thompkins #prudence wood #owens dcu #zeddmore washington #hal jordan #j’onn j’onzz #zatanna #john constantine #david cain #the joker #ras al ghul #harvey dent #edward nygma #roman sionis #kent nelson #Time's Arrows

[crowswithize]

Random DP Xover Interactions 1:

Characters: Frostbite and John Constantine inspired by a FranticFanfic round made with @gremlin-bot and @queensilver

London days might bring a shiver to those unfamiliar, far-from-home tourists who wandered themselves to the cobbled streets. John Constantine found himself staring at the shaking tourists with learned disdain before remembering the task at hand.

For even on frequent cold days, there shouldn't be a blizzard during the summer.

He stifles his cigarette on a nearby tree as he approaches a hulking figure in front of him. Most people would have turned and fled upon seeing the massive, white-furred creature standing in front of them, but not John. With reluctance in his step, he approached the hulking figure, ready to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of the bloody mess that lay before him.

"Humans should not smoke," the figure says, a natural gruffness in his voice. Their ice hand, so transparent you could see bone, crackled as it configured into a point.

"And it shouldn't be a winter wonderland in June, now should it?" John snarks back, waving a hand as if introducing the beast to the white blankets.

The yeti softens just a little, for whatever unfathomable reason.

"Now are you the chap that decided 'wouldn't it be a great idea to freeze everybody's tits off'?"

John manifests a fireball for a bit of flare. To add to the insanity, the yeti once again stares fondly. Honestly, what sort of magical creature is this, to listen to threats as if to listen to a baby's coo?

"Not I, dear, wizard," the yeti announces and his very voice chills the air more. "A subject of my zone has crossed into this mortal realm to seek havoc on those who once vilified us."

A part of John froze. The terminology used here has implications, you see. The blueish glow of the yeti and the use of mortals, as if they were not of this realm at all. A once-over, imbued with magical sight, confirms all Constantine feared. Somehow, someway, he's dealing with the ghost of a yeti hailing from the Infinite Realms. Not only that but a leader of a zone too.

"Ah," he replied intellectually. "So one of yours decided to go full Jack Frost on London, huh?"

"That is indeed right, wizard."

"Ain't a wizard, yeti. A detective is what-," the wind cuts him off briefly, another chilling gust accompanied by the roaring sound.

"-I am," he finishes lamely.

The yeti looks over the man's shoulder, eyesight somehow locking onto the noise.

"A detective, then. May I have your name?"

"John Constantine. And you, big fella?" He makes a turn, trying to find where the yeti is looking at. As exhausting as it sounds, he'll most likely have to work with him. Infinite Realm ghosts were tricky business after all.

"Frostbite, Leader of the Realm of the Far Frozen," he says with a great amount of pride.

Within a second, the cigarette John holds lights and he takes a long drag.

"Well, Frosty, I hope you don't mind portals because we're going into that blizzard now." He slashes his lit cig in the air, leaving a trail of red that opens up into a full-sized gateway.

He stares back at the Frostbite and really thinks the beastie's insane. A wide, toothy smile and a burst of boisterous laughter escape him as he gives a hefty pat on John's back. With that, he skids forward through the portal to face the next disaster he has to deal with.

#john constantine #frostbite danny phantom #frostbite #thought it would interesting for these two to meet #dannyphantom #danny phantom #my writing #first meeting #new account new me #dc x dp #dp x dc #cw smoking

[tgrailwar-zero]

Choosing to leave the city, you found yourself on the outskirts rejoined by MUSASHI and NERO.

The first to report was MUSASHI.

MUSASHI: "I learned pretty nasty news. Apparently, after the Red Faction occupied the Hamlet and the Coast, a bunch more Attack Programs started showing up on the borders. Also… rumor has it that there was a massive fight between Saber and Caster on the border of Sunbeam Row and the Gossamer Coast that even the Priestess Aria needed to get involved in. The Red Team is in the middle of a schism, and the Blue Team has been scattered to the winds and-slash-or killed… I'm guessing that the Grail War is over, and something else is bubbling to the surface. We should stay vigilant. Maybe question any Servants we run into."

MUSASHI: "Oh, and I got materials for camp. I'll start setting up everything while Nero hands over her doohickey."

You saw that she seemed to be limping a bit. She probably got a bit hurt while she was out gathering information…

Regardless, she wandered off and NERO put her hands on her hips, scoffing before pulling out what seemed to be twin, attached flutes.

NERO: "It's not a 'doohickey', it's an Aulos. Blow into it, and it will restore some of the magic of a Servant. It's power is rather limited. It needs time to recharge, but it can be recharged quickly once with an exceptional display of artistic talent!"

[ You received: Mana-Granting Aulos! ]

And with that, she also went to join MUSASHI in setting up the camp. Or at least, watching everyone else do the heavy lifting.

After a while, it seemed like everything got set up without a hitch, and your Servants seemed to make themselves comfortable for the night.

The furthest from the camp in comparison to your other was AVENGER, having joined at some point between now and when the camp was first established, who simply seemed to be staring up at the moon, his brow furrowed in what looked like deep, yet troubled, thought. Then, he pulled out his blade and tapped it like a conductors baton, before spreading his arms wide.

Ghostly forms seemed to appear before and around him, swirling in a slow waltz as the deep sound of music and song slowly began reverberating from the hallowed spirits.

Beautiful, sweeping orchestral music filled the air. A slow, careful hymn that held such deep emotion, carried through by the ghostly wraiths that had been summoned earlier in the day to do battle. Chillingly beautiful chants caused the already chilled air to grow colder. You weren't sure if this was a spell, a curse, or simply music infused with whatever magic was naturally tied to the arts.

For a moment, all of your Servants had stopped what they were doing to see where the music had come from. Their attention grabbed, enraptured for a moment as the ghostly performance continued. It was short, only lasting a few minutes as the camp sat and listened before it ended and the sounds of the night slowly crept back in. And as night slipped in, you saw that your Servants seemed to fall back into their own routines.

AVENGER, finished with his performance, seemed a bit dissatisfied. He sat, sighing wearily as the ghostly apparitions faded into darkness and he stared out into nothingness.

Standing a few paces away was CONSTANTINE, who had been the most enraptured by the performance, arms crossed a bit awkwardly as he seemed to be in the middle of wanting to approach and not wanting to disturb... ultimately settling on the later as he turned back and walked into one of the tents. -

A dreamlike haze... the transition from one day to the next...

-

When you regroup, you'll be able to spend extra time with Servants in camp before you decide where to go next. Use this time to chat with Servants, go over information, or just take a breather!

Talking with Servants around camp is just conversational, and doesn't require any polls (as long as they're available). Send in asks and messages as usual! However, your choice on what to do with your extra time during the camp period is defined with a week-long poll, and may net extra items, skills, or just bring you closer to one of your Servants. Remember- There's no 'right answer' to spending some extra time with your Servants!

Once the week-long poll is over, then you will continue forth on your journey!

-

#thgw story #main post #thgw: chapter 5

[scribe-of-maat]

Ranking DC Pride 2023

9. Love’s Lightning Heart (???, ???)

Starring The Flashlight and The Flash, I think? When he called the dude “Ray” in the beginning I thought it was gonna be The Ray, you know? This only scores so low because I’m not at ALL familiar with anything Multiversity and this story especially seemed to be absolutely thick with that corner of DC lore. I get there’s a Parallax type of thing happening but... this was kind of hard to follow for a payoff that’s pretty lukewarm if you’re not well-versed in who this story’s about.

8. My Best Bet (Jon Kent/Superman, John Constantine

This is hit especially hard in my ranking because it’s the last story in the book and the only thing DC Pride about it is that it stars two Bs. They’re popular queer characters but I’m here for stories that are specifically ABOUT LGBT stuff, not about LGBT people doing stuff. There’s nothing to really talk about here.

7. Found (Xanthe Zhou, Batwoman/Kate Kane)

I’ve been meaning to read Spirit World, and since I hadn’t gotten around to it Xanthe being LGBT was a surprise to me, but not as much as Kate Kane showing up was. It feels like someone threw a dartboard at WLW women and plopped in whoever came up, cuz I guarantee if I flip the newest Batwoman issue open to a random page she’ll have a girlfriend-slash-situationship that won’t be too happy about her seeming receptive to some flirting. But hey, I like Xanthe more now so there’s give-and-take.

6. And Baby Makes Three (Xiomara Rojas/Crush, Harleen Quinzel/Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley/Poison Ivy)

I like Crush. I can’t claim to have read much of her, because for now that means enduring way too much Damian Wayne, but she seems like an incredibly interesting character. But I could not tell you why she’s here with Harley and Ivy. This, moreso than anything else, has a less than negative chance of being referenced again and it’s giving me even more of that dartboard feeling the last story did. Plus if there’s one thing Harlivy can do, it’s carry a story by themselves. I wish we’d gotten something about JUST Crush, is what I’m saying. I feel like this was a status update for Crush, like her washing ashore was meant to bridge the gap between this story and whatever she was doing the last time she showed up.

5. Teamwork Makes the Dream Work (Natasha Irons/Steel, Nubia)

Listen, I will always have space in my heart for the Irons family. I love Natasha, and I love John Henry, and when DC lets either out of the ether every other year I’m front and center. That, and the recent super-push Nubia has been enjoying made this story one I was pretty excited to read when I realized who it was about. But THIS ART. These faces are TRASH. Even without looking it up I feel like there’s a 0% chance DC would give a nonblack artist this story, so it makes it especially confusing as to why the characters look like THAT. The actual content was fun and even though Io needs to come up off our queen posthaste, I didn’t have any (other) complaints. But it’s SOOOOO UGLYYYYY.

4. The Dance ( Minhkhoa Khan/Ghost-Makes, Thomas Blake/Catman)

I knew Ghost-Maker was bi prior to reading this, somehow. I’ve been meaning to read anything about him because his design is so awesome but I was only really guessing this was Catman alongside him. I really don’t know anything about him, so this ranks so highly just because of Ghost-Maker. I don’t really have anything else to add here since this story’s ultimate purpose seems to just show off muscley dudes post-sex.

3. Anniversary (Lucas Trent/Midnighter, Andrew Pulaski/Apollo, Alan Scott/Green Lantern)

These showcases tend to have like, one story that directly addresses inequality if you’re lucky. This is that story, and it’s such a good one. Midnighter and Apollo’s fame as the canon gay Superbat sort of eclipses anything else about them, but that reputation is put to excellent effect here. Plus, Alan Scott, one of my favorite Green Lanterns, finally shows up. Revitalizing that old slogan to make it clear the LGBT isn’t going anywhere was fun, too.

2. Subspace Transmission (Jules Jourdain/Circuit Breaker, Jess Chambers/The Flash, Andy Curry/Aquawoman)

Jess was an extremely fun and memorable character from the start like, half a decade ago and that holds true here. I was super uninvested in the Circuit Breaker part of this story. I don’t know who that is, and even after reading this I genuinely don’t care. This made my heart hurt for more Teen Justice and Future State stuff in general. That Jackson Hyde cameo at the end was also perfect.

1. Hey, Stranger (Connor Hawke/Hawke, Tim Drake/Robin)

I was definitely in diapers the last time these two characters spoke to each other. When there’s been THAT big a gap in timeframe I can’t be sure how emotional a reunion can be to a modern readership. None of that matters to my enjoyment, because Connor Hawke is far and away my favorite Arrowfam member and his recent resurgence (even if too much of it is attached to Damian Wayne for my taste) has been such a blessing. DC only trots this guy out three times a year but god do we eat good each time. They just need to do a LITTLE more with him.

#dc pride 2023 #tim drake #connor hawke #jules jourdain #andy curry #jess chambers #robin #hawke #green arrow #batfam #arrowfam #aquawoman #aquafam #aquaman #jackson hyde #midnighter #apollo #alan scott #green lantern #catman #thomas blake #minkhoa khan #ghost-maker #natasha irons #steel #superfam #nubia prince #Hermione Granger #nubia #wonderfam

[quillsareswords]

hii, for #QFWW could you do a romantic ghost hunting with the demonologist!reader and damian bc i miss those freaks

A/N: thank you sm for requesting them I love them so fucking much

WARNINGS: language, ghost, mentions of eating/drinking

MASTER LIST in BIO

"You can hold my hand if you get scared."

   Damian snorts. "You watched me punch an eight foot lizard monster in the face on Friday night. I think I'll be alright." He accepts the maglight you hold out and shoves it into the backpack you handed him first.

   You bend at the waist and dive back into your arsenal-slash-trunk of your car. It's a glorified pile of miscellaneous weapons, tools, and occult paraphernalia, and he has no idea how you find anything as quickly as you do.

   "Okay, firstly," you start, rifling through another bag you've dredged up from the back, "Croc is nine feet tall. Easy. Secondly, you screamed like a nine year old when we watched Insidious." You produce an unopened canister of iodized salt and blindly extend it toward him.

   He drops it into the bag with a scowl. "Okay, fine, he's technically eight and a half. And I did not scream."

   You turn over your shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Oh? No? Timestamp forty-six minutes, five seconds. The Red Faced Demon is standing behind the husband–"

   "It was the sound effects–"

   "–in seven years I have never heard you make that noise–"

   "If you wouldn't have cranked the volume up–"

   "–you made me stop the movie–"

   "Okay! Yes, I was startled. It was a jumpscare. And I live with someone who fights them for a living—I'm one of the few people to watch that movie and actually know how dangerous a demon attachment can be." He huffs.

   You roll your eyes, but you go back to digging around your stash. "I didn't scream. Do you want a knife?"

   "You summon a few to play poker bi-weekly. And yes."

   You slide a bowie knife into the sheath on the back of your belt, pull out another, and stand up and slam your trunk closed. You trade him the knife for the backpack. "Constantine plays poker, I play Uno. I hate poker."

   He looks down at the knife in his hand, weighs it absently. He's seen it around before, somewhere in your office, maybe in your glove box, probably on the floor at some point. "Of course you do."

   You sling your bag over your shoulder and grab the bolt cutters from the roof of the car.

   He cocks an eyebrow and follows you toward the door. "I thought you said we had permission to be here? Why do you need those?"

   "We do," you assure him. "The owner paid me to come. He wants me to prove it's haunted so he can rent it out to shows and internet personalities." You lead him around the front of the building, out of the last strips of dusk and into the shadow the beast of brick casts. "Unfortunately, he couldn't fine the key to the chain on the door, so, you know. Bolt cutters."

   There's another door waiting for you between some overgrown hedges. He focuses mostly on his footing and allows your footsteps ahead to guide him. Between the debris and the vanishing concrete, it'd be too easy to trip.

   You clip the blades onto one link of the chain looped through the door handles and start squeezing. He stands at your back, subconsciously keeping watch while you're busy. The chain hits the cement, and you wedge the blades between the doors to help wrench them open.

   The interior is in much better shape than the exterior. Where outside, it's easy to see that all four stories of the office has been empty for several years, inside, the only thing to suggest its vacancy is the film of dust covering everything and the lack of electricity.

   You pull the first maglight put and click it on while Damian hauls the door mostly shut. The side entrance opens into a hallway that probably leads back around to the front door and the security desk.

   Damian's tiny flashlight beams cleaner and whiter beside yours, skimming down the doors lining the corridor. "What are we looking for, again?"

   "We hate-watch Ghost Adventures; it's just like that but without Zac fuckface Bagans. And, you know. We aren’t huge babies and this isn’t staged.”

   “Of course not. You’d never be satisfied with a safe, staged film set.”

   You nudge a door open and shine your light inside. An empty room with one, very depressing desk. “No, absolutely not. I had to go and solve a paranormal murder at age twelve and here we are.”

   He chuckles.

   The first floor is as barren as it can be. It looks like it was cleaned out pretty efficiently when the doors finally closed. The only interesting thing to be found is a heavy pen with the name of some paper company printed in sharp gold letters. The second floor is more of the same, save for a conference room with a projector and screen left behind. Damian talks you out of going back to the car for your computer to find out if it works.

   “If we don’t see an activity up here, I’ll just run through the next two with the K2 and call it.” You use your shoulder to convince the stair access to the third floor to open. “If it spikes, I’ll just send Jerry over tomorrow or something.” It squeals open easily once the latch is unstuck.

   He follows you into the main room. There are still some desks scattered around, and one of the fluorescent light covers is hanging open from the ceiling. “This entire endeavor seemed like more of an assistant’s errand. Why didn’t you send him to begin with?”

   There’s no bite to the question. He’s not accusing you or insinuating anything–he’s just curious. You look away guiltily anyway, because in your mind, you hear, why, this week of all weeks, did you have to do this?

   Valentine’s Day is only in a few days, and he blocked out almost his whole week to spend with you. You’d try to do the same, bumping clients around and turning phone calls into emails until you were nearly free. Unfortunately, it’s just not enough. You’ve had somewhere to be every day. He claims he isn’t irritated, that he understands, but you know it isn’t fair. 

   “I wasn’t sure if the place was haunted or not, and Jerry hasn’t exactly gotten the whole some spirits want to eat your eyeballs thing through his head yet. I didn’t want to risk him coming face to face with a poltergeist without me around,” you explain, the beam of your light sweeping across the personal offices on the farthest wall. “I’m sorry, again.”

   He nudges an old, empty file box with his shoe. “For what?”

   You sneak a glance over your shoulder at him as he wanders toward an alcove boxed in by an extra wall. “I feel bad I had to work, I guess. I know you’d rather be at home, enjoying your time off for once.” You move forward, checking between the abandoned desks for any crouching figures or lucky finds. “You really didn’t have to come.”

   You can hear him turning around, and the beam of his light reaches toward your feet. “I wanted to come,” he corrects you quickly. “And you don’t have to apologize, my love. You made as much time as you could. I know your career isn’t exactly the most forgiving. Speaking from experience.”

   You snort. “Well, sure, but–”

   “Don’t. How many dates or events have I missed?” His long legs carry him across the room a little quicker than you anticipate. “We’ve been able to spend more time together in the last few days than we have in weeks. I’m more than content with that.” His palm is warm, flattened in the small of your back. “Besides, I enjoy accompanying you. Especially when there aren’t any demons flying around swinging swords or firing flaming arrows at us.”

   “Don’t jinx it, you ass,” you swat jokingly at him with a smile. “But thank you. I like it when you come with me. Makes it a lot less boring," you chuckle. "And–"

   Bang!

   You whip around toward the sound, dominant hand curling around the handle of your knife while your light finds the source.

   Nothing's seems to have been touched except for–

   "The stairs," Damian whispers. Sure enough, the door you just had to ram open is now firmly closed. 

   You take a step closer to Damian. "Somebody there?" you call. You trade your grip on your knife to unclip the K2 meter from your belt. It ticks quietly at the lowest level.

   You didn't feel any wind that might've closed it. You don't smell sulfur or smoke. The air still feels light, if dusty, and not as oppressive as the atmosphere would be with something evil in the building. You aren't necessarily surprised by that, though. The buildings history was clean as a whistle when you looked into it—which was surprising, considering it stands in Gotham City, murder capital of the world.

   By process of elimination and lack of evidence, you're confident that any entity living here is probably a human spirit that's either wandering in from the metaphorical street, or someone who worked here for so long that it was more familiar than home was when they died.

   There's always a chance you're wrong, though. Definitely wouldn't be the first time.

   Beside you, Damian is keeping an eye on the rest of the room so you can focus on your senses. You're better at picking up on things than he is in these situations.

   "If you want to talk, we'd really like to hear what you've got to say," you announce. "Might even be able to offer you something."

   The meter ticks up a level. You slowly move it side-to-side, checking for an environmental interference. It stays steady.

   "Do you think you can talk to me? That door was really heavy, and you closed it by yourself, so you must be pretty strong."

   Damian bumps his elbow into yours. You turn to see him, hoping you aren't about to find something that will haunt your dreams for the next few months. He points his flashlight at a puddle of papers on the floor between two desks. The edges of two of them are lifting and falling like they're being caught by a breeze. There aren't any open windows, no holes in the ceiling. None of the other papers move.

   You bump his shoulder and smile proudly. "Okay, I'll tell you what." You sling your backpack on top of one of the empty desks and jerk the zipper open. You dig past the short-nose shotgun with its rock salt rounds, the box of banishing bullets, your demonic identifier keys. Out comes the spirit box. "I'm gonna set this on the table and turn it on. It's gonna flip through a ton of radio stations really fast. You just need to focus on the word you want to say, and the radio will say it for you."

   Damian watches you set it out on the table. His eyebrows furrow. It looks…familiar. "Is that the old police scanner from the Cave?"

   You pause. You look over at him sheepishly. "Tim said I could have it. He helped me rework it."

   He closes his eyes. "You took a four thousand dollar piece of equipment that could scan any radio frequency in a twenty mile radius and made it into a ghost translator?"

   You pull out the antenna and shrug. "Technically, your brother made it into a ghost translator. And it's called a spirit box, thank you very much." You flick the switch for emphasis.

   It crackles static for a moment, sputters broken words from different shows and songs, and then some talk show somewhere says, "Asshole," clear as a bell.

   You burst into laughter. Damian's eyes narrow. "Even the ghost thinks you're a dick," you wheeze. A woman's laughter coughs through the continuous static.

   "Don't you have a proposition for it, oh great and powerful sorcerer?" He rolls his eyes.

   "She," the radio corrects.

   You get a grip on your composure, tucking away comments you're definitely going to make about this later. Damian Wayne, trans-dimensional asshole. Damian Wayne: even the afterlife hates him! You fake wiping a tear away just to annoy him a little more.

   "Yeah, actually, I do." You straighten yourself back out. "I'm gonna talk to the box since I don't know where you are, okay?"

   "Sure."

   Damian leans against the desk behind the one you're using, just within your line of sight. He's naturally very quiet, and he knows it makes you uneasy when you don't know exactly where he is in places like this.

   "Great. Well, we should start by introducing ourselves." You give it your nickname freely (you never use your real name—something about how names have powers and a bunch of other magical nonsense that went over his head. He gets the gist, at least. She tells you her name is Bethany. "Well, Bethany, it's nice to meet you. Do another spirits live here?"

   "A few," she crackles. "They're—nice."

   You explain the situation to her and trust that she'll relay the information on to the others. You tell her about the landlord wanting to rent the place out, that he'd be willing to trade favors for a good show. Things like leaving a television or two on to chase off the boredom of being stuck in an office building as a weak human spirit. She thinks it's funny, but she likes the idea. She tells you that she used to watch ghost hunting shows all the time when she was alive.

   Damian keeps an eye out for any other activity, but for the most part, he just wants to watch you. You sit on the desk with the box, negotiating casually with a dead woman like it's just some other Sunday night.

   He knows better. As sick of your career as you get some days, for as many problems it's caused you over the years, despite all the things it's taken from you and held you back from—you love these parts. Even though this is just another Sunday night for you, you're still fascinated by the afterlife, by how thin the veil between worlds is.

   It's what you were born to do. You're in your element in this empty building, laughing at a bad joke told by someone you can't see. This is your purpose. Bridging the wide gap between the living and the dead; protecting people from things they never even knew existed. 

   Your job is trying at best, for both of you. It strains your relationship at times, just the same as his heroic duties. His opinion of your work is best described as a love-hate relationship. He hates it for what it does to you, for the trials it puts you through; but he loves it for what it does for you, the purpose it gives you. 

   His opinion doesn't matter there, though. It's your passion, and he'll support you in that until the day finally comes that you turn your back on it. He'll be here to pick you up when it knocks you down. He'll be waiting at home when you drag yourself through the door. He'll go ghost hunting with you for Valentine's Day.

   "Hey, Dams?"

   "Hm? Yes?"

   You're already looking at him, gently packing the spirit box back into your bag. "Ready to go?"

   "Of course." He picks himself up from the desk and waits for you to reach him. "Does this mean we're going home?"

   You fall in step with him back toward the stairs. Hopefully the door wasn't jammed by your new friend. "Oh, I don't know. I thought we might stop for food. Usually we're covered in dirt or worse when we finish up, but we're clean this time. Might as well take advantage of it."

   He grabs the door's handle and yanks it open for you with relative ease. "What did you have in mind, Love?"

   You cock a shoulder. "Insomnia Cookies is open. That tea house on Ballet Street is, too. I don't care, you pick. My treat." You step out to the stairs.

   He follows you with a scoff. "That's hilarious. I pay."

   You chuckle, "Sweetheart, you just helped me make two grand. I'm paying."

   You stop abruptly, turn, grab him by the collar, and pull him down to meet you halfway. You kiss him there, on the stairs of an abandoned office building, where three or more ghosts are probably watching. "Happy Valentine's Day, by the way."

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #quillsfebuarywritingweek #qfww #quills swords and spells

[magical-boy-bracket]

#Losers Bracket #Poll #kamen rider saber #Tetsuo Daishinji #DC comics #john constantine

[thesynaxarium]

Today we celebrate the Holy Hieromartyr Mark of Arethusa. Saint Mark suffered for his faith in Christ under the emperor Julian the Apostate (361-363). By order of the emperor Constantine (May 21), Saint Mark had once destroyed a pagan temple and built a Christian church. When Julian came to the throne, he persecuted Christians and tried to restore paganism. Some citizens of Arethusa renounced Christianity and became pagans. Then Saint Mark’s enemies decided to take revenge on him. The old bishop hid himself from the persecutors at first, but then gave himself up when he learned that the pagans had tortured many people in their search for him. The holy Elder was led through the city and given over to torture. They tore out his hair, slashed his body, dragged him along the street, dumped him in a swamp, tied him up, and cut him with knives. The pagans demanded that the holy bishop pay them a large sum of money to rebuild the pagan temple, and he refused to do so. The persecutors invented several new torments: they squeezed the Elder in a foot-press, and they cut off his ears with linen cords. Finally, they smeared the holy martyr’s body with honey and grease, then hung him up in a basket in the hot mid-day sun to be eaten by bees, wasps, and hornets. Saint Mark did not seem to notice the pain, and this irritated the tormentor all the more. The pagans kept lowering the price he had to pay for their temple, but Saint Mark refused to give them a single coin. Admiring him for his courage and endurance, the pagans stopped asking him for money and set him free. Many of them returned to Christ after hearing his talks. Saint Gregory the Theologian (January 25) describes the sufferings of Saint Mark in his First Oration against Julian. Theodoritus of Cyrrhus also mentions him in his Church History (Book 3, Ch. 6). May he intercede for us always + Source: https://www.oca.org/saints/lives/2023/03/29/100936-hieromartyr-mark-bishop-of-arethusa-who-suffered-under-julian-th (at Rentina) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqWFEBMLYk5/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[killingdoll]

Six times Ray did the tie for John and one time John did for Ray

#atomblazer #hellatom #john constantine #john x ray #ray palmer/john constantine #ray palmer #bisexual ray palmer #ao3 fanfic #slash fanfic #legends of tomorrow #lot #the atom

[steampunkforever]

Constantine Stuart took his calls in bed that morning. Taking ones calls in bed is not so out of the ordinary as to cause alarm, unless you're Constantine Stuart. To his housekeeper's greater concern was the fact that he had the newspaper brought to his room while taking his calls. The groundskeepers checked the weather broadcast, expecting the moon to have turned to blood with a 60% chance of fire and brimstone. Constantine Stuart would be more likely to throw the balcony window open and inform the world that he'd rediscovered his inner child than order the paper brought to his room.

Stuart was the sort of man who went about his day the same way a hurricane makes landfall, entering the boardrooms he frequented like a battleship at full steam, wearing a purple suit that his housekeeper described to her friends as a "purple suit" with all the juicy connotations those syllabic stresses hold. Stuart was a force of nature more than he was a man, yet here he was answering the phone in his underwear, wearing nothing else but a silk robe and a faded Tampa Beach Yacht Club graphic tee.

The housekeeper would later testify to what snatches of conversation she caught while pretending not to eavesdrop on Stuart's morning phone calls. She indicated that while the content of the calls seemed to involve large sums of money, threats of bodily harm, and the imminent fall of Constantine Stuart's business empire, this was par for the course, citing an incident two months earlier that ended with the unfortunate demise of both the breakfast nook telephone and a previously beautiful Tiffany lamp.

In fact, Stuart's tone was considerably lighter than usual, especially considering the earlier threats of burial beneath the front flowerbeds that Stuart had punctuated by slamming down the receiver and shot-putting the corded telephone into an unsuspecting Art Nouveau glass lampshade. The morning's calls had been grim and even threatening on the other side, but totally incapable of breaking Stuart's almost jubilant mood. The groundskeepers huddled in the back shed and checked the weather radio for alerts from FEMA.

Slamming down the phone (with equal force as but considerably more jubilantly than the norm), Stuart informed the housekeeper that the stock market was going to self immolate like a Ford Pinto on the steps of the NYSE, his no-good brother was using the mafia to try and weasel his way into more of the family inheritance, and that she should open all the windows because he was expecting visitors. The housekeeper hurried downstairs to consider checking the batteries in the Carbon Monoxide detectors.

Constantine Stuart, on the other hand, threw on his comfiest pair of slippers, rushed to the balcony windows, threw them open violently, and promptly had his head split open by a sniper's bullet.

Investigators were never fully able to piece together enough clues to properly indict humpty dumpty back together again, but four distinct things happened that day:

A typo in a Dept. of Agriculture findings report focused on corn subsidies briefly sent the entire American economy into a panic-fueled death spiral lasting the 20 minutes it took for a statement to be released correcting the mistake and returning the wheels of progress to the status quo.

Darius Stuart, Constantine's good for nothing brother, found himself in possession of the entirety of the family fortune as well as the subject of a very complicated murder case centering on the hitman he'd hired to secure said fortune. The case would hinge on the hitman's honest-but-improbable testimony that he'd only intended on slashing some tires and leaving dead animals on the doorstep, a story the jury found just as believable as you do reading this.

Constantine Stuart found his inner child.

Despite my best attempts to diligently track down that one DMV employee who was just SO rude to me, I got the wrong house.

#long post #thought of this last night but did it today #short fiction

[sculptorofcrimson]

A work in progress of Horus/Emperor(or at least the starting point)

Horus Wins AU.

~~~~~~~~~

What if Horus had won? 

And what if he had spared the Emperor, for death would have been too merciful a fate?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.” - William Congreve

Horus should have never survived the duel with his father. 

Blades flash, an exchange of poetry with no words, and each strike echoes, swelling up like a wave and crashing down like vengeance incarnate. Each cut upon his armor was the rending of a promise, a treaty broken. 

Each blow is betrayal in a thousand forms, each gaping wound is a scar that shall never heal, never close. Each wound would never be stitched together by even the finest of physicians, for it was something so dreadfully broken it could never heal, never mend, like a bone that had been shattered and grew back together warped and impossibly flawed. 

The Angel is dead. The Devil is laughing. And God has fallen. 

They slash at each other, hacking with abandon, as father slayed son and son devoured father. Each cut burns like betrayal, living hatred that cuts deeper than their blades. They dance a song of blades that stain their armors a crimson red as they tread through where the Angel had fallen, and scattered all his feathers so carelessly over the halls of the Vengeful Spirit. A perfect plume of sanguine red tumbles, wavering naively amid the battletorn air, and a fraction of a second later it was gone as the Emperor’s sword slices it from stem to stern. The feather falls, and lands soaked in its master’s blood.

Even in death, Sanguinius was beautiful. 

As they weave their poetry and as their song of blades rises to a crescendo, a Terminator tries to intervene. He dares to interrupt their perfect dance of blasphemy, of damnation, of a father’s fall foretold. 

How foolish of him. 

He dies with no glory, no song of vengeance, and no vengeance unfolds. What remains of him is quickly carried away by the speed of their duel, his ashes spreading scattered like the Traitor’s sins.

The next fool was clad in gold and auramite as a Custodian tries to save his lord. 

Foolish boy.

Art thou dreaming, or art thou merely mad? What is a man to a god? Where is your master now? Where are your spears of so-called golden vengeance, why do you silence your warsong of gilded death? Where is your dear Constantin Valdor, your beloved Captain-General, and where he is now when his master lies broken before the Traitor’s claws? 

Where is your duty now, child? 

Not even ashes remain of the fool this time. Horus doesn’t even spare him a passing glance. 

Their blows thunder like rain, and their slashes rain like thunder. Their blades cross with hatred reborn, love crushed and stamped upon and rebirthed in the forges of Malice and Vengeance. Their wrath echoes throughout the throne room, and the Vengeful Spirit enacts her vengeance. 

The Emperor was nothing less than a god, not even the gifts of the Ruinous Powers could have ruined him, not even the vengeful adoration of a treacherous son could have slain the father. For if Horus was Lucifer and Adam, the son of all sins, then the Emperor would have been all that was divine, for not even all all nine choirs of archangels could have hoped to even match him in sanctitude, not even all of Terra’s worship could have even hoped to glimpse his divinity.

But Horus was his son. His beloved son. And he could not bring himself to kill his beloved son, to break the body he had molded, to tear the flesh and bone he had sculpted, to seize that perfect, naive and misguided soul and rend it to shreds. 

The Emperor, for all his glory, for all his cruelties, he could not bring himself to kill his son.

Speak what you will of the Traitor. Speak of what sins he has committed, speak of what blood that stains his claws, and what madness has fogged his eyes and twisted his mind. But speak not that he had never loved his father.

Because Horus had loved him. Loved him too much perhaps, love so hateful and so brilliant it was more akin to obsession and possession than adoration. 

Their song was nearly complete, the dancers exhausted and the music fading. Our curtain fall draws to a close, and this chapter's ink is nearly due. Horus slices open the Emperor’s breastplate with a single slash, lightning claws hovering over his jugular as time screeches to a halt. The Traitor glares at him with living hatred, his eyes fanatical and somehow wounded, and his father’s golden eyes stare back with irises as golden as the sun and as divine as its rays. The Traitor stalls, his claws flexing, in a single moment he could have slain the Emperor. He could have torn out his jugular, destroyed that beautiful man for once and for all, and ended his reign of terror. 

He did not take that moment. Horus spares the Emperor, and instead digs his claws into the tender flesh of the Emperor’s wrist, chuckling with delight as he feels the tendons snap and the beautiful muscles yield give underneath his claws. The Emperor’s sword falls, his divine form surrendering to the brutal onslaught of his own son. 

There was no one to save him, no fearless guardsman, no final race for the light, no merciful god to smile and grant his benevolence. There was only Horus’ laugh of dark delight as the Emperor’s blade clattered upon the Vengeful Spirit’s tiles and as the Traitor pounced upon his father’s prone form. 

At that moment, a lone Loyalist warrior entered the bridge as the Emperor fell to his knees. The Warmaster gloated in victory, holding up the broken form of the Loyalist’s beloved Emperor as the Traitor’s laughter echoed through the Vengeful Spirit's halls. 

Yet, the Loyalist did not yield. He roared defiance and held the line, the man stood before the god and dared him to die. 

Horus gazed at him once and his skin opened up like a flower.

His flesh dripped like wax from his bones. 

Yet, this time, there was no avengeance for his death. There was no grief for his loss, no pain for his failure, only the gloating howls of the Warmaster and the fall of the Emperor. There was only the tides of victory, and the sweet, sweet triumph that rang out through the hall of the Vengeful Spirit as he seized his father by his luscious black locks and forced his sire to meet his insane glare.

Victory tasted almost as sweet as his father's divine ichor upon his lips.

#wh40k #warhammer 40k #horus wins au #horus lupercal #emperor of mankind #drabble

[ladylilithprime]

Someone Who Will Always Know

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Pre-slash Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General to Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Jimmy and Castiel Used To Be One Person, Autistic Castiel, High-Masking Autistic Jimmy, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Gabriel Uses His Powers For Good

Summary: There once was a boy named John Constantine Novak. That boy no longer exists, as he became twins.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 4: Learn

Read on AO3

MEMORY WAS A tenuous thing. Unless you were "blessed" with an eidetic memory, which honestly sounded more like a curse, you really couldn't remember everything. Even the memories you did have could be changed, sometimes through magic but more commonly through simple auto-suggestion. If you told someone something over and over, pretty soon they would start to believe it, such as old stories about changeling children becoming more commonly known after the Magical Revelation at the turn of the millennium that had practically eclipsed the whole Y2K thing with the computer programming bug.

Magic was the reason that almost no one remembered that a boy named John Constantine Novak used to exist. Almost no one, that is, except for the four people who were there the night it happened. Charlene Novak neé Shurley had been told those stories of changelings, the ones that described the children who acted odd, who stared too much or couldn't meet your eyes, who counted grains and hummed strange tunes no one else knew. Scientific studies had determined that such behaviors related to the perfectly human condition of autism, a type of neurodivergence that was slowly becoming more understood. When the Revelation happened, when it became obvious that not only were magical beings like faeries real but that they lived among humanity? Many of those old stories got brought up again, including in the mind of Charlene who was already starting to notice certain oddities about her only son.

Magic was an old story to Charlene as a child, being of Irish Catholic stock and having grown up hearing the old legends of the Fair Folk, but magical reality was new and terrifying. She feared confronting an actual faerie to demand her real son back, feared her own inability to navigate the treachery such a creature could weave around her if they could steal her son without her notice and leave this strange, inhuman child in her little boy's place. Prayer was easier, and surely if faeries and vampires and werewolves and other demonic creatures were real, then angels must also be real and capable of answering the prayer of a faithful Catholic woman who only wanted to save her child?

In the dead of night, in the nearly empty church after evening mass had long since concluded, her prayer was answered... but not in the way she had expected. The angel who came to her, golden and shining with wings spread wide to cast their shadows on the walls of the church, looked upon her tearful, pleading face as she begged for him to "destroy the evil changeling creature and give me back my real, normal son" with no warmth. When he spoke, his voice echoed with the rumble of thunder and the flare of a thousand horns.

"You ask this of me out of ignorance and fear," he intoned. "You will now be tested. Behold."

Light formed and swirled upon the altar before there appeared a child in the likeness of her son (or his changeling doppelganger) dressed in his pajamas as if taken from his bed. The air grew thick and heavy as the light spread to encompass the boy, then faded to reveal two children, two perfectly identical four-year-old boys wearing identical pajamas and looking at her with identical wide blue eyes.

"Mama?" the two boys spoke in unison. Charlene gasped, her hands going to her mouth. The angel gestured to the boys with one glowing hand.

"Choose," he said. "If you can tell which of these boys is your real son, I will destroy the other and you will take the one you chose home with you."

The words were harsh, and they clearly frightened both boys, who reached out to clutch at each other in fear, looking between the angel and Charlene with eyes filled with tears. And Charlene... she searched both children, desperately trying to tell them apart, to tell which one was really her son... and couldn't.

She dropped to her knees and wept for that realization, and wept even harder when she felt two sets of small arms going around her in a hug.

"Justice is done," the angel spoke again, his voice subdued though still echoing with power. "As Heaven is not without mercy, I give your son his mirror, that he shall live and grow always having someone who will love and understand him as he is, even when others who should do so cannot."

That night, the boy known as John Constantine Novak ceased to exist. Charlene suffered her husband's anger at what she had done, but refused to choose between the boys and insisted that they had twins. Unable to tell them apart even so much as one from the other when dressed alike, she simply renamed them as John Castiel and James Constantine Novak and told herself it was better this way. She said it to the rest of her family, and her husband's family, and the neighbors, and even the local judge. And she said it to herself, quietly and often, until she could pretend that she really had given birth to twins, and quickly shut down anyone who suggested that one of her sons might be a changeling.

As the twins grew, they diverged further apart into two separate people with different personalities, likes and dislikes, and different expressions of autistic symptoms. They could always understand each other, developed their own methods of communicating in touch and soft hums. With such common names as "John" and "James", the two quickly settled on the nicknames of "Cas" and "Jimmy" to be called when they entered school. Cas had more difficulty with social interaction and picking up on social cues, but Jimmy was always able to explain it to him. Jimmy was better at masking his own difficulties so long as Cas was nearby, but quickly became overwhelmed without his brother. They both had different preferences for stimming, Jimmy preferring to tap or stroke his fingers along a familiar texture while Cas preferred to fiddle with or twist something small. One of their friends gave Cas a fidget ring, a simple band of metal that could spin around in its cradle where it sat on a finger, and while Cas loved the spinning he couldn't stand the feeling of the ring constricting his flesh which led to Jimmy wearing it for Cas instead.

And always, always, the quickest way for either one of them to calm down and regain their equilibrium was in each other's arms. From that very first moment in the empty church that neither of them would ever forget through into their burgeoning adulthood, the Novak brothers were each other's primary touchstone. Two halves of a whole, it was frequently said in joking tones, unaware of how true those words really were and how much they made Jimmy and Cas cling to each other all the more. It made dating difficult, even more so than the challenges of trying to navigate attempts at romance when just identifying social cues tended to stress them out. Realizing that neither of them was particularly interested in dating girls only helped a little bit, in that they could claim being gay as why they "ignored" whenever a girl was flirting with one of them. Figuring out the rest, their mother wearily assured them, would just take time.

And then they heard about Lighthouse CommodiTeas, a cafe owned and operated by a faerie sorcerer with powerful magic and a talent for using magical ingredients to make the drinks. Their mother had been diligent about shutting down talk of changelings since that night, but it was still a niggling little concern that sent them to the cafe's door, and then into the apartment above the cafe after hours to talk. Not only did Cas and Jimmy gained the reassurance that they had never been a changeling in the first place, but also that the magic that had split them apart was long gone and could not be undone. A bargain had been struck for a spell to ensure that no one beyond the people who were in the church that night would even remember that they had ever been only one person, to be paid with covering shifts at the cafe for three days. That in turn had led to them both being hired on full time when it became clear to the faerie, who went by the name "Sam", that they really didn't mind moving permanently to the little coastal New Jersey town and staying on.

Three months later and frequent after work visits plus the occasional babysitting of Sam's adopted son Jack, and both Jimmy and Cas were completely and awkwardly smitten with their faerie boss and equally clueless about how to deal with it. It was a question that Jimmy found himself pondering during a rare moment when he was alone at the front of the cafe, Cas in the kitchen with his baking wizardry while Sam and Charlie, the other barista, were in the back office going over the cafe's finances in preparation for tax filing season.

The door chimes jingled, and Jimmy shook off his thoughts in order to attend to the newly arrived customer. "Welcome to Lighthouse CommodiTeas; what can I get started for you?"

"A large Trickster Special and two of whichever cookie's coming out of the oven next, please," the man said with a friendly smile. "Didn't think a faerie would risk serving food to humans."

"All the baked goods are made by my brother, actually," Jimmy explained with a wry smile. "While he uses magical ingredients sometimes in the recipes, we're both human so there's no risk, just reward."

"Your brother, huh?" the man hummed, looking up at Jimmy with thoughtful golden eyes. "Both of you work here, then?"

"Sure do," Jimmy nodded. "I guess some siblings might not enjoy spending so much time together even after becoming adults and leaving home, but it works for us."

"You're both happy then?" the man asked, pinning Jimmy with that golden gaze with an intensity that sent a familiar shiver up Jimmy's spine.

"Yes, sir," he murmured, left thumb curling in toward his palm to press against the band of Cas's fidget ring. "You don't have to worry about us. Ma learned her lesson, and our boss helped make it stick."

"Good," the angel murmured with a faint smile. "I'm glad. How much for the drink and cookies?"

"Uh--" Jimmy hurriedly punched in the individual prices to ring up the total. "Ten-fifty, sir. Er... can I get a name for the order?" It was a longshot, especially when the customer knew he was in a faerie cafe, but Jimmy had been up front about being human and he hadn't specifically asked the angel for his name--

"Gabriel," the angel - Archangel - said, smiling up at Jimmy with a touch of humor glinting in his eyes. "They call me Gabriel."

#fluffy february 2024 #rk writes #supernatural fic #jimmy novak #castiel #gabriel #urban fantasy au #sastimmy

[starwalker03]

What are your Dick ships?

*opens coat in dark alley* you wanna read a Dick Grayson slash fic?

Lmao.

Dick is like the ultimate shipping character. Throw him with anything and it'll be fun. This man should be passed around the DC multiverse like a fucking blunt.

I will specify, I don't ship things cause I want them to be canon. I ship things cause it'd be interesting. So there's a lot.

The tamer ones are:

Wally West

Starfire

Roy Harper

Kaldur'ahm

Raven

Artemis Crock

Joey Wilson

And then you're more uhhhh complicated ones:

Agent one (tiger)

Midnighter

Slade Wilson

Jason Todd

John Constantine

Owlman

I feel like there's more. I've probably forgotten a bunch. And then there's also assorted others that I won't list cause I don't wanna invite drama into my comments. But like, if @withthekeyisking-writer has written it then I probably ship it. And if you haven't heard of them then follow the @ to their profile and read all their stuff cause it's gold.

#dick grayson #dc comics #nightwing

[yonicfemcel]

king constantine threw the bible up into the air and slashed it with a chaos zweihander and whatever didn't land on the altar was insantly erased from every christian parish across the whole earth