Friendly reminder that on AO3 ‘character A/character B’ is for ROMANTIC relationships and ‘character A & character B’ is for PLATONIC relationships, which includes QUEERPLATONIC ones cuz there’s no specific tag for it and is PLATONIC
Edit: Rule of thumb I use for tagging fics is if someone was looking through a specific tag, does your fic fulfil that? Like, if 1% of your fic is Angst and the rest of it is fluff you should not use the Angst tag, as someone looking through that tag probably doesn’t want to read your fic
Also, your tags NEED to be clear on what’s in the fic. So if anyone has blocked a certain tag, they won’t accidentally stumble into your fanfic
Using the character/character tag for queerplatonic relationships makes it hard for people who want to read your fanfics to know it’s queerplatonic and will immediately think it’s romantic and skip it
Like, I don’t want to read fanfics where Alastor is in romantic relationships. But because of how many people tag Alastor being in a queerplatonic relationship as character/character I can’t filter them out cuz I might miss some good misstagged fics. It makes finding fics I ACTUALLY want to read so fucking hard
Sincerely, an irritated AroAce person
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Alright bowuigi gang who's gonna write a fic and have kamek and luigi bond over fashion in it
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Everyone tagging Dan as acespec on ao3 is a visionary and I fucking love you
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Mini Silverborn Countdown
If you’ve been around for a few years, you’ve seen me vaguely mention a “Silverborn Countdown Challenge” several times. It’s been delayed and changed as many times as the book itself, lol.
If anyone wants sort of a low-stakes, very chill and spaced out version of this ye olde never tackled challenge to complete in the next year before Silverborn, I propose what I’m doing:
Every 3 months leading up to the initial release, I am creating one thing based on each of the books.
January — Nevermoor
April — Wundersmith
July — Hollowpox
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loser.
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bea - eviscerate + stitch
this dark is everywhere, we said (and called it light)
a percy jackson au
///
Lilith wakes to the latent heat of volcanic glass seeping up through the palms of her hands, lacing along the blade of her cheekbone, drinking down the tears that scatter out of her lashes as she lurches awake, gasping.
She’s lying spreadeagled on hard, garish black rock, glittering with the reflection of enormous stalactites – a ceiling of sharp ends diving down out of the gloom. Her hair, distinguishable only as a more greyish shade of black, is stuck in clumpy patches to the ground and it peels away as Lilith forces her leaden arms to move, pushing away from the ground that always seems like it wants to eat her.
A tremor of white pain travels from her breastbone to the hook of her floating ribs, and she groans as she glances down at blood-sticky rock. It is shiny, glassy like a dead black eye – and Lilith sees her sword lying in the manner of a crooked smile underneath her upraised body. The hilt is shaped like a fishhook, the blade concave near the hilt and pitching out into a broad convex near the tip.
There’s a chain of soft gold running from the hook of the handle to the blade, and it shines strangely in the wet reflective surface of the volcanic stone that runs up to the high walls of hell itself.
Lilith knows, without looking, that there is a very specifically-shaped bruise running from just underneath one of her breasts down the rungs of her ribs, terminating just above her hip. Others too, splashed across her jaw and the socket of her right eye. There is dried blood crusted in her hairline and on her lips, cuts beneath her clothes that have bled into the fabric.
The last thing she remembers is fighting, knee-deep in snow somewhere in the Himalayas. Red spotted in the drifts and an old oil lantern trying vainly to scoop the darkness up off the snow, throwing reflections onto white-capped stone. She was following a fresh trail of blood and gore up a switchback that couldn’t really be described as a path when a great shape came crashing out of the night.
She recalls being swept aside by a massive paw, or maybe a hand, and landing dazed in the snow. Rolling aside just in time to avoid a sharp-seeming downstroke. Might have been claws, or a blade, or a set of enormous teeth. Her lantern rolled away, and Lilith heard the ringing in her ears that announced death. She scrambled to her feet and saw where her light had been tossed away, where it came to rest by a shape lying limp in the snow, surrounded by a halo of blood.
Lilith didn’t need to roll the corpse over – didn’t have time, as snow swirled and a shape stalked her. There, with snow and ice muddling the feeling of stone beneath her feet, she felt powerless. She couldn’t reach out and rend the earth, couldn’t call fire up from the mantle of the planet. Too much interference, too much fear.
There was a crumpled polaroid in the back pocket of her jeans, showing a smiling woman in a puffy green jacket, pretending to blow on her hands for warmth, though she stood next to a bonfire and underneath a clear, starry sky.
There was no need to roll the corpse over because the jacket lay in pieces around the body, rent by claw or blade or teeth, and Lilith felt anger surge up inside her as she tore her sword out of its sheathe and turned in a wary circle, trying to pierce the blizzard with the tip.
But then she heard a flurry of movement behind her and something rammed into her back, tossing her forward and face-first into snow. A phantom voice in her head whispered through the wind as Lilith reached vainly, dizzily, for invisibility, for her god-given power over not being. Coming up, as usual, against the wall of her own scattered focus.
A voice in her head saying, shut the fuck up and fucking Travel, or so help me I’ll come back to life and murder you.
And so she Traveled. Reaching out to gather up the shadows into a soft blanket, into a blade she pressed willingly through her own body, carrying it away from the blood in the snow and the monster in the dark. And there was nothing and no one and nowhere to think of but home, wretched though it is.
Hades.
Lilith stands, dragging the sword with her so that it dangles with the tip almost touching the ground, resting the blade flush against the curve of her boot. It has a soft black glow, down here in such proximity to the waters where Lilith stood, stripped to the waist and running with cold sweat. Where she dipped the fresh-forged blade into the polluted waters of the Styx.
She’s wearing her black aviator jacket, sunglasses sticking out of the pocket, over a somewhat threadbare t-shirt with a weird, shadowy creature on the front. She keeps meaning to Google what it is, but a giant snake ate her phone last month.
And, anyway, there’s no one left to call.
As ever, a pall of ghoulish green light sits over the gateway to the underworld, seeping along the riverbank in both directions. It’s a little like dry ice, but this isn’t a stage or a theatre. It’s just where she lives.
Lilith frowns down at herself, at the spots where her jacket has frayed, where the black leather has cracked or been scraped away by claws, the chill sitting barely above her bones from weeks of sleeping rough up on the surface. The golden chain on her sword settles against her knuckles – a faint, weird warmth – and Lilith lets a small sigh escape from inside her mouth as the greenish mist rolls past her.
There’s something about the mist that feels animate, today. It almost seems to cup her cheek, to flow over her cheekbone like a cold thumb, taking a little heat out of the bruises. Though, there’s a pressure to it – almost a reprimand.
Lilith stares towards the gates and the looming canine shape that sits squarely inside, worrying the inside of her lip. Is it her imagination, the slightly-chiding care that runs through the green light, the cool river mist?
She doesn’t speak to her father – not more than a handful of times in her life. He didn’t save her mother from the bombs or her sister from starvation, and he tucked her away in a dreamless sleep until he had a use for her. So what does she owe him?
Nothing.
Certainly not conversation, or whatever paltry imitation of love he can scrimmage out of his rotten heart. Fuck you, she thinks. There’s no benefit in saying it aloud, but Lilith lifts her middle finger, pointing it towards the mammoth walls, toward Cerberus and the stupid, banal bureaucracy of death.
The ghost in her head chuckles, low, and Lilith feels the golden chain brush her fingers again though there is no wind here to move it.
A wave of dizziness wash over her – a wild urge to lift the hilt of the sword up to her mouth and kiss the chain, but all she does is stand there in the shadow of her father’s kingdom, aching down to the marrow of her bones.
Then, from behind, from down in the direction of the ferry, she hears the scrape of wood over stone. Here, on the parallel shore of the Styx where nothing moves or walks or breathes but Lilith.
She whirls, sweeping her sword around so that she stands – unsteadily – with her body held sidelong in a narrow target, blade parallel with her raised arm, tip pointed towards whatever foul thing has crawled up out of the river.
Then she freezes, blinks, feels all the moisture in her mouth turn coppery and sour, because it’s not a monster.
It’s a girl.
Shorter than Lilith, with a pair of dark eyes pooled above a grim little mouth. Lilith realises – with a sense of disquiet – that she is beautiful. There’s a dust of freckles sitting like an afterthought on her nose, her cheeks, drawing out the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her mouth is pulled tight, grimacing, but it hardly upsets the softness of her jaw.
She’s wearing a dark blue shirt over what looks like a thermal base layer. It’s cold down here, though it has never truly bothered Lilith. She’s built for it, or just used to it. Despite the extra protection, there is still a faint tremor sweeping through the girl as she stands, black rock glittering underneath her.
It’s easy to see why.
She is drenched in blood, leaning heavily on a spear made of bronze, decorated with tiny winged shapes. Lilith can’t make out what flying creature it is, but she makes a guess. There is, indeed, an owlishness to the girl as she stands, blinking through the gloom at Lilith, making no move to defend herself as blood spills out from where her palm is pressed into her stomach. Lilith can see the pink glisten of unearthed viscera beneath it, can see that her fingers are pressed inside to the knuckles.
A half-blood, then.
Lilith’s fingers tighten around the hilt of her sword. It’s Stygian iron – a substance that can only be forged in the waters of the Styx, capable of absorbing the essence of monsters, ripping them even out of Tartarus. Monsters and mortals and gods fear it, but the girl only blinks down the curve of the sword as Lilith holds it aloft.
Her voice, when it drifts out of her mouth, rolling into the mist, is clipped and precise and soft. All by itself it makes a crack in Lilith’s resolve.
‘You’re the daughter of Hades?’
It is, Lilith thinks, mostly a statement. In her bruises and her battered black clothes, with the life-eating pall of a Stygian sword in her hand, Lilith looks like the bastard child of death.
The stranger is a hazy shadow, cut to the quick by the perpetual drain of this place; the sewer of the Styx washing by with a sound like a hundred thousand muttering voices.
Blood patters softly onto the stone at her feet, but it scarcely has a chance to pool before the stone swallows it. The girl, hair half-unbound around her shoulders, strands falling down around her face to complicate it with shadows, stares at her own boots for an instant, wobbling. Lilith understands what she is feeling; it took weeks for the rock of this place to feel solid, to stop warbling underneath her with the threat of turning to liquid, to blood, to ink.
Lilith has dreamed of the bottom of hell, and this is not it. This is only the threshold.
‘Who’s asking?’ she growls, taking a careful half-step forward. It’s more of a shuffle, really – a habit born from fencing lessons held deep inside the walls of the Underworld, in a garden full of soft fruits and the promise of spring. The place she learned to fight.
The girl straightens, stiffening under Lilith’s scrutiny. There’s a sort of raw-boned intensity to her, like she’s holding herself very precisely in check. Her fingers, too, have tightened around the haft of her spear.
She’s shaking, blood now flowing down to drip from the tip of her elbow where it’s clamped tight against her body. Lilith wonders what it took for Charon to ferry a dying girl across the river.
The tip of her sword is only a foot from the girl’s throat as it bobs, as she raises her chin to expose the bumpy layers of cartilage sitting in a line; the very slight bulge above her windpipe.
There’s no point in asking who sent her. If she’s a half-blood, there’s only one place she could have crawled from.
Softly, again, the girl speaks. Backlit as she is by the green glow on the shore, she carries the countenance of a ghost. Lilith might mistake her for one, if she didn’t know better.
‘My name is Beatrice,’ she says, in a voice like cold water and warm milk, ‘I am a daughter of Athena.’
There’s blood on her lips, Lilith realises, as they pull into a grimace. They shiver as Beatrice pulls her fingers out of the slit in her stomach, holding them out in wry invitation.
It’s utterly bizarre, but Lilith finds herself lowering her sword, leaving it to sit against the leg of her jeans. Beatrice has proffered her right hand, so Lilith is forced to juggle the sword into her left so that she can reach out, tentative, to wrap her fingers into the sticky, blood-stained cup of Beatrice’s hand.
‘Lilith,’ she says. Somehow, it feels like an admission, like giving something away.
The daughter of Athena smiles. Pink-tinted saliva dribbles down her chin. It’s ghastly, but Lilith finds that she is somewhere on the opposite end of disgusted, wherever that might be.
There are, after all, no destinations along the river Styx but one. Death.
Beatrice squeezes her hand. She takes a ragged breath, her dark eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, boring into Lilith’s. ‘Pleasure,’ she says, a little giddily. ‘I thought I would have to go deeper into hell to find you.’
‘Well, here I am.’
A tightening around her hand, not quite a squeeze. ‘Here you are,’ Beatrice says. She lists forward, catches herself, ‘I’m here-‘
She coughs, and the redness of it floats weirdly in the mist. Beatrice stares, shakes her head like she’s trying to banish a ghost.
Her voice is very faint. ‘We need your help… daughter of Hades.’
Then the daughter of Athena, her skin like dark gold even in the bad light of the Underworld, falls forward. It happens slowly, at first, like she’s just taking a step, but then Lilith sees her knees buckle, watches the spear slip through her fingers.
And without thinking she steps forward, capturing Beatrice’s warm body in her arms.
...
Ten minutes later Lilith crouches next to a limp figure she has propped up against the pitted, high stone wall, feeling like a thief as she unbuttons Beatrice’s blue shirt and peels her black base-layer away from the slice in her lower abdomen.
Her sword is on the ground next to her, at a right angle to her body, the hilt in easy reach. Beatrice’s spear is propped up against the wall. It is, indeed, covered in tiny filigreed owls.
Beatrice does not stir as Lilith raises her hand, ignoring the unhappy shiver of the mist against her back as she draws on the power in her blood, summoning up a sliver of bone from a tiny vial of bone dust she keeps tucked inside her boot. It forms in the air, turning from powder to liquid to solid bone in the span of a moment, before settling down into Lilith’s red-painted palm.
It’s not ideal, but she can hardly wash her hands in the river. It’s full of plastic and rot and blood. Instead, she makes do with the little wadge of bandage and thread she keeps in the pocket of her jacket.
Beatrice continues to breathe as Lilith carefully threads her bone needle. There’s a voice in the back of her head spouting stupid facts about the history of needles and sutures, but Lilith hisses at it to shut up before dipping the sharp end of the bone through Beatrice’s flesh. The thread turns red as it passes in and out, but it’s proper surgical suture, so it also tugs the flesh back towards itself. It makes whole.
Distracted by her work, it takes Lilith too long to notice the change in Beatrice’s breathing. She finishes her row of stitches – they’re thick and lumpy and as elegant as she can make them, but there is no ringing in Lilith’s ears to ordain death, so it must be enough.
At a loss for any other implement, Lilith picks up her sword and carefully cuts the thread, leaving a little curl of it to sit against the taut muscle of Beatrice’s stomach. She has, of course, attempted not to notice the ripple of honed, hard muscle that runs the whole length of what necessity has forced Lilith to unearth; the evidence of a life spent fighting.
She has attempted to ignore it.
When Lilith looks up, sword resting on her knees where she’s crouched, balancing effortlessly on her heels, she finds that Beatrice’s eyes are open. Hazy with pain, but alert underneath it all.
A tentative smile flutters across her lips, ‘You saved my life.’
She dumps the sentence at Lilith’s feet like it means something.
Lilith shrugs, ‘I’m a freak, not a monster.’
The freckled skin on Beatrice’s cheeks wrinkles in tandem with her frown, ‘Wh-‘
‘You said you needed my help?’ Lilith interrupts before the question can come out and make everything awkward.
Beatrice’s stomach is still laid bare, covered in fingerprint marks where Lilith has touched her – in every single place Lilith has touched her.
Mercifully, the daughter of Athena lets her question fall away. Her bronze spear shines off of some strange reflection in the volcanic rock.
‘Yes,’ Beatrice says. There’s some depth to the word that Lilith doesn’t look down into, in the same way she doesn’t peer into the waters of the Styx as the ferry glides over it. Some mysteries are not fit for consumption.
‘Alright.’ Lilith nods, ignoring the way that the gold chain on her sword tightens against her hand, like a warm tongue, ‘Tell me what you need.’
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Im... um.. the ambassador? 3
AO3 Prev Next Story
The last bit for this storyline.
After taking evasive action to ensure he lost the GIW it was a smooth flight. The sun had been shining. The weather was nice and clear. Not even a wind current fighting them.
Traveling by interstate to ensure they were going in the right direction. The signage was very helpful. With the detours, they had been flying longer than planned. Danny had to take no chances. Even invisible they had thermal cameras. They could track them with that. Ellie had a solution to that hiccup, changing his internal temperature. Which is a very smart use of the core type. He’d figure out how to do that later.
They had to have lost anyone by now. The sun had long since set. Flying farther ahead a sign became visible. The one that had been waiting for. Welcome to New Jersey. But they had no idea where to go from here. Danny knows she’s in Gotham. He knows how to get the New Jersey. Not so much Gotham.
If Danny recalled, it was towards the water. He could be off. Danny couldn’t even read a map let alone remember where a town was.
Ellie traveled a lot.
“Don’t look at me. I explore countries not New Jersey”
“Point made”
Danny had failed to reach Sam's house. Meaning no phone. Couldn’t look up directions. They only had the $20 he found in his pocket.
A pit stop was required. Get some food and a map. The guys in white had to be long gone. Even if they had tracked via thermal, he would have lost them by now. It would be as safe a time as any. Up ahead was a TruckStop. That should have everything they need.
Upon arriving in a stroke of luck it wasn’t that busy. Not many semis in the back. Very few cars are parked outside the shop. Not many people see them. Finding a place to hide he transformed back to human becoming visible again. With Ellie now visible, Danny grabbed her hood and shoved it over her head, and pulled the strings tight. Only to receive a huff and a comment of, rude.
She loosened up the strings but didn’t pull down the hood. She did look up at him to stick her tongue out at him. Danny just responded by wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
Together they went in and got what they needed. A map that she knew how to read, and Ellie got herself a snack. Thankfully Gotham was close, it would only take a 10-minute flight to get there. They would leave soon.
It seemed the two had an audience. He wasn’t happy with the attention. A guy with black hair and blue eyes had been subtly looking at them. His eyes went back and forth between them and his phone. Typing away.
Danny wouldn’t have noticed, Ellie didn’t, the guy felt like death. Not like Ellie and him. No core. But one was touched by death and brought back. It drew Danny’s attention to him. He was always aware of those who were liminal, or death-touched. Benefit of the job.
Whoever the black-haired dude was he’d make a good stalker.
Heading out as urgently yet carefully as he could he stopped before the door to exit. Right in front of the glass. Danny heard it. Hushed voices. People overlapping. He could only catch bits and pieces from inside the building. The walls unfortunately cushioned the sound.
They weren’t by the doors. Likely in an attempt to show themselves. He recognizes agent O's voice anywhere. It stood out amongst the others. His words were the concerning ones.
“She’s here… ecto signature” “surround... building” “posses... Fenton boy.”
Were they tracking the ecto signature? She and he both had the same one. His core was still the base of her powers. Not enough time had settled to form her own. Did they track them through his use of powers?
That could be solved. A duplicate could lure the agents away. They’d have to walk the rest of the way to Gotham. Which could take up to four hours at a slower pace. It would be too easy for them to be found out. Stealing a vehicle would be risky. Who knows how many trackers they had on those?
Add in the fact Ellie looked exhausted. He didn’t know if she’d last a walk. Being held prisoner would have that effect on anyone.
Well… Danny could probably hold two clones until right before Gotham. It wouldn’t be too taxing. The trails would extend two opposite ways. Forcing the GIW to split. That could get them closer to Gotham.
The duplicates would have to stay invisible to keep up the act. Phantom's signature had been erased from all their devices long ago. They didn’t know Phantom and Ellie shared the same signature.
Looking around the truck stop he hatched a plan. There were three exits out of her. The car side, the fuel line, and one from the fast-food joint. Going out of the fuel side would be their plan. Fewer agents could swarm from that side.
The way Ellie grabbed his arm, he knew she heard the agents as well.
“Ready for some chaos”
Her face shifted into a grin that said everything.
They positioned themselves just out of view of the door. In the aisles hidden from the glass doors. The large rotating display rack in front of them. Full of knickknacks plastered with New Jersey all over them. A very tippable display case.
The guy with stalker vibes seemed to tense and became more focused on the main entrance. Danny couldn’t focus on him to see what he was going to do. He didn’t think he was at threat.
Suddenly the glass doors shattered. The GIW yelling about capturing them. They just had to play up their theatrics, didn’t they? And something about a kidnapping? What was that about? With a push of the display, it smacked Agent O to the ground. The other agents tripping along the way. They weren’t the most agile. The two rushed to the fuel line exit. The other side. One agent did manage to get through the Knickknacks Ellie grabbed a cane on the way and smacked him down.
The two left with a plan. Get closer to Gotham then send clones in opposite directions then walk the last mile or two. They never stopped and thought about the escape.
Why didn’t more of the GIW follow? They had only knocked out two agents after all. The rest should have gotten up and followed in pursuit.
Walking on foot was never fun. It was necessary to hide their presence. Ellie was too depleted, and Danny could hide his. It just meant longer for his sister to recover from the draining of her ectoplasm reserves. He wouldn’t be able to feed her reserves.
After an hour of walking. Their pace much slower than expected. At one point Ellie was getting a piggyback ride. They had no interruptions. No GIW, nothing. they saw a sign. A rundown sign in need of maintenance.
Entering Gotham.
Gotham was creepy. Abandoned buildings, boarded up windows. The death lingering here. Once here it was here it didn’t want to leave.
Did Jazz really have to come here of all places? There had to have been better choices. Ones that wouldn’t add to her liminal problem. Staying in an area such as this. High death does cause more ectoplasm to settle in the air. Danny’s surprised this place isn’t swarming with ecto entities.
Jazz did not need a Vlad situation going on. No early core forming for her. Danny would need to have Frostbite check Jazz over as well. Make sure nothing is forming and if it is to be ready. Then monitor and make sure no powers form without a core to manage them.
Hopefully, she wasn’t in this area of Gotham. This would be an awful place to be at. Everything here had to be a safety violation. Trust him he knows he died in one. Gotham seemed large. The map only showed cities, rivers, lakes, and a warning about Gotham. Another check as to why they need to find Jazz. Danny didn’t want Ellie out in a place that comes with a warning.
Those are often true. Take Amity for example. Most haunted town in America.
There was no plan on how to get to Gotham U. They hadn’t anticipated getting there at night. Not an ideal situation. He only has about 90 cents left after the map and food. With the potential of being tracked by the GIW, he didn’t want to risk any powers.
Learning to hide your presence is not fun. It's concealing a whole portion of yourself. Danny wasn’t Pariah, he wasn’t going to use his presence as a scare tactic. That’s the whole reason the ghosts were always so terrified of him. He was constantly pushing his energy out. Most ghosts do this as a default. The more power you have the more that gets released. The king’s core was meant to be a terrifying force, one to keep the ghost in line. Danny just keeps it in as much as he can. No need to scare them into complying. He’d much rather avoid a whole tyrant situation. No naps for him.
So, no powers and it was the middle of the night.
They could deal with this... somehow. He didn’t know how.
While Danny was busy thinking of a solution, Ellie seemed to know what to do. She grabbed Danny by the wrist and began to drag him. Leading him to an even sketchier area. There were several buildings boarded up on the bottom and top floors. Others in the area had been pried open once or twice. Tipped over dumpsters. The whole place was a disaster. Ellie had a destination in mind.
Danny didn’t know where.
Ellie was the one who went traveling. Always denying money or help, until the incident. She didn’t get much of a choice after destabilizing. Still, she only took the phone, refusing anything else. Insisting she would be fine without it. They still had put a cash app on her phone, she only used it once or twice. If anyone was going to know how to find a place to crash, she would.
While he was being dragged into an alley. He could feel an entity. Another dead yet alive. Very similar to the guy at the truck stop. Nearly identical. Maybe identical. It wasn’t close enough to tell. He couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from.
It didn’t feel negative. It wasn’t threatening him in a challenge. For now, he’d leave it be.
The deeper he got dragged in the more concerned he got. It was one of those back alleys that only had one way in.
Both Ellie and Danny froze. Hearing the steps approaching.
He pushed Ellie behind him ready to fight or flee.
It happened too quickly.
GIW agents suddenly blocked the entrance. Men in white face them. They had been found yet again. He didn’t leave a trail behind. How they kept finding them.
Jazz had cut ties to the Fenton's when she left for college. New phone numbers, new emails, and everything in between. The only exception was Danny and Ellie. There should be no reason to expect them in New Jersey. Let alone, Gotham. How were they finding them?
Danny was not against using his powers to get them out. So what if he revealed himself? He may have already. He didn’t exactly cover his face when he turned them invisible. They already knew who he was. When he saw what they had he knew it wouldn’t help.
Agent K wasn’t armed with just guns and weapons. Not the typical anti ecto rays. No. Something far worse. Something that couldn’t be ignored.
Blood Blossoms.
One of the hardest flowers to find. Thought to be extinct. The natural weakness of ghosts.
Natural Halfas had a distinct advantage in this field. Their human half was immune. The flowers only impacted those of ectoplasm. Not those who have ectoplasm. Danny learned his lesson in Salem. Transforming would cause him to fall to the ground unable to move.
Using his powers would let out enough ectoplasm to affect him. Making his attacks weak and worthless. They wouldn’t get through. The attacks would likely be stopped before getting anywhere. It wasn’t the time to figure it out. He’d be more of a use as a human. Danny’s not the strongest or quickest while human. But enough that they should be able to get out.
Then he saw it.
One glaring problem.
The blossoms affected Ellie.
It must be due to how she was a clone. Never having a true form without ectoplasm. Both her halves relied on ectoplasm.
This was bad.
“Give it up Fenton. You don’t stand a chance” K stated. He said more but Danny was busy trying to figure out a plan. Only tuning in when he started thanking him “... should be thanking you. Thanks to you, one of the ghosts conducting a kidnapping and blowing up a lab. Was just what we needed to get the acts pushed through.”
“You blamed a child for crimes she didn’t do.”
“Don’t cover for it” Danny’s vision went green.
Not letting Agent K continue, he lunged at him. No care that there were other agents around. No one called his sister an It.
Only to be grabbed from behind.
Being held his back pressed into another. Dark tight around him holding him in place. In front unable to see Ellie. Before he could get a word out. There was a jab and a hand covering his mouth. Orange sleeves and black gloves hands.
Jack
One of his donors.
“I just knew it, our Dann-o would never work with a ghost.”
Maddie appearing from behind him walked towards the GIW a device in hand. “He has an ecto signature, not a unique one but that ghost. She must be controlling him. We’ve had enough of them to know all signatures are unique.”
“You get your specimen; we can decontaminate our son. It works out perfectly” Maddie spoke walking back behind him and bringing Ellie out from behind him towards the agents.
She was being handed off.
Blood blossoms are ever-present. Caged tight in his donor’s arms.
The farther she got from the blossoms the better off she was, then he saw a collar. One glowing green, the same green as the cuffs.
That would not happen.
Danny bit down on the hand. Biting through the glove, the taste of iron entered his mouth. The hold around his waist tightened yet the hand was removed. Neither party present in front of him had ever listened before. He’d have to try another means.
In the end, it wasn’t just the two parties he’d be addressing. Death was lingering. He could feel it.
The next words he said had to be impactful and had to draw attention to the situation at hand. The hand would be back over his mouth. He knew it.
“She’s their princess” stressing the word princess “It won’t be a war or a massacre. It is far worse. You’re messing with the afterlife, not just some ghost. They’ll just cut off access. A world without death. It’s the Infinite R” he was cut off before he could finish. Hopefully, it was enough.
It was Agent K who spoke up. “Enough of the lies. They are unfeeling non-sentient beings. They have no hierarchy.” It was only the beginning of some long-winded rant. He would much rather be at Ellie's side. For now, Danny just had to focus his glare on Agent K not on his surroundings. There had been movements on a roof ahead of them.
“You’re very lucky we are willing to let your parents handle your de-contamination. By all accounts, you are in violation of the acts. We have every right to hold you as an ecto-entity yourself. Be”
Danny took extreme pleasure in seeing some red cosplayer on a grappling hook knock him down. Then a shed of hope when a female in a black outfit with a yellow bat knocked the agent who had Ellie down and grabbed her. Hardly a care of why Jack released him.
He didn’t care about the fighting. It was easy enough to get past the remaining agents. He only cared about getting Ellie back. There wasn’t even a struggle against the girl in black. All but having Ellie shoved back in his hands as she joined the other two. The second one must have been the one to deal with Jack and Maddie.
Older than the other two. A black suit with a bat hood... Probably some form of vigilante. Masks and all. If he was one back in Amity, he was sure others existed.
Regardless of who they were, he had business to attend to. Putting his hands on Ellie the temperature in the alley started, just a tad. Just enough for him to infuse more of his ectoplasm with her. The blood blossoms didn’t act as a leech. Just a painful suppressant. Their effects have already gone away. The blossoms away from the siblings.
Looking around, all the agents were down. No white suits standing, just the two black and red figures. The three may have gotten rid of the GIW, but that doesn’t mean they were immediately friendly. It could be some plow. Just because they handed Ellie to him doesn’t mean squat. The three could have immediately assumed the two wouldn’t be a threat. Especially with the fact Ellie still wasn’t at full strength. Danny does not look like a threat to most. He couldn’t help the glare when the girl came around to the front.
Pointing at each of them and herself as she spoke “Batman, Red Robin, Black Bat.”
The voice Batman had was not what he expected. It wasn’t some deep burly voice, much softer than that. “The members of the justice league all oppose those acts; we were releasing opinions in opposition to the acts. They were rushed through before we had the chance.”
Red Robin seemed to notice his confusion on the whole justice league thing. Explaining there is a group of heroes who serve to protect others.
“I don’t really care. All I know is my sister. The princess of the infinite realms was strapped down in a basement. Having had blood taken from her then sold off like an animal” spitting out “to the US government. Why shouldn’t I summon Lady Pandora or the master of time himself? Even summoning Frostbite to my side.” Anger was more prevalent the longer he spoke.
They didn’t know he really couldn’t. He was only able to summon frostbite. He needed something to draw the circle.
They were for sure tracking his movements. He didn’t care he needed a summoning circle. He needed frostbite to check her over. Danny had none of his medical supplies, abandoned when they fled the speedster. He didn’t know what she needed. Even if it meant freezing the three. Maybe if he kept talking, they’d focus on that more so than him trying to rub the ground into a visible circle. Any size would do.
“I’ve seen what the realm does. Souls of doomed universe serving under the previous tyrant. Turned to skeletons as death was cut off from them. Death is mercy. One they can easily strip away without calling anyone to arms. Every universe in existence is connected to the realms. It’s the passage for all afterlives. If a person in any universe messes with the realm they have every right to cut it off. What’s one universe in the name of all the other infinite ones.”
That was the original purpose of the king. One meant to maintain balance. Ghosts have their own territories that are ruled induvial. They never needed a king for that. The title was to ensure their safety. To scare them into listening, to prevent them from destroying the universe as they please. Pariah only lusted for power. Rather than just let the universe peacefully end he’d let them suffer until they were begging to be released.
That’s how he got the Skelton army during the siege of Amity.
Danny wouldn’t make that call. Not like Pariah. He also couldn’t keep ignoring what was happening here. The constant attacks on the realm.
“I’ve done what I could. Convincing them against acting. After Pariah was dethroned and a new king took the throne” he’s not telling them it's him. Who knows what they would do with that knowledge. “I can’t just keep the peace any longer. I’ve been playing peacekeeper for the last year. It’s gone too far. This was a direct attack. With those acts now passed there isn’t much I can do”
He’d make a call if he had to. Not everyone can be saved.
That was when Maddie decided to speak up, apparently not unconscious. “Don’t listen to him, that thing is controlling him. He’s a Fenton we don’t associate with ghosts, we hunt them” Of course her confidence and how proud she was of that were visible.
Danny couldn’t help the scoff that came out. “You’re delusional. I’ve been the one actively sabotaging your weapons for over a year, not to mention the so-called specimen that has escaped, your data disappearing, and I can guarantee you Ellie did now know what would happen if the ecto-filter was removed”. The only reason he wasn’t in her face screaming was the fact Ellie was still in his arms. Unconscious.
The shock and anger started to form in Maddie. Before anything else could be said the girl was behind her and the nutjob was unconscious. She had a piece of chalk in her hand. Where she got it from, he didn’t know. Not getting too close to him she rolled it towards him. “Summon your friend, we mean no harm.”
“The flowers have been contained. They shouldn’t be a problem for them.”
He was going to shoot his shot.
Drawing the sigil, putting one hand on it. Starting as a green glow shifting to a bright blue. The air temperature dropped even farther a portal opened and frostbite appeared from within. Upon his appearance, frostbite looked around. Seemingly taking in the scene around him.
Only then focusing on Danny and Ellie with a flick of his wrist an ice wall separated the groups.
No words necessary he began to look her over.
“Jack and Maddie, I presume”
“You guys were right; action should have been taken sooner. Just wanted to last another year” It was a whole plan. He was going to nope off to Jazz. Tucker was going to forge enough documents that he could apply to be emancipated.
Frostbite had grabbed Ellie to fully look her over. A flash of anger in his eyes as he felt the back of her neck. Hand coming forward with a little black tracker Frostbite just crushed it before speaking. “Some form of consequences for this.”
“They don’t have to be drastic, use it to your advantage” Frostbite handed him the infimap “Break the circle to return me to the realm. I trust you’ll return as soon as it’s safe for Ellie. Don’t stray from the path you’re being led on.”
He lowered the wall of ice surrounding them.
“Your sister will be fine. The constant change in her ectoplasm reserves has just exhausted her. Time will heal the core. It’s far too risky for her in the realm. While she may have been forged through ectoplasm, she is still human even if only half. Recovery would be best suited for this realm.” Frostbite reassured Danny then looked at the other three in the alley “Should the problems for them continue, expect it tenfold on this realm. The sun does not shine brightly on those against us. Listen to the boy”
Frostbite gave him a nod and Danny broke the circle with an additional mark.
“Is there any way to remedy the situation with the infinite realm? I have the resources available to start to improve relations.”
“Three things”
“Which are”
“GIw punished for these attacks of the citizens of the infinite realm. They started even before today. The anti-ecto acts are to be abolished Then Jack and Maddie Fenton are to be handed over to the realm. Those two are the ones who held the princess. They are to be tried for all the laws broken in the infinite realm” Frostbite did say to make it work in his favor.
“Four things. The fourth given my donors are to be tried, for my sister Jazz to get custody of Ellie and me. That or a year early emancipation. I’m legally too young.”
“That’s it”
“At least enough to not get cut off from the afterlife. The council would have to meet. Should be good enough.”
Black bat seemed to nod at Batman. As if she was confirming something.
“Can I ask how you know what the conditions would be?” Red Robin asked. Curiously evident behind the mask.
One thought went through Danny’s head.
Don’t say, king. They didn’t need to know.
Here’s hoping they believed him.
“Umm… I’m.. an Ambassador?”
“Yea I’m an ambassador”
Note:
This is all I have planned for this story line. When I have time and re-read a few comics I plan to do the justice leagues reaction to the whole shibang. There is also a plan for Danny and Ellie being a problem in Gotham. Chaos siblings for a win. Probably nothing for a while tho.
Tagging
@serasvictoria02 @ivymala07
@perfectwastelandcreation @imgonnaeatthatglitter
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reopening the ask box is like... just finishing vacuuming shed cat hair, and then immediately going and petting said cat vigorously & watching with delight as So Much Fur sheds right back onto the floor
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today was a good day! *collapses into bed and sobs uncontrollably*
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Part 2 of the Trans Logan drabble…. Except this time with heavily implied Trans Oscar.
And when I say heavily implied I mean far more obvious than in the last drabble because this one deals with Logan’s anticipation before his top surgery and it’s more relevant. I may do a part 3 with the recovery period afterwards and Oscar taking care of him :)
But yeah I hope you guys enjoy!
🌊~~~~☀️
After the 2024 season, Logan had finally secured enough money and points to afford both his top surgery and another year in the Williams seat.
When he explained his plans to the team, being passionately backed up and supported by Benny, Alex, and even their golden boy George, they told him that they completely understood and he would be treated as any recovering driver would from surgery. Thankful, such force ended up being fairly unnecessary, and James chuckled at the American’s defense squad.
It was scheduled within the first week of winter break, that way he would have plenty of time to recover from the worst of it before he’d have to help get himself back in shape, but Williams assured him that if he needed a little more time that they would understand.
Oscar accompanied him to the surgeon’s office, answering any questions the American had about the procedure and providing priceless information based on his own personal experience with the surgery.
To say Logan was nervous was an understatement. He had seen Oscar just after the worst of his recovery period, catching a plane to Australia to visit the 16 year old since he still wasn’t in condition to travel.
He had obviously been weak, but he was also extremely restless, unable to really do much entertainment wise. When your entire life has been centered around the rush of driving fast cars, the idea of being bed bound made the American cringe.
Oscar had also told him about how he couldn’t even wash himself because moving his arms hurt too much. He had relied on his mother to care for him in those moments just like he had when he was much younger.
The thought made Logan nauseous. He didn’t have anyone to take care of him when he finally was able to go through with his own surgery. His family was really only supportive of his identity because it meant another boy in the family. But he could tell they thought less of him after coming out. He guessed he would just have to risk the pain and injury caring for himself despite the difficulties.
Hearing Oscar’s account of the time had definitely thrown some anxiety into Logan’s head about going through with the procedure. But he had eventually reasoned with himself that those few weeks and months of healing would never equate to what he had gone through dealing with the two lumps of fat on his chest for as long as he already had.
Thankfully the Australian was very patient and kind with talking with him, reassuring him every step of the way. When they had finally made their relationship official, he also told the American that he would be more than happy to help take care of him during the recovery period.
Which led to where they are now, with Logan trembling with anxiety as he’s waiting to be taken into the back of the surgeon’s office for his procedure. Oscar was holding his hand and rubbing circles into the back of it with his thumb. The Williams driver couldn’t control his rapidly bouncing leg, feeling that if he tried standing from the stiff chair they’d surely give out from underneath him.
They had discussed everything in great detail, which type of operation would be best, what he should do during the healing process, and a lot of other important information. It was decided that Logan would have a double incision due to his chest size, unlike Oscar who had gotten a keyhole one for his surgery.
At first, the American was upset about the fact that he would have noticeable scars on his chest, unlike his boyfriend who could strut around shirtless and no one would bat an eye at his identity. But after Oscar sat him down and told him it doesn’t make him any less of a guy for the scars on his chest, Logan realized he would be overjoyed to show off those scars.
They would serve as a medal of victory in his battle. Be a giant fuck you to his family for their opinion on him. Be a constant reminder of the American’s achievements. He wouldn’t feel disgusted or dysphoric anymore when looking at himself in a mirror when he saw those scars, instead he would feel proud.
After a few tense moments, the assistant finally came in to retrieve Logan. With a nervous parting hug with his boyfriend, the older man walked over to the nurse with false confidence, knowing that the moment he left this building he would finally be separated from the parasitic mounds on his chest that were the source of so much anguish in his life.
The moment he left this building he would be happier with his body.
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Taichi and Yamato on their wedding day – Paris, March 2023
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The sad truth of the world is that I can't read every single cool fic in this fandom and also draw at least one fanart for it because. There are too many. And I need sleepies sometimes. Not that I'm not gonna try
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anyway f@ you bourboulon your shitty ass movie will never top them
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most days I'm so chill with the fact I'm non-contact with my father, it was the best decision, I hate him, my life is so much more peaceful without him
then bam it's a random Tuesday at 8pm and I'm sobbing because I miss having a dad, like, excuse me what is this??
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Halfway through, the game was paused for Mike to use the bathroom. Will expected Max to follow, keep up the act that the bathroom door was the reason they’d been inseparable all night. But, to Will’s surprise, she stayed close by his side.
With an unacknowledged tension, they stood at their respective end of the table. Meanwhile, Lucas, El, and Dustin were on the other side. A few feet away, the three laughed as they spoke over each other - heavily contrasting Will and Max hardly existing together.
Will combed a hand through his hair, wishing the stuffy air could do more for his flushed skin. As time passed, he’d adjusted better to his new-found dizzy disposition, but his hot skin was yet to go unnoticed.
As his hand dropped back by his side with a huff, Max’s elbow nudged into his ribs. He looked at her with eyebrows raised in question.
“You look awful,” Max said, in her deadpan way, “in an if-you-don’t-barf-you’ll-pass-out way.”
“Thanks,” Will scoffed.
“C’mon.” Max’s hand wrapped around his wrist and she started pulling him away from the table.
Will didn’t bother arguing or asking questions - instead, following his feet as Max guided him through the kitchen. Careful of the beer bottles and plastic cups abandoned on the floor, he watched his feet trudge through the room until Max suddenly stopped. He looked up to a door leading outside, which Max opened then continued to pull him through.
As the door closed, the music was significantly quieter, giving off the illusion of a far more contained friendly get-together. The grass, muted in the winter season, stretched to a brown waist-high fence that surrounded the area. In the back right corner, a tall tree overhung a square of the garden. The branches were all bare, and gray tinted the peeling bark while a patchwork blanket of leaves covered the ground below in shades of deathly brown. There weren’t half as many people in the garden, allowing the chance for something of privacy.
Max dragged him along the length of the wall - avoiding stretched-out legs and bodies hunched on the ground - until they reached the corner. The closest person was at least six feet away and halfway to being passed out. Will leaned against the wall, staring into the garden, and Max did the same.
At the end of the garden, some people were smoking cigarettes and, from the smell of things, weed. Just outside of the group, were various couples scattered around, making out as if there were no one else around to witness it. Leaning against the brick wall of the house were a handful of people with red faces and slow-blinking eyes - all with the same goal of sobering up. Or, at the least, not vomiting everywhere.
In his periphery, Will caught sight of two girls wandering over to the lone tree. They stumbled hand-in-hand with red solo cups sloshing by their sides. Then, grips tightened on each other as they awkwardly sat beneath the branches. Backs against the rough trunk, their shoulders pressed together - like it was natural and not something they had to second-guess - then they lifted their plastic cups and cheers-ed. A mouthful of each spilled onto their clothes, making their heads fall back with loud laughter.
In the back of Will’s mind - he pretended they were in love. Secretly together, as they used mundane acts of friendship as dates. He’d never admit it to his conscious self; he’d curse at himself for being stupid. But, in reality, it made him feel less alone.
“I see you and Mike are friends again,” Max said, her voice bordering on an accusation.
It grounded Will: shoving the garden, the two girls, beneath a blurry filter. His cheeks blushed as if Max had heard all of the thoughts playing in his mind and his heart twisted with guilt.
Weight shifted between his feet and he offered a pathetic shrug. “We never weren’t.”
The fresh air swept over his skin in the shape of a thousand prickling needles. Ice clung to his skin - to the back of his neck - as goosebumps formed and hair stood. His stomach churned as his blood turned cold, tingling up and down his limbs like nails ghosting his skin.
“Bullshit,” Max spat - Will could feel her glare.
Between the however-many beers he’d drank and the long night - long three months - he’d had, frustration oozed into his blood, and his face tensed with all the ice flooding through him. His brows twitched into a frown and his jaw set tight.
“And since when have you two been attached at the hip?” He peered through the corner of his eyes: Max’s body directed at him as she stared out of narrowed eyes.
She faltered a little. Nothing but silence attached to her tongue as she opened her mouth in search of an excuse. Her shoulders rose, eyes drifting; she might as well have held up a sign with “I’m about to lie” written on it. She seemed to understand as much, when her shoulders slumped with a huff.
Will looked away, but the blurred filter remained over his eyes like a shield. He didn’t try looking at the girls again - worried someone would notice and get the wrong idea, that he was interested in one of them. He swapped them in favor of the old, wrinkled grass in front of him.
“Look–” Max started again, her voice stern, “–I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but Mike–”
“It’s not a game,” Will interrupted with a desperate whine in his voice, as he finally turned to Max. His eyes bat between hers for a second as she settled and waited with raised brows. His arms flailed, the whine merging with the pent-up frustration: “I get that you’re trying to help - but it’s just making it harder. If you give me five minutes to talk to him alone, all of this could be over already.”
“Why is this so important to you?” Max bit back - almost every bit as irritated as him. “Why right now?”
There was his chance. Confess. Get everything off his chest. Let Max know - let Max help.
It was perfect.
“Because–” Will started, but his voice cut off, strained. With his mouth hung open - waiting for every word hanging on the end of his tongue to fall off: to rush out of his mouth with the same urgency it had when telling Lucas - his wide, glazed eyes flickered between Max’s.
She was his friend. One of his best friends. They’d been through a hell of a lot worse together than Will confessing he liked boys. That didn’t loosen the lump clogging his throat, though.
He tried to remember the feeling he’d had earlier in the day when Lucas had brought it up as if it was nothing more than an inconvenient crush. He tried to remember that Max had grown up in California - somewhere so much more diverse - and that she’d never implied any negative connotation towards, well, people like him. He tried to remember the summer of eighty-five: how most days were just him, Max, and Lucas - getting new high scores at the arcade, or riding bikes through town.
All the while: Max waited, expectantly, but something softer suddenly hid beneath her exterior. Her eyebrows lowered, the frown a faint ghost on her features, but her lips remained pursed. Closed; shut; silent. She wasn’t going to say another thing until Will dared to finish that sentence.
But it could never, ever be so simple.
With a defeated sigh, Will’s shoulders fell as his head knocked against the wall. His teeth clamped the inside of his cheek - all the alcohol in his blood making it impossible to blink away the wet glimmer in his eyes. His tongue quickly coated his lips and he wondered if Max would let him borrow her “I’m about to lie” sign.
“Because he’s important to me.”
It wasn’t a lot - it was hardly anything - but it was something.
Max stayed quiet, her eyes boring into the side of Will’s face like laser beams.
“And–” so, Will continued with a wavering voice; an ounce of courage - but the end goal was too far out of reach: a smudge in the distance, “–I know the past few months probably doesn’t make it seem like it, but he is. I just want to fix this.”
“Well, I’m sorry–” Max replied, quiet and reluctant as she lacked the sharp teeth she’d had a moment prior, “–but he doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Yeah, I know.” Will nodded to himself - then let his eyes wander back over to Max as his head turned. “But we’re gonna have to eventually.”
Her face had lost the harsh creases, smooth with sorrow and pity. Her eyes met his, guilt in the twinkle of light - likely the same thing she was seeing.
“It’s not up to me,” she said with a sheepish shrug, “if he says he doesn’t want to talk about it right now, I’m gonna be there for him.”
She pushed off the wall, her gaze dropping to the ground, then she started back towards the door.
“C’mon–” she said, “–they’re probably waiting for us.”
Will got to work at blinking down the tears in his eyes as he followed.
[This is a scene from the most recent chapter of my Sober Thoughts series, continue reading through the links if you enjoyed!! <3]
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