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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc prompt #i promise this is a prompt #it just got very long #danyal al ghul au #my take on a danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #i know the usual gist is that danyal al ghul is a better knife thrower than he is a swordsman but hey #consider: phantom has a sword when he fights ghosts. how sick is that?#his ghost form having allusions to the LoA. its not obvious but its there #did i make danny brown skinned? yeah. because him being white or not is irrelevant to me and i wanted to make him darker skinned #thinking about the angst of bruce seeing his firstborn son going “i could stay with father!” and then said child being visibly crushed #when told no. and that he may never see his father ever. actually. if he fakes his death. and still doing it anyways for damian's sake #danny loves his little brother he just shows it in an unorthodox way. some of it is not his fault #also danny being an absolute grump in amity park is very funny to me. he's an arrogant little assassin child in AP who is only here for #his little brother's sake and safety. he loves his brother but that doesnt stop him from being an arrogant little brat #gremlin assassin child danny is so funny #i know this is very ironic for me to post after posting my thoughts on danyal al ghul aus and their missed potential #but actually this prompt is what spurred that post into creation in the first place actually.#because i was thinking about this au and then went “oh hey you know whats funny--” and then i #thought about it too much to the point where i had to make a post talking about it #tried to find a balance between danny being mature for his age and also still being a kid #like yeah he’s a trained assassin and has killed but also he’s a 10yo boy about to be separated - Assumingly permanently- from his family

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cemeterything · 1 year

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whenever i find myself struggling to understand the importance of creating art with love and for yourself, i remind myself of purple cat. purple cat was a little handmade clay cat figurine i made when i was about 7 years old. and it was an absolute fucking disaster of a thing. its ears were wonky and misshapen, its body was an unflattering chunky cylinder, its feet were stubs that chipped off one by one, and its tail and eyes were a nasty puke green color that didn't go with its violently violet body at all. it was also half charred black from being baked in the oven for too long. it looked hideously pathetic and sad. it was a total failure, the ugliest thing i had ever made, and anyone else who saw it would have assumed it was trash and thrown it away without a second thought. but i absolutely loved it. as a kid i played with it constantly; it was one of my favorite toys, and even after i outgrew that i couldn't bring myself to throw it away. i would have run into a burning building to rescue it if it was inside. i kept it and displayed it proudly until it was accidentally shattered while cleaning my room, and even then i had to be persuaded to throw it out, and i was heartbroken that i couldn't salvage it. it meant nothing to anyone except me, but that didn't matter to me at all. and that's the kind of attitude you should approach all your creative endeavours with, in my opinion. yes, it's important to constantly strive to improve your art, and of course it's always nice to get compliments from other people affirming that you did well, but ultimately none of that means a thing if you don't love your art, and if you didn't create it with yourself in mind as much as anyone else. by all means aim high and be constructively critical of your work, make a career out of it if that's what makes you happy. but allow yourself to make some purple cats too.

#🐉#this isnt prompted by anything i was just thinking about some of my childhood art projects #and how happy creating for the sake of creating made me back then

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puppetmaster13u · 5 months

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Prompt 117

Bruce does not enjoy magic. In fact he’s absolutely horrible at it, to the point it’s better that he avoids it in general. Getting thrown into some sort of summoning circle bullshit was not helping him feel any better about it either.

At least he isn’t dead… probably. He might be surrounded by green and there might be a massive entity sitting on a throne, but he isn’t dead yet. Even if the cult had been rambling about sacrificing ‘the dark knight to the dark king’.

… His kids are definitely going to kill him, but there are small children peeking out at him from within the being’s cape. Who seem happy enough, while the… king looks exhausted in a familiar way. Well. Maybe it’s his own parental exhaustion talking, but they can’t be too bad if their kids are happy to be there.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #prompts #Pariah feeling someone sacrificing a human: Oh thank fuck some goddamn help-#Bruce is now Pariah’s & Clockwork’s buddy who babysits the lil godlings sometimes #They all get together sometimes to complain about their PTA rivals #Pariah is relieved for help in how to human for the half-human children’s sake #He takes up gardening to help with his control issues since he can make his gardens look however he like and obsess over making sure everyt #Clockwork and Alfred become tea and gossip buddies #Pariah: How will we get our half human children's human side taken care of #Why yes Bruce's kids did make fun of him when he came back with a couple of kids #They don't belive him at first when he explains he's just babysitting #Until the parents come to pick said children up #pariah dark x clockwork

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luxaofhesperides · 2 months

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Post-Apocalypse + Soulmate AU ; requested by @burr-burr!

When Danny was a kid, he used to imagine how the world would end. It was never a zombie apocalypse or the fallout of a nuclear war, but the death of the sun, the expansion of their star in death that would swallow their planet whole, leaving no survivors.

It would have been nicer than the post-apocalyptic world he stands in now, knowing that it’s his fault the world has ended.

He’s still struggling to wrap his head around it. To understand that all of this is his fault because he cheated on one test, desperate to pass after being unable to study for it with how exhausting and time consuming fighting ghosts is. Everywhere he looks, there’s more destruction. His own home is rubble, with only the partially untouched Ops Center remaining to let him know that this is where he once lived.

The rest of Amity Park is in worse shape. Buildings are hollowed out, the skeletons of their foundations visible, if they still remain standing. Most homes have been burned to the ground, leaving blackened corners of walls and nothing else. The roads are cracked and difficult to walk through, as if an earthquake tore through the city. Cars are scattered along the road, overturned or left abandoned, doors still open.

Danny has yet to find any bodies. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not.

He’s only caught a few glimpses of his future self, the cause of all this, and can’t bring himself to chase after that monster. He feels sick to his stomach knowing what he’ll become.

That monster has to be stopped. The world has already ended, but that doesn’t mean his future self can be allowed to go on like this. If there are any survivors, they need protection. They need to know they’ll be safe to try to start rebuilding, and that can only happen if his future self is dead.

Danny knows what he has to do; he has a responsibility to protect what little remains of Amity Park, and to do that, he needs to kill himself.

But his head it spinning from the horror of the situation and his throat is tightening up the way it only does when he’s about to have a panic attack.

He needs to stop his future self, but he also can’t stay another second in the ruins of Amity Park without destroying himself.

The guilt sits heavy in his chest as he goes ghost and takes to the sky, flying blindly towards the setting sun. Danny doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t really care. He just needs to get away for a bit, until he can calm down and put together a plan of attack so he can take out his future self in one go.

He just…

He never thought he’d be a monster. But here they are.

Flying away from Amity Park reveals the truly harrowing extent to which this world has suffered under his future self’s hands. There are no intact cities or towns. Roads are broken beyond repair, highways littered with empty cars, most bridges crumbling into the rivers below them, and everything is covered in overgrowth. All signs of humanity’s careful cultivation of the world has been erased. The earth takes back what humans took from it, covering everything in green.

There is no movement. No people. Barely any birds flying beneath him.

What remains of the world is silence.

Danny is terrified that there’s no one left. That his future self has so thoroughly destroyed the earth that no human survivors remain.

That gives his guidance, some idea of where to go: a big city. Any big city, really.

He flies lower, searching for some sort of landmark, or a sign that will tell him where he’s going. A rusted over green sign farther down the road tells him that he’s 50 miles from Gotham.

Oh, Danny thinks, Maybe Batman can help me.

If anyone could survive the end of the world, it would be the superheroes, right? If anyone stands a chance at defeating his future self, it would be a superhero. Superman might have been a better choice, but Metropolis is the opposite direction and multiple states away; Danny’s not sure he can make it before his future self catches wind of him and hunts him down.

Danny has no doubt about what would happen to him if he’s caught; there’s a reason he hasn’t seen any ghosts around, after all.

Gotham is a city of secrets and rumors. What little he’s heard of it is baffling and, frankly, insane. There’s no city in the country like it and Gothamites prefer it that way, stubbornly loving the home that will kill them. For all the manmade horrors they survive on the daily, they would be more prepared for the end of the world than anyone else.

Gotham may be another casualty of his future self’s destruction, but it also offers him hope.

Danny follows the broken road towards Gotham, pushing himself to fly faster than he ever has before. What should have been a half hour flight is completed in fifteen minutes.

As soon as the towering buildings of Gotham, dark and semi destroyed, come into view, Danny drops from the sky and returns to human form. The strain from pushing himself has exhausted him and he feels it like an ache in his chest, his heart twisting and trying to burst from how hard it’s beating.

He collapses to his hands and knees and gasps for breath on the outskirts of Gotham.

It takes a good few minutes to calm down and breathe normally, then another to gather his strength to stand up and begin walking.

The world is eerily quiet as he enters the city, feeling the chill fall upon him as he is consumed by the shadows of tall buildings. It’s much more intact that Amity Park, but there’s no denying the destruction that still surrounds him. Buildings are empty and worn down, decaying and slowly being consumed by new growth. Burnt out husks of overturned cars fill the street, leaving Danny to carefully pick his way around them, unable to walk in a straight line.

He feels like the only person in the world. He feels like he’s being watched by a hungry eyes.

Danny shivers and walks faster.

The deeper he goes into the city, the more he starts to hope that he’s not alone in this world. There’s small signs of life: the smell of smoke, recently burned, certain streets cleaned up, makeshift walls constructed from rubble to block access to certain areas of each block.

He swears he can see people move above his head, but anytime he looks up, the windows of every building are empty.

“Batman,” he whispers to himself, “I just need to find Batman.”

He turns a corner and continues walking. Apartment buildings give way to stores and businesses, all with their windows broken and nothing on the shelves. Then the buildings end abruptly and he’s left staring at an overgrown park that resembles a jungle more than it does a part of the city.

The scent of something sweet lingers in the air. Fruit, perhaps, or flowers.

If he was left in the aftermath of an apocalypse, he would go to where he could find growing food. If there’s anyone left in Gotham, he’s willing to bet they’re in here, surviving off of what food can be grown in the confines of the park.

Danny crosses the road and takes three steps onto the grass before someone appears beside him and points an electrified baton at him.

“Who are you?” they demand, eyes hidden behind a cracked helmet, but the bottom half of their face is visible, revealing scars crossing on dark skin.

Danny takes a step back, eyeing the electric baton warily, and lifts his hands to show he means no harm. “Danny. I came from out of town. I was hoping to find people here.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been traveling.”

His clothes are clean and intact and he has none of the world-weariness that weighs down this Gothamite. Danny winces, and says, “My situation is kinda complicated. But I did just get here. I’m looking for help, actually. Do you know where I could find Batman?”

There’s a long moment of tense silence, then he hears a quiet sigh and the helmet comes off. An exhausted looking man looks at him with one blind eye, turned a milky white, and his voice is low and stricken as he says, “Batman’s dead. But maybe I can help you.”

“Batman’s dead?!” Danny repeats, shocked.

“Yeah. Sacrificed himself in one of the last times Phantom attacked Gotham. Got me and Nightwing out of that encounter alive. We’re really the only heroes left in Gotham, not that there’s much need anymore with everyone trying to survive.”

Phantom killed Batman. His future self killed Batman.

Danny feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh,” he manages to say.

The man’s expression softens. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you as much as we can. Why don’t you come on in? Ivy can get you some food if you’re hungry.”

Danny nods numbly as he follows the man deeper into the park. He walks with ease, taking paths that only become visible when he walks them, leaving Danny to follow close behind. It takes some time before he realizes that the plants are moving out of their way just enough that they don’t trip, and when he looks back, the path is covered again, hidden from sight.

He’s taken to the heart of the forest, where the trees shift to the side to reveal a large encampment of survivors all living together. Beds are strung up as hammocks between trees and rope ladders dangle from branches to help people move up and down. The ground is full of small fire pits, a few in use to make make food, and sections in the back full of vegetable and herb patches, separated by berry bushes.

The people here all look tired and worn down, but they still smile and speak in light voices, adjusted to a new life after surviving so much horror and destruction. He even spots a few people using powers, or just looking different, including one large man who looks like a crocodile.

“Pick up another stray?” a raspy voice asks, humor lighting the tone. They both turn to see a woman with long red hair and a green tint to her skin be lowered to the ground by a vine. She’s also heavily scarred and her right arm is completely gone, replaced by a wooden limb covered in moss that moves as if it’s always been a part of her body.

“Hey Ivy,” the man greets, “I don’t think this one is staying. He came to Gotham looking for Batman.”

The words make Ivy’s gaze sharpen, and Danny feels a trickle of dread go down his spine. She’s dangerous and standing before her feels as if he’s in the mouth of a hungry beast.

“Is that so,” she says, voice flat. “How interesting. I’ll let you two talk somewhere more private.” Her gaze flicks to the side, and when Danny turns to look, he can see some of the people in the encampment observing them warily, bodies tense and poised to either flee or attack.

Ivy turns and the plants part for her. Danny waits for the man to begin walking before he follows, trying not to feel trapped as the plants close the path behind him. She takes them to a small pond full of water lilies, gives the man a careful look, then leaves, swallowed up by the plants.

“Is everything okay?” Danny asks hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Nah, you’re good,” the man replies, “It’s just that people don’t trust me much.”

“Why? You’ve been really nice.”

The man shrugs. “My soulmate is Phantom. He’s the one responsible for doing all this and killing almost everyone we love. I didn’t know until the first time I fought him, but they hate anything to do with Phantom, including me.”

Danny’s heart stutters in his chest. This is his soulmate.

Most people don’t subscribe to the belief that they’re meant to be with their soulmate. Meeting your soulmate is rare enough that most people don’t try, and plenty of people have spoken of how important it is to have a variety of relationships, to not close yourself off for the slightest chance of meeting your soulmate.

Danny never looked for his; he didn’t want to subject them to his parents, and then he became a halfa and gave up on all dreams of having a normal life or any relationship with someone who didn’t know he was Phantom.

And now he’s here, in a ruined future, standing before his soulmate who understandably hates him for destroying the world.

“You’re Phantom’s soulmate,” Danny breathes. His hands are shaking. He wants to cry.

The man sighs. “Yeah. I am. Not that it’s stopped him from trying to kill me. Don’t worry, kid, I’m not working with him. I swear.”

“He’s your soulmate and he hurt you.”

“He hurt everyone,” he says, then gestures at his blind eye. “This is barely a thing compared to what he did to other heroes.”

Danny can’t find the words to expression his horror at seeing the damage he did to his own soulmate. His future self is heartless and cruel and bloodthirsty. He has to be stopped.

He doesn’t want to kill his soulmate.

“I came here for Batman,” Danny says, “Because I thought he could help me stop Phantom.”

“That’s rough, kid. Batman couldn’t beat Phantom. I don’t think anyone can. We’ve tried, but most heroes are dead and we can’t just go out there and risk the lives of everyone here. We gotta focus on survival, not revenge.”

“I have to stop Phantom.”

“Sorry kid, but that’s a terrible idea. Don’t go out there trying to be a hero. You can stay here, alright? Ivy will get you set up and the others will help you settle in.”

Danny takes a step back and shakes his head. “No. I have to stop him. It has to be me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m Phantom,” Danny whispers.

The man immediately reaches for his electric batons again, taking a step back. “Not funny, kid,” he says with a tense voice.

“I’m not joking. I am Phantom, just from the past. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You’re Phantom?” the man repeats. “You. You’re just a kid, and you’re going to destroy the world one day?”

“I don’t want this to happen! That’s why I need to go back, so I can stop the event that will set me down this path. And to go back, I need to defeat the Phantom that exists here.”

“He’ll kill you, kid.”

“That still solves the problem, doesn’t it? If I die here, then he’ll never live long enough to destroy the world. He’ll die too.”

The man stares at him with cold eyes, then turns away, dropping his hands away from the batons. “Don’t turn this into a suicide mission, kid,” he says. “The Phantom who’s here isn’t you. You don’t have to pay for his crimes. Just… stay here and I’ll go fight Phantom.”

“He already hurt you,” Danny says.

“What’s a little more hurt? I can handle it.”

“No,” Danny says firmly. He shoves away the fear and hurt in his heart and finds his strength in determination. No more running away. No more hiding.

The timeline should not exist. He can’t hesitate at the thought of erasing this version of his soulmate from existence; he’s tired and injured and an outcast in the only community that still exists in Gotham. He deserves better. Everyone here does.

And to give them a better life, Danny needs to stop this one from ever happening.

“This is my future. It’s my responsibility. I’ll stop it and make sure this never happens. And… I’m sorry for everything I did.”

“It’s not your fault, Danny. You’re not this version of Phantom.”

That’s not at all true, since Danny’s actions lead to the end of the world, but he’s not going to argue when he’s preparing to fight a stronger, more ruthless version of himself. He takes a deep breath, then goes ghost and floats into the air.

“Before I go,” he begins, hesitantly, “What’s your name? Since you’re apparently my soulmate.”

The man smiles sadly and answers, “Duke. If we ever meet in your time, tell that version of me to look for my mom’s favorite book.”

It’s an odd request, but if it’s important enough to be asked for, then Danny will do it. “Your mom’s favorite book,” he repeats, “Got it.”

“Take care, Danny. Good luck out there.”

Danny nods and takes one last look at his soulmate, older and worn down, stubbornly getting through each long day, and swears to make things better.

Then he flies off, ready to fight his future self and make things right again.

. . .

He thinks of his soulmate for years after he’s back in the present. The timeline where his future self exists is gone and the world is safe, but he still remembers the pain he caused Duke.

When the time comes to apply to universities, Danny sets his sights on Gotham. His parents take him on a trip during spring break to tour the campus, and it’s after the tour, as he wanders around on his own, that he bumps into a student walking out of a building.

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time, reaching for each other to help each other keep their balance.

As soon as their hands meet, it’s as if lightning runs through him. From the look on the other guy’s face, he felt it to.

This is his soulmate.

“Duke,” Danny says, amazed and disbelieving all at once. And the request crosses his mind, something he wondered about almost every night since he returned to his time. “Look for your mom’s favorite book.”

“How—?”

“I met you in the future. You asked me to take back a message for the you that’s here. So: look for your mom’s favorite book. What does that mean, by the way? I never asked.”

Duke blinks, then slowly retracts his hands from Danny’s. “My mom’s favorite book was a hand bound journal from my dad. They were soulmates and he wrote about their first year in a relationship together. It’s full of pictures, and she loved it more than anything. That message is to remind me to have faith in soulmates, to believe that something good can happen to me.”

“Oh! That’s… wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into something so personal.”

Duke shrugs. “It’s fine. I needed the reminder. I would have already run away by now if you didn’t say that. You already know my name, but I think now’s a good time to introduce ourselves.”

“Right!” Danny says, flustered. He sticks his hand out, which Duke shakes with an amused smile. “I’m Danny. Fenton. I’m coming here next semester.”

“Duke Thomas. I’m a freshman here and I’d really love to get your number.”

He’s not hitting on Danny, not really, but it still makes him blush. The way Duke looks at him is full of light and laughter, so different from the exhausted and wary way he looked in the future now rewritten.

This is what the future version of himself tried to kill. He doesn’t understand how anyone could ever hurt Duke when he’s so full of life.

But he’s safe now. Everyone is; Danny changed the future and what lies ahead is wholly unknown to him.

The world is safe and full of promise.

No matter what comes, Danny is sure he and Duke are going to be just fine.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #the horror of knowing what kind of monster you are capable of becoming paired with the knowledge that your soulmate has suffered bc of you #and reasonably wants you dead/taken out of the picture not just for revenge but for the sake of everyone's safety #but also from duke's pov he's found a teenager wandering into gotham's last refuge. he looks strangely untouched by the end of the world.#hes looking for batman who duke watched die. and then it turns out that hes a younger version of the monster that ruined your life #(and everyone elses life) and realizes that this is who his soulmate once was #and then knowing that he either has to kill this innocent version of his soulmate or let his existence be unwritten #there is no happy ending for post-apoc duke's story #but he and danny get a second chance in a new timeline where things are better #doesnt mean the nightmares ever leave danny lol #thanks for the prompt!!

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pixelatedraindrops · 5 months

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One thing to keep in mind about me...

If I ever have a favorite character:

They WILL end up like this

in my head

CONSTANTLY

#pixel txt.#whump #whump posting #illness whump #sick whump #fever whump #whump community #whump prompt #sickness #sick comfort my beloved #fever #illness #whether its a fever a cold/flu or even stomach pain/nausea #I will imagine my fave absolutley WRECKED with illness #as a shivery feverish sickly baby kitten wrapped in a blanket with a cold compress on their head just needing and wanting some care #and it brings me comfort and serotonin like nothing else on earth <3 #so never be surprised by anything I do with my faves #i will make them suffer for the sake of fluff >:3

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artemismoorea03 · 6 months

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DP x DC (Or Marvel) Prompt: Pirate of the Underworld

(Again, this can work for either and I have no issues people changing up which Fandom they use because they're both good)

Youngblood was a great kid and that would never change. That being said he was a Ghost kid with a huge imagination and because he was a kid a lot of ghosts would play with him. Not normally a problem until Youngblood, Ember, Skulker, Kitty and Johnny decided to 'play' together in an alternate dimension after going through a natural portal!

But there they were,continuing to play and raise hell for a dimension who had little to no experience with the Ghost Zone. Thankfully, Danny had plenty of experience dealing with all of them, and while he wasn't used to it being so public he wasn't about to let the five (six counting Youngbloods bird-thing) torment this new dimension.

Now if only the heroes from this dimension would stop trying to interfere.

----

The last thing Bruce expected to see in the Gotham Harbor was a massive glowing pirate ship that seemed to rise up out of the ocean itself before sitting in shore. He also didn't expect flying figure's to start taking 'treasures' from all throughout the city. Gold, jewels, people, anything they could get their hands on.

His city was in trouble, that's all he knew and he wasn't going to stand for it.

Now if only this weird white haired meta would stop trying to interfere and let him and his team do their jobs.

#dp x dc prompt #dc x dp prompt #my prompts #dp x marvel #if you want #There needs to be more Danny and Bruce getting on each others nerve fics #Bruce doesn't like people on his turf without telling him what's going on and Danny is too protective of these idiot ghosts to leave them #also you know damn well the other ghosts are trying to convince Danny to not be such a spoil sport and play with them for his cores sake #“you have a baby core babypop just play with us it'll be good for you :D”#“maybe some other time when you're not kidnapping people but until then not a chance”#I imagine their conversations have the same vibe as “get out of the fuckin' tank”

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boytoyhalo · 4 months

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Your Selkie au is super compelling! Plus you are a very good writer. A question, will you ever go into more detail about Pac's previous captive situation? I'm very interested in how you will adapt Fuga's lore into your au. ( Specially bc of Cell and Cellbit stuff)

I'M SO SO SO LATE BUT IM USING FITPAC WEEK DAY 3 (WHICH IM ALSO LATE FOR) AS AN EXCUSE TO FINALLY, FINALLYYYYY GET THIS POSTED THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT ANON AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO'S AN ENJOYER OF THIS AU I PROMISE IT ISN'T ABANDONED IVE JUST BEEN IN AN END OF YEAR SLUMP

selkie au snippet #4 (i think) || T || slash (ambiguous) || @fitpacweek day 3 (belated its actually day 4) AU day!!!

read the rest of my posts about this au here

"Can I ask you somethin' personal?"

Pac paused, hand suspended halfway towards the checkerboard that was currently serving as him and Fit's way of passing the long hours up in the lamp room of the lighthouse. He kept his eyes on the round piece he was holding as he deliberated on how to answer, sure that if he met Fit's gaze his face would give away his nervousness; "personal" could mean a wide range of topics, most of which would spell disaster for Pac and his poorly constructed web of secrets. He slowly placed the piece in it's spot on the board, fighting to keep his voice even as he responded.

"Mmm, you can ask, yeah. I might not answer, but you can ask." Fit hummed bemusedly, absently flipping his own game piece between his fingers and he contemplated his next move.

"What happened to your leg?" Pac's breath caught in his throat, and Fit rushed to continue, "It's ok if you don't wanna talk about it, I get it. I just- I mean, you've probably figured out how I lost my arm, right?" Pac looked up at the familiar, mechanical clacking of the veteran's stiff wooden fingers flexing in and out of their open position, eyes involuntarily darting to the gnarled pink scarring that crawled from under his collar and up to the side of his head. He quickly returned his gaze to the board, face reddening a little in shame. Thankfully though, Fit seemed far from offended. "Heh, it's okay, I know. It's pretty obvious. And besides, you're a smart man. I'd be surprised if you hadn't assumed correctly. Me though - I'm just brawn, I don't have a whole lotta brainpower up in this thing." He knocked his fake knuckles lightly against his temple, a light smile on his face. "So if you are okay with me knowing, you're gonna need to tell me."

A small, nervous laugh bubbled it's way out of Pac's chest, his face properly flushed now in a mix of embarassment and flattery. "Don't - don't say that about yourself Fit, you're smart! Smarter than me, probably-" He cleared his throat, redirecting his focus to the topic at hand (ha.) "I can tell you, I don't mind. It's just a, it's a tough topic, you know? I need to get my head in the right place." Fit nodded easily like he understood, which Pac supposed he did at least somewhat.

"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere." The selkie chuckled a bit, tracing the edges of the paneled glass walls that surrounded them as he considered the best way to talk around the subject; he knew, or at least had decided, that he owed it to Fit to give him some semblance of the truth. After all, they had been growing steadily closed for months now and yet Fit knew so little about his life. Which was out of necessity, or course, but his friend had been so kind and so patient with him, never demanding more information than he was given. Pac needed - no, he WANTED to let him in as much as he reasonably could. He deserved it.

"I..." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, steeling himself to sort through the painful, tangled memories and hoping he would be able to hold himself together. He starts at the beginning, where he won't have to omit too much of the truth, though if anything that makes it harder to talk about. "Mike and I were on a merchant ship off the coast of São Paulo that was attacked by axis submarines a few years back." Fit winced sympathetically, patiently waiting for him to continue as he picked his next words. "We avoided the worst of the blast, but... Mike was in really bad condition, and I had to hang onto him with one arm and a piece of the wreck with the other while I waited for help to come. By the time someone found us, I was too tired and too um- too relieved to realize that we were being taken as prisoners and not as refugees."

It was all technically true so far, just with some important details omitted: like how they were only on the ship in the first place because their pelts were being imported as merchandise by a fisherman who believed himself to be incredibly lucky, and how they weren't taken as prisoners of war as Fit was no doubt assuming. Pac fails to suppress a shudder as he remembers the smug, taunting grin of the man that stood above him on the deck of his supposed refuge, two familiar seal pelts clutched in his meaty fists.

"I'm so sorry you went through that, Pac. You don't have to keep-" Pac cuts him off, already committed to opening up.

"No, I want to tell you. We," He clears his throat again, pushing down the memories of too-small tanks full of too-salty water, of needles and IV drips and white lab coats and pencils scratching on clipboards as he writhed in pain. "We woke up in some sort of facility, I'm not sure where exactly? I think the men who had us were European but that's all I remember, it's all blurry you know? And that's where we met Cellbit and Felps actually-" The image of frenzied black eyes claws its way to the front of his mind against his will, but he can't help a small smile at Fit's attentiveness as his eyebrows raise in intrigue, the checkerboard between them completely forgotten.

"Anyway, we were there for- months, I think. And long story short Cellbit ended up, um. He tried to- to eat my leg off?" It comes out sounding uncertain, Pac having realized there was no way to say it that wouldn't raise more questions. Sure enough, Fit's mouth drops open.

"Wait he- He tried to eat you?"

"Not- it wasn't- aaaaugh, he wasn't himself ok? They were- they were cruel to us, and they injected him with these drugs that made him all crazy and violent and they kinda just. Let him do it? It wasn't his fault, is what I'm saying." Fit looks disturbed, although significantly less so than Pac would expect from most people. He supposes bearing witness to the horrors of war would give you a higher tolerance to this sort of thing.

The thing is, it really wasn't Cellbit's fault. He had been there the longest of any of them, starved and beaten and forced through their cruel experiments since he had been a teenager. He was angry and desperate and hungry, and it was pure bad luck that Pac had happened to be the closest to him when the "researchers" had decided to test the effects of whatever combination of steroids they had injected him with. The ghost of his leg twinges in pain as it remembers the feeling of sharp teeth tearing through it's flesh.

"Wait so did Cellbit..." Fit hesitates, like he can't quite put together what he means to ask. "So he, bit your leg off? but how does that even-" He's interrupted by Pac giggling, and after a moment he joins in quietly with a confused laugh of his own.

"No, no he- he just did enough damage that the sci- that the jailers had to amputate it. And it wasn't that bad honestly, I mean, they weren't kind enough to knock me out before they started sawing but at least I didn't die!" His amusement at Fit's horrified reaction to his nonchalance almost drowns out the echoes of grief that his heart sounds for one of his fellow prisoners who hadn't been so lucky. Pac puts on a wide grin, forcing himself to perk up from his slumped posture. "So anyway, that's the story! Pretty cool don't you think?" Fit sputters a shocked laugh.

"Pretty- Yeah, sure, Pac. That's- *cough*- that's cool, yeah." It's a joke, obviously, but warmth washes over him anyway at the way that Fit lets him control the weight of the conversation like always. He wouldn't be able to handle trying to talk about his past seriously, and he's grateful to whatever higher power may or may not exist for bringing him Fit, who not only cares but understands despite being a human, and who always without fail meets him wherever he needs to be at. Pac doesn't know what he did to deserve a friend like him. "So, okay," Fit's voice snaps him out of the appreciative haze he had fallen into. "How did you guys get out? Were you released, or rescued, or..." He trails off, eyes imploring him to go on. Pac feels his face light up at the opportunity to discuss his favorite part of the tale - the only part, he likes, really.

"Oh, you're not gonna believe it. It was Richas! He actually saved us!"

"What?" Fit exclaims in elated disbelief.

"Yeah! So ok - they were keeping him prisoner too, but he was just a baby, like a, a toddler right? And the guards that were assigned to him treated him like their own kid-" Minus the horrible inhumane experimentation, of course. "- and he somehow, he figured out how to use their sympathy to get them to tell him where they kept all their keys," - and all the pelts - "and then managed to convince them to let him play with us alone. So he came to me and Mike and told us, so we told him to steal us some guard uniforms and figure out where the breaker box was, and after some planning and waiting for the right time we were able to escape by having him shut off the power and filing out with the rest of the guards! Mike wanted it to just be the three of us but I told him we weren't leaving the others behind." For all the suffering they had been put through it had honestly been comically easy - the facility they were at was small and not well guarded, probably funded independently considering that if any powerful government had proof of the selkies' existence everyone including the scientists would have been in a much bigger mess - the world was already at war, Pac doubted anyone was eager to add another variable to the conflict.

Fit crosses his arms and sits back, nodding in amazement. "Huh, so little Richarlyson is a hero! That's crazy"

"What, you don't believe me?" Pac shouts in mock offense.

"No no no I believe you! That kid is a fighter, I know it. So you guys all just stuck together after that? What about Bagi and Forever?"

"Ah, so- Bagi and Cellbit, they're brothers, or uhm- they're brother and sister, yes? And Bagi had been searching for Cellbit since he was taken, and somehow she ended up at the place we were being kept just a few days after we escaped, and she was able to track us from there. She's crazy smart, Cellbit and her both are. And Forever," Well, truthfully, Forever had just swam up to their pod and started playing with Richas one day while they were searching for a new home, and then the two had become inseparable so he just... stuck around. But Pac wasn't sure how to spin that into something that sounded reasonable for a human family, so he just went with "Forever just showed up one day and wouldn't leave." Fit laughed again at that, and this time Pac laughed with him.

It felt unbelievably good to tell Fit about his story like this, even with parts of it changed. Still, he wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth of what he was - he almost did, right then and there, swayed by the sound if his laughter and the mirth in his eyes. But, he reminded himself, that had to be a family decision; it wasn't just his secrets at stake. It was all of them, and as much as he loved trusted Fit and would be happy to gamble his own safety on that trust, he wasn't willing to risk his whole family.

...But, it would be so much easier if he could just say the whole truth. He wonders if Fit would react with the same attentiveness and amazement he gave to Pac's storytelling.

The rest of the day passed with little more of note, mostly filled with idle chit chat and card games. As Fit tries to teach him how to play Kings on the Corners for the third time, Pac finds himself thinking about how much Fit was changing his life without even realizing. A few months ago, Pac had never wanted or even tolerated human company that wasn't absolutely necessary. But now, he couldn't imagine not having the veteran around to occupy his time. In fact, when Fit had taken his first two-week relief back on shore after two months of service, Pac had felt inescapably lonely even when surrounded by his pod. Not even Richas, who had also been upset over the Ramon's absence, had been able to completely cheer him up. And while Pac's always been somewhat fascinated by humans, and had enjoyed watching the previous lighthouse keepers as they went about their work, he had never found himself as interested by any of it as he does when it comes to Fit.

"What is it?" Fit's voice snaps him out of it yet again, cards abandoned as he looks at him curiously. "You're staring."

"Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing! Just thinking about Richas and Ramon - what do you think they're up to?"

"They should still be hanging out with Cellbit, right? They're probably doing puzzles or something." Fit looks at the clock over on the left side off the room. "It's almost six, Bad should be here soon to take over for the night. Do you want to go join them and I can catch up?"

"Um-" Pac flusters, face heating up slightly. He's not sure why the emotional exhaustion of talking about losing his leg is what's bringing all these revelations to his mind, but he can't seem to pull his thoughts away from how much he appreciates the man in front of him. Which.... "Yeah, I think I'll go find them now! I'll see you soon?" Fit nods.

"Sounds good, Pac. I'll see you in a little bit." With a nod back at him, Pac shuffles out the door and makes his way down the tower. Instead of going to find Cellbit and the children, however, he beelines straight to the rocks where his pelt is stashed and hastily wraps himself in it's familiar comfort, sliding into the water before his limbs have even finished morphing into flippers. Surely a nice, solo swim is what he needs to clear his head.

...If only he could take Fit with him.

#stumbles out of the drafts covered in blood #my ass is gonna be late for every single fitpac week prompt at this point cuz dawg why did this take me like 5 hours to get done #anyway. i hope you like it. scream at me in the tags if u like it #ps i have begun outlining and drafting the full fic of this au #most of these blurbs probably wont be in it in full tho just for the sake of not making it 10billion words long #fitpac #selkie au #fitpac week

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wizard-laundry · 1 month

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when i say i don't fuck with ai or others that fuck with ai, that also means those of you using ai to imitate your blorbos voices

#even if it's just for your own personal use #you're exploiting the lack of protections voice actors have and helping train a dataset that will put them out of work #this post was prompted by OpenAI rolling out a new ai voice generating tool #same shit with actors and artists and writers and fucking everything else #don't even do it for the meme guys #i know biden and trump playing minecraft is funny but for fucks sake stop engaging

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fruchtfleisch-art · 2 months

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It's been a little quiet around here, but I promise I'm still writing! This fic is going to be a 20k monster at the very least (my final drafts are always longer than my first drafts), and I've been trying to make it to the finish line this month so I can start the long, long process of shaping it into something readable. Have some snippets of weird little boys, past and present!

#ALSO thank you to people who sent requests! those are still v much on my radar #and they're very good prompts too :) im excited about them!#i'm just trying to see how much more of the monster i can bulldoze through before i need another break (which is what the microfics are for #WIP #also talked about this on my sideblog but i might split the release of this into halves for the sake of my sanity #so instead of a marathon release of 1 chapter a week it might be more like first 1/2-> break to edit/draw ->second 1/2 #...although i definitely am at least going to have to write the second draft as one large piece. we'll see #i might... need... a spreadsheet...

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agendratum · 1 year

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“what’s the difference, just another unstable theerapanyakul for him to care for.”

tankhun didn’t mean to say these words out loud. he thought that of course, to himself, privately, often. he didn’t mean to say them.

it’s just that he spent the whole evening staring right at vegas from across the room. couldn’t tear his eyes off him. arm and pol tried to distract him, but it was pointless. it was the first time they were together in a room since [that day]. and the first time since he took pete.

tankhun couldn’t stop looking, and so vegas noticed. of course. gave him that stupid fucking smirk of his. like he was trying to be annoying. but that was vegas, so of course he was.

on purpose. everything vegas ever did was on purpose.

maybe tankhun had a couple of drinks too. alcohol didn’t distract him either, it just blended the colors of the room around them, zeroing his focus on vegas even more.

they ended up next to each other at some point. arm and pol weren’t around, couldn’t stop him. pete wasn’t around to stop either of them. tankhun was okay with that, after all, pete wasn’t around at all for him anymore. tankhun was okay with that.

it’s just that vegas was annoying. vegas was trying to annoy him. everything vegas ever did-

“will you stop trying to burn a hole through me?”

that smirk.

tankhun wanted to let the poison out, to remind him of [that day], how there were some other holes in vegas’ body, how much [all that red] were on the tiles, and how it was him, tankhun, who made it possible for vegas to survive that day. how if it wasn’t for him- but thinking of that made tankhun nauseous, so instead of letting out the poison he would probably just throw up on vegas’ nice looking shoes. which would have been funny, hilarious even, if it wasn’t so fucking sad.

“will you make your existence less annoying?” he asked instead of saying all that. not the smartest comeback he ever came up with. tankhun blamed alcohol.

vegas smiled sweetly, “well, there is nothing i can do about that.”

tankhun rolled his eyes. of course, like he could ever expect vegas of all people to make an effort, to change, to do something about being less- less- less himself.

there was a voice in the back of tankhun’s head, a familiar voice. it was saying something to him, accusatory.

but tankhun ignored it.

“you better try, because if you do anything to him-”

“then you’ll make sure i pay, etcetera, etcetera, i get it. get in the line, you probably won’t be the first to do it.”

vegas was so nonchalant, like they were having a normal conversation. so. fucking. annoying.

“but i don’t do anything to him. and he’s free to leave whenever he pleases, you know. but do you really think that if this time he decides to leave,” tankhun tensed, “he will crawl back to you?”

why wouldn’t he. why wouldn’t pete go back to him. why would he choose [that] instead.

but, tankhun thought to himself, why would he choose you.

“is that what you think i’m doing?” vegas continued, even though he was meant to shut up a long time ago, “keeping pete away from you?”

“are you not?”

tankhun wasn’t going to cry today. and he definitely wasn’t going to cry in front of fucking vegas.

pete would know what to say to calm him down. pete always knew.

“he’s happier with me, whether you want to believe it or not.”

so yeah, tankhun didn’t want to say these word out loud.

“what’s the difference, just another unstable theerapanyakul for him to care for.”

he just wanted vegas to hurt as much as tankhun himself was hurting.

he could feel the time stop. vegas froze. khun froze as well. he wasn’t afraid. (he was.) he was just really worried about pete. (he missed him so much.) he didn’t mean to say this. (he did.)

he wished he could take these words back. he wished the poison in them would kill vegas for good, finally making him disappear. he wanted vegas to continue living no matter what, because seeing pete [like that] was something tankhun never wanted to do again. he wished he could explain to vegas how saying that hurt him just as much. how it sucked for him to compare himself to vegas just as much as it sucked for vegas to be compared to tankhun.

vegas still wasn’t speaking. khun felt like a child who just won a little game. but truly, if vegas couldn’t see what tankhun was seeing, he was just stupid. unless vegas was avoiding the truth on purpose, in which case khun really won, he won-

“vegas?” a familiar voice.

“khun-” pete cleared his throat. these days he didn’t know what to call him, so he just wouldn’t call him anything at all. “i met arm and pol, they were looking for you. probably should let them know you’re alright.”

tankhun couldn’t meet his eyes. he noticed that vegas was avoiding looking at pete too.

their mutual silence was starting to get unbearable for khun.

the stupid game wasn’t fun anymore. (was it ever fun?)

“did you have another argument?” pete asked calmly, but it shocked tankhun as if he was hit.

in the past, when tankhun and vegas would argue (or rather khun would argue with vegas, while he was walking away, not even paying attention to him), pete was always silently in the back. he could never participate in their poisonous exchanges. he would only interfere to stop tankhun from following vegas further. he never said anything, never voiced his opinion. he could now.

“and what made you think that?” vegas finally said something.

the smile on his face was different now. it was worse.

“i-” khun wanted to take back everything that just happened. he wanted to hurt vegas, sure, but he didn’t want to hurt pete.

he didn’t, right?

he didn’t?..

but he hurt pete before.

so what, said another voice in his head. vegas hurt pete as well, vegas had surely hurt pete worse. why was pete choosing vegas, why was he staying with him, was he really so brainless-

“khun noo?”

tankhun flinched.

he saw the way vegas looked at pete in that moment. how he wanted to stop him. probably wanted to tell pete not to call him “khun”. but instead vegas just said, “excuse me”, and left.

it didn’t escape tankhun how much pete wanted to follow vegas, to check up on him. he was like a magnet getting tugged away in that moment. yet he stayed. and why? he clearly wanted to leave. was it because in the moment tankhun demanded his attention more? because among their instabilities tankhun’s state was worse? because no matter how terrible vegas was tankhun would still end up below him? because no matter how difficult vegas was, at least he could manage on his own, but takhun couldn’t?

“shouldn’t you go with him?”

tankhun didn’t want to sound like a sulking child, but he did.

“why do you say that?”

pete was putting on that face. not too cheerful, but calm enough to disarm. that face he would always put on for other people when they were out in public (public here meaning more people than just three of tankhun’s personal bodyguards). face that meant to protect tankhun. now that face was protecting vegas.

did vegas know that? did vegas know pete was using the same tricks he once used for tankhun?

vegas would hate to know that.

“because you’re with him now.”

“i don’t have to follow his every step,” pete gave him a confused look now. another patented pete look.

but you do, the voice was yelling in tankhun’s head, and you followed every step of mine.

until you gave him away.

that accusatory voice came back.

you gave him away like a cheap toy you didn’t want anymore. you, it was you. you gave him away and he ended in vegas’ hands, and vegas [what did he do to him??] him. and now pete doesn’t want to stay with you anymore. he wants him. because you threw him away.

“i didn’t-”

tankhun gasped, covering his mouth.

“khun.. noo?” pete pleaded, it seemed real now, “didn’t we talk about this? you promised me you would be okay with that. what did you tell vegas?”

the truth.

he was as awful as tankhun was.

to pete. tankhun was awful to pete.

“i’m sorry.”

all that tankhun could manage.

“it’s okay,” said pete.

it wasn’t.

“i feel sick. could you, please, help me find arm and pol?”

“of course.”

of course he would. good old helpful little pete.

---

tankhun didn’t remember the end of that evening. somehow he ended up home. arm and pol were talking to him, he was sure of that. he asked them to leave. they were probably surprised.

he crawled under the blanket, covered himself with pillows.

he wasn’t going to cry that day.

he hated the feeling of pitting himself so much. so so much.

vegas probably hated it too.

but he hated vegas.

because in the end of the day, if vegas was so bad, if vegas was so awful, if he truly represented the worst of what came out of their family. and someone so dear to tankhun would still choose vegas over him, then what did it make tankhun?

at least, thanks to his words, that day vegas would feel equally terrible about himself, tankhun thought.

and wailed.

#another little thing that maybe was written purely for the sake of one phrase #that i came up with in the shower #also i'm a bit tipsy #also how do you guys finish fics? what are endings #tankhun #vegaspete #vegas #pete #fics #mt #does this count as something for this week's prompt?#khun is one of my favorite supporting characters #but this also just him having a really bad time :(

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starry-bi-sky · 1 month

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i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc prompt #man i just really need more dpdc stuff where danny and bruce have a good relationship. like man i NEED it. like i need to see these two #bonding together. and not in a cracky 'oh danny is a distant friend/cousin/etc' stuff but like. active participants in each other's lives #or as active as can be in this case. i neeeeed these two getting along and caring about one another #this idea came to me like last night and hasn't left since nd it was driving me up the wall to think about both positively and negatively b #i neeeded someone to hear about this or i was gonna implode #danny is the first son #tried to just get the general gist of the idea down but i definitely thought of the idea that bruce lowkey suspects vlad for having a hand #Vlad allows Danny to sneak off because he thinks Danny is alone. if he knew Bruce was there he'd be piiisssed and would put a stop to it #Sam and Tucker are alive they just got ghosted for a bit by danny bc he was in Major Grief and didn't wanna socialize. He couldn't go to #them because he didn't wanna put them in danger via Vlad.#oh that thing he handed Bruce? Yeah that's his ghost core. I have a headcanon (that isnt always applied) that ghosts can take their cores #out of their bodies at will and painlessly and without issue. and its common practice actually to do so bc they can be a not insignificant #distance away from said core before problems start to act up. and its common for ghosts to leave their physical cores at their lairs for #safekeeping because as long as the physical core is fine: so is the ghost. they can reform if their body gets destroyed. it also acts as a #fast travel sometimes. where they can reform at their core in an instant. its not inspired in the slightest by SU but i do see the overlap #most cores are pretty small for safety sake: its harder to hit if its small. and they're pr resilient too but its better to be safe than #sorry. so yeah. danny essentially gave bruce the physical embodiment of his soul and indirectly said #'if anything happens to me at least i'll be safe with you'#danny doesn't know he's batman btw #starry rambles.#was gonna go into danny becoming a vigilante beside bruce but im sleeeepy so i'll do that in a reblog. he's gonna go by nightingale if #anyone is interested. stereotypical but to be frank it is a *good* name imo. has a good amount of syllables and consonants to it #and the bird theme. and since its part of an ancestral name it has even more backing for it being bird-y without being meta

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pigeonneaux · 2 years

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blorbos from my life

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montammil · 1 year

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Whumpee overhears Caretaker talking to someone on the phone, saying how stressed they’ve been lately, how they haven’t gotten any sleep for the past couple of days, and how paranoid they are that Whumper could come back.

So of course, Whumpee blames themself.

The stress is likely because Whumpee’s sensitivity and neediness.

The lack of sleep is because Whumpee is always having nightmares or waking them up in the middle of the night to sleep in their bed with them.

They’re paranoid Whumper will show up because of them. Whumper is only looking for them, not Caretaker.

So they figure the only solution is to run away, where they’ll never be a burden to Caretaker again.

Now it’s a race to see who will find Whumpee first: Caretaker or Whumper?

#whump #whump prompt #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #whump idea #whump ideas #whump scenario #i have like three other prompts formatted this way lol #if you noticed just ignore it #for the sake of my own sanity

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cherryapparition · 7 months

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Bedtober Day 8: Kigurumi

Prompt List by OceanInSpace

#just him in some pajamas i wanted at a certain point #the one on the right is sold out and its my biggest regret like EVERRRRR #but before i begin crying over it #i wanted to colour these or whatever but ugh can't waste more time but the sketches are cute anyways so here before i go sleep #double feature today #might just combine the prompt of today and tomorrows for convivence sake #bedman #guilty gear #my art #bedtober

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luxaofhesperides · 4 months

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Human/Mer AU + Bioluminescent Siren Duke ; requested by @justwannabecat!

The human hadn’t been in his territory recently.

He wasn’t attached or anything, but Duke had started to look forward to seeing him around. It was equal parts exciting and terrifying to be under the curious, watchful eyes of a human who could so easily be dragged down into the depths.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be indulging this human’s curiosity, trying to lure him closer time after time. Holding the attention of any human is dangerous; Duke’s heard the stories plenty of time. He’s seen the damage humans can do even more.

There’s just something different about this human, who never dives too deep, who smiles at him and leaves little gifts in the tide pools tucked away from the rest of the beach, hidden from sight. Or rather, usually hidden from sight, since this human is the only one to go there.

It’s foolish, but Duke actually misses his human.

It’s not the first time he’d been gone for long stretches of time, but something feels off. There’s worry curling up at the base of his throat, making him swim to the surface more frequently. Steph had given him a look when she caught him, but didn’t say a word. She shouldn’t, really, when she’s been sneaking up to the surface for her own human friend, some small, dangerous human with dark hair and hands that speak more than a voice.

He’d seen her, just once, when he had gone up to splash water and his human then swim away.

Somehow, things felt easier back then. Like the horrors of the world couldn’t reach them among those tide pools.

It’s reached them now.

Duke’s not expecting to see his human when he swims up to the surface. He’s expecting another quiet night, an empty beach, a dark sky with only the moon casting its lonely light down onto him.

But when he swims up, his eyes go to a figure on the beach instantly.

Even from this distance, Duke knows: that’s his human.

He doesn’t think before he’s swimming over, pushing himself faster than he’s ever gone before. It’s low tide, so he can’t get as close as he wants and can’t reach most of the tide pools at all, but it gets him close enough. Human and merfolk vocal chords are different; he can speak in water, but can’t make more than a few hums in air, and humans can’t really do anything in water at all.

His human is sitting with his knees tucked into his chest on the beach. He’s hiding in his clothes, a hood pulled over his head, but he looks up when Duke drags himself onto the sand.

Duke can see bruises. Dried blood. A stray tear slipping out of his eyes.

He wants to ask what’s happened? But all that comes out is a low crooning noise.

His human laughs, a quiet, bitter noise that makes Duke’s chest tighten uncomfortably. “Hey,” he rasps in a low voice. “Been a while, hasn’t it? I hope you’ve had a better time than I did.”

Duke can’t reach his human. The distance between them isn’t great, but it’s too much. He’s already partially out of the water, hands sinking into the wet sand just out of reach of the waves, and he can’t get any farther out. He reaches a hand out, silently pleading for his human to come closer.

The move makes his human soften, some of the hard edge of tension in his body melt away. He gets up and walks into the water, then sits down next to Duke, taking his hand.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

If they were underwater, Duke would be able to say I missed you too. Don’t ever go away so long again. But his human is in no shape to go underwater right now, so Duke presses his hand against his lips and hums lightly.

They sit in silence for a moment, and Duke realizes that he’s never been this close to any human before. It doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels like relief, to finally have his human in his reach, safe from the rest of the world.

He gives him human another moment, then reaches out and carefully pushes his hood back. His human allows it, blinking at him slowly. Without the shadow of the hood, Duke can clearly see the bruise coloring his cheekbone and the cuts going down his temple to his jaw. His split lip is still red with blood, and what little of his throat isn’t hidden by his clothes reveals more bruises wrapped around the delicate column of his neck.

Duke ghosts his fingers over each of these injuries, hating how easily humans hurt each other. His human leans into the touch despite how it must hurt, something devastating in his expression.

Who hurt you comes out as a questioning trill. Somehow, it gets the point across.

“It’s alright,” his human says. “Really. I’m not even that hurt. It’s just been a long few months. We never talk much, so you wouldn’t know this, but I have to fight a lot of people. Perils of being a hero, you know?”

Duke knows about heroes. More specifically, he knows about mer heroes. He’s considered being one himself, but the currents shifted and he ended up more a loner, banding with the other rejects of the city to live in the fringes and help only those who wander out too far from the marginally safer waters within.

He hasn’t heard of any human heroes, but then again, he doesn’t know much about humans at all. Nothing beyond the stories all parents tell their children to scare them away from the surface, or the horror stories kids tell each other in the middle of the night when they want to scare each other.

He hums again to let his human know he’s listening. His human has such a nice voice. Why haven’t they done this before?

It’s always been a push and pull between them, carefully keeping their distance but always circling back to each other. Duke would let his human swim with him, and his human would let Duke sit safely on the other side of a tide pool, tossing sea shells back and forth between each other.

They don’t even know each other’s names.

He wishes, just for a moment, that he could go back in time and do things better. But he’s happy here with his human and he doesn’t want to lose this either.

He’ll just have to make the best of what he has. It’s how he’s always lived after his parents disappeared.

“This really isn’t that bad,” his human says, “I’ve taken worse hits before. It’s just that I couldn’t transform before the attack started, so now my human form is bruised too.”

…Human form? The more Duke hears, the more questions he has.

Duke hums at a lower octave, placing a hand over his human’s chest.

His human laughs lightly. “Yeah, I guess we’ve never really talked much about ourselves, did we? I’m human, don’t worry, just not all the time. I… actually, I died a few years ago. But I came back partially. So I’m also half dead still and I can transform into a ghost to fight threats. I’m a hero called Phantom. Actually, Danny Phantom since I was stupid enough to just give out my first name when I started out. In my defense, my brain was still a little fried.”

There is so much he wants to say to that. He tries, and makes a series of low hums and clicks in the back of his throat, staring at Danny (he finally got his human’s name!) incredulously.

“I promise I’m fine,” Danny continues. “It was just a bit rough. As soon as I get some time to recover, I’ll be good as new! And I really did miss you, you know. Didn’t even go home first, just come straight here.”

That’s honestly really sweet. Duke hums again, a lighter pitch, and takes hold of Danny’s wrist and tugs him towards deeper waters.

“What? You want me to go in?”

Duke nods, already shuffling his way back out of the sand.

He expects to look awkward during the process. What he most definitely doesn’t expect is for Danny to easily pick him up and walk them both into the ocean.

Listen. Duke is not a small mer. He’s big. He’s got a long, heavy tail and wide fins going down his back, his forearms, and the sides of his tail. It’s a struggle for him to fit into seaweed nests with his friends during the colder seasons, often left to balance on the edge with his tail hanging out. His friends struggle to pull him through the water with his weight. His parents weren’t able to hold him much after he started growing.

None of this matters to Danny, who acts as if Duke weights nothing at all.

To his great embarrassment, his fins flare in appreciation for Danny’s strength. He was not expecting a human to be so strong, but Duke’s not about to lie to himself and say it’s not attractive.

He trills to Danny, who laughs again, then falls into the water, taking them both under.

Duke doesn’t hesitate. He grabs hold of Danny and swims them further out. He stays close to the surface so Danny can rise for air as needed, but he makes no move to leave Duke’s side even after a few minutes.

He glances back, concerned, when he sees that Danny is watching him with dark eyes, not breathing at all despite being conscious.

Danny holds up a finger and closes his eyes. Two rings of light appear around his waist, then split apart and pass over his body. Instantly, Danny’s body becomes lighter, as if Duke’s hand is grasping at a current on the seabed. His hair turns white and his eyes glow from how bright of a green they are, but there’s something inhuman about his features now, something that makes him look different beyond just physical features.

Well. Danny did say he could transform.

Now that they’re underwater, Duke can finally speak. The first thing he asks is, “What was that?”

Danny grins at him. “That,” he says, speaking with ease as if he’s not underwater at all, “was my transformation. And this is my ghost form. Quite the look, isn’t it?”

“You can talk down here?! Also, hi, my name’s Duke. Since I never introduced myself.”

“Ghosts can do a lot of things,” Danny answers with a cheeky grin. “It’s nice to finally know your name. I’ve been calling you glowfish in my head this whole time.”

“Glowfish?”

“Yeah. Because you, you know,” Danny gestures vaguely at him, “Glow.”

Duke glances down at his back fins, which are indeed glowing. They flare a bit from embarrassment, which just makes the dots of light lining the fins more visible. He doesn’t glow a lot, keeping a tight hold of that ability, but sometimes it comes out anyways when he’s feeling especially happy.

And apparently, he’s always very happy around Danny.

It’s a good thing Danny doesn’t know what that means, because if anyone of his friends found out, they’d laugh at how obvious he’s being. Drawbacks of being somewhat bioluminescent: anyone familiar with mers who have this feature know exactly what the glow means.

“Right,” he says just a beat too late. “Well, now that we know each other’s names, can you tell me how you really feel? Those injuries didn’t look too good.”

“It’s fine, really! I take harder hits all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Danny doesn’t answer for a long moment, then sighs. “Yeah. It still hurts.”

“Stay with me for tonight,” he says. “You’ll be safe. You can rest and heal and I’ll keep you safe from anything that comes looking for you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Danny doesn’t put up much of a fight. He must be exhausted. “Yeah, alright. Take me away, Duke. You know, this is like those stories about sirens luring sailors down into the depths.”

“Well, I am a siren.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I take after my mom. She’s the one who taught me how to sing.”

“I guess it’s a good thing we’re friends so I don’t have to worry about being dragged down to my watery death.”

Duke snorts. “Good thing you’re already a ghost then. Not much I can do to you down here.”

He swims down, heading towards a small cavern in a sea rock that he’s claimed as his own, leading Danny into it. The light from his fins illuminates the entrance and the rocks within, a narrow passage that goes in for a few meters before opening up into a larger space full of carefully tended to seaweed and starfish decorating the walls.

There’s a nook tucked away in the back wall where he’s set up a seaweed bed, the plant braided together into something more solid. It’s big enough to fit his tail, which means it’s big enough for him and Danny.

“Here,” he says, helping Danny down. “Get some sleep. Then you can tell me about what happened in the morning and we’ll take it from there.”

“I’m glad you’re here Duke,” Danny whispers, curling up on his side. He holds Duke’s hand, twining their fingers together, and it’s as nice as it is strange to feel how cold Danny is in this form when he was so warm as a human.

“I’ll always be here for you. You just need to come back to me.”

Danny hums, but doesn’t answer. It’s alright; Duke’s used to his loved ones leaving. He knows he can’t make them stay. All he can do is hope they return one day.

It’s been a long time since he’s had anyone in his home. There’s a communal cave where his friends stay that he visits when he gets lonely, but this place used to be for his family. Now it’s just him.

Him and Danny.

The last time there was song in these walls, his mother was still around, singing him lullabies.

Looking down at Danny, curled up and so strangely fragile looking, Duke feels the song build up in his chest. It slips out in low, soft notes, an old melody passed down through generations of their family.

He sings Danny to sleep.

He sings and sings and sings until all his nightmares are soothed and dawn is almost upon them.

It’s all he can do, so Duke sings and hopes it’s enough to keep Danny close to him for just a little longer.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #once again hit by the need to go crazy with worldbuilding #hitting myself w a broom while writing this like KEEP IT SHORT. KEEP IT SHORT!!#this could so easily be 20k+.....#the worldbuilding.... i have Thoughts on mer society and underwater gotham and human/mer differences and so much more #duke's parents were captured by a human (the joker) to use in a fucked up traveling aquarium #danny's still a halfa and a hero but he's not w his parents. they're good parents they just fought the gov for his sake and got arrested #so he's w vlad in a coastal city while jazz is in college #other heroes are still around on land and are not mers so villains are still up there too. and danny had to fight them hence his injuries #he actually got captured a bit and taken to some evil underground gladiator ring he had to fight his way out of mostly in ghost form but #also as a human. and the whole time he just thought abt the only friend he has in this new city which is duke. a mer he visits when he can #there is just SO much i want to write for this but i have to hold myself back....#this whole asking for prompts thing is to make myself writing shorter things... keep fics brief... not 10k+....#anyways. thanks for the prompt!!#i went straight for the hurt/comfort lol

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