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bunysliper · 7 months

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Fic prompt: s5 pillow talk 💛

I know it's been forever since you prompted this, I hope you like it!

Talks in the Dark

"What'd you want to be when you grew up?"

The question comes out of the blue, a complete non sequitur to the last words they'd spoken (which had been more breathless pants than an actual conversation), but Kate just laughs, reaching back for his hand and bringing it around her body to bring his chest flush with her back.

"When you were really little, I mean," he continues, dusting a kiss to the skin at the back of her neck. "I know you told me once that when you were in college you were pre-law, and then you became the greatest detective in the world, but when you were your little, tiny, feisty baby Beckett self, what'd you want to be?"

Kate strokes her fingertips over the back of his hand, using the gentle rhythm to help herself think. She knows she'd wanted to be something different back then, all kids did even if it was something absolutely absurd, but she can't for the life of her remember what it was.

"I really don't know," she says. "I guess maybe I always kind of wanted to be like my mom."

She feels him smile against her skin, shivering when he brushes his stubble along her shoulder.

"I could see that," he agrees. "You do stick to your guns when you know what you want."

Kate exhales, clutching his hand a little tighter. She's trying not to be so rigid, but she knows he's seen that side of her too often.

"My dad used to joke that 'stubborn' should have been my middle name."

Castle chuckles. "Katherine Stubborn Beckett; it does have a ring to it."

She smiles. "Not the worst name in the world, anyway."

He hums.

"Come to think of it, though, I feel like I did once tell my parents I wanted to be a groundskeeper in a cemetery after we went to a funeral."

Castle's head tilts on the pillow. "I need to know. Tell me everything. How did you go from lawyer to groundskeeper in a cemetery, and back to lawyer?"

"I remember seeing the care they took in making sure the graves looked nice, and it was quiet and peaceful there."

"And you didn't think, even for a second that it might be haunted?"

She snorts. "Not even a little bit."

"Party pooper."

Kate hums. "What about you? What'd you want to be before little Ricky Castle decided the life of a writer was for him?"

Castle's fingers twitch in hers. "Oh, I definitely wanted to be a ghostbuster who patrolled a cemetery. Zap a few poltergeists with my proton pack before they can terrorize people? The best."

She doesn't believe it for a second, but she laughs anyway, giving him that.

"And then I'd fall in love with an unbelievably, unrealistically sexy cemetery groundskeeper and we'd be together forever, making sure the army of the undead never rose to terrorize the city."

Kate snorts. "No really, Castle. What'd you want to be?"

He exhales. "A journalist, I think. Television, print, either. I wanted to report facts to people and keep them up to date about what was going on in the world. I used to sit Mother down and force her to watch my nightly news reports. Which I wrote myself about events I almost completely made up."

His lips pucker against her skin. "It turns out fiction is much more fun."

Kate laughs. "Now that I believe."

Behind her, Castle hums.

"I am glad to know that about you, though," she adds. Pulling her hand out of his grip, her fingers trail down his arm, making soothing strokes. "Thanks for telling me."

His foot brushes hers. "Thanks for telling me about yours, too. You would make a pretty hot groundskeeper, you know."

Laughter bubbles in her chest. "Thanks, Castle," she drawls. "I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to change jobs."

He grins against her skin. "Good."

Quiet settles, blanketing them in warmth. Kate sinks deeper into the mattress, allowing herself to drift. She's on the cusp of sleep when she hears her name again.

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

A smile works its way over her lips. "I know."

He chuckles, pulling her closer, rearranging the tangle of limbs they've created until they're both comfortable.

"Hey Cas'le?" she says a second later, peeking an eye open and twisting her head as far as she can. She can't see him, but it's the thought that counts.

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

#castle fanfic #castle fanfiction #caskett #caskett fanfic #fluffy friday #my fanfic #prompt responses #Season 5 Fic

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necromeowncy · 5 months

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POV you are Emet-Selch.

Made this based on an ask prompt I received from this post for A4. Thank you for giving me the prompt @reenramewrilah !

#help lmao #that's YOUR elf Exarch!!!!! yea!! woo!#he is very babygirl #elezen #wolgraha #wolexarch #crystal exarch #shadowbringers spoilers #g'raha tia #wol x g'raha tia #aedric vaillencourt #gpose #my poses #elezen wol #ffxiv shadowbringers #prompt responses

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thorneyes · 5 days

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Info Tidbits - Rohesia Thorneyes

B A S I C S

Name: Rohesia Thorneyes

Nicknames: Roh, Thorneyes

Age: Mid-Twenties

Nameday: Unknown (Sometime in the 4th Umbral Moon)

Race: Hyur Highlander (Ala Mhigo)

Gender: Female

Orientation: Bisexual, prefers butch/masc presentation.

Profession: Adventurer and healer-for-hire.

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Dark brown, with a wiry texture that makes it a bit unruly, especially when she's wearing it short.

Eyes: Green and always sharp.

Skin: Brown, slightly lighter than some of her countrymen.

Tattoos/scars: Ala Mhigan style facial tattoos. Scars-wise she has a number of them, fitting her life as an adventurer, but the most prominent is a messy knot of them that cover her right shoulder and upper arm.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Both passed.

Siblings: None.

Grandparents: She knows next to nothing about them.

In-laws and Other: Recently reconnected with a childhood friend close enough to be her brother, Q'ndai Tia.

Pets: n/a! She wouldn't have the first clue what to do with one. She barely manages to look after her familiar.

S K I L L S

Abilities: A competent if unconventional conjurer, thanks to being taught in a hodge-podge sort of style. She's got some practice at field medicine outside of that, which makes most of her healing best applied on the battlefield. She knows how to throw a punch, too, though she's not very elegant about it.

Hobbies: A growing (heh) interest in gardening.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Determined, sociable, deeply caring despite the front she puts up.

Most Negative Trait: Stubborn as anything, especially when she feels like she's been slighted.

L I K E S

Colors: Blue-green for what she wears, but she has a fondness for reds in general.

Smells: Spicy foods, the salt of the lochs (it's familiar even if it's not a good scent exactly).

Textures: warm stone, rough linen cloth.

Drinks: Over-steeped tea.

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Might on occasion, but doesn't when there's a chance she might be needed, which is a lot lately.

Drinks: Socially, now and then. Usually just a cheap beer, but occasionally something nicer.

Drugs: Avoids. She's seen where that can lead and she doesn't want it.

Mount Issuance: Doesn't have one. She can ride a chocobo but isn't very comfortable with it.

Been Arrested: At least once. She doesn't tend to talk about it.

Tagged by: @grumpy-limsan-customs-cat ty!

Tagging: Have not kept track but plz tag me if you see this and want to do it.

#thorneyes #prompt responses #prompt meme

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rensouli · 5 months

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Paragraph Prompt #4 - "Bemoaning"

(Credit once again goes to Aurelia for this one - thank you ever so much!)

[Please note that I tend to play fast and loose with my Warhammer lore, largely for the sheer fun of it. I also must apologize for the sudden disappearance of Vercci and Voldo here, but rest assured, they'll return soon enough. I just need to get some Saltzpyre practice in too!]

The chapterhouse dining hall was deafeningly silent, save for the whispers of some errant apprentice hunters seated on the far end of the benches and the droning voice of the priest reciting the evening’s chosen scriptures. Saltzpyre did his best to tune both out as he labored to eat his victuals, though he ignored the priest with a twinge of shameful guilt. The meal was more tasteless than usual, but for once that wasn’t due to the Templar dietary restrictions. Life itself lost its luster when he was kept from the roads and his usual duties. Small wonder, then, that even food wasn’t appealing to him in his current state.

Scowling, he regarded the mass of bandages his injured arm had become, bound in its sling. A clean break and a cluster of harsh burns were the price he’d paid for a job well done. His nostrils still stung from the faint scent of the numbing poultice, which had been applied to the wounds earlier by a too-chatty healer. At least she hadn’t tried to convince him a soothing spell was necessary; at the end of the day, all magic reeked of corruption.

Had there not been blessed days before the hateful Winds blew their first, dispersing such twisted gifts across the lands of men? The people had lived free from taint and temptation, and the emissaries of Chaos were forced to work more directly if they wished to corrupt mortals. But now such foul aims were so easily accomplished, with the flick of a glowing finger or the brewing of an ill-spiced potion. And what with the Imperial Court continuing to sanction and approve such heresy…Saltzpyre found himself thanking Sigmar that he wasn’t so mad as those who tried to mount a solo crusade against it. The mad zealots who tried such things were more likely to end up on the gallows or the pyre themselves than immortalized in stained glass with the saints.

He shook his head. Would that circumstances were different, that Karl Franz and the Elector Counts could be led to reason at last! An Empire free of witchery, or at least one where those with magic’s accursed taint in their veins kept their heads down and knelt in the Temples of Sigmar to pray for their affliction to be lifted…oh, what a glorious land that would be to dwell in! He would weep tears of joy for the rest of his days there, and no mistake.

Yet bemoaning the state of the world did precious little to bring about that longed-for miracle. Indeed, he was forced to reckon with the fact that reality never could measure up to his exacting standards.

May Sigmar forgive me for having expectations in this vale of tears, he thought to himself. As he did his level best to choke down what remained of his gruel, he wore a grim smile. Could a man be absolved of something that wasn’t a sin?

If having the true best interests of the Empire at heart made him a sinner, then perhaps he could allow himself a trace of corruption after all.

#warhammer: old world fantasy #vermintide #victor saltzpyre #fanfiction #adult fanfiction #prompt responses #renaissance writings #my writing #warhammer wailing #saltzpyre saltbox

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twofoursixohjuan · 2 years

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Unfortunately work is crazy right now and I don't think I'll be able to join in on the Ranger Gathering, sorry. I may drop a sketch or ficlet or playlist on occasion but I can't commit to consistency :(

HOWEVER I am still chugging away at the prompts that I'm sure you've all forgotten about by now, my bad and next up should be for whoever it was requested Jesper being arrested for theft.

I'm really sorry, but although I wrote down all the prompts I have no record of this one for some reason (I assume something glitched) and I'm not sure who asked for it. If it was you go ahead and let me know so I can tag once it's done.

Might take a while longer because this one is developing Plot, but, it should be done in the next week or two.

#Juan is Late #prompt responses #brotherband #brotherband chronicles #jesper

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ky-landfill · 29 days

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may we please get more tim and jason 🙏🙏🙏

“Jason—“

#Jason todd #tim drake #batfam #batman #something something timeloop something unexpectedly affectionate jason #prompt response #nga mihi <3

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creativepromptsforwriting · 2 months

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Dialogue Responses

"I thought you were dead!"

"Didn't stick."

"I kind of was..."

"Just wishful thinking."

"That was just a phase."

"Didn't work out for me."

"Wow, the miracle of life!"

"I thought the same thing."

"I was, but now I'm here again."

"You were supposed to think that."

"I'm so sorry! I'll explain everything to you."

All the Dialogue Responses can be found here.

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! 🥰

#dialogue responses #writing prompts #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing ideas

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taazaofferss · 10 months

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Google Opinion Rewards India - How to Earn Regular Money Daily

Google Opinion Rewards Tips & Tricks Google Opinion Rewards , Google Opinion Rewards Tips And Tricks – Google Opinion Rewards is a mobile app that gives money to users for completing surveys on their mobile devices. The software is accessible for both Android and iOS users and gives money to users with Google Play credits. These credits can be used to buy apps, games, music, and movies from the…

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asmoshywrites · 2 months

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How to avoid character inconsistency in your writing

Set your character boundaries:

What's the background?

What's your character's backstory?

What are their traits, and how do they portray them?

Know what keeps your characters motivated. (Are they reaching their goal?)

You can avoid quick shifting of scenes. Let your readers absorb the setting of the scene.

Ensure that their actions and decisions align with their development and growth.

Tip 1: Start your chapter with a scene or dialogue that comes back at the end, which helps maintain consistency.

Tip 2: Throughout the chapter avoid the fast pacing of the story, rather let the characters express themselves so that it's clear for the readers.

Consider how your characters react to situations that are hard to convey. (Do they feel nervous? Scared? Fearless?)

Dialogue writing is crucial in explaining your character's personality while writing a story.

This process requires lots of re-reading and writing, fixing character holes and rewriting character arcs.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing prompts #dialogue responses #writing inspiration #writing advice #writer help #writer tips #writer problems #writer community #writer on tumblr

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bunysliper · 7 months

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Caskett fic prompt: straddling his hips but *mostly* just to talk

I hope you like this, Anon!

Active Listening

He's not listening.

Oh, he certainly thinks he's listening, and he's nodding and making noises like he's paying attention, but she knows better. He hasn't absorbed a word she's said in the last five minutes, if not longer. The faraway look in his eyes tells her that much.

Plus, there's the open book in his hand, the one he swore he didn't even want to read, three-quarters of the way finished.

"Castle," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Mmm, yeah?" he asks, his eyes flicking upward, looking in what would be her direction if she were standing across the room and about five feet to the left.

"Did you hear me?" she asks. Annoyance makes her voice sharp.

He scoffs like she's insane for even thinking otherwise. "Of course I did."

"Uh huh," she says, moving closer to the couch, closing the distance between them. "What did I say? Tell me the last five words I said before I called your name. Actually no. Just tell me the gist of anything that came out of my mouth in the last ten minutes."

Her husband blinks, glancing down at the book in his hands and then lifting back to her. "Uh… hang on, I-"

Kate sighs, pushing his shoulders until they hit the back of the couch completely. A moment later, she tugs the book out of his hand and marks his place quickly before tossing it aside. Her knee hits the cushion beside him, giving him only a moment's notice before she swings her other leg across his lap and sinks her weight onto his hips.

"Wha-" he sputters.

"I'm talking, Castle," she says. Still, she does lean in to brush her mouth over his quickly. After all, she is right there.

A grin spreads across his lips but he tamps it down as she feigns stern.

"By all means Beckett," he says with mock seriousness. "Talk away."

"Uh huh." She kisses him again. "Listen now."

Of course, with his full attention on her, she finds the topic she'd been trying to discuss has slipped her mind almost completely. What had she been saying?

"Kate?" Castle's hand slips down her back, sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt and pressing against her skin. "I wasn't listening to you the way I should've been before, I admit it. But I am now. What were you trying to tell me?"

Fighting a shiver at his touch, she drops her head to his shoulder. "I forgot, damn you."

She feels his lips brush her head. "Sorry."

Kate sighs, sliding her hands up his chest to loop around his neck. "Well, I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me. If you're not too preoccupied right now, of course."

Her husband chuckles, drawing her closer. "Believe me, you have my full and undivided attention."

His chin lifts in invitation, and she ducks her head to kiss the smugness from his mouth.

She remembers what she'd been talking about, but it isn't until much, much later.

#Castle Fanfic #Castle Fanfiction #Caskett #Caskett Fanfic #My Fanfic #Prompt Responses #Season 7 Fic #Season 8 Fic

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junewild · 7 months

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every new make some noise episode gives me a new favorite make some noise clip of all time.

make some noise, season 2, “the wicked switch of the west.”

#k talks #dropout tv #dimension 20 #d20 #make some noise #brennan lee mulligan #sam reich #erika ishii #izzy roland #collegehumor #game changer #i was not expecting that prompt. or that response. but given how mentopolis went? maybe i should have been #this is going to stay my favorite for a while probably #even as the number one erika ishii stan i am low-key a LITTLE disappointed they didn't name the episode after this bit

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thorneyes · 3 months

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What sky are you?

Tagged by @calico-heart and @naejlas-axe! Going to do two of them because of it.

Rohesia

overcast sky

you've built up some walls around you. you're careful with whom you give your heart and your trust. you feel like you're waiting for something, but you're not sure what it is. there's something telling you that there's more to life for you than what you have now. but until then, you're content to let the days pass. you're not in any rush, but some days you can't ignore the sense of restlessness that comes with waiting. you are a calm but intimidating presence

Q'ndai

partly cloudy sky

you have mixed feelings about change, but you adapt to it fairly easily. or at least that's what it seems like from an outsider's perspective. outwardly you're pretty chill, appearing calm and relaxed. but inside is a little more complicated. you're guided by logic and reason just as much as you're guided by your heart and your instinct. you struggle with feeling like you're not enough. you cherish memories, both old and new

Both are honestly decently accurate - Q'ndai would deny his but he doesn't understand how his own emotions work so he isn't allowed a say. Roh's done some moving past her wariness Quiz Here!

Tagging: oh fuck uh. I'm doing this days late so if you see this and haven't done it yet you're obligated to do it and tag me in it so I can see yours. I demand it.

#thorneyes #dust devils #tag meme #prompt responses

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rensouli · 5 months

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Paragraph Prompt #3 - "Olive Trees"

(Credit for the prompt goes to Aurelia once again. Thank you!)

[This story contains the closest thing to "period-typical homophobia" that I think I've written of late, and it's still only a brief implication.]

Winter had departed the countryside at last, and through the window he could see the gardens in abundant bloom. The blazing sunset illuminated all beneath it, making the landscape outside the villa look like a painting by one of the revered master artists in Florence. Far from here, somewhere in the vast distance, the peasants would be returning home from their work. They would eat their modest evening meals, chatter amongst themselves about their mundane lives, and bicker with their wayward children before heading off to sleep in humble beds. Such would be their lives until the grim day of their funerals dawned.

Voldo breathed a sigh. Even now, amidst all this luxury, his thoughts had traveled back to the circumstances of his birth. He should be grateful for his new life…and he was! Nary a day passed when he wasn’t tempted to kiss his master’s golden buckles as thanks for what he’d been granted. Rightfully so, given his station as a servant in such a proper, prosperous home. Still, his traitorous heart craved more, more still. He gripped a bundle of his recently cropped dark locks with a fist, relishing the stinging protest from his scalp.

No, he wouldn’t pull any of his hair out this time. Doing that had forced Master’s hand last week, and the barber had only just arrived and departed yesterday. But today was Giovedi. How fitting, for this tidy little drama to play out in his thoughts! He breathed through gritted teeth.

What right, what divinely given privilege, did Master Vercci have to tease him so? Love betwixt men was not something prized as a virtue by the Church, but every man of sense saw that the rich across the city-states were afforded far more leniency than the average fearful peasant could ever dream of. Besides, Voldo had learnt from his time aboard ship that there were places the eyes of judgement never beheld, whether through carelessness or willful apathy. And though he’d held conflicting thoughts in his darkest moments about whether there existed a Being above to pray to, he was coming to question the dual edge of the blessing bestowed upon him.

Does he love me, or does he not? The question echoed in his mind, addressed to no one and to Someone all at once. His heart longed for another to understand his pain and confusion, if only for a solitary moment. Were those stares, those cunning smiles, and the untoward, lengthy glimpses of flesh his master allowed him in the morning signs of something more? Or were they mere jests, a mockery of the feelings written so obviously across his foolish face? Not for nothing had Master Vercci taken to calling him “zanni”; was it his plan to turn the rest of his servant’s life into a comedy?

Voldo regarded the olive trees outside with tearful eyes. It was in their nature to freely bloom, to live as they were meant to in freedom beneath the expansive blue skies. Why couldn’t he?

Yet an olive tree had no fear of being rejected by the one it loved. It had no fears at all. He was worlds apart from the blissful, ignorant happiness of the gardens, and perhaps always would be. Perhaps he would have sobbed if it hadn’t been for the words that brought him back to cold reality.

“Voldo!” called Master Vercci from his chamber. “Remove yourself from the window at once and make haste! My bedlinens cannot turn themselves down, sirrah.”

Voldo heard a smile in those words, and he despised the way it made his heart thrill.

In obedient silence, he bowed his head, and wrenched himself away from his portal to the world outside. There was servant’s work to attend to.

#fanfiction #adult fanfiction #soul calibur #voldo #vercci #vercci/voldo tag #merchant mausoleum #prompt responses #Renaissance Writings #my writing

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confessedlyfannish · 7 months

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DP x DC Writing Prompt #5

Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.

After a moment, the door opens.

"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.

"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.

"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."

Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.

"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.

For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.

Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.

Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"

"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.

"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.

"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.

"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.

"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.

"He did," Jazz says.

Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.

Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.

A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.

This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.

Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.

In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.

"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.

Damian stops dead in his tracks.

"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.

Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.

"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.

Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"

Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.

"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.

Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.

"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.

Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.

Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.

Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.

They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.

"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.

"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.

Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."

"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."

"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.

"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."

Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.

"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"

"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.

"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."

"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."

"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."

Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.

"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."

Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.

Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.

Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.

Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.

A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.

His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.

"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"

"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.

He never stopped practicing, after all.

"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."

"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."

Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.

"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.

"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."

"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."

Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.

"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."

"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."

Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."

"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."

For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.

"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."

"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.

He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.

Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."

Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."

Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."

"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."

Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."

"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."

"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.

"Even then."

Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.

"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.

"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.

But for his brother, Danny will wake up.

"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."

#Danny I AM RETIRED FROM MURDER Fenton #the informants are ghosts #the thing about deductive reasoning is sometimes you deduct incorrectly #particularly when you don't know about the ghosts #danyal al ghul #damian wayne #danny phantom #batman #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #bruce wayne #this is an au where damian doesn't get blown up and lose most of his vital organs #like bruce still isn't a super responsible parent but no nine year olds blow up so that's something #danny: he only blew up once so he can stay with you #batman: he did get speared straight through but we fixed it #danny: he wHAT #i wrote this instead of eating dinner #because drafts are for the mentally healthy #tbh i don't think his name would be danyal al ghul in this one #he's trying really hard to stay under the radar I don't think he would choose essentially a homonym

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