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selfproclaimedunicorn · 2 months

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Prompt: Daddy Daemon and Mommy Rhea finally find common ground and maybe fall in love through mutual violence against the bane of their existence: Viserys.

Enjoy the absolutely unhinged AU we entertained the idea of one time. Feeding you well with nearly 3.3k of Daemon being mentally unwell & Rhea being a mama bear

Adrenaline had not stopped coursing through him since he had found Rhaella sobbing in the gardens, wailing and carrying on worse than when he’d taken Yorick to squire. Words tumbled forth from her, muffled by his chest as she desperately clung to him; as disgusted and angry and hurt by betrayal as he’d been nearly fifteen years earlier.

Daemon had gone to Viserys, had unburdened himself of his feelings about being tossed aside to be further forgotten and ignored by their father, and he’d nodded and hummed and patted his shoulder in a bland attempt at comfort. That his elder brother would turn around and wound him so, would do to his child what was done to him–worst of all by his own hand. Hells, this was worse! Daemon had at least drunk himself into compliance so he could make nice for a day while the realm watched him put a black cloak around that bronze bitch’s shoulders, and she had at least been willing and girlishly excited enough he’d thought once would not hurt. There was no complacency from Rhaella, she had not wanted anything more than to aleve her brother of the duty of giving sympathy to the king.

She was wrapped in the blankets from his bed, and curled in on herself on a couch with her head on his lap. Daemon wanted to get up, to pace and spit venom, to go to his brother and smash his face into the model of the old empire he fancied so; he wanted to curl protectively around what was his and not let anyone touch it, hissing and snapping like The Blood Wyrm with anyone who came too close. He stewed in his anger, fingers curling into one of the black blankets.

He wanted and he ached and he yearned. Power some days, recognition and respect all of them, affection too. No one he wanted to gave him that one, not how he desired; but Rhaella so desperately clinging to him for protection and love like how he had done with Prince Baelon and then Viserys…maybe that was how he had wanted it? To be a first choice, to be needed.

There was a pounding on the door, and Ella startled in his lap before huddling in on herself more.

“Leave!” He barked the order as his head snapped towards the door. The knocking did not stop.

“Daemon, open the fucking door!”

“Mother!” Ella’s call was broken and achingly familiar, drawing foggy, half-remembered visions of Vermithor setting a pyre alight to the front of his mind.

“Ella?!” It was Yorick who burst through the door, one of the infrequent flashes of real emotion on his face: outrage and grief–the most common combination Daemon had ever witnessed from his older son. Their mother followed behind him, only to bump into him a moment later. They both stood only a foot into Daemon’s chambers, staring at him and Rhaella.

“You, you–” she pointed at him, face twisted with blind fury for only a moment before her gaze fell to their daughter, “my sweet girl.” She rushed to where they sat, dropping to her knees to take Rhaella into her arms. It was strange and uncomfortable seeing the Lady of Runestone in such a position, to feel her arms brushing against him as one of the children they shared held onto her without getting up from where she laid on top of him.

“I am sorry! I am sorry! I didn’t think that–I just wanted to help!”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“It is mine,” Yorick mumbled. He was always mumbling if he was dejected.

“It is Viserys’s fault,” Daemon snapped.

A strange look passed over Lady Rhea Royce’s face as her eyes, brown and terribly common, darted up to him. Their gazes met, briefly, and then she looked back down to Rhaella. “Go to your brother, sweet girl.”

“But, but–kepus.” Her voice sounded so small when she twisted around to look back up at him, her mismatched eyes watery and pleading.

“He will keep you safe, just over there,” Daemon pointed to the tall divider painted with dragons that separated his chambers in half, and he glanced at Yorick when he continued, “jātās.” Rhaella sniffed hard as she slowly sat up and slid off the couch, and she still held the blankets tightly around herself as she shuffled over to Yorick’s side. Neither of them touched the other, but she was still close enough it was as if they moved as one.

Daemon sprang up immediately, standing at full attention almost before Lady Royce could get herself out of the way to not be knocked in the face by his knees. When she was standing and looking up at him there was anger on her face again. His lip curled and he turned towards the door, but before he could leave to go do something, she grabbed his arm.

“Will you fucking think for five minutes?”

“All I have been doing is thinking, and I decided the best way to off him is to cave his head in.” Daemon pulled his arm further away to try and get her to let go, but the Lady of Runestone held fast to him. He could have pulled harder, yanking his arm from her to go do what he needed to do as she fumed, but he knew she was not mad at him this time. Their anger shared a common goal that served something besides staying away from each other, probably for the first time ever.

“Something has to be done! I will not just sit here and let Viserys marry my daughter!” Not when his brother would treat Rhaella as little more than a broodmare to replace him with, not when Rhaella had flung herself into his arms and screamed her hurt that he could fix.

“Do you think I want that to happen?! Do you think I want our daughter to go through what Aemma did?! We just–gods you are so stupid!”

“I am not stupid!”

“When have you ever had a fully formed plan? Tell me quickly.”

“Going to Dragonstone when Viserys exiled me for Yorick cavorting with that boy from the brothel was a fully formed plan. It is not my fault he brought you to the island and hardly made a decision he was not pushed to.” Sometimes Daemon forgot his brother had barely been primed to rule, and that their quarrels as boys would end with Viserys acting as if he had indigestion.

“Yes, of course, hinging your bets on that cunt making a decision is a perfect, well-formed plan and not some malformed stillbirth of an idea.”

His lips went tight as he glowered down at her. Lady Royce’s insults would be funny if they were not so often pointed at him. “Do you wish to help me save Rhaella, or not?”

***

It took everything in Rhea to keep her expression calm. Her heart hammered in her chest and her hands felt clammy. The weight of the gold ring with its raised emerald felt like it should keep her from raising her hands as she attempted casual gesticulation, and she wanted nothing more than to look at her good brother with disgust after everything he'd done. She hated him, had for years. He was ineffectual and weak and as fickle as the day was long, preferring to stick his head in the sand instead of making any kind of firm choice or resolving a single issue that arose. He had spent years making one of her dearest cousins miserable, keeping her from rest and subtly blaming her for each lost prince as he put on a show to make everyone feel more sorry for him than they did Aemma. He was not going to do the same to her daughter–his niece–no matter how much she “reminded him of Princess Alyssa.” Ella was not dying in the child bed after promising anyone an army of sons.

“A shame Daemon could not join us.”

“You know how he is,” she replied with a noncommittal shrug.

“He is prone to going into moods,” a disarming, almost bland, smile pulled up the corners of his mouth, “he has been since we were boys. There is dragonfire in him.”

Kinder words than she would have chosen on most days, although they were not untrue. That “dragonfire” had been part of why Daemon had been so exciting…then he decided to point it at her. Things usually lost their charm when their worst parts were aimed in Rhea’s direction.

“One could still hope the king’s brother would be pleasant enough that Ser Westerling and Ser Marbrand would let them speak to each other.”

When Viserys let out his annoying little chuckle Rhea wanted to punch him in the face. Nothing about this was enjoyable or casual, and laughter would not divert any tension. Although, if he was so at ease she must have been doing a decent job at pretending to not be bothered. Her father would have been proud of his little girl playing politics so well.

“Have you told him of my announcement? Surely such joyous news would see Daemon’s mood improve.”

“I tried to talk to him earlier, but you know how he is, Viserys,” Rhea stood up and turned away from him so she would not have to see his satisfied smile for another moment, “something wedged itself into his mind and he will have to wait it out.” She traced a finger over the decanter on the small table near their chairs, the digit easily gliding along the neck and crest of the glass dragon.

“But that is enough about my husband, there are other things to talk about than him.”

“Like the rejoining of the two halves of House Targaryen.”

Bile rose in her throat. He'd said as much when he betrothed Yorick and Rhaenyra, ignoring her father’s petitioning of Jaehaerys to have at least Rhea's heir known as a Royce, and now he said the same thing about his wanting to marry her daughter–the girl who so often went by Ella Royce. Not that any of the Targaryens seemed to care what her sweet girl wanted. She took the stopper out of the mouth of the dragon, and placed it on the table. Rhea needed both hands, and she was not going to back down now. She poured wine into two glasses, her hands hovering over one of them a bit longer as the powder her husband’s bastard had snuck from the grand maester’s chambers poured out of the well under the emerald in the ring and into the dark red liquid filling the goblet.

Rhea turned back around to face Viserys, both goblets in her hands and a fake smile plastered across her face. “Indeed. Something so joyous as your honoring House Royce twice over by betrothing Yorick and Rhaenyra, and then announcing your intent to have Ella as your new queen requires much discussion. And perhaps, also celebration?” She extended one of the glasses towards the king, and he gladly accepted it.

She smiled into her own goblet as her good brother drank some of the tainted wine. King Viserys could not content himself with trying to take her oldest son, pretending Yorick was his and snatching him away to saddle him with her fate: an outsider married to one of them. This was for Yorick and Ella, and Aemon eventually. The Targaryen dynasty would not take anything more from House Royce, not unless it was willingly given.

Rhea barely paid attention as the minutes passed, letting the king talk himself in circles. She would nod where appropriate, blow smoke up his ass if his pause seemed to be for a response. Eventually he grew listless, and Rhea excused herself under the guise of attending to her duties, whatever her good brother assumed those even were when she was away from home.

“Seven hells,” Rhea grumbled just loud enough to be heard, “you would think he would want to be at least a bit moderate if he wanted to speak with me.” She paused in her walk from his room to look over her shoulder at the two kingsguard stationed outside Viserys’s chambers.

“Do let me know when His Grace will have had enough time to recover his faculties for a conversation. I do not know his tolerance for wine as well as the two of you would.”

***

Daemon glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment to see if she was keeping up, they needed to move quickly if they wanted to make it to Viserys’s chambers before the kingsguard checked in on Viserys’s progress with “sobering up,” and he was not above simply leaving Lady Rhea behind. She kept pace with him though, trotting along behind him as he led her through the secret passages of The Red Keep.

She had insisted on coming even though her part in the affair of saving their daughter from the angry despondence they had been shafted with was over. But she had said that she wanted to see the whole thing through, and that she wanted to make sure he actually did it. As if Daemon wasn't full of righteous fury, building up over years and finally spilling forth after being given a taste of what he craved; as if he could not be trusted to do what needed to be done.

He stopped before a spot in the wall where light filtered into the secret passage between a small gap in the bricks, and pushed, opening the hidden door just a crack. He pressed his face against the door, peering into the room beyond to make sure he had remembered the correct paths to the king’s chambers. When his eye landed on his elder brother, softly moaning and bent over the great, oblong table where his model of Valyria sat, Daemon felt a mixture of sympathy and rage bubbling up inside him. That was his brother, the person who had raised him when their father withdrew from the world. That was his betrayer, the person who constantly sent him away and had put his hand on Daemon’s daughter.

He pushed the door open and stormed past the tapestry hanging over part of the secret door in order to conceal it. Viserys was slow moving and clumsy when he sat up, and his pale eyes were bloodshot.

“Wha–Daemon?” His words were slurred, and the look on his face was far away. Viserys seemed so fragile under the effects of the poison that Lady Rhea had slipped into his wine.

“Don't just stand there.” Her whisper came out as a hiss, and she shoved him from behind so he had to take a step towards Viserys. Daemon looked back at her, both of them frowning and full of fire. She was right; they needed to act quickly, he needed to let years of carefully tended anger carry him forward like he always did.

Daemon crossed the floor and hauled his brother out of his chair by the shoulders, the extra fabric of his black and red coat bunching in his fists. The king, just a hair shorter than him, was dead weight in his arms, ineffectually struggling against Daemon’s hold on him as words, all mumbled mush, spilled from his mouth.

His bright purple eyes flitted from his elder brother’s neck, to the model of Valyria, to the fireplace. It had seemed so simple before actually being in his apartments, but now his wife’s warnings of the consequence of not thinking nagged at his mind. It was strangely less grating than usual.

“The balcony.” Her words, still hushed to not draw undue attention to their actions while the kingsguard continued to wait out “His Grace’s drunkenness” just outside, were matter-of-fact and unexpectedly calm. She had always been quick to think, and when it was aimed towards collaboration Daemon actually welcomed it was an admirable quality. He followed Lady Rhea as she walked quickly to the other end of the room, throwing open the glass doors that blocked their path. As he was dragged into the twilight something seemed to pierce the fog of Viserys’s mind, and he moaned again, louder than before.

He adjusted his hold on his brother, letting go of one shoulder to stand beside him and wrap the free hand around his mouth. Lavender eyes darted up to meet Daemon’s brighter gaze, searching and desperate and only slightly less far away than before. His heart beat impossibly fast, and he knew that somewhere in the depths of the dragonpit Caraxes was restless and grumbling.

“You do not get to push me off for years, ignoring me until I do some trick to please you and then discarding me as soon as you’re upset, and then believe yourself entitled to putting your hands on my daughter. Rhaella wants you as much as you do me.” With that, he finally freed Viserys from his hold on him and shoved him in the chest, sending the listless king easily over the railing of the balcony.

His wife came up beside him, one hand on the railing and the other on his bicep, as she looked over the balcony to see the last of Viserys I’s fall and broken landing. Daemon didn’t look down at his brother, instead glancing over at Lady Rhea as she winced. The weight of what he just did, what they did, felt heavy. It needed to be done though. Viserys had had as much coming all his years of selfishly casting him aside, at least that’s what the hurt and adrenaline was telling Daemon.

“Come on, you cannot get distracted now,” he stepped back from the balcony and grabbed her hand, pulling her back into the interior of the late king’s apartments and towards the door to the secret passage, “you said we needed to not be suspects, and we will be if someone sees you gawking at the body.” She huffed from behind him, but she did not say anything or fight his hold on her. Pliant as the night at Storm’s End she’d gotten drunk enough to open her legs to make a child to claim Silverwing, but without blushing or giggling like the night of their wedding. Strangely, Daemon liked this better.

His nerves still raced when they slipped into the tunnel hidden between the walls of the keep and closed the door, leaving them in the almost-dark of the secret passages. He walked quickly, navigating back towards his own apartments and their hidden door in the false back of the wardrobe that he’d discovered as a boy. Daemon must have been going faster than when they were going to the chambers of the king, because Lady Rhea took hold of his hand again and stopped him in his tracks.

He looked back at her, and her expression was unreadable. It was soft though, softer than it had been for over a decade. Her eyes were amber when they met his, warm and almost golden in the dim light of the hidden passage. How had he never noticed that before?

“I…I appreciate your–”

That ignited something in him, and Daemon cut her off with his mouth, taking her face in his hands and pressing his lips into hers. Rhea let out a sound of surprise that was muffled by their kiss, but soon she met his enthusiasm with her own.

They were all teeth and tongues and soft moans as he pinned her against the wall. Her hands threaded through his hair, and Rhea gasped when he pressed himself against her. Their lips met again, and he growled into her mouth when she rolled her hips against his.

#asks #my writing #nat tag #sotf extras #at what cost au #nat come get your juice #GOD this is so long #3k words to get to ''daemon targaryen has a praise kink''#but y'know what? good for them i guess #make that forbidden 4th Roycegaryen

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found-family-tournament · 1 year

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Found Family Tournament Round 1 Part 28 Group 137

Propaganda and further images under the cut

The Doctor, the Bodyguard and their Charges: Yorick Brown, Ampersand, Dr Allison Mann, Agent 355

Submissions are still open!

The Doctor, the Bodyguard and their Charges:

*heavy sobbing*

Will, Horace, & Halt:

The author TOOK HIS TIME to show how dealing with Halt changed Will and Horace's personalities to be more sarcastic and snarky, but also to feel more confident in themselves and let their differences aside. Do you understand what I'm saying here? The author took his time to show how living with cranky, grumpy old man affected how these characters ACT. He IS their father now. Will was kidnapped by the Skandians and Halt was SCREAMING AT THE PORT saying how he'd find him, then he commited TREASON so he could be exiled from his kingdom and start a journey with Horace to save his little guy. When Halt was THIS CLOSE FROM IMMINENT DEATH and wasn't even sure where he was, he looked at Horace, thinking he was his teenagehood best friend, and said: "hey can you take care of will and horace for me?? they are like very competent but so insecure. horace thinks i dont know that but i do am i am so worried 🥺" but he'll be damned if he gets this sappy in a situation where he DOESN'T think he's about to die, so much so that he was never this open ever again. except when he willingly said "good night, son" to will, that was intentional. that was a statement. when will got debilitating depression, who was there to try to think of solutions? thats right, halt and horace. and to think this all started with horace bullying the shit out of will when they were 15 but now they are blood brothers, they're each other's everything, their best friend, their right hand arm- man. their silly rabbits. sorry i dont have pictures of them these books are not illustrated and it makes me so sad

#tumblr polls #poll #polls #tournament poll #found family #found family tournament 2023 #tumblr tournament #tournament #The Doctor #the Bodyguard and their Charges #Y : The Last Man #Will Treaty #Horace Altman #Halt O'Carrick #Ranger's Apprentice

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leechloach · 3 months

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Size comparison of Yorick (top, darker with white stripe down back; zero morph) and Portia (bottom, beige with brown pattern down back; Zulu morph)

Yorick is one and will be two in September, and Portia is almost three which she'll be in April.

#yorick #portia #mp #fat tailed gecko

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avaritia-apotheosis · 9 months

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Phantom Children: Redux | III. Nothing is Bred that is Weaker than Man

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3} or [FFN.net]

← Previous Chapter // MASTERPOST // Next Chapter →

CW: BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF GORE

Three Years Ago…

Danny could not sleep though the chill of the ship invited him to rest his eyes.

No, he could not.

Though the coolness of his room and the layers of blankets cocooned around him would be tempting enough to knock him out for a couple hours on a regular day it was the cold that kept him wide awake

The freezing, numbing, blessed cold that made the back of his left knee ache and any attempt at sleep fitful.

He tossed and turned in his bed. When was the last time he slept, anyway? Was it in the car ride to the docks? The plane? The hotel they stayed at two—three?— days ago?

Danny couldn’t remember. That was… Jazz would say that was a bad thing if she were here.

It was kind of stupid really but—

He curled in tighter on himself, burying his head beneath the blankets.

When he was younger, his parents bought him a stuffed animal; a brown monkey in a space suit. He named it Albert, after the first monkey to ever go to space. Well, go to space and survive. The first monkey to go to space was Albert II but he died coming back to earth because of a parachute complication. Albert VI (also called Yorick, but Danny preferred Albert) was the first monkey to go to space and survive the landing. Anyway, that stuffed monkey used to be his favorite thing in the whole world. He used to drag it everywhere until he accidentally left it in a hotel during summer break when he was nine.

God, he was absolutely inconsolable when that happened. Couldn’t sleep for anything more than a few hours and when he woke he was the most snappish nine-year-old to ever walk on the face of the earth. His parents offered to get him a new one but he didn’t want a new one. He wanted Albert.

But then there was Jazz. Jazz who snuck into his room at night and tucked Bearbert under the blankets next to him.

“Sleep is important if you wanna grow taller,” Jazz said. “I know he can’t replace Albert, but maybe Bearbert can keep the monsters away until we get Albert back.”

The memory warmed his chest for a brief moment.

And then the reality of it all came crashing down again.

Jazz was dead. His parents were dead.

Lost for all eternity like Albert.

And both times were his fault.

If he just looked underneath the blankets or on the side of the hotel bed, he would have realized that Albert wasn’t in his backpack.

If he hadn’t given in to Dan’s taunts, then he would have been fast enough to everyone.

If he never cheated on that fucking test—

God, he just did everything wrong didn’t he?

Good ol’ Danny Fenton, fucking everything up as usual.

Fucker can’t even die right.

◆◆◆

It was sunset when Danny found himself wandering onto the deck of the ship. The sun resembled a red giant as it sank into the sea, less so in size and more so in the intensity of its color. Visceral and raw and blinding , dying the ocean a deep violet-red.

His mania had abated, somewhat. It seemed to fluctuate in intensity. Sometimes the cold felt all-consuming; frost would crawl up the walls of his little cabin, his skin tinged frostbitten-blue, and the cold would seep beneath his flesh and war with the fever that made him delirious to the world around him. Sometimes it manifested as nothing more than an occasional shiver. What made each day different, he didn’t know. But those calm days, those good days, he savored like a bittersweet drink.

Today was one of those good days. He wasn’t feverish, wasn’t nauseous, and his head didn’t hurt like Skulker had elbow-driven him from 500 feet in the air.

Sure, a shiver would occasionally crawl up his spine, and sure there were a couple moments where his powers froze the waves as they crested, but it never lasted long. The shivers would go away and the ice would break as the wave slammed down again.

“Ah, young Danyal.” Dusan stepped up beside him on the railing, the sea breeze catching a few tendrils of his white hair in the wind. “Your mother told me you had been feeling better.”

He gave a noncommittal hum beneath his breath.

There was a wrinkle between Dusan’s brows and instantly, Danny straightened, hands squeezing the railing. “Yes, sir.”

“Hm.” Dusan pulled a sleek black phone from his jacket pocket, unlocking it with a few taps of his thumb. He passed it to Danny. “You will be pleased to note that our ruse has succeeded, and you are now free from the clutches of the law.”

It was an article from the Amity Park Angle. It was short, only a couple paragraphs long, and had his school picture posted beside it.

Daniel James Fenton, 14, passed away tragically last Wednesday.

Ah. His jaw tightened, skin tingling though not from the cold.

This was his obituary.

He returned the phone to Dusan, not wanting to read the rest of it.

How did you do it? He wanted to ask. How did you kill me?

Instead, he gave a strained sort of laugh. “You think I’ve set a record? I’m probably the only one in the world who managed to technically die and remain alive three times.”

The corner of Dusan’s mouth quirked up. “Needs must, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes drawn to the lull of the darkening waves.

“What is it that occupies your thoughts?”

He pursed his lips, shifting his arms so that they laid crossed on the railing. “I don’t— I just…everything happened so fast.” He dropped his head into his arms, fingers raking through his hair. “A few weeks ago I was, well, not normal , but close enough to it. I had my parents, I had my sister, I had my friends, and the most I had to worry about was the next ghost attack and making sure I remembered to do my homework. And then the explosion happened and everyone died and I became an orphan but it turns out I’m not? Because my real mom found me but I can’t— you guys had to fake my death to get me away!”

Frustration coursed through his veins with the same intensity as the waves slamming against the side of the ship. He leaned back, hands holding the railing in a knuckle-white grip, frost creeping from beneath his fingers. Not that he noticed. Not that he cared.

“I’m dead. I’m dead but I’m not and I’m constantly flipping between being fine and becoming a human popsicle. I’m on a ship in the middle of the ocean and I have no idea where we’re going because people won’t tell me!” The red sun glared hatefully into his eyes. Red red red like Dan’s eyes, like Plasmius’ eyes, and burning so, so bright . He had half a mind to wish that the sun would just extinguish itself so he’d never have to see that color again.

The sun did not extinguish, but Danny’s anger did. Left as quickly as it arrived, leaving him hollow.

He slumped against the railing.

What was he doing unloading all this stuff on Dusan? Dusan didn’t ask for any of that. He didn’t deserve to listen to all of Danny’s baggage. Not when Dusan was already doing so much for him.

He should have kept his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said quietly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Dusan laid a warm hand on his shoulder as they both stared at the sun. “Tell me, my boy, have you had the chance to read the Odyssey?”

Danny shook his head. They were supposed to, though. On the first day of school, he remembered Mr. Lancer’s quiet pleasure as he passed out the class syllabi of how they’d be covering the Odyssey in the spring. Poor Mr. Lancer. He was a hardass, sure, and he had his faults, but he genuinely did try with Danny.

“And if some god should strike me,” quoted Dusan “out on the wine-dark sea, I will endure it, owning a heart within inured to suffering. For I have suffered much, and labored much.”

He continued: “Like Odysseus, you have found yourself cast adrift into the world, far away from all that you knew. And like him, you will endure this. You must. For the world is a vast and cruel place, Danyal, and you must either bear against its weight or it will see you crushed and broken beneath it.”

“But what if I can’t?”

“You can,” he stated, resolute and firm like his grip on Danny’s shoulder. “You can endure because your family is here to support you.”

◆◆◆

Danny opened his eyes.

The sky was an endless expanse of swirling gray clouds. The ocean rocked the raft to a punishing rhythm, murky green-gray waters slapping against the rotting planks.

Danny was tied to a makeshift mast, the rope crossing over his abdomen and tied tightly behind his throat, digging into his jugular. He could not speak. Could not breathe .

“Do you remember, Danny?” Sam stood at the head of the raft, her back turned to him. “Do you remember that story I told you about The Raft of the Medusa?”

Eighth grade. A field trip to the Amity Park Museum. Their teacher wanted to show them the new art exhibit since it was only available for a short while. He remembered the painting Sam was talking about; it was hard not to when The Raft of the Medusa seemed to overpower every other painting in the exhibit.

It depicted the aftermath of a ship wreck. A morbidly beautiful painting of a raft lost at sea, its few surviving passengers desperately trying to call for help, their faces gaunt, eyes manic and wild.

“There were originally 147 passengers on that raft. One hundred and forty-seven people and only fifteen survived at the end of it.”

A large wave smashed against the raft. It filled Danny’s nose with salt-water and his mouth of the taste of asphalt. He gasped, coughing out the smoke in his lungs.

Sam was still rooted to her spot, back turned to him.

“Do you remember, Danny? Do you remember who they blamed for the entire disaster?”

The ocean carried the raft up and up and up . High into the air that they rose. He could almost touch the clouds if it weren’t for the ropes digging into his skin.

“They blamed the captain.”

The raft plummeted into the sea. He couldn’t scream, his heart was lodged in his throat.

The raft slammed into the ocean, pieces splintering off upon impact. Thunder roared around them like the clashing of cymbals and the sound of laughter.

Danny strained against his confinement, but the ropes tightened around him, the harsh fibers burning his skin.

He could hear the mast creak. Hear it splinter as it fought against him.

He was almost there. Almost there .

“Look at me Danny.”

Danny opened his eyes—when did he close them?

Sam was in front of him and— oh god.

Oh god.

Her face.

Her flesh was melted, plastered against her blackened bone. Eyes nothing more than empty sockets in her head. Her skeleton hands held his face, forcing him to look. To look at what he had done to her.

“Why didn’t you save us Danny?” She asked. Asked with the voice of six people he had failed, their voices conjoined in some deranged siren song. “Why did you kill us?”

He could see it now. He could see that they weren’t alone on the raft. There, being slowly dragged into the depths, were the burned and waterlogged corpses of his victims.

He screamed, and the sky answered with his own manic laughter.

◆◆◆

Danny opened his eyes and his skin was on fire.

He yelped, tearing off the weights that pinned him down and tumbled onto the floor.

He can’t—

He can’t breathe—

Tucker suffocated to death, chest caved in and choking on air.

Someone was calling his name.

Who was it?

He can’t—

He doesn’t—

Mom?

“Focus on my voice, habibi . I need you to breathe, can you do that for me?”

There’s something warm enveloping his hand.

“Breathe in, Danny, come on. Inhale through your nose for four.”

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Hold for seven.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

“And exhale through the mouth for eight.”

She counted out loud, and he tried to focus on her voice.

In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

Each second felt like an eternity. Some part of him laughed and said that this was Clockwork’s doing. Retribution for daring to interfere with the timeline. Punishment for whatever future atrocities he committed.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Talia gave him a closed lip smile, rubbing circular motions across his back. “There is nothing to be sorry for, my son. Now, let’s get you back to bed. Perhaps I’ll get you something warm to drink, would you like that?”

◆◆◆

Talia slipped her son something to ease the pains and make him drowsy. Carding her calloused fingers through his hair, she watched as Danny sank further and further into sleep’s sweet embrace. His breath evened out, the tension loosening from his frame. She continued her soft ministrations on his dark hair, but slowly her fingers moved to stroke the lines of his face, the slope of his nose, and then the curve of his eyes.

She cataloged his features and compared it to her own. He had her nose. Her mouth. Her skin. He had a more lean figure like her, built more for speed and agility than brute strength— though currently, Danny could be considered more ‘lanky’ than lean, but training and a strict diet will correct that. The rest of Danny was all her beloved’s, from the wide too-bright-too-blue eyes, to the sharp jawline, to the exact shade of black in the hair.

Was this what her beloved looked like in his youth?

Was this what Damian would grow to become?

The ship rocked gently along the waves. She smoothed down Danny’s hair and pressed a soft kiss to his head before rising from her seat at his bedside.

She could not say the same for Bruce at that age, but she was quite certain that Damian would never be as trusting as Danny was. Though she could not blame it entirely on the boy. He was raised in a rather…inferior household, per se. What innate skills he might have inherited from his bloodline were left to rust under the mundanity of civilian life. Had circumstances been more favorable, Talia would have whisked Danny away the moment Dusan had discovered him all those years ago.

Alas, such was not the case.

She left Danny’s room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

The League had too many enemies at the time that bringing Danny in would have made him too tempting a target. Though Talia was not naive enough to believe that concern for his first grandson would be Ra’s al Ghul’s only motive for not having recovered sooner, she did see why it would have been more beneficial to keep his existence and any connection to the League wrapped under secrecy.

“It seems that our father’s investments have paid off.” She looked to her left at where Dusan seemed to materialize from the shadows of the ship’s passageway. “Now, we have the makings of a great assassin at our disposal.”

“Do you think that he planned for this to happen?” She asked, matching his stride, the pair of them slowly making their way to the bridge.

“I cannot even begin to fathom the mind of Ra’s al Ghul. How he could have predicted this , I do not know, but he must have expected some kind of result by keeping your son with the Fentons. No— even that was an accident, wasn’t it? This…this is fate.”

Talia doubted that even the great Ra’s al Gul could predict this outcome for her son. However Ra’s was not one to so carelessly sacrifice a potential asset unless he had a particular gambit in mind. What future did he envision when he made that decision all those years ago?

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The Rosa disanthus produced mixed results. The worst of the chills and fever abated about half an hour after he imbibed the tea, only to be replaced by nausea and vomiting.” Talia raised her hand, contemplating the lines of her palm for a moment. “There was frost when he had a panic attack. Frost coated his palms and covered his arm all the way to the elbow—I don’t believe he even realized it—but when he drank the tea, it receded.”

“Hm.” Dusan furrowed his brows. “His condition affected his physiology to a greater extent than we thought. No matter. Hopefully enough exposure would mitigate much of the effects. Neither of us are strangers to mithridatism; we would have inevitably tested for all his potential weaknesses, and starting early would prove fruitful later on.”

“You have spoken to father, then?”

He inclined his head in affirmation. “He has given me the task of training young Danyal.”

Talia’s fingers curled into a fist, hand dropping to her side. “I would have thought that I, as his mother, would be in charge of his lessons.”

“Take no offense, sister, this is not meant to be a punishment.” He smiled, a cunning gleam in his eyes. While Ra’s al Ghul normally paid more attention to his daughters for their strength, not even he could deny that, above all his other children, it was Dusan who inherited Ra’s ruthless cunning. “Danyal is young and naive, but he is powerful . Simply isolating him in Nanda Parbat will do nothing if he could simply fly away whenever he wanted. We must teach him to love us. To choose to stay.”

Talia thinned her lips, jaw clenched. She nodded, leaving the conversation at that.

Dusan would be a harsh master to learn under. He would strip Danny and of all he used to be and break him down into nothing . It would be cruel and unkind— but it would be efficient.

Well, no matter. Talia would always be there to pick up the pieces; the honey to the vinegar; the carrot to the stick. She would take what remained of the boy known as Danny and rebuild him with loving words and her motherly embrace, fill the cracks with love and loyalty for the League and their family and shape him until he becomes her son and no one else’s.

She had been forced to give up her eldest son once. Never again.

This child was hers.

◆◆◆

A light fever clouded Danny’s mind during the last stretch of their journey.

Talia said it was the tea that caused it. A little something that they picked up at their last port stop that she and Dusan believed would help with his mania .

Danny didn’t like that tea. It had a pungent aroma to it that made his nose wrinkle. He couldn’t place the scent, but the strength of it was like walking past a Bath & Body Works at the mall mixed with the smell of cherry-flavored cough syrup. Its taste was about as pleasant as its smell, considering that his stomach fought the tea at every step of the way.

He didn’t want to drink it, but Talia and Dusan insisted and Danny didn’t really have much right to refuse. They did so much for him already and in return all they really wanted was for him to drink some tea.

Despite his revulsion for it, Danny could admit that the tea did work. Sort of. It kept the worst of his chills away, thawing the bitter cold deep within his core.

It kept the dreams away too.

So maybe it wasn’t so bad.

He couldn’t remember much of what happened in the interim. Only the rocking of the ship, the quiet lull of his bedroom, Talia’s soothing voice and her hands carding through his hair.

Dusan came at one point with the intention to prepare Danny for his meeting with Ra’s al Ghul, his grandfather and his parents’ benefactor. There was a degree of reverence in Dusan’s eyes as he spoke, his usually impassive face split into a wide grin.

“He is a remarkable man, your grandfather,” Dusan began. “Powerful and intelligent. A self-made man of means.”

A visionary, Dusan described him. A man with dreams of a better future, of freeing the world from the corruptions of society and the clutches of greedy and vicious people who only want to drain the world of its vitality to feed their voracious gluttony.

“Too long have the scum of the earth been allowed to exist in the light of day,” Dusan said. “And so it is from the shadows that Ra’s al Ghul means to rectify it.”

Danny squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take it all in. “That sounds…” His foggy brain couldn’t find the right word. “Intense.”

Well, at least it was safe to say that Ra’s al Ghul wouldn’t like Vlad.

Dusan chuckled. “Indeed. But do not make the mistake of assuming he lacks benevolence. Ra’s al Ghul is ruthless because he must be. But to those who are worthy, he is merciful and just. You have already taken the first step in proving your strength to Ra’s al Ghul, but now, you must leave yourself in his hands. Present your case. Tell him what you seek. Trust that he will help you—for you are of his blood—and that he will help you best.”

It’s those words that Danny—through all of the sudden influx of new sights and sounds and scents around him and the anxiety crawling beneath his kin— tried to remember as they traveled through the mountain fortress of Nanda Parbat.

Exactly where Nanda Parbat existed on the map, Danny had no idea. It was surrounded by snow-capped mountains, built atop a large plateau that dropped off into a deep canyon. The fortress was palatial. Tall towers framed the high walls that encircled the fortress, sunlight bounced off the deep blue tiles of the steeply sloping roofs and gleamed against the golden spires atop the main buildings.

There were three courtyards from what he could tell, each one hidden behind the other and separated by a thick wall. The training yards, Talia called them.

“Who are they?” Danny said, gazing down at the hundreds of people below from their helicopter. They appeared to be doing a series of some kind of martial-art exercises, one form smoothly transitioning into the next in an intimidating display of synchronization.

Dusan answered, “They are those who believe in the world Ra’s al Ghul would bring.”

Trepidation settled in his gut. There was a voice at the back of his head that sounded like Jazz that told him that something was wrong. That this was a bad idea.

His core smothered the thoughts with a brief flicker of grimace, happily humming that warm family-here-home-wish.

Talia and Dusan led him up the lengthy staircase leading to the main compound and through a dizzying series of hallways and stairs that led to the office of Ra’s al Ghul. He barely noticed anything as he walked, too busy trying to keep in pace with his guides. The main building was a huge square tower. The hallways were made of polished wood, rows of shoji screens on Danny’s right and a railing looking down into the courtyard in the middle of the tower to his left.

“What is this place?” he asked. His other question— who are you?— remained unsaid.

Dusan smiled, the overhead lights casting shadows across his face. “This, young Danyal, is home.”

The screen door slid open to reveal a large and spacious office. An antique desk sat in the middle facing the door, piled high with all manner of books, scrolls, ancient tomes, and artifacts. The walls were filled to the brim with even more books and miscellaneous items— some familiar, and some completely unknown to Danny.

Sat behind the desk, a gold bird-shaped magnifying glass held steady above some ancient manuscript, was Ra’s al Ghul.

“You are here,” Ra’s al Ghul remarked. He set down the magnifying glass and gently flipped a page of the manuscript spread out on his desk before standing. He clasped his hands behind his back and leisurely made his way around the desk.

To Danny’s surprise, Ra’s al Ghul did not look like a grandfather. Not that Danny had any other grandparents to compare Ra’s to, and Dusan’s descriptions certainly didn’t give off the vibes of some friendly and sage man who doted on his grandkids and talked about ‘the good old days.’

Yeah, Danny didn’t really know what to expect, but he certainly didn’t expect Ra’s .

Ra’s al Ghul looked, at most , a decade older than his mom and dad. Hell, even Dusan looked older than him. Built tall and broad-shouldered, the indication of whipcord muscles visible beneath his dark green and gold embroidered shalwar kameez. He had the same cool tawny skin as Talia’s, his strange green eyes marked by crows feet. He had dark gray salt-and-pepper hair with a receding hairline and sharp widow’s peak, the back of his hair tied tightly and low against his head.

At his acknowledgement, Talia and Dusan greeted Ra’s al Ghul with a salute. Right hand curled into a fist and pressed against their heart, head bowed. Startled, Danny was quick to do the same.

He bit back a cringe when he realized how sweaty his palms were.

Ra’s inclined his head and they were allowed to drop the salute. He approached them at a measured pace, movements so unnervingly silent even as Danny was watching him move right in front of him.

He stopped in front of Danny, looming over him with narrowed eyes.

Was Danny…was Danny supposed to meet his gaze or lower it? He knew that in some cultures it was rude to look someone directly in the eye. Or was it supposed to be a sign of respect?

Ra’s al Ghul suddenly straightened. Smirked. Danny really hoped that was a good sign.

“So this is him, then,” Ra’s said, walking back further into the room. He turned abruptly on his heel, head cocked to the side. “Come closer, child. Let me get a better look at you.”

His heart jumped into his throat, and he pushed it back down with a painful swallow. A tingling sensation overtook his arm, the urge to try and scratch it away needling his mind. He caught Talia’s gaze as he moved past her and felt a flicker of reassurance as she subtly brushed her knuckles against his, calming his frazzled nerves.

Dusan tilted his head slightly, features impassive but assessing.

Ra’s al Ghul, worryingly enough, reminded him of Vlad. Appearance wise, they looked nothing alike. But there was this… presence , this certain gravitas about them that emanated both great wealth, resources, and the cunningness of which to use them.

Though while Vlad came off as comically villainous and, well, kind of pathetic at times, Ra’s al Ghul possessed an overwhelmingly intimidating aura that seemed to engulf the room. This was a man who did not demand attention but commanded it. One could not help but obey.

Gut instinct told him to not show any fear.

Gut instinct told him to leave .

Ra’s al Ghul’s flat affect broke into a small, soft smile that peaked from beneath his goatee. Gentle. Kind. Almost what Danny assumed to be grandfatherly .

His core hummed excitedly. The anxiety at the pit of his stomach subsided somewhat.

Ra’s loomed over Danny—too close—eyes sharp and assessing. “Do you know who I am, boy?”

“You are Ra’s al Ghul,” he answered.

Family , his core replied.

His smile grew. “That I am, boy, that I am. But I am also your grandfather.”

Grandfather, his core sang.

He straightened his posture, settling a firm hand on Danny’s shoulder.

This time, Danny could not help but flinch.

“No need to be so nervous,” Ra’s chuckled. “We are family, the two of us. My blood runs through your veins as surely as it does your mother’s, no matter that you were once lost to us. And besides that, the doctors Fenton were an invaluable asset to us, both in their research and in caring for you.” He shifted his hold, arm now across Danny’s shoulders as he led Danny in front of the desk. “Dusan and your mother were rather…cryptic with their reports. I have heard that you have a rather unusual situation and would like our help.”

“Yeah— I mean, yes, sir.” Best behavior Danny, best behavior.

Ra’s detached himself from Danny’s side and sat behind his desk once more, elbows rested on polished wood and hands steepled in front of him. Curiosity gleamed in his strange green eyes. “Do tell.”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, craning his gaze towards Talia.

Talia gave a reassuring smile.

He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, trying to remember what Dusan said.

Present your case. Tell him what you seek. Trust that he will help you.

It was— he never had to tell this many people before. Hell, he never had to tell anyone this story at all! Personally, Danny would like to keep it that way, but it made sense that Ra’s al Ghul would want the whole story. To know what mess he found at his doorstep.

And wasn’t this the reason he came with Talia, anyway? To look for help?

He raised his head once more, meeting Ra’s with a resolute gaze. “Some months ago, I was caught in an accident in my parents’—um, the Fenton’s—lab. Long story short, it turned me into a meta…or at least meta-adjacent? Sorry, I didn’t really have enough time to get too deep into ghost biology.”

Ras raised an imperious brow. “Ghost biology? Yes…If I recall, that was where your parents’ research lay. So you claim that you are a ghost?”

“Yes. Maybe?” Danny shrugged. “It’s kind of been what everyone’s been telling me and what all the signs have been pointing to.”

“I was under the impression that death was a prerequisite to becoming a ghost.”

“There’s been a running theory that I did die in that lab accident. It just didn’t stick.”

Ra’s blinked, giving Danny another appraising look. Danny fought the urge to squirm. Then Ra’s threw his head back with a loud, raucous laugh. “Fascinating!” He stroked his goatee, amused. “What a brilliant little enigma you are. What a wonder my grandchild has become! Though taking his blood into account, perhaps I should have expected it.” He leaned forward in his chair. “So, what request is it that you will make of me?”

Danny bit the inside of his cheek, mind racing for the right words to say. “I want…I was told that you would be able to give me a new life.”

“A new life.”

“I need— I don’t know what I need, really, but for certain reasons I can’t stay in Amity and I certainly can’t trust the law because I know where they’ll put me if I go back and if that happens then—”

Red eyes. A city in ruin. A world on fire.

“Then, what?”

Danny looked away, shoulders hunched as if he was Atlas himself, carrying the weight of the world on his back. “Something really, really bad will happen.”

Ra’s al Ghul beheld him, fingers drumming on his desk in a steady thump-thump-thump . Danny felt stifled under that gaze.

Trust in him , Dusan had said.

Grandfather , his core said. Family-here-trust-together.

After what seemed like an age, Ra’s al Ghul nodded. “Your request is doable, and I will excuse your ambiguity for the present, though I will require a full and detailed explanation at a later date.”

Danny let out a shaky breath. Relief coursed through his veins.

“But,” Ra’s al Ghul said. “I do not give you this new lease on life for free. I require payment.”

“I don’t— I don’t have anything to give.”

Ra’s waved off his concerns. “Worry not, boy, the price I seek is not so steep. What I want is for you to take your proper place in this family.” He stretched out his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”

Danny stared at the hand.

Was it…would it really be this simple? A new name, a new life, a new family all in one fell swoop?

It was almost too good to be true.

Take , his core hummed. Chance-take-family-mine-whole-take.

He took Ra’s al Ghul’s hand and shook it. “We do.”

From that pact, Danyal al Ghul sprang into existence.

And at that moment, though he did not know it yet, Danny Fenton well and truly died.

#dpxdc #phantom children: redux #my writing #cw: gore

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 year

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Family Bonding and other Perilous Pursuits

by Shynnohwen

It started with Casper High failing to fail, resulting in winning the Thomas & Martha Wayne contest despite their best efforts not to, causing them to spend the summer as interns in Gotham.

According to Danny, the miserable expirence ended after he spent the whole summer getting kidnapped because the average Gothomite was blind and couldn't tell apart a sixteen from a thirteen year old which went to it's logical extreme of him putting the Joker on life support after the clown stabbed Damian Wayne and his whole class nearly getting adopted by the Red Hood after they somehow took out the Russian mafia.

According to the birth certificate Bruce found, this was still very much the beginning and why oh why did he always get surprise relationships?! And no he was not panicking, shut up dear children.

The only one not freaking out is Damian who is eager to finally have a blood family member(s?) he doesn't have to worry about trying to kill him or usurp his place as the blood son.

Words: 3203, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Other

Characters: Danny Fenton, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Lancer (Danny Phantom), Maddie Fenton, Jack Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Jazz Fenton, Danielle "Dani" Phantom, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Duke Thomas, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Kate Kane (DCU)

Relationships: Jack Fenton/Maddie Fenton, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Good Parent Maddie Fenton, Good Parent Jack Fenton, Lancer needs a raise, Chaotic Casper High Students, Liminal Amity Parkers, Surprise Relations, Feral Danny Fenton, Feral Damian Wayne, Dr Yorick Quack - Freeform, Mostly just humor, no serious plot

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/44797690

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the cape crusader #gotham #dc universe #ao3 #ao3feed

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thelastofthebookworms · 1 year

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I have a few ideas for a second part, if you have some too I'll do one. Not that many people reading (indie) comics will see the polls so only main pairings and relatively well-known comics please (or eventually niche ones by big names).

I've other polls about books and art on my pinned post.

#polls #comics #indie comics #deadly class #fables #saga #once and future #klaus #paper girls #the wicked + the divine #wicdiv #lazarus #y the last man #good luck voting #not an easy pick uh #also i hope i haven't made you cry too much #sorry about the heartbreak

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simonnebethel · 2 months

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A Chant for Blood Ch.14 Excerpt

Tumblr wont let me make this post on my laptop. Crying rn

Camille led me to her office, the tray full of tea and biscuits balanced precariously in one hand. It was nighttime, and so the building was filled with the usual music and cheering you would hear in a Burlesque House. As soon as we entered the office the noises stopped, most likely due to Camille’s deafening spells.

Yorick was sitting in Camille’s large leather chair, feet resting on her desk. His jester hat was gone, but his makeup was still on his face, smeared from the fight and rain. He was dressed in an unbuttoned undershirt and dark brown pants.

Camille swatted his dirty shoes with his hands and he flinched, not expecting the reaction.

She gave him a stern look. “Get your feet off my desk! Honestly, were you raised in a barn?”

He gave her a hurt look, but complied. She set the tray down on the desk and motioned for me to take a seat. Yorick’s sharp bovine eyes now focused on me as I slowly sat in the chair across from him. I winced as my shoulder again reminded me of the wound laying there. I threw the sigil across the table.

“Put it on,” I said. I had asked the sigil-maker to fashion it into a necklace, hoping Yorick would be less likely to lose it if it were around his neck than in his pockets. He looked at it confused, but put it on anyway.

Camille moved closer to my back and gasped. “By Our Mother’s Warmth, Karliah! What did that?”

“A beast. Trampled and destroyed everything at the fair.” Yorick spoke before I could. His words were directed towards Camille, but his eyes were still on me. I stared at him. His face would suggest he was calm, but his fingers were twitching with anxiety as he traced the rim of his cup. He’s afraid I’m going to arrest him, but I’ve already done that once and he escaped.

“Why did you tell me to come here? Are you going to arrest me again?” He took a bite out of a biscuit and grimaced, his fingers tenderly touching an ugly bruise on his jaw. “Or, perhaps, we share a common goal, eh?”

“We’re nothing alike,” I snapped.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he quickly replied. “You were tasked with finding me, weren’t you? And now you have the portals to deal with. You want them gone, everybody wants them gone. But to understand them, you must know how they work.”

I glowered at him. “What are you getting at?”

He smiled. “I have to get back to my own world, but to do that I have to go through one of those portals. But they appear at random, which is unfortunate for me. You, however, have the resources to find out what causes them, which I don’t. You find out how to form a portal to my world, and you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

I only glared. It was a tempting proposition, but it could also get me in trouble. Working with a criminal instead of arresting him could get me stripped of my rank as Grand Marshal.

“That gives me more trouble than it’s worth,” I murmured. “How about you tell me why you were at the fair first?”

“A job, of course. Can’t a man pursue his dream of becoming a juggler?” He replied, although I could not tell if he was joking or not.

“You had a job here, at the Day-Lily. Why were you at the fair, dressed like a fool?”

“Yeah, well, I was being hunted by the police. You knew where I stayed, so I left.”

I knew he was right. I came here multiple times looking for him. I turned my head towards Camille, wincing at the pain the motion caused. “You knew about this?”

“I knew he was somewhere else, I just didn’t know where. You know I can’t keep a secret, Kar.” She glanced at my shoulder, a worried look on her face. “Let me patch those wounds for you, at least until you can find a healer.”

I sighed. “Fine.” I unbuttoned the front of my jacket and pulled it down from my shoulders. She pulled my corset cover and chemise down with it. Yorick looked away and put the cup of tea to his lips, breathing it in. Only my collarbone was shown, but he did not look at me.

“Squeamish about blood, or my skin?” I commented. He only gave me a glance in reply.

“He has a heightened sense of smell. He’s very sensitive to blood.” Camille said, pulling out a small box full of medical supplies from her desk. “They aren’t deep, you should be fine. I’ll just clean and bandage them until you can get back to Odilstein.”

I ignored her words and stared at Yorick. He still had the cup of tea to his lips, and his fingers on his other hand were tapping the armchair with an anxious pace. I grabbed my own cup of tea and as I drew it closer to my nose, the intense smell of mint reached me and I squeezed my eyes shut from the steam. The tea wasn’t mainly for drinking, it was to mask the scent of blood.

“You kill with your claws. Why do it if the smell of blood bothers you?”

He finally looked at me, lowering the cup of tea. “My sensitivity has gotten worse since I came here. It’s become a nuisance, but it hasn’t led me to make any bad decisions.”

“Bad decisions? The bodies you left in the alley aren’t bad decisions?” I said. I felt Camille’s hands falter at my words.

Yorick sighed. “No, just necessary decisions.”

“Well, your necessary decisions has led somebody to find your bodies and pick them clean of organs like a vulture,” I seethed. “Until the next Guard Captain is chosen, I have people breathing down my neck, one of those being the father of the man you killed. He knows I come here, and if I don’t find a solution quick then he’ll demand for my job to be taken away.”

He shrugged. “All the more reason to help each other. You find out more about the portals, and I can leave.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose in frustration. “Why can’t you just…drink animal blood?”

“Doesn’t work. It hasn’t since I was a kid,” He replied. “It has to be a person.”

He leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk. “I don’t know why or how this…organ person is following me. I don’t know how this world works, or the magic that gives me this weird itch. I promise I’ll be more careful. I’ll dispose of whatever mess I make from now on and make sure nobody sees me.”

I shook my head and looked away. “That doesn’t erase the fact that they’re still dead.”

#this was supposed to be longer but I’m too mad at tumblr to bother #A Chant for Blood #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #my writing #fantasy #victorian #writers

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