#clockwork soul

[bubblyernie]

Bastion in the outfit of Samuel L Jackson's character in the Hateful Eight. I watched a few Tarantino westerns in June and fell in love with the costume design

art tag // commission info

[graciedart]

warforged / clockwork soul sorcerer / nb

“Neat, Strict, Punctual"⏱️

for @NirnrootNoises !

[arathir-starsong]

Veszaltyrr Oussndar

Dark Elf - Clockwork Soul Sorcerer - Lawful Evil

When I ran Waterdeep: Dragon Heist for one of my groups, it was done in a setting out of the Forgotten Realms, so I made some changes to places and people contained within. The evil wizard Manshoon was eventually replaced by Veszaltyrr here, who has gone on to be my overarching villain in my overall plots.

Veszaltyrr is a wandering philosopher and sorcerer who pursues his desires at all costs; to destroy Lolth, free the dark elves from her rule, and transform the Underdark into an ordered paradise in the image of the lawful, clockwork plane of Mechanus. He will stop at nothing, sacrifice anything, and destroy what he must to make his dreams a reality.

Veszaltyrr is inspired by the likes of Solas from Dragon Age and Emet-Selch from Final Fantasy XIV; a well meaning extremist whose methods to achieve a vision of a perfect world may cause untold death and loss.

He wields the Heart of Cygnus; an artifact spellcasting focus crafted from the stolen core of one of the island-sized cogs of Mechanus. It serves as his guiding beacon in his long and arduous quest to free his people by force.

[hanas-hues]

My clockwork soul sorcerer casting Sword Burst!

[justavulcan]

Backgrounds with Class: Azorius Functionary

I'll be honest: Ravnica has always fascinated me. I was a high schooler when the first set came out, and I was immediately consumed creating characters for the setting. Now that we've actually received my long-awaited crossover, I thought it would be nice to write a love letter to the setting in the form of another Backgrounds with Class series. After all: some guilds have natural class choices tied in, from a conceptual standpoint. Boros and Fighter, Izzet and Wizard, Selesnya and Druid. But guilds aren’t class-restricted, and so I wonder what it would look like if you paired every class with every guild background, even the ones that seem at odds, like Izzet and Barbarian, or Gruul and Artificer.  So I thought about it, and this is what I came up with.  Some character concepts for each class, and each Guildmaster's Guide to Ravnica background for each class.

Azorius Functionary

The Azorius Functionary Artificer believes wordsmithing and armorsmithing are both arguments.�� One is simpler than the other, and he wanted to protect people anyway- paper is too frail to keep lawbreakers away, and anyway he has pretty serious social anxiety.  He was a soft lad from a young age, but the inside of the armor is inscribed with the proofs of his determination- dense legalese referring to the crime of assault and the many degrees, qualifications and punishments therefore.

The Azorius Functionary Barbarian is walking proof not everybody can stay aloof from the laws and their consequences.  Still, the law is a labyrinth, and a labyrinth is always pleasing to the mind of a minotaur.  Legal assistant and debater extraordinaire, her wild temper (which she comes by naturally; her parents both have severe anger management issues) is still bordering on uncontrollable, with occasionally regrettable drawbacks to her career- and the rare boon, as that kind of steep and genuine passion sometimes can stir the hearts of even Azorius legislators.

The Azorius Functionary Bard finds that the Senate is as much a forum for performance as any concert hall, even if it’s less musical.  The eloquent may always find a home there, even if their love is less of the law they defend and more the intricacies of the debate- for those who would put their word to the trial like this, there’s no greater thrill.  This kind of thrill-seeking has always been part of this bard’s makeup- talking himself into and out of trouble has been his modus operandi since he grew up on Tin Street, looking for kicks that didn’t cost him a zib.

The Azorius Functionary Cleric is actually wildly unsuited for the adventuring life- at least at first.  To this vedalken legal assistant, every part of putting the law into practice the hard way is miserable except the rush of adrenaline.  However, given the opportunity to take the law from paper to practice, to legal theory to reality, they jumped at the chance- and their confidence is growing by leaps and bounds.  As no gods lay power before Ravnican clerics, their ability to enforce the law by thought and spell grows only with their conviction, feeding their addiction to testing the law’s power on the street.

The Azorius Functionary Druid tends to the owls and horses the Azorius senate leans on for their messenger and enforcement capabilities.  Drawn to the freedom of the owls and their calling to fly far with the Senate’s decisions clutched in their talons, this centaur found her way to tending stable and owlery alike.  Like the horses they resemble, she prefers to know where her next meal is coming from, and the stability the Azorius offer goes a long way toward meeting that goal; besides, she has a natural gift with the animals that the human tenders can’t match.

The Azorius Functionary Fighter was once a riot squad trainee, favoring a staff and shield for their crowd-handling capacity.  After requesting a transfer out of the more authoritarian and frankly oppressive new prison, he was glad to hit the streets again, only called out for the most extreme of circumstances.  He’s good at keeping his head, and a lifetime of navigating the frankly byzantine halls of Azorius beaurocracy has lent him more subtlety than the average head-cracker.

The Azorius Functionary Monk is a practitioner of the Azorius arts of ectomancy- unknown to many, the Azorius are as skilled as the Orzhov at binding spirits to service, particularly the posthumous wojek as protectors of the Living Guildpact’s uneasy peace.  While many favor necromancy for this undertaking, this ectomancer handles this magic in a more personal manner, binding spirit to flesh and serving proudly as avatar of the spirit he binds.  While he still studies the discipline of mind and body necessary to bind an astral self, however, he serves meanwhile as a personal assistant and sometime bodyguard to a public prosecutor.

The Azorius Functionary Paladin is walking proof that it’s not uncommon for the most ardent of the Azorius’s lawkeepers to be motivated by personal history as much as duty.  She has sworn before all the courts and Isperia herself that her vengeance will follow the law- a stricture she dares not bend, lest it cost her the means by which she pursues her revenge.  Whether this is against the Rakdos or Gruul for the cost of their reckless savagery and destruction or the Golgari or Dimir for their scheming, she faces these foes in the fields they’re least equipped to meet her- Rakdos and Gruul in the court, Golgari and Dimir on the battlefield.

The Azorius Functionary Ranger is an oddity. It is a rare thing that one with the blessing of Trostani herself leave the Selesnya conclave, but when she did so, the ripples fouled her relationship with the Conclave forever.  Still, she’s one of the Azorius’s preferred ‘inter-guild liasons’ to handle guilds more concerned with the growth of living things than the tomes of the law.  A certain civic-mindedness is at the heart of her motivations, one that was drawn to the order of the Azorius over the more naturalistic structure of the Selesnya.

The Azorius Functionary Rogue is a creature of the library and courtroom, not the street.  She’s well-versed to take the measure of others, provide research and assistance for legal precedent and even take the case herself.  She’s a natural socialite with a guilty pleasure for roaming far from the areas meant to actually contain the party, getting a taste for other people’s homes and personalities from what she can glean looking into their possessions.  After all, a home is like a mind, and both lay out their secrets if you know how to look.

The Azorius Functionary Sorcerer is walking proof that if the law is a process, it would follow that sometimes that process has byproducts.  Sometimes those byproducts are unintended legal interactions needing to be tied up, and sometimes the heiromancy that the entire guild leans on to enforce their will is concentrated into people by happenstance.  Son of a long legacy of lawyers, public defenders, senators, and research assistants and sought after by precognitives and lawmages alike, he has a lot to live up to if he’s to fit his talents into the ticking mechanism of the city.

The Azorius Functionary Warlock is motivated by an uncommon passion for her work.  Goblins are usually a chaotic element in Ravnica’s extensive cityscape, but this would-be arrestor has nothing but law on the mind.  Having made a deal with a being of pure celestial law and keen on the Azorius’s new surveillance-heavy attitude towards law enforcement, this warlock is nevertheless more the threat with blade and spell than administration and legislature.  Her intimidating bearing and uncompromising mindset promise to make her a legend among Ravnica’s law enforcement, and she takes to the title of lawmage with enthusiasm.  (this particular warlock was a creation of a friend of mine; their initial thoughts and character art can be found here).

The Azorius Functionary Wizard was a member of the Sova column.  The motivation for their transfer was as emotional as logical, and consequently an uncharacteristic move.  Skilled as vedalken sometimes are in the delicate arts of calligraphy and magic both, the wizard recently put in for a transfer of department to the Lyev column to serve as a lawmage.  Their motive was less than logical, though- to keep an eye out for a recent friend, a warrior from the Gruul Clans who showed them uncertainty that anarchy was the right path for her.

[asheternal]

vox ref

[numbattery]

More Bugposting!

I’ve decided that Bug has 3 levels in Sorcerer, under the Clockwork Soul subclass. He comes from a long line of inventors, tinkerers, and travelers.

But! The rest of Bug’s levels are in Bard, specifically the College of Eloquence! They aren’t great at speaking, but when they get into a story, they will add as much as possible to it. This college is a way for Bug to get better at communicating, as well as showing off how charismatic she is under her anxious air.

[quinntessentiant]

l i s t e n

there are cliffhangers and then there are DnD CLIFFHANGERS.

I have to wait a week to figure out what the hell we're going to do after this reveal and I would very much like to scream.

(i did scream. it didn't help)

[emacrow]

Constantine is noping this situation, you can't make hi-..ah fucking damn it

John was already paled when Kronos got revived, but seeing the eyes scalding blinding Fear of God staring into your very soul and judgment every inch power that was in that godlinng babe was enough for him to started drinking his emergency booze.

He is not dealing with Greek Gods bullshits, especially if that what he puzzling in the pieces together Then Kronos's story was becoming twisted all together. Nope, he isn't. Batman can bribe him all he wants. He is fucking leaving now!!

Fucking with THAT right there especially with the contract he still owed Kronos for, he rather suffered the complete obliteration of his soul being torn to shreds once he dies then have that god find him. He is escaping of here before She even noticed that he is Here with her ol time relic still in his pocket.

Before he can even get one step in the portal ready, he already felt his chest tightening as if his entire chest was being squeezed like a kid's teething toy.

Fucking dammit, he should've left right when Kronos was still having that psychic backlash, he knew he should've trusted his gut, fucking time Goddess and her all knowing of when and where.

Part 6 << >> Offical Quiz that Decision the Fate of this continuing fic >>> Fic Released

[bubblyernie]

Little bastion token!!

art tag // commission info

[kanjiham]

My most cancellable character I love her

[satoshy12]

A few moments of baby Danny having fun,

It all started when Danny learned he could change his age! Well, he took an item from Clockwork for this prank. But they are fun!!!

Red Hood lost his weapon to a toddler. Red Hood is trying to help the lost toddler talking about how he is a real hero with real Guns:" Come on, it's not a toy. It's the real deal." Danny: "No, no real!" Red Hood gets annoyed: "Fine, you don't believe it's real? Here, take it." Danny was surprised:" Ooo, real!" (holds the gun) Red Hood: "Yeah, yeah, it's real. Wait, what did I just do?" Danny teleports away: "Wheee!" Red Hood:" What the...? Oh, come on! Come  back, I'llbuy you candy for the gun!" +

John Constantine lost in a horse bet against baby Danny money; don't ask how or why he even bet with a toddler. He just lost money. John: (sighs) Bloody hell, lost again in a horse bet against you, Danny. Baby Danny: (giggles, waving a tiny hand) Horsie 2! Danny pointed at the empty wallet. John: There is no money left, mate. But, uh, how 'bout this?" John scribbles on a piece of paper and hands it to Baby Danny. JOHN (CONT'D) I owe you, alright?

Later, with the Justice League Dark, John summons a demon.

Demon: (roaring laughter)" Look who's here, the bloke who lost his soul to a toddler!" John: (bewildered)" What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Demon: (mockingly) That doodle on the paper. You handed over a piece of your soul to a baby. Now that's a first!" John: (facepalms) Bugges. I will later talk with Bat; I need money. around 10.000$" + Zatanna, while a magic show pulls toddler Danny out of her hat. Not a rabbit. Zatanna: And for my next trick... (pulls from her hat, has toddler Danny in her hand, not a rabbit) Zatanna: (confused) Wait, where did you come from? Danny: (giggling) Hat! Hat! Danny grabs her hat and suddenly disappears. Zatanna blinks in amazement, trying to make sense of the unexpected teleportation, as the audience applauds.

[nelkcats]

A Little bird told me

Danny knew his dimension didn't need him. It had been a long time since it stopped needing him, a long time since he had to be content to spend most of his days in the Infinite Realms. His sister and friends were too busy these days to pay attention to him; Danny understood, it's not like he could work or have a job, considering he'd stopped growing at 21 and people would start asking questions eventually.

Honestly, it was a relief that he'd even been able to grow up to that age, Clockwork's knowing look told him he had help with it.

So, he distracted himself by learning things from the other ghosts in the Realms, who were definitely as bored as he was. He even managed to get Vlad to teach him duplication, but it wasn't that interesting after a while. Though he had become interested in the different dimensions that Clockwork watched over.

The problem was that there was one dimension that had caught his attention (one full of heroes and magic) but they always made the worst decisions. There came a point where he decided to interfere, Clockwork seemed amused so he figured he wasn't going to stop him.

As he thought about how to infiltrate (definitely not as a hero, he loved his retirement, thank you very much), he remembered a rather...odd power he had recently discovered.

Danny had discovered that he could shapeshift. The problem was that he could only shapeshift into dead animals and well, while it was fun to scare others, he didn't know how well people would take a ghost crow with ectoplasm coming out of it's wounds.

Figuring it was better than nothing, he transformed into a bird and flew through the portal; he flew towards John Constantine, who seemed fed up with his life. Constantine knew the bird was fucking weird the moment it sit on his shoulders but he had better things to take care of, like the demon in front of him.

Said bird apparently knew the way to defeat the demon, because he started naming the ingredients needed to banish it. Constantine saw it with narrowed eyes and asked if he wanted his soul, the bird pecked him, looking annoyed.

From there, seeing that the dead bird was doing no harm, Constantine let it stay. It was oddly useful and he had sold his soul for less.

Danny spent his days whispering things to Constantine to defeat enemies and the hellbazer gave him cookies in return (the halfa really wanted to be offended), when the League saw Constantine with a dead crow on his shoulder they wondered if he had finally lost his mind.

John commented that his name was Ghosty (he was pecked again) and that he was useful, unfortunately for the superhero community, Constantine had never been that useful and therefore they couldn't complain (but why did he suddenly know all the existing gossip?, he kept bribing them with it! His crow looked amused too).

Every time Constantine won a battle without explanation, someone would make the mistake of asking how he did it. With a shit-eating grin, Constantine would point to his shoulder and say "a little bird told me."

Danny was so tempted to shape-shift just to bite his head off, but the cookies were good.

[rodentjazz]

Hear me out

[asheternal]

vox and maako

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

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Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

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Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.