#first loss
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
At this point of my life I am scared of feeling, cause all i feel is pain and betrayal and loss.
Now I just wish to stay numb for as long as I live.
#writers on tumblr#writing#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#poetry#positive quotes#relationship quotes#poetic#romance quotes#cute quotes#i feel numb#lost feelings#feelings#first loss#losses#betrayal#qouteoftheday#qouteofthenight#qoutes
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
brighter days ahead
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fanart#jjk art#jujutsu kaisen fanart#yuji itadori#megumi fushiguro#jjk spoilers#jjk leaks#nobara kugisaki#jjk manga spoilers#jjk 268#im sobbing about them its 1am and my hand hurts#but ive got more in me i havent been this happy n hopeful in so LONG#HES BACK#THEYRE ALL BACK#we might b okay guys it might all b ok .... :'>>>>>#im ignoring the minor salt abt all of yuuji's scars being Gone#like im happy he has both eyes n all that#but what can i say id gotten a bit attached to the new look :<<<#n my yuuji injury list is out th window hgdfghjkgd everything ive drawn is now inACCURATE CRIES#i predicted megumi having a scar on th Other side....yuuji now has his depth perception back........sighs#shoko is too good at her job gdi#all of this is /lh btw the loss of scars is small price to pay !!!!!megumi is BACK and SMILING and they all r gna b ok i believe :')#home stretch we r in endgame they can make it this is OUR jujutsu kaisen first year believers
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Kiss Kiss Fallen Tree!
[First] Prev <â-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#wei wuxian#lan wangji#Sorry to everyone who was looking forwards to this comic only to find out I put WWX in the ugliest outfit.#Continuity came first. Plus let's be honest; he did *not* show up in anything fancy. Or in all black as seen in most fanart.#We are at the middle of WWX depression arc. His self-care was 100% because Jin Yanli would be sad if he didn't try to look nice.#Okay okay. Fine I've delayed talking about the kiss long enough.#It is absolutely a core LWJ scene over a WWX scene. Which is made even more fascinating because we don't get his POV.#But we get so many insights! His loss of control and his firmness all contrasted against how he trembles.#And all of that wrapped up in a wonderful self-loathing bow! You go Lan Zhan! You hated yourself so much for this!#WWX is a hilarious narrator for this because he is truly just...baffled by what's going on.#He would push the person away but he doesn't want to hurt their feelings or pride (putting other people first again are we?)#I do understand why this one is divisive for people though. I choose to look at it through a character/humourous lens.#I've seen people defend and admonish this scene as a particularly shitty thing LWJ did and let's be very clear here: It was.#That's why I like it. LWJ did a shitty thing and struggles with it. It's part of what makes him so robust as a character.#It's also fine if you enjoy this scene for it's eroticism. You're not a bad person for that. You are just A Person.#People will have their own experiences with this topic. Be kind to each other alright?
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
a couple scribbles i cleaned up. also i think i like drawing him in varying states of distress
#i desperately want to know what happened the first time he cried#actually is that something he can do? is he capable of it?#i feel like he wouldn't like it...#since crying is messy and we all know he enjoys/values his appearance greatly#i mean cmon. its an involuntary loss of composure. and especially if he doesnt understand what/why its happening#so in my mind rn hed be idk... kinda desperate to stop crying & act fine?#HES SO FASCINATING. WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM <3#many things probably!#what to do when you're a puppet created as a blank slate while everyone around you already Knows Shit and Understands Feelings#scribble salad#welcome home#welcome home puppet show#welcome home fanart#welcome home wally#wally darling#i know there's a lot of Head Empty jokes abt him#but honestly he gives the vibes of thinking constantly#always absorbing information and considering and learning and Forming Opinions#he LOOKS head empty. but he isnt.#i just cant imagine him never not Thinking#unless he really is head empty in which case. good for him. i support him no matter what. hes just like me<3
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
pvp civ nation...... this aint much but pls take my contribution for this series bc im going insane i love hate this man so much get him out of my head
#senart#pvp civilization#pvp civ#I'LL MAKE A PROPER ONE I SWEARR I JUST NEED TO GET THIS OUT OF MYSYSTEM FIRST#if it turns out he gets a bad ending in ep 6 i dont think i'll be ok like#he deserves a good ending . or a villain arc at least. he deserves to go batshit crazy after how everyone treated him#ALSOO the chekovs gun video journal device thing?? The excessive 4th wall breaking?#Is it just me or does jt feel like evbo is gonna lose his memory/already lost his memory and was sent to the wood sword lvl with tabi#or like . Idk?? It feels kind of truman show ish. Well maybe not that but its just the vibe im getting w the way that everyone has their-#-own secrets. How the diamond swords seems to know who evbo n tabi is. How princezam knows about the diamond swords#and then theres also parrot whos just?? Weird overall?? Idk whats going on w him but i need to know his backstory wdym u think evbo will-#-hate you if he knows what you did??#ANYWAY BACK TO THE VIDEO JOURNAL AND POTENTIAL MEMORY LOSS.#I dont want jt to go that way (mostly bc i dont want to see evbo suffer more than he already did) but it rlly does seem like its heading to#that direction w the way that it also has become a way to narrate what he went through (ie when the ep shows his attempts to beat the-#gold sword lvl but hes narrating it from the future. from his video journal. where he already beat the lvl)#im going insane#Wait also what i meant by the truman show vibe in relation to the excessive 4th wall breaks it makes it sound like pvp civ is just a -#simulation#wait i just remembered its the matrix not that mb umm#anyways.#empty chattering
848 notes
·
View notes
Text
PENELOPE FEATHERINGTON transitioning into Bridgerton blues
#bridgertonedit#tvedit#perioddramaedit#bridgertonblr#dailybridgerton#userteresa#userseeleybooth#tusereste#bridgerton#penelope featherington#she also has those two grey dresses which stand out specifically bc they're not part of the transition#she wears them at the market and then the day of their first kiss#so i think the grey symbolizes her losing hope and how that loss of hope allows for colin and pen to be more themselves than they normally#allow. like how they're both putting on performances but when they take those performances off with and only with each other...#that's when the magic happens!#mine#greatest hits
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi it's just to let you know that the official romanization of Revaan's name is Raverne ! Also they have romanized Baul's name to Baur !
Twst coming back at us again with the least expected romanization! thank you everybody (oh god my inbox) (no it's great, I literally asked for this and the reactions have been INCREDIBLE, thank you all!)
I do like Raverne though, I think it's got a nice fancy sound to it! (I had kinda suspected it was going to be an R instead of an L, so the fact that it's SO close to Laverne except for that is hilarious to me personally.) and Dragoneye Duke is honestly probably the best translation for his title, I wasn't envying the localizers that one. :') Baur instead of Baul I was NOT expecting, but in retrospect I think his name's supposed to be a reference to the Bauru crocodile, so that actually makes way more sense!
someone else also said Meleanor has become Maleanor, which is the REALLY weird one to me, because I was so surprised it was written as Mel instead of Mal in the first place?! oh god no I can't decide which one I like better. đ (I wonder if they might change it to Mal...they have made romanization changes before) (like I remember House of Distraction being corrected to House of Destruction in Playful Land) (I did check and she's still Mel for now, but I dunno, they might Mal her up and some point and save me from having to make a decision about which one to use) (HECK I CAN'T DECIDE)
uhhhh thank you for letting me ramble about anime names, let's just say MONOGRAMMED SWEATERS FOR EVERYONE
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 4 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 4 spoilers#mel is so cute but mal fits with the rest of the draconias better#eng version no you were supposed to save me not make things MORE confusing#anyway raverne huh#that uh. that sure feels like it's supposed to evoke raven doesn't it.#what does it mean WHAT DOES IT MEAN#hold on i'm going to flail around embarrassingly about anime character theories now#(okay first a disclaimer: i do think we need to sit down as a fandom at some point)#(and have a discussion about exactly what is actual canon versus meta speculation versus jokes)#(because i think there has been. some confusion. over that re:crowley and raverne specifically)#(but i do feel justified in being like THEY ARE PROBABLY CONNECTED SOMEHOW RIGHT?! right now)#like i really don't think it's as simple as crowley being raverne but with memory loss or something#(and if they pull that on us i'm going to need an EXTREMELY good explanation to go with it to justify that)#they've gone out of their way several times now to make a point about them acting and sounding different and it feels very intentional to m#(and once again: i super 100% absolutely do not believe that lilia wouldn't recognize him with the top half of his face covered)#i just think the contradictions are a lot stronger than the connections right now but there ARE some connections and i'm đing at them#to be fair the connections are mostly meta like crowley being diablo/raverne being evocative of raven#also the general 'raverne mysteriously disappeared and apparently had distinctive eyes' thing#versus 'crowley's past is unknown and he never shows his eyes'#(i will argue that crowley DOES seem to have some kind of canon connection to briar valley)#(since he is clearly some sort of fae and the masks are a briar valley thing)#and that is kinda it right now isn't it#okay hold on i had to delete some tags because i used too many (thanks tumblr for letting me know and not just vanishing them OH WAIT)#so tl;dr: i'm in the 'crowley is connected to raverne somehow but it's more complicated than just him being in disguise' camp personally#but that will probably change as we get more info and also don't take this as an anti-speculation thing because i love theories HOORAY
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
brush testing
#generation loss#generation loss fanart#ranboo fanart#ranboo#genloss#digital art#generation loss the social experiments#genloss tse#genloss fanart#fun little scene studies with a new brush#got me to complete a full digital piece for the first time in 3+ months#weathereraart
555 notes
·
View notes
Text
been busy in the skies!
#recently picked up sky:cotl again#and boy have i fallen deep#i played it awhile ago before the new home area (around 2 yrs ago)#but i unfortunately fell out of it due to loss of hyperfix + my switch#but ive gotten back into it via my husband :3 he is to blame#sooo expect some sky content for awhile#first guy is an oc and the second is a sona#and third one is a ref for a friend#fourth is a shitpost . no context ilaw lore if you can decipher it#i love inserting myself into games i like#and making broody assholes<3#sky cotl#sky children of the light#sky#sky:cotl#sky: cotl#gay bird (ilaw)
580 notes
·
View notes
Text
âFirst Wordâ đđ
made a comic to express the relief and joy sonic felt when talia finally spoke for the first time once she became more comfortable. [read from left to right]
#art#my art#artists on tumblr#izuart#izzy oc#talia the hedgehog#sonic the hedgehog#ultimate lifespawn au#sonadow#sonadow fankid#sonic fankid#sth fankid#fankid au#sonic art#sth art#oc#original character#talia sealed her voice off as a response to her memory loss and as a response to a traumatic event back at opus (the lab)#but slowly she started to open up and try to speak more this was the first time she ever said a word#both sonic and shadow were concerned but patient with her and wanted her to speak only when she was ready#sonic and shadow would teach her the names of people and ofc how to identify them as dad (sonic) and papa (shadow)#sonic figured why not see if sheâll say it today#he had done this before only to be met with silence and accepted that she wasnât ready so you can imagine the shock and relief and joy#he felt here for sure hehe#anyways I love them#lore treat for you guys#IM FREE AFTER DAYS OF WORKING ON THIS BUT THE PARASITES WOULDNT LET ME GO LOL SO I HAD TO FINISH
450 notes
·
View notes
Text
no thoughts only michael who was sacrificed to the thing he feared the most by a person he deeply trusted unaware that her plan was always going go result in his death at best all for nothing because the rituals do not. fucking. work. in the first place. him becoming the distortion couldâve been avoided with no consequence. just an Archivist on a warpath, and a yellow door
#his fate is so deeply tragic#michael shelley#michael the distortion#partially#he had no fucking idea what was going on in the first place#the only thing left of him was his betrayal and the loss of trust#and the distortionâs identity issues#the magnus archives#tma podcast#tma
463 notes
·
View notes
Text
Call to My Bedside - Part 2
Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/733019972168761344/call-to-my-bedside
Danyal wakes the next time with a weight to his limbs. From the moment he opens his eyes, he realizes he is not where he is supposed to be.
This is a medical bay, but it is not in the league, the constant twittering of League doctors monitoring his health is suspiciously gone. No shadows on guard outside the door.
The most glaring thing though, there was no Lazarus Water in his veins.
Perhaps Raâs had decided he was no longer worth the expense, had decided-
No.
It was something else. That wasnât an option he would consider.
Danyal tested the feeling of thin metal on his right wrist. Handcuffs, not shackles. It was odd.
But again, this wasnât the league.
But heâd need to go back before Raâs became angry. Danyal couldnât fail.
He glances to the door as it opens, an old man-the one from before- and a younger, slender man standing just behind him.
Danyal stays still, his breathing even, forcing his heart to stay at a constant, stable rate. He watches them, analyzing.
The old man blinks, âItâs good to see youâre awake, young sir-,â He steps into the room, left foot a second slower, old weakness?- English accent, in Europe? the man behind him follows- stiff posture, rib injury, core focused strength, gymnast, combat trained and familiar- Richard Dick Grayson, Nightwing, heâs in America, Batman- âYou gave us quite the shock earlier, myself especially.â
Nightwing watched Danyal warily, he saw him as a threat, and by the angle of his feet, a threat to the older man. He remembers now, heâd attacked him before, Nightwing was here to prevent it again.
They are heroes.
He was a part of the League of the Assassins.
He doesnât fit here, could never.
Danyal considers the merits of speaking English, he wants to, deeply, and perhaps it would even benefit the situation; but his chest clogs with fear before he can even compose a sentence. Itâs been too long anyways, the League dialect is easier.
âHow long have I been here?â Danyal says, still not moving enough to even jostle the cuff at his wrist.
Nightwing sighs deeply, âWe rescued you and Damian from a League of Assassins boat yesterday.â The words of the language are stilted, either by unfamiliarity or awkwardness, and whoâs Damian? Thereâs a pause, âDo you know who I am?â Nightwing asks, caution in the words.
Danyal takes a deep breath, finally sitting up, despite the rattling of the chain on the cuff, âYou are Nightwing, Dick Grayson, correct?â
Nightwing nods, his eyes briefly flitting to the elder man, âAnd you?â
Danyalâs eyes narrow, trying to find the trap, âI am Danyal Al Ghul, Heir of the Demonâs head, Blood of the Batman.â
Danyal watches the eyebrow of the old man tick up in his peripheral.
Nightwing pinches the bridge of his nose, âGod I canât believe Talia did it again,â He murmurs under his breath. In English. And Danyal would be lying if he said he wasnât happy to hear the language again, even just a little.
âPerhaps it would be best to bring Master Bruce back from his meeting,â the old man says pointedly. Danyal ignores as he changes and resets the IV attached to him, familiar with the autonomous care. With or without his consent.
âIâve already notified him, he should be here soon.â
âVery good. In the meantime,â he turns to Danyal, âI am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler. It seems I did not get the chance to introduce myself the last time you were awake.â
Danyal canât help but blink at the almost joking tone Alfred says it with, knowing that Danyal had been the one to knock him out. It makes his lip twitch, and he silently huffs, surprising himself with the action.
The amusement vanishes as the door opens once more, footsteps barely audible in the second before.
The man standing there is large, tall and broad shouldered, strong- dangerous, calloused hands from training- his eyes stay glued to Danyal, blue and steady amidst the square jaw and sharp features, black hair tussled like heâd been rushing, just like Dad always-
Danyal feels his jaw wire shut, back straightening.
The thin chain of the handcuff jingles in the sudden silence.
This he remembers. This is Batman. The Dark Night of Gotham. The Detective.
The source of every expectation Raâs Al Ghul has ever placed on Danyal.
He feels his face try to screw into a sneer, because he hates him and everything heâs done that has ever affected Danyal, but his face remains still. Controlled. Because thereâs nothing he can do about it anyways.
Batman had introduced himself before.
As another name. A civilian. His training forces him to remember it.
Bruce Wayne.
It means next to nothing to him. But the man doesnât stop looking.
Itâs Nightwing that speaks next, âDanyal, this is Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father.â The smile is at odds with the weary tone of the words, âHe was there when we saved you and Damian a few.. yesterday. God that feels like longer.â
Saved? The sentiment makes him want to scoff. He doesnât, because Batmanâs eyes already narrow with Nightwingâs words, and Danyal doesnât need to make it worse.
A thousand more questions rush through his head. Each one bitten back with practiced force.
Instead he dips his head briefly, aiming for a show of respect, whatever that might mean here. However little he means it. Danyal can adjust regardless.
âHn.â
Danyal lifts his head. That was the only response?
They uproot him entirely, chain him, throw him into unfamiliar waters where everything-everyone- is in new danger and all he does is grunt?
Danyal bites his tongue hard, letting his head lift, carefully non-defiant. Heâs not quite sure his eyes get the message because he can feel the glare from them.
âMaster Bruce,â Alfred pipes in, tone sharp.
Batman sighs, but the set of his shoulders changes, no longer so heavily lined with suspicion.
âWhat do you know about why Damian was-" Thereâs an even sharper cough from Alfred. Another sigh, âFine. What has Talia already told you about me?â
Danyal glances between them, purposefully keeping his eyes from jumping down to the metal around his wrists.
No one else speaks.
âI know that you are Batman, the Dark Night of Gotham. You are also the detective, great enough to impress the Demonâs Head, Raâs Al Ghul. The Demonâs daughter informed me you were dead.â
Thereâs a slight twitch on Batmanâs face. âI survived Darkseidâs attack, although it led to me being lost in time and assumed dead for nearly a year,â Batmanâs eyes flick across the room, almost considering, âRed Robin was responsible for my return just over a year ago.â
Red Robin. Timothy Drake. The one Raâs favored. The second source of expectations placed on Danyal.
And he was lost in time? What did that consist of, what did it mean for Batman? Did it matter if it didnât affect Danyal?
âI see.â He says. Silence lingers. They still expect him to speak. He hedges his bets, asking something he actually cares about, âWhy am I here, Batman?â
The question seems to be expected and yet still strike with surprise.
âI⊠regrettably, did not know you were⊠present at the league. I do not believe in their methods and would not have left you there had I known.â
And that makes it all okay. Danyal wants to scream. But he narrows his eyes instead, only more suspicious, âAnd why were you there then?â
âWe followed the shadows that had taken Damian. He told us who you were.â
Danyal pauses, leaning back slightly. They were willing to answer his questions, to actually talk with him. Of course they were, they were meant to be heroes.
But it had been so long since heâd actually talked with anyone other than Raâs, and their conversations were a battleground of expectations and tests.
He fights with his conscious knowledge of this and the habits that have been beaten into him so thoroughly.
âWho is⊠Damian?â He asks, watching their reactions for the answer.
All three seem surprised by the question. But not angry. Of course not, he reminds himself.
âYouâve mentioned him several times like I am supposed to know who he is.â He had barely been told anything since his forceful return, and any knowledge he had from before stopped at Dick Grayson. And then Timothy Drake.
Danyal had purposefully ignored the hero world he had lived in-
He forces his eyes up to meet Batmanâs, noting the hesitance in the set of his shoulders.
âDamian is⊠your brother. He was.. Taliaâs son, before he came to me just a few years ago. He was raised in the league.â
Danyal blinks, anger disbelieving in his chest. Is that what she did?
âWhen.â
Thereâs no response, save a twitch of Batmanâs eyebrow.
âWhen,â Danyal says again, his breathing controlled, âDid he come to you? How old was he? How long ago?â
They seem to pick up on the way Danyalâs tone has changed. Good for them.
âNearly three years ago. He was ten.â Batman answers, voice rough. Tinged with curiosity and unfulfilled questions.
Danyal breathes deeply, his heart rate picking up against his wishes. Icy rage flares.
The beeping of the machine at his side matches the pounding in his chest, uneven, unbalanced, uncontrolled.
Keep it under control. Keep it. Under. Control.
Control is power. Control is strength. Control is the only thing that will ever be enough.
He breathes deeper. Holding his breath. Once. Twice.
The beeping is steadier with each tone.
âDanyal?â An old voice asks beside him. Itâs Alfred. The butler.
Danyal shifts his jaw from its clench, âI am fine.â His eyes slide back into focus, still on Batman, âDamian is your son then.â
Batman nods solemnly, a heavier sigh through his chest, âTalia and I have had an⊠interesting relationship. But I loved her. Once. She has never failed to make me regret it.â
That was why she had visited him. Her words. What she had almost said. Talia had wished he was Damian, wished he was Bruce. Just not Danyal of course. The weapon she discarded for a better version. One she could love.
One who would be heir.
Batman continues, âTalia is Damianâs mother, told him he would be my heir, as Iâm sure you were but-â Batman stops, looking at Danyal as confusion flicks across his face, âYou werenât.â
âI was never told I would be heir of the Batman, only of the Demonâs head.â This, at least, Danyal is familiar with, âThatâs the only reason they needed me: to be their weapon made from the Demon Headâs enemy.â Danyal breathes, âA weapon does not have parents, and I have never been more than a weapon to them, crafted for the leagueâs purpose. For Raâs.âÂ
Raâs is the reason Danyal is alive at all. Is the only reason he has survived the league, but he is also the reason Danyal had to, no- has to survive.
Danyal drops his eyes, tired, so so tired, like he always is. Unerringly, his eyes find the shine of the metal around his wrist. Arm held carefully still to keep from jostling it, even as his other hand has found its way to his lap.
âYou canât really believe that,â Dick says, disbelief in his own voice, unsurety in the frame of an unfamiliar language.
âIt doesnât matter what I believe.â
And it doesnât. It only matters what he can do. Thatâs heâs strong. He just has to be strong enough. Raâs is the reason Danyal suffers, has always been, and Danyal will never let him escape that.
Silence lasts. Danyal quickly grows tired of it.
Luckily, Batman breaks it, âWhy were you exposed to the Lazarus waters?â He asks, voice rigid and flat once more.Â
Perhaps the casualness is getting to him because Danyal manages to lift one lip in a slight sneer, âThe only reason anybody uses the Lazarus Pits.â
The Batman stays silent, clearly talking about the unorthodox method of exposure they had resorted to.
Danyal sighs this time, serious, âMy heart is damaged. Electricity. The pits are a short term solution for it. Grandfather had said he found a long term one.â Danyal doubts it matters now. Whatever care his grandfatherâd had was fragile, dependent on Danyalâs performance.Â
The palm of his left hand tingles sharply.
Would this be enough to tip the scale against him? What would he lose for being here? Who would he-
Danyal looks into Batmanâs eyes, âAm I to be a prisoner here?â
The man glances over him at the two on the other side, Danyal doesnât follow it, nor the silent conversation heâs sure is happening.
Instead, Danyal focuses his ears, senses sharpened by training, by the pits, by his accident⊠and turns his attention to the person hiding in an alcove above them.
Low breathing, higher pitched, the scent of sword polish and hair gel. The person was small and armed.
âYouâre not a prisoner⊠but if you leave.. youâll be in danger,â Batman says, voice deep, âWe canât let that happen.â
So either be followed or donât leave. What great options.
Danyal tries not to scowl, not to show any inflection at it, âAnd do I have to stay here? In yourâŠ. Cave?â
âIt might be difficult to move- uh.. the medical things-â Nightwing starts, but Danyal cuts him off by swiftly removing the IV tucked in the crook of his elbow.
He presses his thumb against the small well of blood as he looks forward.
Alfred shouts, jolting towards him, âMaster Danyal! That is hardly sterile-â
Danyalâs eyes snap to him the moment the title leaves his mouth, heart stilling for a second, commands in his eyes. Alfred falls still.
Danyal lets it fall away the next second, barely two beats missed. The beeping starts again.
âI see.â Alfred straightens, stepping forward slowly to turn off the IV and coil it, removing other monitors, âAnother one for the dramatics then.â
Nightwing steps up, hands out placatingly, âThereâs..mm really no need, Danyal, uh-â He glances back to Batman, âOf course you can leave the cave-,â the next words are in bright clear English, âIâm sure thereâs already a room picked out for you.â
âRight you are Master Dick,â Alfred says, âYoung sir, do you need any help moving?â He directs to Danyal.
He wants to rip his hand from the metal cuff. Snap the thin chain to pieces.
Instead he looks to Nightwing, then Batman, âThe restraints?â He says, voice as empty of want as he can make it.
The click of the key in the lock echoes in his ear and itâs only through practiced calm that Danyal does not immediately jerk his arm away from it. Instead, he calmly retracts his hand, bracing slightly against the bed as he turns and plants his feet on the floor.
The others have already moved out of his way, watching intently, waiting for him to fall- to fail.
Danyal straightens his legs. He stands. He breathes. He controls his heart. He walks forward.
He does not fall. He doesnât have the option to fall.
âI can go now.â He says, looking at them. His knuckles are white on the edge of the bed.
Nightwing looks at Batman once more. The man grunts, then turns from the room in a way that he can only imagine would perfectly flare a cape.
Danyalâs feet feel like theyâre filling with cement. Nightwing stares at him expectantly. Danyal understands expectations- but these ones, it leaves him helpless and-
âFollow me then, dear boys,â Alfred says, stepping in front smoothly, already moving towards the door, âWe can go upstairs, Iâll start on a meal and Master Dick can show you the rooms.â
Nightwing goes next, leaving Danyal to follow not quite behind him, the angle purposeful to keep him in sight.
Nightwing casts a wary glance to him every few minutes, continuing a light chatter with Alfred. Danyal stares forward, taking in the cave from his peripheral - computer, showers, training mats, an unfamiliar shadow watching him, armory, swords, knifes, suits, cars and vehicles lined up on platforms, a t-Rex, giant penny, a glass case- Danyal lets his eyes linger on the shadow, never faltering his steps.
His neck itches at the attention.
He looks forward. Nightwing is looking at him again, snapping forward the moment Danyalâs eyes narrow. Good.
The steps are slightly narrow, dark, but they come out to a warmly lit study. Dark wood, papers, books on shelves, a portrait on the wall, pictures on the desk, three black hair boys, another of only a single with stiff posture, a ballet dancer- they keep walking. The door-clock- closes behind them like the clamping of an artery.
Nightwing and Alfredâs conversation continues in smooth, low-toned English. Danyal blinks, slowly, slower than he needs to, for a breath of a second relishing in the almost familiarity of it all, the dissonance from the last three years alone enough to well emotion in his chest.
His eyes open. He continues after them.
âThis is where Iâll leave you, Iâll be up with some food young sir,â Alfred says abruptly, turning towards a swinging door that reveals a glimpse of a stainless kitchen.
âSoâŠâ Nightwing says, swinging his arms a bit at his sides, âuh⊠I can show you the room you can sleep in, yes?â
Danyalâs shoulders tighten, rising from a subconscious millimeter slouch. He nods stiffly.
His heart remains under control. Always under control.
âSo this is the Wayne Mansion, you can go for food any time, uhâŠâ Thereâs an unsure pause as they start up the stairs, âYou can meet the rest of us soon maybe, a correct introduction to DamianâŠdepends on Bruce really⊠he can be ⊠over âŠover.â
Nightwing looks at Danyal properly, âIâm usually better at this, most of the bat kids know the League dialect but⊠I havenât exactly practiced it.â
Danyal stares at him. He doesnât want to hear the sound of the Leagueâs twisting words, he wants to leave. He wants to find his family, protect them, get them as far away from Raâs al Ghul and the league as possible. He wants to go back to Raâs convince him to let his family go if Danyal stays willingly. Wants a blade strong enough to run the man through and-
âI know you are probably stressed and this is all unfamiliar but ⊠we want you to stay⊠you wonât be hurt here. This is different than the league, youâre safe.â
Danyal scoffs, not bothering to stop it, he hasnât been safe since the day he tripped over a wire and died.
Nightwing doesnât seem surprised by the response.
âThis can be your room,â He says, opening a door in the hallway and gesturing a wide arm to Danyal. âThe rest of us are just down the hall.â
Danyal steps in, looking around, counting exits, tactical advantages, possible listening devices- He turns around, giving Nightwing a stiff nod, âThank you for the room.â
Nightwing still stands at his door, âAnything else I can help with for you?â He says.
Danyal considers staying silent, obedient, but he hates hearing the language at every turn, he never wants to hear it again, the words they forced in his mouth, ripping away what was in their place-
âCan you just speak English?â He says, realizing too late how weak it sounds, âYou donât have to use the league tongue, I can-English is.. fine.â Fine. Better. Familiar. A remnant of a family heâs almost certain heâs lost now.
Nightwing barely quirks a brow, eyes flicking over him.
âCan do,â He nods, âWell then⊠Welcome to Wayne Manor, Danyal.â
And he closes the door behind him.
'Itâs just Danny, please.'Â He wants to whisper to the silence. But heâs grown too used to shadows and it catches in his throat.
He goes and sits on the bed. Staring out of the window. A window he canât leave from. Where would he go? He doesnât have anyone, theyâre all in danger because of him. He canât leave.
Heâs trapped.
Always trapped.
Bound. Stuck to one place. One thing.
Emotions well in his chest, in the back of his throat, thick and dark and painful. He wants to cry. He canât. Emotions constrict around his lungs.
And Danyal sits, staring at the wall, wishing he could cry. But the emotions just twist themselves until theyâre tight enough, heavy enough to fall down, settle back like a layer of heavy chainmail over his insides.
Danyal turns on the bed, facing the wall.
Itâs empty tan-beige. Neutral colors. No personality. Temporary.
This is familiar to him. This he can do.
Danyal stands again, he strips down his tunic, his shin-guards and pants- notes the lack of his typical weapons- methodically placing it on the dresser. Not his dresser, he already has one, painted blue with yellow stars back in-
Danyal gets in the shower, glad to find soap there, contemplating not using it, not wasting the energy. He watches condensation develop on the glass walls, water droplets collecting until they finally rush down the glass.
His finger lifts, already wanting to trace the letters he knows. Three lines, an H. One. i. Or e, he could write hello. Or ghost. Mom. Dad. Jazz, Sam, Tucker. Write it in English so he wouldnât forget the way they were meant to be spelled, let the water wash it away.
His fingers ache where theyâd been broken for it. For tracing letters in dirt or on mirrors, in the foggy glass at night. A break for every word.
Danyal can see his hand shake, inches from the glass. Pain and fear a leech on his bones.
He drops the hand. Turns to wash away the soap and get out, towels left on the counter.
He doesnât even glance at the mirror as he goes out.
His tunic is where heâd left it, neatly set on the dresser top⊠butâŠ
Danyal opens the drawers, changing into the boxers, the next one is dress pants and collared shirts, but in the third-
Rough denim scuffs against his fingertips.
Theyâre dark wash jeans, fancy and nothing like the ones his mom would buy on sale from the thrift store butâŠ
He doesnât let himself debate it further, he has to wear clothes and no one is here to tell him which. They put them here so they should expect him to wear it- it could be a test but he doesnât care, let them do what they want if only to pretend the jeans are stiff from ectoplasm stains instead of fresh starch.
He chooses a white t-shirt, ignoring the collared shirts and polos that are probably meant to go over it.
He breathes, letting his shoulders drop, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, pretending for only a second that heâs getting dressed for school. Jazz is across the hall getting her books together, Sam and Tuck are on their way to walk together, his parents are already downstairs working.
'See?' He wants to say, 'Iâm still the same person, nothings changed!'
The metal of the door knob clicks and Danyalâs head snaps towards the sound.
Thereâs nothing. Danyal doesnât trust it, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the tall double doors.
âI know youâre there!â he calls out, fists ready, âOpen the door and show yourself or I will!â
Thereâs a harsh tutt behind the door before it swings open, revealing a kid standing there. Short, black hair- hair gel-, dress slacks and shirt hiding multiple bladed weapons-
âClearly I meant for you to know I was here, I am not incompetent,â The kid scoffs. So Nightwing wasnât lying about them all knowing the league dialectâŠ. Yet somehow, it sounds different coming from the kid, familiar in a way that makes Danyal's skin burn. He looks irritated, arms crossed in front of him even while his eyes wander over the room and Danyal with curiosity. And judgement.
Danyal rolls his eyes at it, âDid you need something from me, or did you just want to stand there looking like a hair gel commercial?â
The boyâs face goes red impressively fast, âHow dare you-â he moves- and a knife is flying at his face, Danyal dodges, catching it in a second, shifting to throw it back but stops, half way extended. He looks at the hilt, thereâs a League marking engraved on the bottom no larger than a droplet.
Danyal's eyes flick up to the boy still standing in front of him, glaring him down.
Thatâs all it takes before the boy jumps forward, another knife in his hand.
Danyal blocks it, twisting the arm as he drops his own acquired knife to his other hand and lunges forward.
The boy flips over his arm, and Danyal doesnât let his surprise show as he reaches to grab the second knife heâd forced the kid to drop.
The boy tutts at him again, âSo this was who Mother replaced me with? Street rabble?â
Danyal blinks, Mother? Then it clicks.
So this was Damian. The child the demonâs daughter wanted, beloved by all. Treasured. Preserved.
Danyal grits his teeth against the bitter taste in his mouth. He lunges forward, already expecting the larger dagger Damian uses to block him as heâs forced to retreat.
Danyal doesnât stop, continuing to press him, âThe Demonâs Daughter is no mother of mine,â he spits as he slams a kick against Damianâs elbow, blade dropping once more. Danyal cuts a shallow slash across Damianâs left cheek before dropping his own stolen knives.
He doesnât stop though, continuing to push Damian back- Damian swerves to the side, grabbing his arm, flipping him, Danyal retaliates, grabbing the others shirt and taking him with him.
He catches his feet a second before the other, using it to pin him face to face with Danyalâs arm at his throat, âMaybe if you were good enough, you wouldnât have had to be replaced at all and I never would have been forced to be here, this is your fault. I was free,â He grits out, teeth bared, âYou got to live these last three years because I paid for it, and youâre angry because they donât want you!?â
Thereâs something startling in Damianâs wide eyes, âWhat are you talking about?â He snaps, âI am Damian Al Ghul, Heir to the League, Ibn al X-â
Danyal slams him harder against the floor, cutting him off. Green simmers, almost boiling, under his skin. He grits his teeth harder against the sharp pain through his chest.
He leans closer to Damian, snarling, his grip bruising, âYou donât even know what you escaped, what Raâs really wanted with you, do you? What being heir means. Youâre nothing more than a -â
Damian jerks his head upwards, colliding with Danyalâs forehead and knocking him back with a grunt. Danyalâs grip loosens momentarily and Damian pulls free.
He slams a palm strike into Danyalâs front, pain lancing through his chest as he gasps, heart convulsing.
He moves through it by force, both rolling off each other with violent hands.
They stand opposite each other once more. Blood drips from the cut on Damianâs cheek. Danyalâs ragged breaths join Damianâs in the silence. He can hear footsteps on the stairs. His heart clenches in his chest painfully. Thereâs barely enough Lazarus water in his veins to keep it pumping for a week, less if he keeps this up.
The door flings open with a slam, both of them turning to look.
Batman stands there, battle calm in his eyes.
Damian turns fully at the sight of his father, but Danyal doesnât shift from his stance.
âFather, I-â Damian starts, but Batman just lifts a hand, silencing him.
âWhat. Happened.â Batman says, looking straight at Danyal, not even a question. A demand. Green tinted steel shoots up Danyalâs spine and he does nothing but glare back at the man.
Batman doesnât break eye contact, âDamian.â
âI was determining if he was a threat. He is from the League, Father,â Damian says shortly, standing tall despite the blood on his face.
Batman looks between them briefly, and oh what a picture they must make.
Two kids, both born in the same cage, one trying to claw his way out of the chains and the other trying to fight his way in.
Exhaustion washes over Danyal, and he drops his fists, letting them hang by his sides.
Batman hums, barely a sound, but a muscle twitches in Damianâs jaw.
âFather-â
âGo Damian. Now.â
Damian looks back at him, not-quite-hate in his eyes, before dropping to a crouch to grab the knife closest to his feet with one hand and turning to leave.
Faced with Batmanâs sole attention, Danyal lifts his chin defiantly, daring him to take action, to punish him, to do something that he can predict, can defend, can justify the anger he feels when he sees him.
âI know it was different in the league, but here, this is not acceptable.â
Danyal half-scoffs. He finally steps out of his stance, âI could leave.â
âThatâs not-â Batman pinches the bridge of his nose, voice like gravel, âI am trying to protect you, the manor is not the league. I understand what it must have been like to be raised like that, but you canât hurt others, no matter what teachings youâve had. I can guarantee you wonât be hurt here, I wonât let-â
Danny huffs a dry laugh, âYou wonât let?â He steps forward, rage bubbling back up, âHurt me? Iâm not worried about me, Batman. You canât stop him. Raâs is going to get what he wants, and as long as that is me, everyone around me is in danger, Iâm dangerous. I'm a weapon, a weapon of your enemy. You canât fix that, can you?â
âWe can protect ourselves-â
Danyal scoffs again, âBecause youâve done such a good job of that already? Donât forget, all of this is because of you, they wanted you, and now they want me because of you, Batman. You.â
Something stricken shoots through the manâs face before it flattens. Batman nods and steps back, a hand on the doorhandle, âDonât leave.â Is all he says, before the door clicks shut.
Danyal feels the walls closing in on him like a cell.
He looks to his left.
The bathroom door is open. He can see his reflection in the mirror, any condensation gone.
Danyal stares.
When he had been younger, back in- before. Danyal would stand in front of a mirror and pick out parts he thought looked like his parents. Like a Fenton. His shoulders were from Jack obviously. His eyes and hair too. His jawline was from Maddie, his hands from Jack, and the love of engineering and planning from Maddie. He had the same legs as his mom. Same voice as his dad, always loud. If he didnât look too hard, he could almost convince himself he was really their kid, their son.
But he could never quite place his tanned skin, or the texture of his hair. The shape of his eyes and nose. Always just a little bit wrong.
What had pretending done but put them in danger?
Danyal turns on his heel, flicking the lights off and putting a glass soap bottle on the door handle.
He knew heâd wake up regardless⊠but he wasnât taking any chances.
Danyal rubs his chest with the heel of his palm as he lays down on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, staring out at the city beyond the window glass.
How close would he come to freedom before heâd have to give it up again?
And he knew he would.
For his family, he would give the Demonâs Head anything.
Everything.
If thatâs what it took.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he would fall asleep.
âââ
Bruce runs over Danyalâs words again and again during the flight.
'This is because of you, Batman,'
He flicks a switch.
'You.'
The landing gear lowers.
'You canât fix this.'
He can see the way the shadows of the forest twist around the clearing.
'Dangerous.'
Wheels touch grass. Batman lands at the coordinates, just on the side of the field in front of the woman waiting for him.
'Because of you.'
He breathes.
âMy Beloved, how are you?â She greets him as he descends the ramp.
Bruce says nothing. He cannot even begin to fathom what he would say if he did.
Instead, he stares at her. A woman who had once meant so much to him, whom he had nearly thrown away everything for. And who had nearly done the same for him.
But she hadnât. Wouldnât. And it had hurt him, but he had recovered.
And then she hurt him again.
She had stolen and lied to him in his vulnerability.
And still, he had found himself loving her.
Had allowed her to continue hurting him. Again and again. Out of a vain hope that she would change. Because he thought that he could change her. That she would change for him.
It was foolish. It was senseless.
Yet he found it just as impossible to stop.
And so she had hurt him again.
âTalia.â Her name grated against his heart, âWhy did you not tell me I had another son?â
âThe boy is no more yours than he is mine, Beloved,â She says with a roll of her eyes, as if explaining a basic fact, âHe belongs to my father. And to the league.â
Bruce is silent. He notices a slight bruise forming on her left cheek.
Taliaâs face is tight, âDo you not care about the son I have given you? Has Damian not satisfied you?â
Bruce feels the leather of his gauntlets stretch over his clenched fists.
âI deserved to know,â He near growls, âJust as I did Damian, just as I did with Jason. You cannot continue to keep my children from me-â
âIf it was not for that boy, you would not have met Damian at all,â Talia snaps.
Bruce blinks. Hard.
âHis return brought Damian into your arms, you should be grateful.â She spits at him like an accusation, âDamian is ours, Bruce. From our love. That boy was made before we truly knew each other, before we understood each other as we do now. He was borne of nothing more than my fatherâs obsession. Damian is our son, not him.â
âHis name is Danyal, Talia!â Bruce bellows, âHe is a child, and he is a person! Just like you, and me, and Damian, and he deserves more than to be written off as one of Raâs al Ghulâs projects! He deserves better than this!â Than us, he doesnât say. Deserves better than him.
Talia straightens from already perfect posture, âI made a choice Bruce, for Damian. To protect Damian. I knew our son was never meant to bear my fatherâs hands, he was never meant to be what Danyal is.â Talia pauses, eyes sharp on him, and he can see when she chooses her next words. Already knows they are meant to cut him, to hurt him. He steels himself and listens anyways.
âPerhaps you should ask him where heâs been all these years Iâve supposedly kept him from you, Beloved.â She says coyly, stepping forward.
âWhat are you talking about.â
She takes another step, âThe truth of the matter is that Danyal could have gone to you any time he wanted. He chose not to. Chose to stay away.â
He stays silent.
âOh- Did the boy not tell you?â Talia says, barely hiding the falseness, âDanyal was living in America before he returned to his rightful duty. Almost didnât work, butâŠâ Talia hummed, âHis gifts were fortuitous in the end. A risk well calculated, my fatherâs doing I suspect.â
Talia almost seems blaisĂ© as she talks about it, but he can see the way it irks her. Her father had tricked her. Somehow. Or had manipulated her into some choice she hadnât known about.
Batman says nothing, analyzing, taking in clues.
âBeloved,â Talia sighs, âSurely you must know, the boy must return.â
âAnd surely you know: I canât let that happen.â
Talia glowers at him.
âItâs him or Damian, Bruce, you must choose, just as I did.â
âNo.â Bruce growls.
âYou cannot have both,â She snaps at him.
Batman stands firm, staring her down, resolute.
âYou invite his anger on them both,â She snarls, âYou save no one.â
Batman ignores the words. He has made it his job to make sure thatâs not true. Heâll die before it is.
âFine.â She snaps again. But she lingers for a few seconds more. The lines of her face softening.
âI remember I once loved that same unbending drive.â
It feels odd to hear her confirm something heâs not sure ever really existed.
Then Talia turns away and walks into the forest. Shadows contort and reform around her at the edges of the clearing. Slowly emptying until thereâs nothing left but the trees and the grass and him, standing alone at the center of it all.
He turns to leave.
He wonât choose between his children.
He climbs the ramp.
He will protect them.
He sits down in the pilots chair, flicking switches and gears.
All of them.
Engines roar to life below him.
He will not fail.
And yet⊠he cannot forget her words. Twisted they may be, and just as easily lies.. but, her irritation at her fatherâs plans⊠he had always been good at telling when it was real.
'Living in America⊠chose to stay away,'
Living in America?
Had he been secluded at one of their bases here? Had it even been close?
Had Danyal been just miles away, suffering, and Bruce hadnât known?
But it felt wrong. What Talia had said sat like a jagged puzzle piece, poking and prodding at him, not quite fitting the theories he threw at it.
âReturned.â
Did she only mean returned to the Leagueâs home base? Closer to their original strongholds in Asia?
It didnât make sense. She would have crafted the words differently, to drive her point home.
Sheâd said âsupposedly kept him from youâ like she hadnât. Like she hadnât kept Danyal hidden, the way she had Damian. It didnât add up.
She could have just been lying. Bruce didnât think she was. It couldnât be that simple. No, there was something specific about the way sheâd phrased it all, like she was telling him a secret. Like it was something Raâs had hidden. Like something Danyal was hiding.
Batman narrowed his eyes, staring out at the landscape in front of him as it rushed past.
Whatever it was, whatever she wasnât telling him, Batman needed to figure it out before it came back to hurt him or his family. Danyal included.
Then there was the rest of it.
The âgiftsâ that Talia had mentioned.
He knew Danyal had been forced to interact with the Lazarus waters, but he didnât know to what extent. What it had done to him.
Itâd had an effect on him, that much was clear by the acid green of his eyes when he stood off against them in the Batcave. And earlier when Bruce had first interrupted the fight with Damian.
He didnât even think Danyal had noticed they were glowing then. Too defensive to think about it. Or perhaps he was used to it.
How many times had he been submerged? Had been so injured that Raâs saw fit to put him in?
How many times had Bruce not been there to protect him from it?
Even if he was only acting out of defensiveness⊠was that not Bruceâs fault too?
That he still felt unsafe in the Manor. That he didnât know if Bruce would act the same as Raâs, as the League.
And Danyal was right, he was responsible for the pain the league caused him, for them hunting him. If he had never let himself be pulled into Taliaâs web- or if she was to be believed⊠even before that.
When exactly? When had Batman become enough of a threat that Raâs had decided to use him? Was it because he had refused to be his heir? Or before that? Before or after Dick? Jason?
He doesnât even know how old Danyal is. How long Batman had let him suffer because of h-
âI do hope you arenât planning to brood like this with your children around, Master Bruce,â Alfred says, cutting through his thoughts, âI donât believe your pride would survive the repercussions.â
Bruce glances at the monitor Alfred has decided to call from.
âHn.â Bruce grumbles.
Alfred is right, his children would tease him mercilessly for âbroodingâ as they called it. If only Dick at least, who hasnât missed a chance to do so since heâd been a freshly christened Robin.
How would Danyal fit into that? Would he grow to tease like the others? Or remain stoic like Damian?
âIâll be approaching in 30 minutes, A.â He says. âWill Danyal be there?â He doesnât say.
Alfred says nothing in response. The engines fill the silence.
He grits his teeth, he just wants to know the situation, to stay updated, he wants to know if somethingâs happened or anythingâs changed.
He sighs, forcefully loosening his jaw, âWhoâs going out tonight?â
âMm, I believe Miss Brown and Master Tim were discussing going together. Master Thomas is in bed, as is usual, though he did mention heâd be out early.. and I believe Madame Cassandra is staying in. She seems to have found a new project.â
Batman hums in confirmation. He wants to know what Cass had found interesting. More than that, he wants to know if Danyal was okay, Damian too.
âIt seems it circles around our newest resident, though she hasnât shown herself to him yet. Master Dick also seems to think the young sir is his duty as much as Master Damian had been.â
Batman feels his lips tug downwards as he grunts in response. Damianâs first year with them was⊠a regret. His own absence was devastating. Heâd have to find some way to assure Dick that Danyal wasnât his responsibility this time, that he could still be his own person. Perhaps he should encourage Dick to return to BlĂŒdhaven. Affirm the family would be alright without him.
Batman sees Gothamâs cloud of smog come into view. The bay follows soon after, and the buildings next.
âIâm coming in now.â
âVery good sir.â Alfred answers, nodding in his peripheral before the call clicks off.
When the Batplane arrives to the cave, Alfred is nowhere to be seen. The otherâs suits are missing as well, meaning they are already out for the night.
Batman doesnât pause more than to look around, already heading to the Batcomputer with determined steps.
He enters his access codes, running through his security checks unconsciously, mind spinning on theories and clues.
He picks apart his and Taliaâs interaction again and again, trying to pull everything he can from it and put it into his report file. Maybe if he can just read over it again, remember something else, maybe it will be enough to protect Danyal, maybe it will be enough to stop Raâs, maybe it will be enough understand why Talia did this to h-
A gentle hand slides over his just as his finger goes to slam the enter button of the keyboard.
He looks over his shoulder, already recognizing the feeling of stitching against his suit.
Cass looks at him meaningfully. Her gentle hand shifts into a lean against his arm, the pressure a comfort. She stares up at the Batcomputer and reads through his writing piece by piece.
Bruce waits for her. He knows she struggles with so many words. Knows that she gained more from watching him type it than she will from reading an exact account but the details will be helpful anyways.
She nods to him, fingers tapping lightly against his arm as she thinks it over, scanning and rescanning the document.
Cass has been developing fidgets recently, small twitches of movement that donât serve a purpose than to let her move.
Bruce wants to smile every time. Heâs pretty sure theyâre on purpose, but still.. itâs freedom for her.
She nudges him, reaching for a button across the keys. It flicks to a camera screen a second later.
The one in Danyalâs room.
Bruce feels a twinge of guilt at the disappointment Cass aims at him before they both refocus on the image.
The empty image.
Danyal is not in the room, and Bruce feels his eyebrows scrunch as he goes to pull up the other camera feeds to locate him, make sure he hasnât been taken-
âDownstairs.â Cass says.
Batman gets a half turn around, checking the cave for a foreign presence, before Cass stops him again.
She points to the screen, drawing his attention to a bottom square.
Danyal stands in the hallway of the manor, staring at the portraits on the walls.
He feels a light tap on his shoulder in parting before Cassâs presence at his side disappears silently.
He stares up at the figure of his son standing in the hallway, mind still whirring about possibilities and clues and lies and secrets.
Danyal continues to stand in front of the portrait for another minute, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.
He rips his eyes away from the portrait, turning down the hallway and ducking into the kitchen.
Itâs empty when he gets there. Then again, the whole mansion had seemed empty. Aside from the ever constant, ever familiar feeling of eyes weighing down on him.
Danyal considers making himself food.
He considers jumping out of the window and seeing how far he could get.
He wonders if their cabinets have something heâd know and could do himself or if heâd be hopelessly lost.
He wonders how long it will take for the Demonâs Head to find him. Wonders what heâll do when he does. Wonders if his-
He stops himself short.
âMay I offer you some tea and snacks, young sir?â
Danyal turns slightly to face the old butler-Alfred- whoâd entered behind him and nods.
Can he even say no?
Alfred gestures to a chair set up by the built in breakfast nook.
He sits. Even as the domesticity of it all throttles his heart in his chest. The way they must eat together every morning, appear together in every photo, smiling. A family portrait. Batmanâs family. Batman got to keep his. But Dannyâs is tra-
Danyal breathes purposefully, staring down at his hands, clenching them tighter.
Suddenly a hand reaches across his vision, pressing a button on an ancient looking miniature TV sitting just tucked into the kitchen corner.
It flickers to life on some random news channel, low mindless chatter softening the air.
Danyal feels his shoulders lower slightly, just barely, as the silences retreats. He glances up, expecting to find Alfred there staring at him, questioning him, why heâs acting like this, why he-
Alfredâs back is to him. The man busy at the stove with the tea kettle.
âI hope you like lemon ginger tea,â the man says, getting a small jar from a cupboard, âItâs been quite a bit since Iâve had the opportunity to make some.â
Danyal doesnât quite trust it, still watching the man warily. He doesnât understand why they would welcome him into their house, Batman or no, he was a threat to them. He was nothing but a threat.
âHow about something to eat?â
Danyal watches the man move over to the fridge.
Something moves in his peripheral and his eyes jump to the side.
Narrowed eyes comb over the fancy china case against the wall. But he canât see anything odd. The glass is clear, refracted reflection shining back him over the china. A dark phone sitting on the ledge. Dark wood pressed against the wall. He doesnât know what he saw.
Alfred sets a small plate down in front of him with a light clatter, immediately turning back as the tea kettle begins to screech.
The movement makes a small carrot tumble off, rolling across the counter to Danyal.
He stares at it.
He breathes in, out, in out, in out in out too fast. Too fast-
A finger rolls to a stop in front of him and he can only stare at it as strong arms grip and pull him back, keeping him restrained.
Granite counters blend until they are stone floors.
He canât look away from it. Confusion bleeds in with denial and regret and bloodthirsty stubbornness.
âLook at me, boy.â
Dannyâs head is jerked back by his hair, forcing his eyes up to his instructor.
The man glares down at him.
âI have taught warriors better than you by a thousand, and you dare to try to escape under my hand?â
Danny tries to grin, barely managing a crude sneer, coppery blood in his teeth, âYou should have kept a better eye on me, you fucking nutcase.â
His eyelid flicks closed automatically as cold gunmetal rests against it.
âSay that again.â
Danny swallows his regret, in for a penny in for a pound. He juts his chin up, forcing the man to follow the movement with his gun.
âWhat, were you dropped as a bab-â His open eye strains to see his instructorâs thumb press down the hammer of the gun. A warning.
He can feel his hands shake under the assassins hold. His throat burns.
âYou scared of a chil-?â He barely has time to register the hand moving before the butt of the gun slams into his nose with a sickening crack.
Pain floods his face. He gets half a shout out before his chin is grabbed by unforgiving hands.
He stares into the manâs cold eyes.
Danny says nothing. Too focused on trying to breathe when his nose is filling with blood and his mouth is clamped nearly shut.
âBetter.â
He resists the urge to spit in the manâs face as he steps back, straightening and waving a hand to the assassins. Even without their hands on him he can feel their presence looming behind him.
Danny drops his head, curling in on himself as much as he can, trying to ignore the feeling of blood as it slides down his face.
His eyes are left to stagnate on the finger thrown to the ground in front of him.
Pale skin stands stark against dark floors, contrasted by blood and dirt marring it. He can see the calluses and small scars.
He doesnât understand.
He might.
He doesnât want to.
âYou are not the only one I can punish to get my point across, boy.â
He looks closer at the finger. At the nicks of careless knives and tools, of a hand that had cradled- no- please no-
âThe oaf was very insistent it be him.â
Danny snaps his head up, fear striking through his chest, âNo! Please-â he catches himself, âPlease donât hurt them! They donât- Hurt me, just me! They donât deserve it, they didnât do anything-!â
Sharp eyes stab into him. Fury behind them.
âHurt me, Master Shrike, just me. Please.â
Thereâs a pause as the man continues to stare down at him before he lifts one lip in a sneer, âDo you think you command me, child?â
Danny freezes, âI donât- I- No, Master. I donât.â
âThen why,â Shrike near growls, âDo you beg me? Why do you plead like you have a right to ask for anything?â
âI donât-â 'I donât understand,' he starts to say but heâs cut off by Shrikeâs boot hitting his face. Heâs learned by now when not to dodge. He canât give them another reason to hurt his family.
A second kick lands.
âYou will be quiet!â
Danny waits for a beat, then slowly pulls himself up from the floor, not lifting his eyes.
He can still see his fatherâs finger on the floor.
âYou do not command me. You are a tool! A weapon in the Demonâs hand! I choose to act, to punish or break you! You do not act, do not speak until you are to be used!â
Danyal stays silent.
He wants to scream, to fight back, they train him and they train him but he canât fight back because if he does- his eyes flick to the bloodied finger.
He can let them. For his family, he can let them call him a weapon, can let them say he has no will. He can do this one thing.
Heâs not giving up, he tells himself. But for his familyâs safety, he can let them think he is. Just this once.
Danny stops, eyes shutting for just a second as he bends into a kneel, holding his hands up in front of him.
Thereâs a pause, cruel satisfaction radiating off the man in front of him.
Danyal licks his lips, steeling himself, âI am ready for my lesson,â Danny forces the words out, âMaster Shrike.â
He doesnât bother to look up and see the manâs sneer.
âGood.â
He sees the kick coming.
He still doesnât move.
He stays still.
The world moves around him. Voices. Muttering. The sound of dishes, water being poured.
Thereâs a carrot.. orange and bright in front of him.
His heart is beating too fast. His eyes sting.
Calm down. Control it. Control it. Stop, stop-
A tea cup clatters in front of him.
âSir Danyal, are you quite alright?â He hears someone ask. Alfred. Itâs Alfred. Batmanâs butler. Heâs not-
He tries to speak, âIâm fineâ he tries to say. But his throat constricts. He simply nods, staring down at the carrot.
A freaking carrot.
Itâs ridiculous.
Heâs fine. Heâs fine. Heâs. Fine.
Danyal takes a deep breath. He breathes out. Silently.
He does it again.
He holds it until his heart slows down, stops stuttering from beat to beat.
He breathes out.
He reaches for the tea, ignoring the eyes on him-always watching him- ignoring the way his hands shake.
He drinks the tea. Letâs it burn his throat and distract him.
He breathes.
Alfred does not turn to look at him. Staying busy at the sink with dishes that already look clean.
He is thankful.
He breathes.
Low murmurs fill impenetrable silence. Danyal drags his eyes over to the small TV.
His breath stops.
A banner of words crawls across the bottom of the screen.
âDalvCo factories shutting down after mass destruction.â
He tries to tear his eyes away.
âFour buildings exploded just after midnight on Saturday in downtown Chicago, Elmerton, and Red Lake. 12 workers dead. Police have not caught the perpetrators.â
And they wonât.
Danyal can recognize a message.
He knows what it means. Who is sending it.
He tries not to let it show how his mind begins spinning. Churning out plans and strategies- If an attempt had cost his father a finger, what would they do to them now, because of Danyal?- he had to fix this.
He looks down to his shaking hands. He stops them. And the tea in his cup stills.
He stops. Pauses. He eyes Alfred still at the sink without looking up.
He places it just on the edge of the counter. Then turns away and lets go.
The cup falls.
It shatters against the floor. Danyal jumps up from his seat at the same time Alfred turns around.
âWhatâs happened?â He says, already hustling over with a towel. âAre you hurt?â
Danyal steps away and around him, towards the door.
He almost bumps into the display case until the reflection of light off the phone catches his eye. A small ballet sticker sits on the back of the case.
His hand moves before he can think and slips it into his pocket. He looks at Alfred.
âItâs no trouble, Young Danyal,â Alfred says as he crouches over where Danyal had been sitting, âIâll clean this up and get you more. You can help me prepare for breakfast-â
Danyal considers knocking him out, so he canât stop him, or alert anyone, but a body is more suspicious. Instead he paints his face with fear and steps out of the room as quick as he can.
He turns down the hallway, trying to remember where heâd walked from the cave.
Mere hours ago.
He goes the opposite direction, following a halls as far to the outer edges of the mansion as he can, typing in Vladâs number with nervous hands as he goes.
He makes a final turn before he opens a window, glances backwards, and jumps out.
He lands in a roll, already running. His finger presses call and he listens to the phone ringing as he runs.
Once. Twice. He swipes branches out of his way. Three times. Four. Five. Six.
âWeâre sorry the number-â
Danyal hangs up and presses again.
He doesnât stop running.
He just has to protect them. He has to warn Vlad. Warn whoever he can. Tell someone.
It rings again. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six- âWeâre sorr-â
Danyal presses it again and runs faster.
If he can get caught by the League maybe Raâs will overlook it. Maybe he can still protect them. He can fix this. Please just let him fix this.
âWeâre s-â
He tries again.
And Danyal continues rushing through the woods, wishing his feet would carry him faster, further, higher-
The sound of his steps pounds in his ears. The phantom feeling of eyes on his back.
He slams his finger down on Vladâs number again, letting the dial tone drown his heartbeat out.
Once. Twice. Three times, Frick! Vlad pick up! Four- the speakerphone clicks.
âVlad!â
Thereâs barely a pause, âDANNY!?â
Danny nearly trips, his heart stuttering dangerously, hopefully.
âDani?âŠâ He says, then jolts to his senses and continues running, a glance thrown behind him, âDani, how do you have Vladâs phone, are you okay? Have you been to Amity?â
âDanny, where the hell are you!? Iâve been looking all over for-â
âDani, you have to listen okay, thereâs dangerous people after me- after us-â Danyal jumps another log, scaling a small stone wall, âYou canât fight them, you have to run, theyâve got my family, Tuck, Sam-â
âDanny wait no listen to me-!â
âYou canât fight them! You canât, okay!?â Danny scans his eyes back and forth frantically as he runs, mind spinning, calculating how heâs going to get out, away, controlling his heart rate as much as he can, âYou have to promise me! Just find Vlad, get out of Amity. Warn him- I couldnât - my parents- you have to-â
âDanny, listen to me!â Dani yells, stopping him in his tracks.
âYour parents are out, Danny,â She says, voice rushed, but his ears barely hear it. âThey escaped, they called us weeks ago to start looking for you- Danny, theyâre out.â
She goes quiet. Waiting for Danny.
His parents were-
Danny draws in a deep breath, standing stock still in the middle of the trees, stolen phone still pressed to his ear.
He couldnât believe it.. they were-
Something clangs against a tree behind him and Danyal whips around ready to-
His head blossoms with pain.
Everything goes dark.
This is included in my one-shot collection(for now) on Ao3, under same name. The collection is Things that Could Exist by Snaileer.
Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/760212137159294976/call-to-my-bedside-3?source=share
Tags:
@thecrystallabyrinth @isnt-that-grape @riverdancingwerewolves @mimblizzy @chaos-deimos-et-eris @miraculousandmore2 @mys-tia @jitteryjuttury @moonlight-opal @nerdypaintbrush @thedragonqueen1998 @luminanightfall @cowarddragon @cyrwrites @kamireadsmcu
#danny phantom#batman#danny fenton#dc#batfam#danny phantom crossover#batman and robin#bruce wayne#tim drake#alfred pennyworth#jason todd#damian wayne#damian al ghul#ras al ghul#ra's al ghul#league of assassins#danyal al ghul#the fentons#jack fenton#maddie fenton#jazz fenton#tucker foley#sam manson#dick grayson#dpxdc#dp x dc crossover#again... I was basically just bridging the middle to the end#I really tried to avoid that pov change but is wad it eez#chaos-deimos-et-eris this is at least 48.7% dedicated to you for that literary analysis last chapter that was chefs kiss love it#can you tell that I have issues with language loss and losing my first language to the people around me forcing it on me? whaaattt
678 notes
·
View notes
Text
itâs so bonkers to me that generation lossâs commentary is regarding the toxicity surrounding streaming and the âshow must go onâ mentality and doing anything for viewers when you have the meta-context that during the first episode ranboo was getting actively injured by a malfunctioning wire, but continued on anyway
#genloss#generation loss#it kinda makes the depiction of security funnier but also. damn way to run face first into one of the shows themes in the FIRST EPISODE#wizarding.posts
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
from the homumiko mines
#dgs#tgaa#dgs spoilers#tgaa spoilers#homumiko#idk why mikotoba is taller in the kiss. hes on his tiptoes#the first one is inspired by the moment when sholmes puts his hands on ryu's neck so he can feel how cold they are from blood loss lol#anyway i continue to be deeply fascinated with early years homumiko#i feel like my view of their relationship is more slowburn than most#like. they were both not at their best when they met and i can very much see a scenario where they start living together w/out necessarily#liking each other#the last one in based on a line in 1-5 where gregson (?) says that after an hour of blood loss even sholmes piped down or something#which makes me think he would not shut up beforehand. and i think he'd say some stuff He Really Shouldn't Have#but susato wrote it off as delirium + she was too worried abt her dad and messing with the crime scene#que like 5 months later her going .........ohhhhhh#thats not how you write que i think. anyway
990 notes
·
View notes
Note
me seeing xisuma scared and going um! think I just discovered something new about myself uh oh
SFBJSFGBKSFGBLADGHDFGN OKAY IDK WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME I had to. I had to. Just. Look away
Edit: hereâs the post this ask is referencing DGBJDFGNK
#Iâm. feeling possessed on this fine birthday#DTJHDGHNLCHM#Donât acknowledge me or this image ever again /silly#Iâm gonna be so abnormal on stream today I can feel it#docsuma#I GUESS!!!#dbhc#dbhc ask#dbhc xisuma#dbhc doc#docm77#art escapades#this is so funny thank you#tw robot gore#tw blood#tw limb loss#I guess Iâm gonna go tag the other post with docsuma DRBNSFGKNDN#ignore me posting this again btw⊠tumblr decided to shadowban the first one#dbhc art
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
et tu, brute?
1. david foster wallace, infinite jest 2. growrotten, a brief story about saying goodbye x 3. k. wright, judas 4. @demiiwhiffin x 5. @frenchtoastlesbian x 6. x 7. unknown 8. taylor swift, the archer 9. @demiiwhiffin x 10. x
#on betrayal#web weaving#webweaving#parallelism#parallels#words#david foster wallace#infinite jest#judas#taylor swift#the archer#lover#julius caesar#marcus brutus#saw the first quote on tiktok and it ruined my night so i had to share the horrors#on love#on loss
4K notes
·
View notes