#i know ur a ghost

[butlerbarbs]

click may i ask what the fuck are you doing

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 271

“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 

“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 

Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 

“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 

“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 

Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”

Now wait one moment-

“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 

[shizunitis]

Ghostfire Shen Yuan loyally following the lonely, undying, forgotten Luo Binghe from the original outline.

They never even met.

Shen Yuan had died long before Luo Binghe’s story was set to start. Abandoned by his System, he was left wandering the realms, searching for anything to latch onto, anything to stave off the darkness encroaching on his consciousness whenever he stopped. He keeps himself entertained with little jokes and references that will never reach anyone. At least back home, there were other people on the opposite side of his screen reacting, seeing. Paying attention.

He never would have thought he’d miss the times he was perceived by others. He’d give anything, though. Anything.

He stumbles upon the protagonist as he’s ascending the stairs of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect for the first time. Dressed in rags and heaving with the effort, Luo Binghe is exactly as Shen Yuan had pictured: a little bun, soft and kind and so very brave.

The excitement wears off soon enough. When the tea ceremony is held, Shen Yuan watches, hopelessly trying to stop the cup from hitting Binghe’s head. He lunges at Shen Jiu; let him be identified and exorcised, at least he would have done something with himself, however useless. It doesn’t work. Of course not—nothing can come between Luo Binghe and his fate.

Shen Yuan thinks about leaving. Many times. But every time he considers the possibility of going back to wandering the world, or just passing on… Well. There’s still a lot to see, isn’t there? It will get better. It will.

Only, it doesn’t. Not really.

There’s no harem; there’s no warm comfort offered to Luo Binghe by a sympathetic beauty, no wedding celebrations, no moments of gentle companionship, however brief, however superficial. There’s no camaraderie with the demons underlings, his generals, his allies; it’s all casual cruelty and dismissals, before it’s violence and subjugation.

There’s no joy. There’s no hope. There’s no ‘better’.

Something is wrong, that’s clear. Something is wrong, and Shen Yuan has no one to blame.

This is clearly not the Proud Immortal Demon Way he knows.

Centuries later, when Luo Binghe begs for the heavens to allow him to die, Shen Yuan hears. When Luo Binghe rages against the passage of time, alone in the wreckage of his palace, left behind by everyone he’d ever known, Shen Yuan accompanies him. When Luo Binghe lies down in the Holy Mausoleum and refuses to get up, Shen Yuan waits until he opens his eyes again and leaves the palace.

They end up in a hidden realm so filled with Yin Energy that Shen Yuan can channel it to manipulate his form into that of his former body. It’s not detectable by the living, but it’s there. He feels stronger, too. He can walk, float, fly, interact with what few other ghosts they encounter.

Still, Luo Binghe cannot see him.

Luo Binghe doesn’t talk much. Well, that makes sense, he was never in the habit of talking to himself, but still. It’s lonely.

They end up in a town where a diviner takes one look at Luo Binghe and offers him a free reading. Shen Yuan can’t enter her tent, so he waits outside.

She tells Luo Binghe of the little hanger-on he’s got. A powerful one, too, though he’s still getting used to his powers. He’s been here for a long time, she says. Since he was a child. He comes from far away—farther than even the most distant star.

Luo Binghe begins talking to him. Shen Yuan isn’t sure why, but he’s not complaining!

Luo Binghe also begins meditating again, trying to soothe the damage done by Xin Mo over the centuries. For every meal, he places a few fruits across from him on a plate he’d made himself, which he eats only after finishing his own dish. He makes space by his side whenever he walks on a narrow road. He stops at every landmark and tells stories about them, always starting the same way.

“Do you remember when…” becomes Shen Yuan’s favourite phrase.

One night, Luo Binghe sighs and looks across the table. Shen Yuan places himself so that he’s in Luo Binghe’s focus.

“What is it, Binghe?”

Luo Binghe doesn’t answer him, of course. Still, it feels like a conversation, when he says:

“I wish I knew your name.”

Shen Yuan frets. He’s been trying to manipulate the physical world, but he never got the hang of it. He’d tried drawing in sand, with water, just pushing things off shelves. And yet, nothing.

“I’m sorry, I wish—” he tries, but Luo Binghe is already talking again.

“I wonder if we ever crossed paths when you were alive.” He’s expressed this thought more than once. Shen Yuan never likes to think about how they’ve missed each other, how they’d been set up for failure from the start. “I wonder if we would have been friends.”

Shen Yuan scoffs. Of course not. Him and the protagonist? No way.

But—those cold star eyes, blindly searching for him, trying to land on him… They make him want to say, I would have liked that.

He reaches a hand out to touch Luo Binghe’s forhead. He’s taken to doing it whenever Luo Binghe broods, or makes a silly joke Shen Yuan wishes he didn’t find funny. It’s soothing.

He wishes Binghe could feel it.

When his finger touches the demon mark, it blazes. Luo Binghe gasps, that heavy gaze settling on Shen Yuan’s face.

Shen Yuan startles, and jumps away.

“No! Wait!”

Shen Yuan hesitates. Luo Binghe is looking around himself, eyes begging for even a wisp of Shen Yuan’s shadow.

He can’t deny Luo Binghe this.

He can’t deny himself this.

He reaches out again. This time, he cups Luo Binghe’s cheeks. When those eyes clear of panic and widen in awe, he whispers, softly, “Shen Yuan. My name is Shen Yuan.”

Luo Binghe looks like he’s been handed a treasure so precious he’s afraid to touch it. He hesitates, raising his hands in careful starts and stops, before taking Shen Yuan’s face in them, gently caressing the soft, cold skin of his face. His eyes dance with the haste he takes in memorising Shen Yuan’s features.

Then, he smiles. Helpless and weak and so, so precious. Shen Yuan has not seen hope so bright in Luo Binghe’s face since that fateful day on Cang Qiong Mountain.

“Hello, Shen Yuan.”

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

[ghostbeam]

I bet choso is so weird when he’s into u like u go out with friends and he just stares at u and it’s like that for weeks like he just doesn’t say anything to u first ever but he’s just. Always there he doesn’t really know what to do about it but he knows in his brain ur already his and like sometimes he’s next to u in the bar like on guard looking over your shoulder and u don’t even realize it until u turn around and more often than not he scares the shit out of you but eventually u get kind of used to him always being there and you’re not sure what changed or if anything ever did but now your leaning into him and letting him hold his arm across your chest protectively and sometimes he gets this scary look on his face when people look at you but honestly you don’t even mind it

[temeyes]

he is legally blind, your honor

[kaiserouo]

Tired Ghost

[doodlesforfics]

Who’s Old Now? by @lirabuswavi​ (um i hope i tagged the right person, cause like im 80% sure you are same ao3 lirabuswavi, if not im sorry <;D)

ok this one-shot literally opened my eyes to sheer chaos possibility of Adult!Fenton adopting kid Billy B. while Teenager!Phantom being mistaken as Shazam’s ward and just ladskjsdk??? superhero/magic/ghost community would not be prepared. amazing fic. such fun.

and some doodles inspired by the fic

let lil Billy have retired ghost superhero possibly eldritch overpowered being Phantom as protective Dad.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Supersons +1 prompt answer

If you asked Danny, 12 year old half-ghost hero of Amity Park, how half-life was going, he'd tell you things were mixed.

On the one hand, he had just spent the last three or four months in family/scientist/'this house is a death trap waiting to happen' therapy with Jazz, and by some miracle, it worked. He wasn't sure if this was some kind of dream as his parents poured over years upon years of research, crossing out lines, rewriting equations, and reevaulating everything they thought they knew about ghosts.

Was the shudders family therapy worth not going over how they'd like to dissect him? he's still not sure. The horror.

Not to mention the attention. Danny was sure he was going to throw up if his parents drag him away for more bonding time, only for a ghost to attack and for him to run off to transform. What made it worse was when the Fentons came barrelling out, guns blazing, alternating between getting mad that he'd interrupted their family time, and asking him questions about "Your suspicious spook culture, if you even have one you dangerous delusional delinquent!"

At least they were trying, but Danny was very much comfortable not spilling the beans on the whole half-ghost situation, thank you very much.

And that's why, when Dad proposed to take him to Gotham to show off their latest invention, he jumped at the chance. The home city of the Batman, one of the greatest heroes known to man (except for Martian Manhunter and Superman of course) and Dad promised to take him to Gotham Observatory too. Not to mention how much he wanted to get away from Jazz's smug looks of superiority. Gotham here he comes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian Wayne scowled as he scanned the crowed of scientists with more smarts than sense. Really, a flying toilet seat. For what deviant?

"Maybe they're for people who can fly." Kent piped up beside him. Father had let the two of them run off together, and his company was mildly more appealing than being alone with his thoughts.

"Why would Superman ever need to relieve himself mid-air. I do not believe you would appreciate your father's rear end being on display for all the world to see."

"True." Jon hummed. His voice lowered to a whisper. "You think indecent exposure is what your dad meant by "scoping out any potential future villains?"

Damian gave Jon a flat look. The sooner this convention ended, the better.

The crowded shifted, and the mass of visitors pushed toward a certain corner, where a man large enough to rival Superman's build stood upon a podium, with a boy their age off to the side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the latest in FentonWorks' innovations, the Fenton Ghost Zone Radar, soon to revolutionise the study of ghosts!"

"I thought ghosts were a magic thing." Jon said. "You know, stuff Constantine and JLD deal with."

"They are."

"Mixing magic and science is like, like, oil and water. No way this guy's serious, is he?"

"His name is Jack Fenton. That's Daniel Fenton, his son." Damian pointed to the boy in question, looking like he'd seen this scene a hundred times before, but with that knowing glint that promised something deeper. "They're normally spotted alongside Jack's wife, Madeline. Widely regarded as quacks by the larger scientific community for chasing paper-thin theories about ghosts, they've nonetheless gained funding from the government. This is the first time they've left their base of operations in Amity Park for years."

"Woah, you know your stuff, Dami!"

Damian glared at the young Superboy in disguise. "I read the briefing files. Didn't you?"

Kent looked uncomfortable and looked away. "Uhh, maybe?"

"Typical."

"Well, if he's so crazy, then why'd your dad even let him in." Upon another scathing glare, Kent relented. "Oh right, the whole supervillain thing."

"Enough chatter. We'll zero in on the younger Fenton. I intend to squeeze him like a grape, and make Father proud."

"Dami maybe you should be a little nicer-" Only for Damian to march off without him.

Honestly, inane niceties were above someone of his status. Those things were Superboy's job, and if Daniel Fenton wouldn't crack, then Damian was itching to try a new torture technique.

@impyssadobsessions

[cumikering]

Neighbour Keegan Russ x reader

3.4k | fluff Fake dating on Christmas but wishing it wasn’t. Hey, where did the rest of the wine go?

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Keegan turned to you standing at the door of the laundry room.

He chuckled. “Likewise. Seems like everyone’s already gone for the holidays.”

“You’re not going home?”

He shook his head. “My break’s too short to make it worth the trip. You?”

“I’m flaking.” You tipped your basket into the machine next to him. “I’m gonna say I’m sick.”

“Oh, why?”

“My cousin’s family is hosting. She’s not my favourite.”

He laughed. “What’s your beef with her?”

“She’s such a show-off, won’t stop talking about her boyfriend and the fancy gifts she’s getting.” You inserted the coins into the machine with more force than needed. “And I think it’s finally getting to my mum, because she’s asking about my relationship status.”

“Well, if you need company…” he said, trying to not sound too hopeful. I’d love to spend some time with you.

You turned to him, brow raised. “Wait, you mean, you want to come with? Be my plus one?”

“That wasn’t- well, yeah. I can do that.” He shrugged. “If you want.”

This wasn’t the direction he was heading for. He was going to offer to spend Christmas together, maybe exchange gifts, but he surely wasn’t going to take that back. Anything for a chance with you.

“Really?”

He always enjoyed seeing your face brighten like that, despite never getting the chance to see it enough. When you moved in down the hall a few months back, he’d always found you cute, even managed to exchange numbers ‘in case you need anything’. But between deployments, he was lucky to even catch a glimpse of you once a week, leaving any possible advances towards you simply a fantasy to him.

But the opportunity presented itself that late Sunday morning and he wasn’t going to let it go.

“I don’t mind. Spending Christmas alone is depressing anyway.” He smiled. “What do I need? Wine, gifts?”

You shook your head. “Just show up, that’s all.”

“I just need to look good?” he teased.

You laughed. “I didn’t want to put it that way.”

“That’s alright. I know my place. You’re welcome to dress me up.”

“Okay.” You looked down at your basket. “I’ll text you when I get the details. See you next week.” And with that, you left, avoiding his gaze.

He was out of practice, but was he that out of practice that he came on too strong and scared you? He certainly didn’t mean to make it suggestive. This was going to end before it even started. He grimaced to himself.

This fake dating shenanigan was never going to work if you could barely look at your ‘boyfriend’. Dress him up? That time you saw Keegan on a run shirtless out your window you had to sit down.

But he was casual about the offer. Obviously it meant nothing to him, just something to do for the holidays - anything was better than celebrating alone. You didn’t have to make it weird.

It was just a lunch.

So when he asked if you wanted to have dinner at his place on the 24th, you didn’t know if you were supposed to be excited or not. But surely he was just being nice. He was nice.

He didn’t speak much (you wished he did though because his voice was divine), but he was always nice ever since you moved in, telling you to not hesitate to text if you needed anything. You knew he meant it, but between his tours, he was still a busy man you didn’t want to bother. Instead, you delivered home cooked meals after each deployment.

Maybe he was trying to return the favour.

When you said yes, well, Keegan couldn’t contain his excitement. He made a run to the fancy supermarket after work. He’d been told that women liked guys who cooked and he wasn’t horrible at it. It was his time to shine.

He welcomed you to his apartment with a smile. He hoped you didn’t judge the state of his kitchen too much. He had underestimated the effort required for said dinner, but the way you lit up made it all worth it.

“Would you like some wine?”

“No, thanks. I don’t really drink.”

He sat down, the dishes across the table. “Well, then your family is getting two bottles.”

“Please, you didn’t have to.”

“Are you sure I don’t have to try to impress them?” Isn’t that what boyfriends do?

“You’re doing more than enough coming tomorrow. My mum’s going to like you too much.” You let out a small laugh.

You too, I hope. He helped you to a serving of potato gratin. “I really don’t mind.”

“This is delicious. I didn’t know you’re such a great cook,” you said after a bite.

He smiled proudly. You didn’t need to know he persuaded (or coerced, who knows) the cook at base to coach him for the night.

Your eyes flicked back onto your plate, but his remained on you. You were a pleasure to look at, and the fact that you were there in his apartment, letting him cook dinner for you, made him chew on his lip.

Having usually only met in passing, he finally had the chance to ask more about you. And you smiled again when you talked about what you liked doing for fun, the passion oozing out of you. He could listen to you all night.

He wished he had dessert as a reason to keep you longer, but the conversation moved to the couch after you helped him clean up. He breathed a small sigh of relief, feeling like a boy clueless on how to keep their crush’s attention.

“What are you wearing tomorrow? I’ll pick something that goes with you.” He figured he was too bold the other day with his statement.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I might as well pick your outfit while I’m here.”

Well, he didn’t expect that.

Keegan sat on his bed as you went through his wardrobe. How cheesy would it be if he were to pull out his guitar and serenade you? He, too, was told the ladies liked men who played the guitar. Why do you think he picked it up in high school?

“I can’t pick between these two.” You held up a maroon sweater and a dark green button down.

“I probably I shouldn’t be offering after such a huge dinner, but do you need me to put them on to see?”

You looked at him with a little glint in your eye as you laid the clothes next to him. “If you insist.”

Oh, he loved making you smile.

It was adorable how you quickly everted your gaze when he took his shirt off (he was hoping you’d look), but at least he enjoyed the attention you gave him when he was in said tops. You settled on the sweater and black jeans before excusing yourself for the night.

“We don’t need to take a cab tomorrow,” he said at your door. “I haven’t driven anyone in a civilian setting in a long time, but I can drive us.”

You laughed. “I can’t even begin to guess why you feel the need to tell me this, but I am not reassured at all.”

“People at work think I’m a bad driver, but I’ve never been in any accident.” He placed a hand over his chest. “I promise to keep you safe.”

“You better.”

The next morning, as your (self-proclaimed) arm-candy for the day, Keegan did way more push ups than he needed to. He also managed to retrieve the cologne he hadn’t seen in at least a year. He’d made it his mission to make sure taking him to your family was worth your while.

He fussed with the car audio. “Would you like any music?”

“I thought the etiquette is the driver gets to pick.” You strapped yourself in, the belt snug against your dark green top.

“Fair enough,” he said with an amused smile. He pulled off the lot as the familiar intro to Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High played.

“Oh, I like this song!”

“Sing with me.” He turned up the volume.

The both of you sang wholeheartedly, and he knew he shouldn’t be looking, but he had to see the smile on your face. You were rather quiet in the short interactions you had, but you’d opened up the night before, allowing your playful personality to shine. You were a steady stream of glee that didn’t drain him and he couldn’t get enough.

He should have made his move much sooner.

“You wanna tell me about your cousin’s infamous boyfriend?”

“They started dating in the summer. Bella couldn’t shut up about how he went to Ivy League and got his masters, how much he’s making and his fancy vacations.” You chuckled. “Well, the first time we met, she dropped her very expensive earring at the restaurant. The three of us looked for it under the table and then he said ‘threesome’ under his breath.”

Keegan bellowed a laugh, looking over to you. “What the hell?”

“I wish I was joking.” You shook your head. “I don’t think he intended to say it out loud because when I turned to him, he looked like he was about to piss himself. He never looked me in the eye the rest of the day.”

He stifled last of his laughs. “If I were him I’d have left. Forever.”

“She’s always smiling with him so I’m happy for her too, but he’s definitely not as cool as she painted him to be.”

“Wait, that’s who I’m up against? I don’t stand a chance. I should have got a fancier gift than wine.”

“I didn’t want to compare, but you’re the far better company. Far better looking too.”

He didn’t have to look at you to tell you were smiling. He hoped you meant that.

“So I have to stare at you a bit to sell it, right?”

You laughed. “Well, you don’t have to.”

“What if I can’t help it?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to stare back.”

“Should I- can I hold your hand?” He was glad he didn’t have to look at you because he wouldn’t dare to ask otherwise.

When you placed a hand on his forearm, he gripped it against his thigh. His heart raced.

And yours now too.

Keegan went far beyond the extra mile for this silly lunch, and what for? It only made it hard to dilute your hopefulness that this meant the slightest bit more than nothing.

A sliver of dread crept up. If your mum liked him too much, and you knew she would, she’d keep asking about him, and what would you say? You wouldn’t want to break her heart, but most importantly, you didn’t want to break yours. How were you going to say ‘we won’t be seeing each other anymore’ without your genuine disappointment bleeding through?

But you were a big girl. It was your petty idea to rub it in Bella’s face that you had a handsome and well-mannered plus one with a stupidly silky voice. You told yourself you’d worry about that after.

You turned to him. He’d styled his hair differently and shaved that morning, his light stubble accentuated his jaw. He smelt good – fresh and clean. His sweater was snug enough to outline his strong arms and chest. You hoped he didn’t mind you looking. Maybe you should have taken his offer to dress him up.

He had loosened his grip on you, thumb now stroking over your knuckles. He had pretty hands, his long fingers curled over the steering wheel. You entwined yours with his.

Despite the weather, your hand remained warm in his on the porch. You looked up at him, rocking on the balls of your feet, but his gentle smile and the squeeze to your hand slowed you down.

It was your first time being this close to him. His beautiful blue eyes twinkled in the sun. The eye-contact lingered.

“Coming!” A voice called from inside as footsteps approached.

“Show time,” he muttered close to your ear.

Bella couldn’t hide her surprise when she opened the door and you bit back a smirk.

“Hi, I’m Keegan. You must be Bella. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.

She blinked before taking it. She swallowed and took another second before turning to you. “I thought you were joking about bringing someone.”

He chuckled. “Well, here I am in the flesh. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” She stepped aside. “Please come in.”

He followed behind you as the three of you made your way past the kitchen. You hugged your mum and aunt before introducing him.

“From us. Thanks for having me, ma’am.” He handed your aunt the wines and gave your mum a squeeze.

You went to the dining room where your dad and Bella’s chatted. Keegan addressed them with sir and exchanged pleasantries before you followed Bella back to the kitchen. You didn’t miss how the table was only set for six.

She linked arms with you, eyes narrowed. “Not bad,” she muttered.

I know. “Ryan’s not joining?”

“We broke up last month.”

You stopped to look at her, brows furrowed. “No. What happened?” You genuinely thought they were going to last a while.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not sad about it.” Her manicured fingers squeezed your forearm.

“Are you… Sure you’re okay? You seemed happy with him.”

“I am. I guess the honeymoon period wore off, that’s all,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway, for my birthday, he got me a Dyson Air Wrap gift set, but it’s so not in my colour.” She shook her head and continued to walk. “He should have known. How did he think I was going to like it?”

You blinked. You’d appreciate even a quarter of a Dyson Air Wrap, but you knew it was another one of her humble brags. You let her have her moment.

Your mum laughed with her sister over tea. They didn’t get to see each other often and you thought it was worth the hassle of enduring Bella that day to see her like so. She gave you a pleased look and a thumbs up as you grabbed extra tableware and you had to stifle a giggle.

Keegan flashed you a smile when you entered the room to set the table for him. Making conversation with your dad and uncle, he looked like he fit right in.

Lunch began shortly and the chatter built as the wine poured. Keegan sat next to you and helped you with the food before himself. He put his hand over yours when you mouthed ‘thanks’.

“I heard you moved to a new apartment? How’s it been?” your aunt asked.

“I did. I love it there.” You turned to Keegan. “Actually, that’s how we met. He’s my neighbour.”

She cooed. “How sweet! Looks like you settled right in then.”

“How big is your apartment? Mine is huge. It’s such a pain to clean,” Bella said offhandedly.

You blinked. Your aunt turned to her with furrowed brows.

“How’s the new job, kid?” your dad asked. “I hope better than the last.”

Before you could answer, Bella interjected. “Oh, did I tell you I’m getting promoted next month? They’re giving me my own office too.”

The table fell silent. After a beat you said, “That’s great. I hope you like the new office.”

“How’s your new job? Tell us,” Keegan said.

You gave him a small smile before turning to your dad again.

After lunch, the seven of you moved to the living room for the gift exchange. Keegan didn’t leave your side, a hand on your knee as you unwrapped your gifts.

You got your parents a couple’s spa trip, a tea set and a board game for your aunt and uncle, and a perfume for Bella. In turn, you received a pretty charm bracelet from your parents and a nice pair of headphones from Bella’s. You gave each of them a squeeze for the gift.

As Keegan helped you put the bracelet on, you ignored Bella when she asked what brand it was, thankful she didn’t even comment on the perfume. You didn’t expect much from her, but you definitely didn’t expect the gift card to the hairdresser and the little note that it came with. Hopefully you can fix your hair <3

You froze and Keegan leaned over to read the card in your hand.

“I’m sorry, is there something wrong with her hair?” he narrowed his eyes at her.

She shrugged. “Oh, it’s just dry, that’s all.”

Your aunt gave her a disapproving look, but she wasn’t looking.

“I don’t think there’s anything that needs fixing,” he said firmly, his stare unwavering. “Her hair’s perfectly fine.”

Before Bella could respond, you excused yourself to the kitchen and your mum quickly followed.

“Oh, I’m sorry for making you come,” she said, stoking your back. “I know you two don’t really get along.”

“It’s not your fault, mum.” You frowned as you poured yourself a glass of wine and downed it. “She can say whatever she wants. I shouldn’t care what she thinks of my hair, or my apartment, or my job.”

“Maybe she’s a bit envious today. I mean, you’re the one with the nice boy with you.” She smiled playfully. “You should see the way she keeps stealing glances at him. Too bad he’s too busy staring at you to notice.”

You let out a small laugh.

“That’s my girl.” She gave you a hug. “I like that he stood up for you. It’s the only way my daughter deserves to be treated.”

You smiled against her shoulder and the both of you stayed in the embrace for a bit longer.

The living room was tense when you returned to your seat next to Keegan. He gave you a sympathetic look as he rubbed your arm. Bella didn’t meet your eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. She’d been told off by her mum, and it was hard for him to bite back his laugh.

Your aunt broke the silence by suggesting a few photos by the Christmas tree before you left. He volunteered, making sure you looked perfect in them.

You bade your goodbyes and once again gave your aunt a hug. You left the damned gift card on the couch and took Keegan’s arm to the car. He had noticed you were more smiley than before the incident.

You groaned when he drove off. “Now you know why I was going to bail.” You slumped over, looking out the window.

“I’m sorry about what happened."

“M’glad you’re with me. Would’a been pathetic going home alone and pissed.”

“But the rest of your family’s very nice. I actually had a nice time.”

”Yeah, but how much of that was fake?”

“What?” He took a quick glance at you.

“Y’know, the hand holding, standing up for me.”

“None. Nothing I did was fake.”

“You sure about that?”

He laughed. “Were you drinking? In the kitchen?”

“Well, yes,” you hesitated. “How’d you know?”

He pulled over and turned to you. “If I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t joke around now.” Your eyes narrowed.

“I’m not.” He took your hand, lips quirked into a small smile. “Sometimes I linger around at my door so I can catch you, but I never do because I come home too late.”

Your frown remained and his heart raced as the silence ensued. Shit, he must have read the room wrong. How much of this would you remember?

“You should talk more,” you finally said. “Your voice is perfection, addicting,”

He let out a relieved chuckle, thumb grazing over your knuckles. “I sound that good?”

You shrugged, flashing him a playful smile.

“Can’t help thinking had I been more forward from the start, maybe I wouldn’t just be ‘someone you’re taking’ today.”

“There’s next year, no?”

He held your gaze. “If you were sober, I’d ask if I could kiss you.”

“Why not now?”

“I want you to remember, so I’ll wait until we get home.”

“That’s a shame, but at least the wine will make your driving somewhat bearable.”

He laughed, pressing your hand to his lips. “You better sober up fast, because I’ve been waiting too long.”

More Keegan: second chance on Tinder, werewolf AU

@glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @macravishedbymactavish @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @tiredmetalenthusiast @caramlizedtomatoes @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mysticslumber @tipsykeen

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 347

Dan huffs, glaring at the counter as though it would suddenly become more of his height. Who knows, maybe he’d manage it if not for the fact Mom- curse his baby body for getting attached- was right there watching him. 

“Do you want help?” Danny didn’t sound amused at his struggles at least, so small mercies as he begrudgingly held up his hands to get picked up. And ignore the cooing of the worker as he even more begrudgingly handed over his pokeball to be healed. They better not lose them… 

Though he supposed being carried like this made it easier to ignore the other people in the center, curling into mom’s coat. He ignored the chuckle his perking up got, grabbing his pokeball back and holding it close to his chest again. No murder today then. Even if one of the people look familiar and has been staring at them for way too long and it’s suspicious… 

(The displaced hero-vigilante on the other hand, swears the child looks familiar. Like, world-ending threat familiar. And they don’t want to jump to conclusions but…)

Just some pokemon ideas, ignore it if you wanna or have your own ideas lol ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny Phantom: Giratina & Alolan Sandslash & Dusclops & Male Gardevoir & Beheeyem & Litwick & Clefable & Zoroark & Hisui Zorua & Drakloak

Ellie Phantom: Slither Wing & Deoxys & Scorupi & Ditto & Hisui Typhlosion

Jordan Phantom: Minior & Yveltal & Charcadet

(If you want other Clone kids included)

Orion Phantom/Bedsheet Ghost: Mimikyu & Galarian Corsola

Rigel Phantom/Monster Ghost: Wobbuffet & Litten

Algor Phantom/Tiny Ghost: Smoliv & Ghastly

Draco Phantom/Perfect Clone: Eevee & Banette

[bressynonym]

ghoap as... the jimas

[moondirti]

wish i had enough followers where I could say surgeon ghost and 30 people would reply with ‘yeah’

[afterartist]

CW: blood

‘Have you ever wondered what happens when someone dies outside of their Universe?

What happens if that AU is reset without them?

I mean who would you trust to take your place