#i write.....so slow lmao

[plainclothesdisaster]

Red Knight Chapter 6 - Masks

DP x DC | Dead on Main

Jason Todd encounters one Danny Fenton in the streets of Gotham and suddenly he's thrown into a world of ghosts and monsters. Will he embrace this life? Or will it just end up with him dead again?

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Some nights later Jason was wrapping up some Red Hood business outside a local pub when he noticed something off about the ghosts. But not the curse ghosts— the regular spirits around Gotham that he’d started to see after his first encounter with Danny. Ever since he’d started fighting the curse ghosts with Danny, the regular crowd had stopped actively causing him trouble, but it didn’t change the fact that seeing all manner of bizarre and terrifying creatures that no one else did could be incredibly distracting. Like it was right now.

Dozens of ghosts of all sorts were running (flying, jumping, what have you) down the streets, away from something. A look in that direction didn’t reveal anything obviously wrong, and there were no sirens ringing. Regular people on the street were still just going about their business, so it couldn’t be that bad, right? He didn’t know enough about ghosts to know what could spook them like this. Jason, perhaps noble and perhaps stupid, set off in the direction they came from, toward whatever had made them run.

He followed the trail of fleeing ghosts and the growing sense of unease in his stomach. It led him downtown, under one of Gotham’s many bridges– a wide interstate overpass that let large shadows pool underneath. The few streetlights that worked did very little against the darkness.The unsettling energy he’d followed was so strong here it made him want to turn tail like all the other ghosts had. Every instinct said it would be unwise to stick around.

Then he recognized Danny’s voice. The clipped tones of the conversation made it instantly apparent he wasn’t catching up with a friend. From this distance, stationed behind a graffiti-covered concrete pillar, Jason couldn’t make out exactly what was being said.

He risked getting closer, turning invisible and maneuvering to the next column in. It was enough to finally parse the words of a voice he didn’t recognize, with a formal accent he couldn’t place.

“How much longer are you going to play this silly game?”

“I have a good reason for being here. An entity like this can’t be allowed to stay topside unchecked. You’re the ones who pointed it out, remember?”

“Irrelevant! You are stalling. the lesser kings grow restless.”

“You know I don’t give two shits about what those uptight raisins-“

“You are well aware that there are more important matters that need your attention. Your duty is to—“

“I don’t work for you.” Danny’s tone gained a dangerous timbre that sent a shiver down Jason’s spine. He caught his breath behind his teeth.

The warning also shut up the other speaker. The silence hung for a long moment. Then Danny spoke again.

“I will make an appearance in the Zone when I get a chance. Until then get lost.”

Jason caught a whorl of green in his peripheral and assumed it meant the other speaker obeyed Danny’s command. He had to fight his own instincts to abscond as well. He was certain if the words had been directed toward him he wouldn’t have been able to resist either.

He still wanted to bolt. He wondered if Danny had sensed him lurking there. That was a conversation he certainly was not supposed to hear, and the smart thing to do would be to get out of there before he got caught. But some of the uneasiness had faded from the atmosphere when the other speaker left, and Jason reminded himself that this was Danny. Danny wouldn’t hurt him.

Probably.

He came out from around the corner before he could chicken out, striding over like he’d just walked up. Danny brightened as soon as he saw him, which made Jason’s gut do a funny little flip.

“The ghosts are acting weird. Everything okay?” Jason kept his voice even.

“Oh, yeah,” Danny replied breezily, “Nothing to worry about.”

Lies. But Jason didn’t press even as he burned with curiosity. Better not to raise suspicion. Danny didn’t seem interested in questioning what Jason was doing here either, equally avoiding having to talk about the previous conversation.

“So.” Danny got that familiar conspiratorial look. “Since we’re already out here. Let’s go hunt some curses.”

//

A curse ghost gnawed on a gaudy statue of a golden bull in the financial district. The ticker on the outside of a gleaming skyscraper scrolled, reading some headline about record stock prices. A man slept on the bumpy ledge beneath the statue. He shivered as black goo, invisible to him, dripped down onto his side. The curse ghost loomed over him, the same shape as the bull, as if it were its shadow.

Then, without warning, Danny was on top of it. He whooped as the bull bucked, but he rode it rodeo style, holding on to its neck with one hand like some sort of gothic cowboy. Jason stared mutely, aborted plans replaced by incredulous disbelief. Maybe this was how Bruce had felt when he jumped into fights as Robin.

“Where the hell did you learn to fight?” Jason pulled his sword, positioning himself to help corral the beast away from the buildings.

“Self taught, mostly. Can’t you tell?” Danny wielded a whip of green energy in his off hand, snapping it at the bull’s sides when it got too close to anything breakable.

Of course Danny had no formal training. Nobody who had any sense of self preservation would fight with such reckless abandon.

“But you know what they say about grabbing the bull by the horns.” Danny did just that. Jason rolled his eyes. But a moment later he felt a buzz of power in the air and Danny wasn’t smiling anymore. He was focused on his hands, on the bull, almost like this stupid stunt actually had a purpose.

Then the bull let out a piercing shriek, twisted in a horrible convulsion, and launched itself sideways like a cannonball.

It crashed into the side of Gotham Central Bank, taking Danny with it completely through the stone brick wall. Alarms immediately started ringing. Shit. Jason jumped through the hole in the wall after them. With the amount of times this place had been targeted by rogues, Batman had it at the top of their surveillance priority. They had a matter of minutes before one of them showed up.

“We gotta go!” Jason shouted through the dust of falling rubble. “Fast!”

Danny faced off against the bull in the middle of the lobby. “Going! As fast! As I can!” He punctuated each phrase with a blast at the bull. Jason felt the power behind each one in his throat.

The curse dodged a blast. Then, as if Danny were a matador flashing his red cape, the bull charged.

Jason reacted before any thought surfaced. He strode once, twice, then swung his sword in a wide arc. It sliced through the curse ghost’s side, knocking it away from Danny and sending it sprawling to the marble floor.

Danny recovered quick enough to whip out a thermos and zap it up. Jason’s heart thudded. He’d panicked for a moment. He’d panicked when he thought that thing would hurt Danny.

“Thanks,” Danny tossed over his shoulder with an easy smile.

Jason nodded mutely.

He didn’t look after other people. Everyone was disposable and replaceable in this line of work. Bruce taught him that. He couldn’t start worrying after someone else’s life, not when they chose to risk it. Especially not someone who was practically a stranger.

But this wasn’t a stranger. This was Danny.

“We’ve got company,” Danny muttered, eyes toward the hole in the wall where they’d crashed in.

Spoiler stood in the gap, silhouetted by hazy moonlight. “You doing bank robberies now, Hood?”

He wouldn’t get any sympathy from Steph, but then again he hardly knew her. At least it wasn’t Tim. Or Bruce.

“Mind your business,” he snapped. “But no. You can check. Money’s all still there.”

“Right, right. And would he have anything to do with the giant hole in the wall?” She gestured to Danny, who gave a meek little wave. “Your new… partner?”

Danny choked on a chuckle at the same time as Jason barked, “Not my partner.”

Steph smirked. “Sure. Anyway, Batman is on his way, so you can explain it all to him.”

Danny froze, tension in every muscle. Jason shifted, angling himself in front of him.

“I’m actually gonna skip this session with Dr. Bats. So, if you’ll excuse us.”

Jason gestured to Danny with a tilt of his head, and Danny fell into step beside him as they bolted for the atrium stairs.

“Shit,” Steph hissed as she leapt after them. “Oracle, you tracking them?”

Fuck. Babs getting involved spelled signs of having their shit wrecked and on display for Batman to see before the sun rose. Jason lifted a hand to scan the frequencies on his helmet coms, hoping, halfheartedly, that he was still coded into their channel.

Batarangs whizzed past their heads as they careened up the stairs and burst out the doors onto a mid-level courtyard. They ran to a stone railing that looked over the street two stories below.

“This can be easy if you just answer our questions.” Steph appeared in the doorway as Jason turned. His eyes darted, scanning for options. Flat walls on either side of them. No good grapple point off the edge. They could go back the way they came- through Steph- but he wasn’t confident they could get past without having to hurt her, which. No, he wasn’t going to do that.

Beside him Danny practically bounced on his toes, his eyes doing the same dance. They had a lot more options for escape if they relied on Danny’s powers, but that meant outing him as meta-adjacent. That couldn’t happen— in that they both seemed to be in silent agreement.

“ETA 5.” Batman’s voice crackled through Jason’s helmet. They still used the old frequency after all.

“I have visual.” Oracle now. “Spoiler, keep him talking.”

“What are you doing here tonight, Hood?” Steph took a step closer, but she still maintained a healthy distance. She wouldn’t make a real move till backup arrived. Smart.

He just had to give Danny enough of a window to get out of sight. Then Danny could disappear for real, and Jason could deal with the Bats on his own. He just had to have hope that Danny had enough self preservation instincts to run when he had the chance.

“Who’s your friend?” Steph continued despite his silence.

“I’m Danny,” Danny replied, again with a chipper wave. Jason glared at him through his helmet.

“Danny, did Red Hood put you up to this?”

Danny snorted. “No. I mean, not really.”

Funny to think that Jason could make Danny do anything at all.

“It’s alright. We’ll make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble.”

“That seems unlikely.” Danny threw him a glance.

“Shut up,” Jason hissed.

“We’ll take him from here.” Spoiler took another step forward. Batman would certainly swoop down at any second.

“Thanks for finally giving us an excuse to bring you to heel, Hood. I hear Arkham is real cozy this time of year.”

He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Of course he’d be treated like the other Gotham rogues. Foolish of him for expecting any better from the old man. He clenched a fist.

“Oh,” Danny stopped his fidgeting. The air around them went still. “Nah. I don’t think you will.”

Jason blanched. Danny couldn’t be stupid enough to use his powers now, could he?

“Losing visual.” Oracle’s voice crackled through static. “There’s– it’s some kind of interference.” Around them the landscaping lights in the courtyard flickered. Jason swallowed. Yes, it seemed, he could be that stupid.

“Danny, what–” Jason began, voice low, but before he could finish he felt a hand grab the back of his jacket. Suddenly he was invisible, and then suddenly he was weightless, and then suddenly he was flying. Spoiler shrunk beneath them as they crested the rooftops. Up he went over Gotham, dragged by Danny’s firm grip on his collar, streets whizzing past at dizzying speeds below.

Jason opened his mouth and a thousand things didn’t come out. He just gaped, strung along behind Danny like a fish on a line.

Cold wind pulled at Jason’s jacket as he glanced up at Danny. His face was a shadow, unreadable.

Danny didn’t slow down until he circled down onto their usual Crime Alley rooftop a few short minutes later. Jason felt gravity turn back on as Danny released him, gentle enough that he didn’t even stumble. Like he’d done this before.

“Fuck,” Jason half whispered.

“Sorry. Would have given you more warning, but it kinda would have defeated the purpose if she caught on to the escape plan.”

“No, that’s–” He rubbed a hand over his mask. “Now they know you’re a meta.”

“Not a meta.”

“Whatever. Now they know you’re someone they should know about. Once you are on the radar of the Bats you don’t just get off. They’re going to come after you.”

“They can try.”

Jason paced across the roof. “I’m serious. You should have gotten out when you could have. I could have dealt with them alone.”

“I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“It was stupid of you not to.”

Danny stood across from him, arms folded petulantly. “You cowing to their interrogation wasn’t a smart option either.”

“I would have been fine. I’m very good at lying. And if that was another bull pun I will strangle you.” Danny smiled sharply. Jason groaned. “And they wouldn’t really hurt me. Family, remember?”

Danny fixed him with a glare. “That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t hurt you.” The words were icy. Jason bit his cheek. From what he’d shared, Danny would know first hand how much family could actually hurt you.

“Whatever. I’m going home.” Jason turned to leave. Danny hmphed but didn’t press it. They exchanged curt goodbyes and parted ways.

Jason simmered with annoyance the whole way home. He could see it now, how it would pan out. Bruce would find out about the ghosts, about the curse. He’d swoop in and try to fix everything, and then he’d try to fix Jason. This was the crowbar that Bruce would use to pry open the door back into controlling Jason’s life.

And Danny— he tried to imagine a world where Bruce tolerated Danny. Removed from all the ghost weirdness, he was prime adoption bait, from the looks to the tragic backstory and the fraught familial relationships. But he was certain Danny would also react very poorly to Bruce trying to control him. And Bruce would absolutely try to control a powerful meta in his city.

None of this changed the fact that the city was still cursed. Nothing to do but keep fighting. Only now they’d have to always be looking over their shoulders.

//

The next morning he dressed as Jason and took his bike to Gotham University. He posted up outside the science and engineering building where he knew Danny had class. If Bruce had tracked Danny here, Jason wasn’t about to let him face Batman alone.

Maybe he was being paranoid— They only had Danny’s first name and his face, nothing else. It had been less than 24 hours since their encounter with Spoiler.

Yeah. No. He wasn’t going to underestimate them.

The towering oaks and manicured lawns of the campus felt foreign to him. It hardly felt like Gotham at all, not the real Gotham. The tall iron fences around the grass made sure to keep the real Gotham out. He scanned the doorways for campus security. Jason stuck out enough he wouldn’t put it past them to try to kick him out. He considered just aborting this pointless escapade and leaving when a stream of students began wafting out of the doors.

Danny appeared among the crowd. Jason’s feet froze to their spot. Danny smiled when he saw him, surprised.

Danny made his way over to, breaking off from the other students. “Isn't this a bit far from your radius?” He looked natural here, a bookbag slung casually over his shoulder, notebooks under his arm. Like he belonged.

“Gotta get some fresh air once in a while.”

The corner of Dannyʼs mouth quirked up and Jasonʼs stomach twisted.

Danny waited for Jason to, presumably, provide a reason for being there. “Making sure Batman doesn’t come after you” seemed like a crazy, unreasonable thing to say. Especially in that moment, as a sunbeam poked through the clouds and students chattered around them about homework and sports and parties.

As if reading his mental gymnastics, Danny offered a lifeline. “You want to join me for lunch?”

“Sure,” Jason replied almost too quickly, grateful for the excuse. He allowed himself to be led toward a cafe a few blocks away. He couldn’t help but scan the streets as they walked, looking for any hint of potential snoopers. The fact that there were so god damned many Bat-minions now made it more difficult to hone in on any one obvious tail.

Danny nudged him with an elbow, a questioning glance on his face. Was he being that obvious? Beside him Danny walked with the casual air of an ignorant civilian. More relaxed than a native Gothamite. Like he hadn’t just barely avoided a disastrous confrontation with the Batman. It only made Jason more paranoid.

They made it to the cafe without incident and found a table among the crowd of other University goers on their lunch break. As they ordered and settled in, small talk came as easily for them over pastrami on rye as it did between punches. Danny told him about the complex physics theories he was studying in class and Jason listened earnestly. Jason reminisced about his own schooling, non traditional as it were, and talked of the hours he spent in Bruce’s libraries.

His gaze wandered to a table by the window where a couple sat, laughing. First date, maybe. A next thought tried to follow that one but he strangled it like a firm hand around a throat.

“Itʼs not often I get to see your face in the outside world.” Danny pulled his attention back.

“Appreciate it while you can.”

“I am.” Danny smiled and Jason was suddenly acutely aware of his gaze focused only on him. “It’s unfair really. You get to admire these good looks all the time.” He gestured to himself and put on a false pout, hair flopping over his face.

Jason rolled his eyes playfully, but it stirred up a lingering concern. Oracle had caught Danny’s face on camera. That meant it was only a matter of time until she- and Bruce- found him. All that could have been avoided if Danny had a hero persona like the rest of them.

“Why donʼt you wear a mask?” Jason asked. “Itʼs like hero 101 shit.” He didn’t mean for it to sound as accusatory as it did.

Some of Dannyʼs brightness faded. “Iʼm not a hero.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So youʼre just a guy with superpowers fighting monsters every night. In jeans.”

That earned him a reluctant smile. “Pretty much.”

Jason lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Batman has your face now. He knows you have powers. He knows you work with Red Hood. Wouldn’t it be easier if you kept that separate from-“ he gestured to the books, the cafe, his life- “this?”

Danny sighed, leaning back and folding his arms. “There’s not really a point in keeping secrets. Batman can’t stop me. We’re careful. And it’s not like the ghosts are gonna talk to the tabloids.” “Weʼre not that careful. One wrong move or stray camera could destroy your life.”

Danny laughed, dry and harsh. “Danny Fenton is dead. I donʼt have a life to destroy.”

Jason paused. He hadnʼt found anything in his searches to suggest that was true. And it made no sense. Danny Fenton had dreams. He wanted to finish his degree. He hoped to work for NASA. Jason hadn’t imagined that conversation. Something didn’t add up.

“How does a dead man register for college?”

“With some half-baked forgeries and an excellent hacker on speed dial.”

“And wouldnʼt it still be bad if the undead college studentʼs life got ruined?”

Danny looked away. “It doesnʼt matter.”

“It doesnʼt matter?“

“I’m here to fix a ghost problem.” His voice got tighter.

“You said you werenʼt trying to do ghost stuff full time.”

“Trying, yeah. Emphasis on trying.”

“Not very hard, I guess.”

Danny grabbed his bag and stood up from the table in one abrupt motion. He looked down at Jason with cold eyes. “At least I try.”

Jason flinched at the hint of malice behind the words. Danny wasn’t wrong. Jason Todd was dead, and he had no intention of changing that. He didnʼt need to. He had his mask and the kingdom he’d built with it. He didnʼt need to be Jason.

But Danny had dreams as Danny. Jason had seen the yearning determination in his eyes as heʼd looked at the sky. Danny was a good liar but not good enough to fake that.

“Where are you going?” Jason snapped.

“Why do you care?”

Danny turned and brushed past tables of other diners as he stormed out. Jason clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from snapping back. He didn’t move from his seat. He fumed silently. Nothing that he’d found online had pointed to Dannyʼs death. No death certificate, a hospital stay, an obituary, a gravestone. Nothing.

He thought about going after Danny. A good friend probably would have. Instead he remembered snippets from that overheard conversation. Duty, the other person had said. Something about Danny’s duty. Nothing to do with fighting Gotham’s curse, from the way they said it. Some other thing entirely.

//

Danny didn’t show up that night. Jason waited on their roof (fuck it all, he’d started to think of it as theirs) but midnight came and went with no sign of him.

Jason tuned into the Bat coms after barely fifteen minutes of silent sulking. A pang of worry lingered in his gut. Batman could have found Danny, and— and what? He doubted they could lay a finger on Danny, let alone capture him. He’d already been in and out of Bruce’s security undetected.

Still. He listened on the coms for any mention of their escaped meta, but it was just a standard night of patrol. Tim and Cass out in the field, Oracle guiding them. Bruce must not have been listening in closely because they’re lax on chatter on the frequency. It’s like a personal radio drama just for him, except it’s a window into the life that was no longer his.

Still, Danny’s silence didn’t feel good. Jason remembered the hardness in his eyes from that afternoon, The apathetic bite of his tone. But Jason banished any hint of guilt that tried to squirm its way out of him. Fine by him if Danny wanted to ruin his own life. That clearly wasn’t his responsibility.

“Disturbance at Robinson Park. Destroyed property. Perp unclear.” Oracles voice came steady and clear over the coms.

“On our way. Is it Ivy?” Tim responded, businesslike.

“Negative. The path of destruction points to something large, animal-like. But I can’t spot it. It’s like it’s invisible.”

Jason’s ears perked up at that. That was a curse ghost, no way it could be anything else. And as much as he loved to imagine Tim getting his whole ass handed to him by an invisible monster, he really should go deal with it because the bats would be in way over their heads.

Well, except for the fact that Danny wasn’t there. He’d never fought a curse ghost alone. For as good as he’d gotten with the ghost weapons, he didn’t always come out of these fights unscathed, even with Danny’s backup.

He sent Danny a text with the location- curse ghost here. Maybe that would make him get over his sulking and get out here to help.

Minutes ticked by with no response. Tim and Cass sounded more harried on the coms. Danny would almost certainly tell him not to fight it solo if he were here. He gritted his teeth. Jason didn’t need Danny’s approval. Or his permission.

He checked the straps on his holsters and sword then took a running leap off the roof.

By the time he got there the park was already in chaos. Tim stood on the path and swung his staff at nothing. Cass crouched by the swing set which was sprawled in a half crumpled mess. Neither of them looked at the curse ghost, which gnawed on a corner of a park bench.

In an ideal scenario Jason could lure the curse ghost away to avoid explaining anything to them. Then Tim’s head snapped toward the bench, alerted by the crunching of old wood between invisible jaws. Cass also tensed, ready to pounce. Fuck.

Together they attacked. Predictably, Cass’s foot and Tim’s staff went right through the mass of oily shadow with no resistance. It took actually seeing it happen for Jason to fully appreciate just how screwed they were. Normal weapons couldn’t hurt it. They couldn’t even touch it.

Annoyed, the beast stopped snacking and with a massive clawed hand it took a swipe at Tim. Tim didn’t see it coming, obviously, so he took the hit hard to the side, sending him tumbling to the dirt.

“Red Robin!” Cass leapt after him only to catch a lazy swipe from the ghost's tail, knocking her down into the bushes.

“Backup heading your way, hold on,” Oracle's strained voice came through his helmet. More Bats wouldn’t solve this. It would only end up with more of them hurt. But they knew too much already without Jason exposing his ghost powered weapons too. He just needed the right opportunity.

The beast prowled toward where Tim was still righting himself. It cackled like a hyena, jaws wide and full of sharp teeth. It lunged.

Jason was faster. He took two bounding, half-floating steps, swung his sword and caught the ghost in the jaw. He shoved it back from Tim as it yowled.

God fucking dammit. So much for laying low. But he couldn’t just watch them get hurt.

“Hood?”

“Infrared.”

“What?“

“Use infrared vision.” He looked down at Tim as he found his feet, keeping the ghost in his peripheral. He remembered Danny calling out the infrared detectors as part of his arsenal of gadgets (“Helpful if you can’t already see them.”) and he didn’t want Tim and Cass flailing around totally blind.

“And stay out of my way.”

The ghost lunged again and he met it with his sword. They clashed, and for all Jason’s bravado, his arms shook as the beast parried his swing. He threw it off with a surge of effort. Thankfully Tim listened and had scattered to the edge of the lawn where Cass had resurfaced from the bushes, out of the radius of the fray. But looking to check on him had been a mistake— Jason felt a claw slash into his calf before he could dodge. He sucked a breath through his teeth. He’d had worse. But he was reminded again that he’d never faced the full ire of the curse ghosts alone. He’d always had Danny to trade blows with.

Now the ghost looked at him, only him, with hungry black eyes and that insufferable cackle dripping from its lips.

“I’ve got visual on infrared.” Oracle, still in his ear. “It’s showing up as a cold spot—some kind of giant wolf.” Hyena, Jason corrected mentally before barely dodging another swipe of its claws.

“Got it,” Red Robin chirped. Jason dared another look to see he had indeed donned infrared goggles from his kit. “Going back in.”

Jason’s heart clenched. “No,” he grunted over the coms he was definitely not supposed to have access to, “Stay out of it.”

The ghost took the opportunity to launch itself at him. Jason found himself pinned under its massive paws, staring up into that gaping, laughing mouth.

“Hood!” If he didn’t know better he’d think Tim actually sounded concerned. Which—fuck, that didn’t mean anything since he couldn’t do shit to help.

Jason found his pistol and wiggled himself just enough room to press it to the ghost’s belly. He pulled the trigger and green energy exploded into the shadow, tossing the ghost off of him and fully exposing Jason’s own ghost shit for Oracle and everyone to see.

“You can’t hurt it,” he barked at Tim as he rolled to his feet. “Stay the fuck back.” Tim didn’t protest. For once.

Now that the guns were out he gave up any attempt at subtlety. He got nasty with his blasts and pulled nothing from his punches, calling every ounce of that green energy to the surface. He must have looked like a glowing menace to Tim and Cass, but he had little room to care. The ghost fought back with eager viciousness. Jason ignored the snap in his wrist, the teeth grazing his side, drawing blood. He just had to beat it down enough to capture it.

After another round of traded blows finally, finally, the curse ghost started looking worse for wear. It panted heavily, long black tongue lolling out of its mouth, and it oozed black sludge where Jason’s sword had left the deepest marks. He holstered a gun long enough to pull the thermos instead, and as it lunged toward him one more time he sucked it up in a beam of light.

The silence that followed was beautiful. He bent over halfway to catch his breath. He did it. He fucking did it. He did it without Danny.

From the other side of the lawn, Cass whistled. Jason stood and turned to face them, intending to take a quick bow before exiting stage left, but— there was Bruce. Batman had arrived sometime during the brawl. He stood protectively in front of Tim and Cass.

“Red Hood. Report.”

Nice to see you too. He rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

Then Bruce tried a different angle.

“Where is your new partner?”

Jason bristled. Batman being suspicious of him was one thing, but bringing Danny into the equation made the pit under his heart roar in protest. He turned back before he could think better of it. “None of your business, old man. Stay out of it.”

He didn’t appreciate the thin press of Cass’s lips or the hint of Tim’s chuckle.

“Let us help you.” Batman extended a hand. And oh if Bruce didn’t sound just a bit soft, and the offer sounded almost genuine. It only made his hackles raise further.

“You can’t help,” he ground out. And it was true. If Bruce couldn’t help him before all the ghost stuff, he absolutely couldn’t help now.

Jason took off toward his bike. If he was fast they wouldn’t catch him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to dissuade them further.

“Jason!” Batman broke his own rule to call out his name, and it was almost enough to get him to stop and go back. Almost.

He slipped between the trees and ran deeper into the shadows.

//

Jason had two more nights of worrying. Of listening in on police scanners (since he hadn’t been able to reconnect to the coms since revealing he had access) for any hint of Danny. Nothing.

Maybe Danny got wise and skipped town. Jason went to Danny’s apartment to check if he’d left. When his knock went unanswered he phased himself in through the door. A quick glance around said all of Danny’s stuff was still there. No sign of a fight. Jason stood in the center of the tiny apartment feeling like an ass. Now that he’d been there with Danny’s permission it felt wrong to be breaking in unannounced. Danny wasn’t just a suspicious unknown meta anymore. He was— well, he was something. Still suspicious. But undeniably on his side.

Danny could be MIA for any reason. Something could have happened with his mysterious family maybe, though that thought did nothing to calm Jason’s nerves.

He let himself settle into the more likely possibility that maybe Danny simply didn’t want to see him. It wouldn’t be hard for him to avoid Jason, break ins aside. Danny could simply vanish anytime he sensed Jason nearby. Maybe he’d been stupid for pushing Danny to talk. Dumb of him to think that Danny owed him anything real.

He opened his phone like he was going to text Danny, but after typing and deleting various attempts at concern or apology or both he just shoved the phone back in his pocket, message unsent. Their text chain only pertained to the curse ghosts after all. It’s not like Danny owed him a response for anything else.

On the third night, out of nowhere, Danny sent him a text.

You up?

Jason nearly frisbeed his phone across the safehouse when he saw the notification. It was just barely 2 am- he had finished his rounds and called it a night early. He hurriedly tapped a reply.

Where have you been?

Meet u at roof.

Jason didn’t know whether to be mad or relieved. He ended up pulling his pants back on and rushing out while feeling a strange cocktail of both.

As soon as his feet hit the roof Jason could tell Danny was off. His shoulders sagged, his face looked less full, eyes filled with less light. Suddenly Jason was less certain his absence had anything to do with their fight and instead everything to do with whatever caused him to look like this.

“What happened to you?”

“What are you talking about. Iʼm great.”

Jason raised his eyebrows, asking for more. Danny sighed and changed the subject. “Sorry I didnʼt reply about the curse ghost the other night. Did it do any real damage?”

“Tried to eat the park benches.” Jason leaned up against the stairwell wall next to him. Danny grimaced, and Jason left out the part where it nearly wasted Tim and Cass. “But I handled it.”

A bit of sharpness snapped back into Dannyʼs eyes. “Wait, what?”

Jason tapped the thermos on his belt. “Added ‘em to the soup collection. What, didnʼt think I could do it on my own?”

Danny hmmed in reply, his usual enthusiasm still dimmed. But Jason could see wheels turning behind his eyes.

“No faith at all. I’m insulted.” Jason cracked a smile.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Do I look hurt?”

Danny tilted his head knowingly. Jason pulled his jacket closer.

“I’m fine. And Either way, it was probably a good thing to keep you off the Bats’ radar for a bit.”

It wasn’t, however, a good thing that Danny looked like he’d been chewed up and spat out. Jason bit his tongue to keep himself from prying.

“The Bats were there?”

“Tim and Cass. Couldn’t let them get their shit wrecked by an invisible ghoulie.” Then he added, quieter: “Or Bruce’s.”

Danny let out a huffed pained noise under his breath. Suffice to say that his opinion on Batman hadn’t changed.

“We have limited time till they get more involved.” Jason leaned closer, trying to catch Danny’s eye. “So I have to ask— Where is this all going? Weʼre bagging these things night after night, but that doesn’t stop them from appearing. There has to be an end.”

“There is.” Danny pressed his lips together.

“The curse is actually just one entity,” he continued, “These ghosts we’ve been fighting- they’re like offshoots of it. The root is like… the queen of the curse. She’s the oldest one here, the initial kernel that grew into something powerful enough to spawn all the others.”

Jason blinked. “Then why havenʼt we gone after her?”

“I have. When I first got here. It sucked.“ He pushed up off the wall they were leaning against and paced across the roof. “She’s dug her claws in real deep, and all the power her minions get feeds her too.”

Jason did not like the sound of a foe that even Danny had trouble facing.

“But we’ve been cleaning up curse ghosts left and right. That must be putting a dent in her, right?”

“That’s the hope, yeah. So that next time I face her, it shouldn’t be such a disaster.”

“We.”

“Huh?”

Jason got off the wall to follow him. “Next time we face her. No way I’d miss out on sending her packing after all this.”

Danny was quiet a moment. “Right. Yeah.”

The hesitation in his voice was certainly not a vote of confidence. Jason did his best to ignore it.

“Anyway.” Danny said, shaking off a bit of the funk hanging over him, “It’s been too long since I’ve bashed curse heads. You up for a little tête-à-tête?”

“Always.”

They tracked a curse ghost to an old office building at the edge of Crime Alley. It was a remnant of when this place used to be Park Row, an imposing tower adorned with art deco details, now crumbling with neglect. They followed Danny’s senses up to the executive floor, where large wooden desks and rows of retro office chairs sat fading.

For a couple of long minutes as they stalked the dark halls, Jason feared the trail had gone cold. Then, from the conference room in the corner, he heard a pale keening moan. Danny flashed him a look, and then they began their usual dance.

Danny took the opening, crashing in through a half-screened window. Jason followed, blocking off the door. The rhythm came easy, like a set of ping pong across the conference table with the curse as the ball. He matched Danny’s pace more easily than normal, and he felt a curl of warm smugness in his gut before he took a glance at Danny. He looked downright sluggish compared to normal, like gravity had turned against him for once. His limbs moved heavily through the air, and when he twisted too fast Jason caught a wince snarl through his features.

The beast hadn’t stopped keening, but it was slower to get back to its feet now. Just a few more good hits and then they could wrap this up and Jason would demand Danny tell him what was wrong.

Then something happened that Jason never thought heʼd see.

Danny went down, hard. A sudden whip from the beast's tail sent him plowing through the wall, then another, then deep into a stack of ancient metal file cabinets with a nasty crunch. He didnʼt get up.

A spike of fear shot down Jasonʼs spine. A flicker of his old rage laced the next few swings of his sword, but right then he was grateful for it. It was enough to give him an opening to pull out the thermos. He sucked the curse up before it got any closer to Danny.

Then Jason stopped thinking as his legs carried him to the divot in the cabinets where Danny laid unmoving.

“Danny?”

Danny groaned, still alive. Half alive. Whatever.

Jason didnʼt know what to do. He reached out his hands and they hovered over Dannyʼs crumpled torso. The white of his t-shirt revealed growing red stains. And also, worryingly, green.

This was the part where Danny would sit up and crack a joke. Where he would tease Jason for worrying. Where heʼd smile that infuriating smile. But he didnʼt. His breath came in shaky rattles. His eyes stayed closed.

“Fuck.” Jason stopped hesitating and put his arms under Danny, lifting him gingerly from the dust and debris.

“Wha-?” Danny mumbled.

“Iʼve got you.”

Danny relaxed into his arms, his head resting against his chest, and Jason felt his heart stutter. Danny was too cold in his grasp, too light. But Jason didnʼt have time to worry about that. He needed to get Danny somewhere safe.

In a daze, he made his way to Dannyʼs apartment. Danny didn’t wake throughout the trip, just let out little pained sounds whenever Jason jostled him too much. When they arrived at the apartment, Jason used his jacket to phase them through the door. Glancing at the unmade bed, he opted to lay Danny down on the torn up couch instead— better to not get blood all over the sheets.

Jason knew where the first aid kit was from when Danny used it on him, so he grabbed it from the kitchen. Then he took the hem of Dannyʼs torn shirt and pulled it over his head. Any qualms Jason had about the invasion of Danny’s privacy died when he saw the wound on his side.

Huge gashes raked across his abdomen in parallel, torn deep into the skin. Claw marks, Jasonʼs brain provided numbly, though these claws must have belonged to something even bigger and nastier than the curse ghosts. Something worse than anything Jason had seen.

What the hell did this?

“Jason-?” Dannyʼs eyes fluttered half open.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jason admonished.

Danny blinked slowly, still out of it. “Didja get ‘em?”

He was still worried about the curse ghost? Jason nearly bit his tongue. “Yeah.”

Danny leaned back and closed his eyes again. “Good. Thanks.”

Fucking hell.

Jason turned off his brain and let his hands do the work of patching up Dannyʼs side in mental silence. Danny didnʼt stir as he disinfected the wounds, as he taped butterfly bandages over them, as he pulled a fresh shirt over Dannyʼs head. If it were anyone else Jason would have needed to do stitches, but with Danny he knew better. His accelerated healing would take care of it quicker than he could pull the stitches back out.

The pack of bandages had been nearly empty. Seems it wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt. Something ugly twisted in Jason’s stomach at that thought. So instead Jason looked at Dannyʼs face, free from worried creases in sleep. Danny looked so vulnerable, so peacefully human. Jason fidgeted with his hands.

“Not so invincible after all, are you?” he breathed.

The space between them felt smaller than it had before, all pretenses of keeping his distance shattered. What once had been a wide gulf, gaping like the wounds on Dannyʼs side, collapsed like an imploding star.

Jason couldnʼt stop himself. He reached out with a timid hand and closed the remaining distance. He pushed aside the lock of dark hair that had fallen in Dannyʼs closed eyes, his fingers brushing featherlight over Dannyʼs forehead. Reverent and tender. Danny shifted and sighed.

Jason froze. No. Nope. Nuh-uh. He couldnʼt do this. It was like holding an overripe strawberry in his palm— he didn’t trust himself not to crush it. He shut his mind off again as he fled for the door, leaving Danny to wake up alone.

//

Danny showed up on their rooftop the next night, no sign of the injuries from the night before, looking chipper as the day they met.

“Thanks.” Danny said, handing Jason a paper wrapped burger.

Jason took the gift without rising from where he sat. “For what?”

Danny responded by lifting his shirt to reveal the gashes in his side. They had sealed over in puckered pink scars. Fast, maybe even more so than Jason had expected.

“For the patch up.” Danny pulled a second burger out of the bag and sat on the ledge next to him.

Jason waited for him to say more. To offer an explanation for the wounds, or what gave them to him, or where he’d been. Danny just bit into his burger and chewed wordlessly. He looked off somewhere in the distance.

“I could have handled it.” Jason broke the silence. “You shouldn’t have been out fighting like that.”

“I’ve had worse. Plus, now I’m fine.”

“Not caring about getting hurt just because you heal fast isn’t a good battle strategy.”

“Who said I was good at strategy?” Danny had that damnable smirk on his face.

“Either way. You could have left it alone for another night. Gotham’s been cursed as long as I’ve been alive.”

“Longer than that.”

“So it can definitely survive one night without its blue-jeaned protector.” Danny scowled, but didn’t argue further.

Jason reminded himself he shouldn’t care. Danny didn’t owe him anything, and he liked it that way. Any more info on Danny’s life would just serve to entangle them more than they already were, which he very much didn’t need. The only answer he really needed at this point was how to stop the curse ghosts.

He still hadn’t had any luck in cracking the pattern though. Even with the added info about the heart of the curse- the queen- progress was slow going. He’d shifted his efforts to finding her specifically, but so far she’d proven incredibly elusive. There was just too much violence in Gotham to parse what was tied to the curse and what wasn’t.

They finished their meal in silence as sirens wailed in the distance.

Jason stood and stretched. “Almost can’t imagine this place without a curse, though. It’s part of the charm.”

Danny crumpled his burger wrapper and tossed it in the bag. “Once it’s gone you and the Bats will actually be able to change things for the better though. It won’t be such a Sisyphean fight anymore.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sisyphus? Didn’t peg you for a mythology fan.”

“I’ve, uh, taken some practical mythology courses.” Danny blushed, which sent Jason’s stomach tumbling.

Jason honestly couldn’t picture a Gotham without all the corruption and violence and greed. What would that place even look like? Would that Gotham even need a Batman? Or a Red Hood?

Or a Danny?

“What about you?” Suddenly Jason had to know.

“What about me?”

“After the curse is gone. Will you stay?”

Danny’s lips turned down. Thoughts spun behind his eyes. Jason’s gut dropped and he regretted asking. He didn’t know which answer he wanted to hear. He didn’t know which would be worse.

Danny opened his mouth to reply. Then a curse ghost crashed onto the balcony below them, stealing his answer away.

//

Another week went by with no lead on the curse’s cause or its queen. Jason, for his part, had kept it professional when it came to Danny. They met nightly, hunted curses, then parted ways. Like following a script. He ignored, with great effort, the spike of worry he felt every time Danny took a hit, or the way his whole body clenched whenever he thought he saw the shape of a cowl following them in the shadows. He couldn’t let himself lose focus.

Find the queen. End the curse.

So far the bats hadn’t actually bothered them any further, which meant that either they had bigger fish to fry, or that he still had one scrap of good will left in Bruce’s eyes. But he wouldn’t bet on it. Which is why they needed to find the queen and finish this quickly. Then everything could go back to normal.

He’d go back to running the Crime Alley scene uninterrupted, and Danny would go back to… something else. College? Jason wanted to believe it, but after their conversation in the cafe, he couldn’t be sure. He thought about never having to fight another curse ghost with Danny and it made his heart do an unpleasant twitch. He wanted the curse to be gone, he reminded himself. Wanted the bats to have no reason to be suspicious. Wanted to be done with all this ghost bullshit.

At least that’s what he told himself.

Jason had gone out scouting for leads on the queen when he found himself at the graveyard. The slant of the evening sun had turned the familiar stones a shade of pale golden even through the overcast sky. It wasn’t the first time he’d been back here.

He stopped walking at a particular knoll. The headstone at his feet read Jason Peter Todd. The grass had long regrown over where he’d dug his way out. He wondered if Danny had a grave, one that had been erased from the records.

Ghosts- regular ghosts, not curses- floated about, semi transparent. They must be pretty weak if they were only half visible even to him. Or at least he thought so, based on what little Danny had told him about how ghost biology worked. The ghost of a woman, older but not old, floated closer. She looked at him expectantly.

He gestured to the headstones around them. “One of these yours? I can, uh, clean it up a bit for you? If that helps?”

“I don’t- I can’t- remember—“

“I’ll read some names. Maybe it’ll come back to you.”

“Abigail? Chelsea? Lorraine?” He stopped at a grave with fresh soil. “Sarah?”

The light shifted as the sun slanted lower. He noticed her neck- deep purple bruises wrapped around her windpipe with the distinct outlines of fingers.

Anger twisted in his stomach. “Or maybe it would help more if I found who did that to you.”

The spirit’s eyes snapped to him, suddenly sharp.

“Hurt.“

The tone of her voice sent a spike of fear down his spine, gravely and staticy and filled with so much anger.

“Whoa, whoa. You okay?”

The ghost woman shuddered and changed in front of him. She warped into a heinous visage with sharp teeth and pointed fingers, her hair twitched at wrong angles in a writhing cocoon, her eyes turned to pools of inky black.

“Hurt. Hurt him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him kill him kill him kill-”

Jason’s own rage leapt to a sudden, blinding boil. It felt like fire ants swarming under his skin, hot and sharp and bright. He felt the woman’s pain as if it were his own, and felt the need to cause pain ten fold in return. The beast under his heart roared, hungry for revenge.

He relished how familiar it felt, the clarity of purpose, the surrendering of will, the open bleeding wounds that could only be paid back with more blood. He thought about the relief he’d feel if he finally put a bullet through the Joker's brain. Better if he made Bruce do it. He’d hurt the other Robins as a motivator, kill them if he had to. He’d do whatever it took to make that bastard feel hopeless, to make him bend, to bleed, to make him suffer like he had—

Oh, fuck. Jason blinked away just enough of the green in his vision to stumble backwards. He needed— he needed to feel the crunch of bone under his hands, the taste of fear–. No—no. He needed to get away, needed distance between himself and the vengeful ghost. He ground his teeth as he fell to the earth. He dug his nails in the dirt as he clawed backwards, away.

He spat blood— he’d bit his tongue. He scraped at his holster, whipping his pistol out. Its weight steadied his hand as he trained it on the spirit.

“Knock if off,” he spat at the ghost, poisonous heat still raw in his voice.

The pressure of her pain didn’t relent, still clawing at his insides, scraping into the oldest parts of his anger with black heat. He pulled on his own energy in return, desperate. It leapt readily to his call, building at the tip of his gun.

“I said fuck off!”

He shot, and the cannonball of green energy barreled into the ghost. She wailed but she didn’t stand a chance. Her form dispersed in green flames. The claws around his heart vanished with her, leaving him feeling raw.

Easier to beat than a curse ghost. But the encounter left him feeling more than twice as rattled.

Then he rolled onto his knees and dry heaved over the grass. Flashes of what he’d wanted to do to his brothers, to Bruce, surfaced through the clearing haze in his mind. He could have done it. If he’d had any less awareness of the cause of those thoughts, he was certain he would have.

Cold sweat simmered over his skin. He curled his arms around his legs like it would make him warmer, or settle his stomach. It did neither.

He could have killed them.

Danny would have stopped him, he thought. The thought had no real backing in reality, but he believed it all the same. If Jason had actually gone after Bruce and the others, Danny wouldn’t have let him do it.

It provided enough hypothetical comfort to allow him to remember how to breathe.

He raised his eyes just enough to look at the empty air where the ghost had just been. He almost didn’t see it, but once he focused it was unmistakable. A wisp of black shadow, identical to what it looked like when Danny blasted apart a curse ghost. But she hadn’t been a curse ghost. Had she? She’d been completely harmless. Normal, until—

Jason leapt to his feet, wallowing forgotten. He had to get to his computer.

//

“I figured it out.” Jason had the patience to knock at Danny’s door when he got to his place instead of crashing through the window like he wanted to.

“Figured what—Huh?” Danny, in sweats, coffee mug in hand, allowed Jason to barge past him into the messy apartment.

“How the curse ghosts show up. The pattern. The cause.”

He pulled the thumb drive from his pocket, plugged it into Danny’s computer and sat down in the desk chair. “They’re connected to deaths.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Shut up and let me finish. Not just any death.” He pulled up a map with an overlay with points for all Gotham deaths. They far outnumbered the curse ghosts.

“You said not everyone comes back as a ghost, right? What makes them more likely to?”

Danny leaned on the arm of the couch. “A death or a life that’s especially violent or unjust, usually. Combined with a strong sense of purpose unfulfilled. But the curse ghosts aren’t like that. They’re the kind that exist without consciousness. They are the abstract purpose of fear and suffering.”

“But what if they didn’t form like that from nothing?”

Danny tilted his head, bidding Jason to continue.

“What if the most violent, least just deaths-“ he pressed a key isolating those points on the map- “resulted in ghosts that somehow got turned into curses.” He clicked another key and brought up the layer of curse ghost sightings. It matched nearly perfectly.

Danny’s eyes widened. “It all tracks. Except for the fact that ghosts can’t just majorly change their nature like that.” He paused. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Something more powerful than them triggers it. Something else is actively changing them.”

Jason smiled. He could tell they already made the same conclusion. “The queen?”

Danny nodded, excited now. “The queen.”

“We just gotta find deaths that are likely targets for her. She’ll come out to change them, and then we zap her up.” Danny pulled out his phone and began tapping furiously. A moment later the familiar sounds of the police scanner came through the tinny speaker. ‘Retired’ vigilante his whole ass.

Jason was infinitely relieved that Danny didn’t ask him how he’d had this epiphany. He very much did not want to tell him about the ghost from the graveyard and what he’d almost done. Or the fact that the woman had warped into something like a curse ghost because of him, not the queen.

“How will we know which death she’ll use?” Jason pulled at a cuticle. Night had fallen since the graveyard, and the scanner was a constant buzz of chatter and codes.

“We’ll know.” Danny tapped his leg with restless energy. They waited and listened as the minutes turned into nearly an hour.

Eventually Danny broke the silence. “You don’t have to come,” he said quietly. Guiltily.

“Are you joking?”

“The queen- the true curse- I encountered her once. Before. She’s– she’s not like the others.”

“So?”

Danny fiddled with the half-finished belt on his desk. “This junk only does so much. You’re still fighting with a handicap.”

The unspoken offer was there- a cure, a fix, a permanent silencer for his rage. A fix which was tied up in his own power- if he could even really call it that. It still felt borrowed more than something of his own.

He folded his arms. “Almost everything I’ve ever fought has been stronger than me. Why would I stop now?”

“You sure I can’t talk you out of this?”

“I’m insulted you even tried.”

The chatter on the radio crescendoed, pulling their attention back.

“Killer Croc and Scarecrow reported at the North Docks. Batman spotted on scene, perps still on the loose. Two DOA.”

Jason jumped to his feet. “That’s gotta be it, right?” Danny stayed where he was on the couch a moment before he rolled to stand.

“You ready?”

“Always.”

“Let’s go.”

They rode their bikes side by side through the streets till the apartment blocks turned to squat warehouses at the harbor’s edge. They ditched the bikes when they spotted police cruisers, opting instead to weave their way between shipping containers on foot till they found the scene.

A handful of cops lingered around a shipping dock. Cameras flashed as they took photos of something near the water’s edge. No sign of Croc, Scarecrow, or Batman. Whatever confrontation had happened it was already long since. Danny led him to the top of a container where they waited and watched.

“I take it she won’t come out with Gotham’s finest hanging around?” Jason asked below his breath.

“Doubtful.”

Minutes ticked by as the crowd of cops began thinning. The energy in the air practically crackled. Danny had lost his usual nonplussed air- he shook out his fists and paced the length of the container. They waited until the last of the cops drove away, leaving the dock in a deceptively peaceful sort of silence. Anticipation coiled in Jason’s stomach.

“Maybe I’m wrong. She might not show.” Jason crouched, unmoving.

“She will.” Danny spoke with zero doubt. Through all his impatient fidgeting his eyes never left a spot at the end of the docks. Where, Jason assumed, the man had drowned. He couldn’t see a body. But Danny had a sense for these things.

Suddenly Danny stilled, and Jason snapped to attention. He crouched beside him, looking out to the dark water. Nothing changed for a long moment.

Then the light shifted colder and dimmer, like the streetlights suddenly weren’t as effective at pushing back the dark. Their sodium yellow glow turned pale sickly gray. A thin layer of mist rolled across the water and over the shore.

Jason knew what the curse ghosts felt like. He’d felt it nearly every night for the last six weeks. This wasn’t that. Where the curse ghosts were hot fury and gunshots, this was a slow smooth knife of dread, cutting deep and settling in.

Danny sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. It sounded more like a hiss.

And then Gotham’s curse herself appeared.

A black cloaked figure glided across the water, barely distinguishable from the black of night around her. a circlet of shadows hovered over her head. As she moved Jason realized that it wasn’t just a cloak— the figure was shadow all the way down, writhing and shifting in the illusion of human form.

Around her a pack of curse ghosts followed at her heel like obedient hounds. The dripping goo of their bodies looked garish next to hers, all shimmering mist and elegance. As terrifying as she was, there was something deeply familiar to her. Both elusive and enticing.

Jason chanced a look at Danny. He’d stopped pacing. He had never seen such dangerous focus on his face before.

The queens entourage stopped at the dock Danny had been watching. Out of the water in front of her something blue and luminescent rose up— a ghost. The ghost they’d been waiting for.

Whispers filled the air in lower frequencies that thrummed through his body more than he actually heard them. He couldn’t parse words at this distance, but the meaning became clear enough. The queen extended a claw-like hand toward the fresh ghost. And, just like the one at the graveyard, it began to warp into something awful right before their eyes.

“Stay here,” Danny bit out below his breath. Jason recoiled at the thought of hanging back, but Danny shot him a look with such intensity that he choked on his retort.

Danny jumped down. He landed on his feet in the open cement of the shipping yard, fully visible under the glow of the desaturated street lamps.

“That’s enough.”

Danny’s voice shook with the same rumble as the whispers, cutting through them like ice. The curse queen and her entourage turned their attention to him instantly.

“Come out to play again little king?” The queen's voice was unexpectedly smooth, like cool silk down his spine. “I do find our games so enriching.”

“I find them rather dull personally,” Danny answered. His body language was nonchalant, but there was still an edge to his voice. He tilted his chin toward the warped ghost. “Neat trick.”

“You like it? Gotham’s restless dead truly thrive once I remake them in my image.”

“They’re not yours.”

The temperature dropped ten degrees in the span of a heartbeat. The queen’s pack of curse ghosts began lurking onto shore and positioned themselves in a wide circle around Danny. Jason tensed. “This city is mine. Anyone who comes here is mine to keep.” She turned her attention back to the new ghost. “And mine to devour.”

The shadows around the queen flared and the new ghost convulsed with a horrible garbled cry. Black goo exploded from its eyes, its mouth until it was covered. It fell to the queen's feet, a heap of sludge that writhed like worms. She laughed, a haughty rumble that had Jason’s hair standing on end. When the ghost rose a moment later on shaky, inky legs, it took the form of a hound. Just like the others.

Around Danny the lights flickered and popped. The queen laughed again, this time a piercing cackle.

And then the hounds attacked.

In the analytical parts of Jason’s mind, he had accepted that he’d never seen Danny fight with his full strength in any of their brawls. He hadn’t truly understood what that meant until now.

Barely a week prior Jason had managed to scrape a win against just one curse ghost by the skin of his teeth. Now Danny fought seven. At once. The shipping yard turned into chaos as Danny blasted curse ghosts in rapid succession, throwing them into shipping containers with such force the containers bent and toppled. Swaths of black goo splattered across the dock every time Danny landed a hit. Flashes of green and shadow exploded against one another like toxic fireworks.

Danny spared no breath for his usual quips and banter. Instead, his lips pressed into a firm line, broken only sporadically by a flash of his fangs as he tore into the hounds with easy viciousness. Jason practically chewed through the inside of his cheek. He could barely keep up with the pace of the fray as Danny’s glowing form darted through the gauntlet of claws and ink. He gripped the hilt of his sword from his hiding place. He could help. He couldn’t just watch. But just being in the queen’s presence still felt like a skeletal hand around his throat.

Danny faced off against two hounds from the dock side. He didn’t see the one from behind. Fuck that. Jason jumped.

He swung the sword in a wide arc downward and, just as its jaws reached Danny, relieved the curse ghost of its head. Goo splattered to the dock with a satisfying thunk.

Danny whirled on him, palms alight with energy. His eyes went wide in a kind of panic. “What are you–”

“I’ve got your back.”

Before Danny could protest, Jason stepped for another swing of his sword, catching another hound in the side. No room for Danny to argue. They fell into the rhythm of battle.

This Jason knew how to do. Armed to the teeth with Danny’s gadgets and weeks of practice, the clawing fear became background noise to the rush of adrenaline. He slashed heads and unleashed blasts and zapped with the thermos. Sounds of metal slicking through muck rang out, alongside the pained grunts and roars of the curse ghosts and his own frenzied breathing. As the dock got covered in more and more goo, he found himself grinning. He’d gotten rather good at this.

He looked to Danny, hoping for one of those sharpened smiles. Instead, Danny looked back at him with that same strained panic.

Jason saw now that Danny was focusing on keeping the curse ghosts away from him, enough that he’d taken more than one nasty hit. It threw Jason’s rhythm, enough that a hound got its teeth into his arm. He hissed in pain. Danny was there an instant later, ripping the beast off of him by its neck and tossing it back into the harbor.

“Quit hovering. I’m fine.” Jason growled.

“I told you to stay back.”

“I came here to fight.”

“Just let me handle it.” Danny stepped in front of him, throwing up a green energy shield to push back another curse ghost.

Jason ground his teeth. He wouldn’t be scolded like a child. He’d had enough of that from Bruce.

They were down to just two hounds left. The queen watched from the end of the dock. Danny went for her, two bounding leaps and a green sun in his fist. The newest curse ghost— the one they’d just watched turn— leapt out from behind her. They clashed and tumbled back through the open large bay doors of a dry dock warehouse.

The queen stalked forward after them. Neither of them reappeared, but the sounds of crashing metal and breaking glass rang out from inside. Jason ran toward it.

He got inside the warehouse just as Danny subdued the new curse ghost, sucking it up into his thermos with a grimace. The queen stopped before him, her shadow wide and menacing like wings surrounding her.

“What I don’t understand is why you keep playing this little game?” Her voice filled with cloying sweetness as she bent closer to Danny. “Why not just end it? What are you waiting for?” Dannyʼs eyes shifted across the room and found Jasonʼs. A mistake.

The queen whipped her head around with a crack. Her eyes- two black holes in her face, somehow darker than shadow- locked on him. His stomach dropped.

“Or should I have asked who?” The queen's full attention hit him like a flood. She had no mouth but Jason could hear her smile. Every nerve he had left was telling him to run. Every muscle in his body refused to move.

Her whole body twisted to face him, slow as dread. Jason gripped tighter on the sword in front of him. He swallowed a shallow breath.

“What do we have here? One of my wayward knights? So wonderful to finally meet.” The queen took one smoky step toward him.

Then every lightbulb in the warehouse exploded.

“He’s not yours.” A snarl ripped out of Danny like an earthquake. It cut through the sudden darkness, layered with unnatural echoes and tones that Jason felt under his skin. He tore his attention away from the queen to look back at him.

His eyes burned bright like a signal fire under heavy eyebrows, even more prominent with all the lights out. But that wasnʼt what made goosebumps rise across Jasonʼs skin. He’d never seen Danny angry. Heck, heʼd rarely even been more than annoyed. But now he was outright furious.

Sure, the weight of the queen's presence had struck a chord of fear in Jason, deep and instinctual. But that didnʼt hold a candle to what he felt now. He looked at Danny and his mind filled only with terror of the primal sort. Like a hare caught in the jaws of a wolf. Prey amongst a predator.

The queen threw back her head and laughed once more. It sounded like groaning metal and dissonant strings.

“Then stop me!” She screeched, and she lunged toward Jason.

As the swirling mass of shadows convulsed in his direction, Jasonʼs reflexes kicked in and he threw the sword up to block. It didnʼt matter. A shadowy talon sliced clean through it. The top half of the blade clattered to the ground unceremoniously.

Shit. Heʼd really started to like that sword.

Then he realized the sword wasnʼt the only thing the talon had cut.

He looked down. A thick spear of shadow extended through his stomach and out his back.

The queen laughed louder as she pulled it out of him with a wet schlick. He put a hand to the spot. Instantly his palm was drenched in red. Blood, so much blood. Warm and sticky and wet. Running out of him like a faucet.

Distantly he heard Danny yell out to him. He wanted to lift his broken sword to strike back, but his mind hadn’t caught up with what his body already knew- the fight was over. He’d lost. Embarrassing, really. After all his bravado he still wasn’t even in the same league as a real threat. Not even close.

A dull fuzzy feeling started overtaking the sharp bite of adrenaline in his system. That wasnʼt good. That felt like dying and he really didnʼt want to do that again. As his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, he realized he didnʼt really have a choice.

He looked up across the room again as his vision started to blur. Dannyʼs face was warped in absolute fury. The shadows around the edges of the room cowered back. He blinked and there was a flash of blinding white light. Every nerve in his body iced over with terror.

His eyes wouldnʼt focus. The world turned into a slideshow, flashes of images and sounds that lingered on the back of his eyelids. He clung to them like a lifeline.

A flaming crown. A starburst of shadows. The pungent smell of gasoline and ozone and iron. Cold, so, so cold. Black being ripped from black, pained terrible screeching. Neon green, brighter than the sun. Cold, deep chasming cold, down to his bones.

He crumpled to the cement.

A howling wail that nearly broke his heart.

And then blissful oblivion.

[yourdoorisunlocked]

What A Dish, What A Doll! - Part 1

🎙️【 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑽 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑽 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑽𝑰 】🎙️

𝐀/𝐍: This was originally supposed to be pretty dark, but my mind clearly had other plans since I ended up writing a fluffy little fic about our favorite radio man lmao. I’ll probably write up the angstier fic, too, if this one does well.

Also, the Reader is AFAB, since that’s what I’m comfortable writing for as a girl myself.

. . .

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐,𝟏𝟏𝟓 𝐍𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

. . . 

The door to Alastor’s manor creaked open for you, and with a grin you took the spare key he gave you from the lock and swung the door fully open to push yourself inside in an attempt to escape from the late winter chill. 

It was a late January night, meaning the serene moonlight washed over the snowy landscape as early as 5:00 P.M., making it dangerous for a lady like yourself to be wandering the streets of New Orleans late at night. 

But it had been months since you really had to worry about anything like that, since you had Alastor by your side to look out for you. Such a sweetheart to you, and a bit of a mama’s boy, too, judging by the pictures set atop the mantle just above the unlit fireplace.

The mere thought of your ever-enthusiastic smiling companion made you especially giddy as you kicked off your winter boots and shrugged your coat off your shoulders, placing it upon the antler-adorned coat rack and skipping past the staircase into the living room. 

Flopping on the couch, you reached over for the radio while cuddling up with a blanket, excited to hear the well-awaited voice of the man who had altered the direction of your life – undoubtedly for the better – and you were practically kicking your feet like a flustered schoolgirl who had received your first confession as Alastor’s voice rang through the small device, loud and clear for you to hear. 

“Good evening, New Orleans!” You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiastic announcer’s voice that he normally used for his radio show, and the first time the two of you had met.

Though, Alastor was more relaxed around you nowadays, seeing no need to keep up the too-cheery facade his listeners had renowned and adored him for. You cherished moments when he was simply relaxed, content with a close-lipped smile and sitting beside you, whether it be reading, playing the piano with you, occasionally even pulling you into a spontaneous dance.

As you listened practically through the entire thing, you began to silently fantasize about your unpredictable yet darling radio host.

“Well, I’m afraid that’s all the time I have tonight, folks! I should be going, now. It's rather bad form to keep my doll waiting at home for me~,” He finished with a soft chuckle.

Blood rushed to your cheeks at that last little comment, practically cursing Alastor for his cheekiness, and he knew that you listened to his shows whenever you could.

"The au-diddly-dacity of that man..."

“Thank you for tuning in! See you next time~...” 

The radio returned to static for a few seconds, before a jaunty little tune began to play through the speakers, and it just so happened to be one of your personal favorites, one that you, no matter what mood, nor what you were doing, couldn't help but jump up and dance to.

And, of course, Alastor knew you loved it.

You sighed with content as you relaxed into his couch cushions, sinking into the blanket that Alastor had laid out for you since he'd found you constantly falling asleep to his voice on the radio when he returned home from work.

A pang of guilt thundered against your chest as your heart strained at the stinging reminder of how much of a burden you really were to Alastor. He was a good man, who helped you out when you were in a tough spot, you should at least repay the favor, right?

I should at least do something nice for him... He's been so good to me, even inviting me over for dinner more times than I can count.

He was the one who offered me that job at the radio station, hell, he even let me off early so I could listen to his show!

With a huff, and a newfound sense of energy, you got to work around the house, tidying up and lighting the fireplace, sparking a candle or two, and keeping the radio playing all throughout the thirty minutes you had spent cleaning, imagining the look on Alastor’s face when he returned.

You had even started on dinner, making a nice pot of venison soup, since it seemed to be his favorite. 

You pushed down the swell in your chest when you heard the doorbell ring, excitedly rushing over to a mirror and sweeping across your face and hair, making sure everything about you was in perfect shape. 

You opened the door, craning your neck a good amount to make eye contact with dark chocolate eyes staring down at you intently, almost illuminated in the moonlight, set against smooth caramel skin beneath a fluff of mocha brown hair.

“Hel-!” 

Alastor’s usual smile was smacked clean off his face at the sight of you standing before him, apron tied across your skirt with a few stains upon it, hair slightly amess but clearly put together.

"-Lo... My dear, what is the meaning of this?..." His tone seemed cheerful enough, if a bit bewildered as his eyes scanned your form once more, stopping upon the apron once again before returning his gaze to yours.

You looked so painfully, so heart throbbingly domestic that it nearly gave him a heart attack when he first opened the door. Such a submissive nature fed into other... primal desires of his that he wasn't fully prepared to delve into.

You smiled sheepishly up at him. "Why don't you come in? I've already started dinner," Alastor's trademark smile quirked his lips upward as he suddenly took your arm and headed inside, practically glowing as he headed straight for the kitchen.

"Oh, no, mister, you stay right there," you winked down at the radio host as you pulled him into a chair. "You've been working so late, let me handle dinner."

You truly piqued Alastor's interest when a familiar scent wafted past his nose, and he eyed you with surprise as you worked in the kitchen, pouring a hot, thick broth from the pot into a small bowl.

As you headed towards him, he tried his best not to absolutely melt in his seat as you served him with a smile, and he carefully took the steaming bowl from your hands. 

Venison, hm? Well don’t mind if I- 

AN: You know that one scene in Ratatouille where that critic takes a bite of his dish, and gets a flashback to when his mom used to cook for him? Imagine that but with Alastor. 

“Is it good?” Your soft, almost worried voice brought him back to reality, and as he met your hopeful, imploring gaze, Alastor nearly choked on his food as heat crept up to his cheeks, burning against his face and ears.

For just a moment, I thought I saw...

With wide eyes, you rushed over to him with a napkin, patting his back and looking over him with concern as his coughing ceased, and he took the cloth with a grateful, slightly wobbly smile. 

  “Was it really that bad...?” Your confidence wavered slightly as you stared down at Alastor, realizing the sudden proximity as electricity raced up your spine and lit your cheeks aflame.

Half-lidded cocoa-brown eyes searched the very depths of your soul, before he shook his head and murmured, "No, quite the opposite. I'm... I'm actually quite thankful for this, tonight." Though, it couldn't have come at a worse possible time, when he was finally squashing any sort of emotions he felt for you into the dirt, only for you to make them froth and rise to the surface yet again.

Why, he hadn't realized how long it had been since anyone had done anything like this for him!

Ah, his dear mama...

He recalled the last dish she ever made for him. Her house-famous Jambalaya that he had adored so much. It even managed to put his father in a good mood.

"A-Al? Alastor? Are you alright...?"

He hadn't even noticed that tears were streaming down his slim cheeks until he felt small droplets falling upon his lap.

"Oh, nothing. This... This all just reminded me of someone..." He shook his head and took his circle-rimmed glasses off his pointed nose, rubbing the fogginess off the glass as the gears turned in your head.

You raised an eyebrow. "Who...?" You then caught a glimpse of the photos set above fireplace just past the couch that faced away from the kitchen. Of course!

Immediate regret washed over you as you fretted over Alastor, apologizing meekly as you attempted to clean up the soup in front of him, but you were stopped as he gripped your wrist.

"I'm so sorry! I never meant to be such a burden, I just really wanted to do something nice for you, s-since you're always-"

"No, please, this has been a delightful surprise, darling." You froze at the pet name, heat creeping over your cheeks and tinging your ears a bright pink as Alastor released his grip upon your hand.

"You have never, never felt like a burden to me. I promise you that," he slid his hand from your wrist to your hand in an act of comfort, but it only served to make your face glow even redder.

"Now I'd like to finish the dinner you made for me. If you don't mind, of course," his usual cheekiness had returned when he spotted your slightly flustered face, and you nodded and returned to your seat promptly.

Alastor, being ever the chatterbox, resurrected the flowing conversation between you two for a good hour, as he recalled stories from his childhood, keeping you entertained throughout your dinner. Your laughter filled the hallway, your smile both wounding and freeing his heart, while you sat, mesmerized at his captivating storytelling and how he spoke with his hands, practically alight as he drank in each expression you gave him.

"Would you care for a dance, darling?" Alastor spoke up suddenly, the contents of his bowl completely gone as you eyed it. You shyly agreed as he smiled gently and pulled you into the living room.

Soft caramel brown hands wrapped around yours as Alastor's slender fingers held you close in a surprisingly tight grip against him, and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, along with his rapidly beating heart despite his suave demeanor as he slowly danced along with you to one of the songs that had begun playing on the radio beside the fireplace.

Nothing but your dear friend's soft humming along with the sounds of the radio filled the silence between you in the moment, and you began to relax in his grip as you lazily kept up with his slow steps.

Put your head on my shoulder~

A slow dance between you two, with an occasional twirl as Alastor nearly swept you off your feet swept the minutes away, until the moon was well past the horizon and twilight fell upon the sky.

As he spun you around once more, a sudden gust of air swept past the pair of you, nearly blowing out the candle beside you.

Hold me in your arms, baby...

Alastor's eyes widened at the sight of a petite, elderly woman standing beside the doorway into the kitchen, watching the two of you intently, until her form faded from the door with a shimmer of light and a gentle smile.

Squeeze me oh-so tight, show me...

He gulped softly at the sight of the angel while you stared into his eyes, completely fixated upon his surprised open-mouthed stare as his gaze flickered from behind you to your lips.

You barely missed his darkening expression as you both began to sway slowly once again.

Show me, that you love me, too~...

"Would you like to stay the night, darling?" For the first time in his life, Alastor seemed unsure, maybe even nervous, as his dark brows creased together and his charming smile twitched at the corners of his lips. You smiled and reached up to smooth out the crease with your fingers.

You had no idea how he warred with himself, knowing that he'd be practically signing his soul away simply to be in your company.

Put your lips next to mine, dear~...

But... Perhaps this would be worth it.

Perhaps moments like these, when time slowed, where you both could block out the rest of the world and simply bask in each other's company would be worth the risk.

Won't you kiss me once, baby~?

Alastor had decided, right then and there as you stared up at him with nothing but adoration.

He'd have you. He had to. He was damned either way, but he'd storm the pearly gates themselves if he failed to drag you down with him.

Just a kiss goodnight, maybe...?

But, with immense relief, Alastor realized wouldn't take much persuasion as your eyes seemed to twinkle beside the flickering candlelight, and a gentle yet teasing smile played at your lips.

You and I will fall in love...

"Yes, I'd like that very much, Alastor."

. . . 

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Okay, I KNOW that 'Put Your Head On My Shoulder' was released in the 50s, BUT LET'S PRETEND IT WAS THE 20s, OKAY???

Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this first post, I might write a part two if the people want one. Maybe Alastor headcanons?? Who knows...

Let's just see how far this goes lmao.

[raineandsky]

#120

When the villains caught wind of a new hero on the team, they’d all taken interest. When someone came back claiming he’s blind, it’d sparked a whole new debate.

Straightforward, they’d all said. He won’t even see us coming. They’d laughed at how easy it’d seemed.

The villain feels like they’ve stumbled on a pile of gold when they come across the hero. He’s running his hand along something on the fence in front of him, something that the villain will later realise is a braille description of the view ahead of him. A white cape drifts around his ankles, an equally white suit flattering against his typical heroic body, the lightest of smiles on his face as his fingers trace the patterns of dots along the railing.

The villain can’t help but grin as they slowly make their way towards the poor hero, so oblivious, so stupid. They’re barely a hair breadth away, their dagger practically unsheathing itself, when the hero spins towards them with a swish of his cape and a flick of a blade.

The villain barely reels back in time. Staying quiet doesn’t occur to them when they’re startled. The hero looks like he’s staring right through them, an arrogant smirk on his face.

“Ah,” he says brightly, “you’re one of those criminals I’m meant to be looking out for?”

The villain sidesteps, careful to keep their footing quiet, but it doesn’t matter. The hero’s head cocks towards them as they try to step out of his blade’s path.

“You’re almost silent,” the hero continues. A smirk adorns his face, intrigued. “Incredible.”

The villain is close enough to strike, the hero looking slightly too far beyond them to be right in his assumptions. The villain shifts in fast, their dagger poised. The hero dodges back and retaliates with a swing of his own.

The villain stumbles out of reach and the hero follows. The villain’s unprepared; they were expecting a hero who’s unsure who they’re looking for, where the villain is. They were expecting an easy plaything that they could stab when they got bored.

But this—the hero is nothing but brazen confidence.

The villain shoves their dagger up to meet his blade, throwing his arm out. They move in for another strike but the hero’s already recovered. His blade easily tucks under their arm and slices into their side.

Something of a strangled gasp escapes the villain before they can stop it. They stagger back, a hand touched timidly to the wound, their eyes flitting back up to the hero. He simply waits, his blade crimson and his eyes blank. How? How?

“Would you do me the honour of telling me who I’ve met?” he asks, as if this is nothing more than a casual meeting between friends of friends. The villain wants to snap him in half for the audacity.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business.”

“Aha,” the hero says, almost a laugh, “You’re [Villain].”

The villain can only stare at him in horror. The hero seems to feel the tension in the silence, because he continues. “You’ve a bad mouth, favour in the blade, light on your feet.” A teasing smile. “And you’ve a smooth, caramel voice I haven’t heard in many like you.”

“Wh— Excuse me— You—” 

The hero just smirks, the stupid smirk of someone who knows he’s untouchable in every sense of the word. “Flustered by compliments, too,” the hero finishes with a laugh. “Good to remember for next time.”

“I’m not flustered!” the villain finally manages, “and my voice isn’t caramel. That isn’t a thing. You sound stupid.”

“I’m happy to be stupid if it means I can recognise you as the villain who speaks in caramel.”

The villain’s side is beginning to really ache. They need to be somewhere that’s not here when it inevitably gets worse. “Do what you want. I’m going home.”

“May I escort you to a prison cell?”

The villain barks a laugh, their side practically splitting with the forced fakeness of it. “As if you know where the agency is from here.”

“I always know where I am, [Villain].” A smile again, softer this time. Knowing. “You underestimate me for a characteristic I think makes me as interesting to you as you are to me.”

The burn in the villain’s skin is an ode to that. “Sure.” The villain turns on their heel before a thought occurs to them. “I’m going to walk away, loudly. Do me a favour and don’t fucking shank me when I do.”

The hero’s face twists back into a smirk. “As long as I hear you moving away. Until next time, [Villain].”

A blind hero! everyone had cried. It’s almost too easy!

The villain scurries away with a gash to the side and a slam to their ego, and they know now to know better than that.

[schneiderenjoyer]

[Attention! UTTU Magazine is holding a special limited run "Live Letter Interview" issue with featured guests, Vertin & Schneider!]

Grab yourself a copy and submit your inquiry through the arcane skill embedded within this edition's magazine. The message will be received in real time and you'll have your answer by way of exclusive UTTU cards!

Remember, this is a limited run, so don't miss the chance to ask all you want to know from the arcanist themself before the incantation wears off!

[gambeque]

therapy sesh

[earlgodwin]

his psychosexual obsession with his sister as he creepily stalks her around then was on verge of tears when he saw her kissing a potential lover...oh i know what you are!!

[vicsy]

ohhh for the ship asks

strollonso (obvi) and the prompt: you should stay away from him

In a perfect echo of the hotel bathroom, Lance cuts himself over the edge of false convictions. His fingers close around the wide band of a custom-made collar.

You should stay away from him.

He addresses the reflection in the mirror, stern, but his voice is soft, too forgiving, nothing like his father's. A tremor wracking through his hands; Lance clasps the collar over his throat, living through a memory so crystal clear. Lawrence's heartbroken face when he slid a black box across the table in his office, just the two of them and a thick burden of the best interests kept at heart. A sharp point of a dagger prodding his skin where it's the thinnest.

Familial ties have no weight in blood. Lance still wants to learn he's worth his weight in gold.

"I won't tell you what to do," Sebastian said, then, a glass of wine next to his empty plate. Lance zeroed in on the silver of his fangs, peeking through his lips stretches in an easy smile. They were playing pretend for the night. "He and I are very different. Try to keep a healthy distance, yes?"

The want parched Lance.

"No. Don't," Esteban snapped a week later, frantic and desperate, cornering Lance near his driver's room in the sweltering Bahrain heat. He pointed at his parted mouth and pressed the pad of his index finger to the tip of his fang. "It's no good, Lance, please. Stay as far away from him as you can, ask your dad to– I don't know!"

"Esteban–"

"Or come to me," Esteban pleaded, his hold on Lance's shoulder bruising. "I'll do it. Don't risk it with him. Please."

Lance couldn't, ever. Esteban would have ended up loathing himself and Lance would have never made his peace with it. To Esteban, he still made a feeble promise, sealed with a bone-crushing hug. Lance hoped it wouldn't break the way his wrists did; it hurt.

The pain was his impediment. It lessened his resolve.

You should stay away from him.

Race after race after race. The pinprick on the back of Lance's neck from being watched, a touch to the small of his back; to his cheek. His lungs constricting and sweat pooling under the collar, unbearable chokehold. Lance wishes to crack his chest open, to leave the bridges up in flames, to stand on the podium drenched in champagne — up there, not alone, free. Lance detests the thrum of want singing under his skin. It never abates, haunting.

You should stay–

Lance goes for a drive. He pretends there is no destination in mind. His car doesn't seem real but the empty streets of Oviedo at night are more than enough.

A house on top of the hill greets him with a sound of shattered promise. The front door opens before Lance reaches out to ring the bell.

"I don't know," he says right off the bat and shivers. Then forces a smile he knows is crooked. He's lying. "Sorry. Shouldn't have come, really."

Leaning against the mahogany doorframe, Fernando appears mostly human, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. The eyes of a predator look at and through him. Lance never wanted it to be anyone else.

"Hm. I know," Fernando rumbles, his smirk as cruel as it is indulging. Lance feels lost; feels like he's on the wrong path. "You are doing a bad job at staying away, Lance."

Fernando's fixation on discipline fascinates him. With a trembling hand, Lance unclasps the collar around his neck; with the other, he grabs Fernando wrist, palm up. There is no pulse beating underneath his fingertips but Lance's heart is rabbiting out of his chest hard enough for the two of them.

Too perceptive to be fooled, Fernando waits him out. He knows the game well. Lance walks into the trap on his own volition, waving a white flag. Places the collar onto Fernando's calloused palm, closes his fingers around it.

"Show me why I shouldn't."

Then, Lance bares his neck.

Then, Fernando lunges.

Bare and at a mercy, wrists bound behind his back with the same collar he wore, a mere sheep to a slaughter, Lance's want crumbles into dust and all of his pain ebbs away. He can never go back now; he wants to forget the way exists when Fernando pushes him into the bedsheets, big hands gripping his waist tight. Lance bucks up against nothing, white-hot pleasure blinding him, rendering him bonesless, voiceless but frighteningly at ease.

Fernando's jagged fangs plunge into his throat without a warning and Lance wonders why he ever resisted going somewhere he belongs.

Send me a ship/character(s) and a one word prompt and I will write a 5 sentence fic about it

[thrumugnyr]

Hey! Started following you from the moment you started posting things on #curse of strahd. Haven't seen Patataj in a while. I love your art and will definetley commission you when the opportunity comes!

Just wanted to know how is your loveley bard doing? How is the campaign overall?

I hope this question didn't bother you much

Patataj is still running through Barovia, only making the soundest of decisions! For example he wanted to protect some werewolves from certain death after he helped them rebel so he agreed with Strahd's offer of giving him 10 whole favors. He was just too happy about the werewolves being okay.

Rahadin was angry, not so much because Patataj owes favors to Strahd, but because Patataj is clearly absolutely terrible about making deals. And what if something else asks for a bargain?

[gojoest]

you know how in shoujo manga when the female character dresses up super cute and the male character goes all silent and doesn’t even look at her just takes her hand and drags her away like “i don’t want anyone to see you like this” with a big blush on his face hidden by his bangs or something and that is something satoru would do too like “you trying to make me kill innocent ppl that have laid their eyes on you now”

[crystallizsch]

Hello Ian! ♡

I hope you're doing well!

Here's some more Jamil thoughts for you!

Something I don't see a lot of people talk about when it comes to Jamil is the idea of family recipes, more specifically, recipes that only the Viper Family know.

Food that he and Najma grew up having, learning the recipes for himself once he was older. Recipes that have been passed down in the Viper Family for generations.

I would like to imagine he wouldn't make them for Kalim, or even let him know about them, wanting to keep these foods and recipes for himself.

As he gets to know you, his feelings growing and turning to something more, he thinks of these recipes, wanting to share these foods with you.

Foods to be made and had with family. For loved ones.

As much as he tried to deny it, to fight it, he grew attached to you. Not just attached, oh no, he knew in the back of his mind what this was. He wouldn't admit it though, even when he ends up making one of the recipes for himself, wondering if you'd enjoy it as he ate.

It wouldn't be until you two were a couple that it would happen, Jamil offering to make you dinner one day. Perhaps you arrive early, and he asks if you'd like to help him prepare it. (The intimacy of cooking together, Jamil instructing you on a recipe that only he and his family members know) Once it was done and served, you both would sit down to eat, Jamil waiting for you to have the first bite.

Any compliment you give it will have a sense of pride bursting in his chest, a small smile coming to his face. He's radiating with satisfaction as you both enjoy your meal, promising to cook for you again some other time. He already has the next recipe in mind ♡

(It's up to you whether Yuusha knows the importance of the meal, as I can see Jamil either trying to be subtle and downplay it, or him simply saying it's a family recipe and having you figure out the significance of that on your own)

Thank you! ♡

SHEEPPPP I WAS ACTUALLY SOOBBINGGF

MY BRAINNNN ALHDKSJSJSJSKSBXJS THIS IS SO CUTE I WENT FERAL

i love this headcanon and i’m keeping it in my mind forever and this reminded me of my silly comic from a while ago

his cooking being basically a love language overall is so AGH and trusting you enough to share with you something that is very important to him???

i’m positively GNAWING on this so much

anyways i literally couldnt help it i may or may not have spent all day working on this with yuusha and jamil’s dynamic hdkshdjss

So. Care to finally tell me what this is?

It's a Viper Family recipe.

Oh, no wonder. Do you only serve it on special occasions? I don't think I've had it during any Scarabia parties.

Of course you haven't. This is your first time. And we don't serve these recipes outside of the Viper Family household.

Oh, that sucks.

After Yuu took another bite, the implication of Jamil sharing this meal with her just hit her in the head that she almost spat out what was in her mouth in surprise.

Yuu and Jamil gave each other a knowing look. The prefect saw that the vice housewarden had a flushed look on his face as he tried to cover it up by sipping casually from his bowl.

Yuu was silent as she tried to rack her brain around what he just said.

Jamil attempted to look unbothered but his slightly shifting eyes and darkened cheeks had betrayed him.

So, do you… understand what this means?

Oh, Yuu definitely understood. It was making her feel flustered, giddy perhaps—happy that Jamil thought of her that way. Enough to consider her…

No. Oh, no. Jamil was making her say it. Oh, she was not going to let her do his work for him.

... I don't, Jamil. I would love for you to explain it to me.

Touché. Jamil thought as he set his utensils down with a sigh. Jamil also thought that he could decide to feign ignorance back but he knew it would be fighting fire with fire.

So might as well be direct.

Yuu, I…

(idk i’m out of juice) (plus i do love me some uncertain endings sometimes)

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Wait-Pastel...why did you need to change the chapter count? We all saw it go from 26 to 27. What changed huh? I'm watching you Pastel. I'm in your walls. Say hi to your sister for me please! (You're an amazing writer, oh and you dropped this. 👑)

Shhhhhh move along nothing to see here no sir (Hehehe and thank u 🩵)

but the reality is, I always suspected this “last chapter” might split into two parts since there’s a lot I wanna play with— but it’s always nicer to go UP in chapter count rather than down you know?

[lauraneedstochill]

I was searching but not for you

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader summary: Aemond is eager to catch the thief who keeps stealing his gemstones but the person in question seems to always be one step ahead of him. words: ~ 4000 author’s note: about two months ago, I got the idea to write short stories inspired by the songs I like. this idea may totally flop, but I already wrote a few one-shots so I might as well post them somewhere. you can skip the song but I think it helps with ✨ the vibes ✨ P.S. don’t read the translation from French right away song inspo: Leagues — Walking Backwards (Spotify / YouTube)

>>> The first time it happens, it’s blindsiding — he gets a call in the middle of the night, and the words are rushed and the voice on the other end of the phone is panicking. Aemond sits up against the head of his bed, silky linen softy sliding down his chest, and the sleep is still clinging to his skin, and he can’t quite understand what’s going on. Surely, it sounds like a bad joke — someone broke into his office, someone found his safe. He’s the only one who knows the contents of the locked metal box, and he cherishes it very deeply. He doesn’t easily let go of the things he loves.

In about five minutes, his car roars through the empty streets, his heart is racing, his body fueled by the adrenaline that eats up the remnants of his sleepiness. Aemond all but runs — in the building, in the elevator, on the right floor. The security team looks so baffled, he almost wants to laugh. And then he sees it — his safe, accurately opened and seemingly not emptied. Because the uncut diamond in it didn’t take much space, and now it is, indeed, missing. There’s a note left, written in cursive so perfect, it looks as mocking as the words on it:

“A safe hidden behind a painting? Honestly, that’s just bad taste.”

His shock turns into anger in the blink of an eye.

>>> The fact that someone dared to steal from him is offensive enough, but the stolen gemstone also holds a special meaning — it’s the first one he’s ever bought with his own money, by himself, for himself. It’s not the biggest one he owns, not the rarest color or the most high-priced, but the auction it was sold at dragged for almost two hours, and the very last bidder was too persistent for his liking. Finally winning felt so good, it was addicting. Losing that very thing felt like a punch, and he hadn’t missed a single one before.

>>> He changes the locks and tightens security, but there are no leads — nothing on his cameras, and no one saw a thing. He begrudgingly tells Helaena about it when she finds a moment to check up on him in between hosting countless exhibitions in her gallery. That very gallery also stores one of his gems, so he wants to take precautions, just in case.

His sister brings him croissants and sips on matcha while listening to him, worry sawn onto her face. She reassures him she’ll be alert, she’s empathetic as ever. She then enthusiastically goes to tell him all about the new layout for the Van Gogh collection she’ll put on display next month. Her cheerful babbling gives him an hour-long reprieve from his inner torment.

On her way out, Helaena stops, her brows furrowing:

“Do you know who owned the diamond before you?”

“There were no details on the owner,” Aemond shrugs. “I only know his collection had to be auctioned for debts which definitely drove down the price.”

She gives him a heartfelt smile:

“I’ll ask around, then.”

>>> Someone steals the sapphire from her gallery precisely a week after their conversation. The gem of 150 carats is protected with armored glass and kept in a separate hall, but no alarms are triggered the night it disappears. Helaena only finds out in the morning and sends him a photo of an empty stand. When Aemond arrives at the gallery, police are already at the scene. They all wear the same confused expression.

“There’s no footage on the cameras,” his sister explains, perplexed. Then squints at him: “But they left a note.”

Aemond swallows down an annoyed grunt and spends ten minutes answering a pointless sequence of questions. Only then he gets to see the thing he’s most curious about. The piece of paper says:

“Your taste is better when it comes to gems. The exhibition looks great, by the way!”

He passes it on his way back — it’s a collection of some Swedish artist he’s never heard of. The painting closest to him is called “The Lady with the Veil”, and the woman on the canvas looks at him with a sly smile.

>>> The third time can take the prize for being the most ridiculous one. He made the purchase only two days ago — a pink diamond of exceptional purity, and the transfer is arranged in the strictest secrecy. He gives instructions, he hires two guards for the ride; he’s counting minutes. Aemond has a lurking suspicion that something is off when the delivery is 15 minutes late. But then the courier finally walks in, hands him the box locked with a digital code, and Aemond tenses up in anticipation. The second he opens it, his mouth falls slack.

“Are you kidding me?!” he roars — the box is empty, with only a pink ribbon left inside.

The courier shrivels at the sound and apologizes profusely. And then admits that they made a stop on their way. He says they went down the wrong route — because of some glitch in his GPS — and ended up at the wrong house. It took the man a couple of minutes to realize his mistake and come back to the truck. He has no explanation for why he thought that taking both guards with him was in any way a good idea, but he swears that the driver never left the vehicle.

To add to Aemond’s anguish, the two policemen sent to his place seem to be positively stupid. Not only do they not understand the concept of digital locks, but they also don’t grasp the gravity of the situation. One of them scribbles something in his notebook, then scratches his head with a pen, then asks:

“Are you sure it’s not just a case of miscommunication?”

Aemond is sure that he’s never been this close to strangling a law enforcement officer. He gives the cops a tight-lipped smile and sends them away, and he is still left with no information to get things off the ground. He’s also a little bitter that there was no note this time.

He’s staring at the empty box with a brooding frown when he feels his phone vibrating. It’s a text from his sister:

“There are rumors that the man you’ve got your diamond from was some tech developer. His identity was sealed by court order :( But maybe this will be of use? xx”

Aemond rereads the message, then ponders for a minute. That may explain all the technical malfunctions that he suspects were not accidental. It also gives him an idea.

>>> He orders his security team to look through all the street cameras along the route. Buff guys crash at his office, dragging in every monitor they can find, and strain their eyes to catch anything. Aegon volunteers to help although he mostly spends his time roaming around the room with a bottle of beer, leaving his fingerprints on every glassy surface.

Just as Aemond has hoped, they find the person of interest at the first stop the courier made. Except the video gives them no clue who they are looking at. The men watch as someone — wearing all black, their face covered — quietly sneaks to the truck, opens it and gets in, squirreling through the gap between the back doors. They do that with such ease, Aemond won’t be surprised to see them using a magic wand. The driver spends that time singing along to some rap song blasting in the car.

Aegon notices the strained silence and gets closer, then focuses on the footage. And then he starts cracking with laughter.

“Hey, it’s a woman!” he exclaims. “I know one when I see one!”

All the security guys lean toward the cameras and watch the recording again, following her movements and tilting their heads to the left in unison like some hypnotized owls.

“Well, that does look... like a female body,” one of them mumbles, others humming in agreement, eyes still glued to the screens.

Aemond feels the secondhand embarrassment creeping in and quietly growls, facepalming. He catches Aegon’s gaze, and his brother chuckles, his eyes crinkled.

“Man, you must’ve really fucked up for her to go after you like that,” Aegon whispers with a grin. “Is it bad that I’m kinda rooting for her now?”

Aemond can’t think of a single person who would want to cross him, let alone a woman. He’s not one to fool around or break hearts, and his own stays closed, and no one ever made it flutter. Incomprehension stirs up his thoughts the way a storm does the sea.

“So what’s your plan?” Aegon’s voice brings him back to reality.

“I’ll tell you when I have one,” Aemond sighs. “What I definitely don’t plan on doing is buy another diamond,” he swirls the phone in his hand like he always does when he’s agitated.

Aegon finishes his beer, then looks at the screens again.

“But you still have enough gemstones,” he drawls.

“Enough for what?” Aemond raises a brow at him.

“To get her interest,” his brother smirks. “Don’t you think?”

Aemond lets Aegon’s words sink in until he grasps the meaning behind them, and the suggestion leaves a hint of a smile on his lips. He instantly dials his sister:

“Hel, can you do me a favor? I want to hold an exhibition. It’s gonna be the most expensive one you’ve ever had.”

“Show-off,” Aegon mutters, rolling his eyes.

>>> The gallery is located at the end of the central street, overlooking a small canal with charming tour boats, with blossoming cherry trees planted along the way. Aemond plans everything down to the last detail — every camera’s placement, every guard’s position, he learns all the ins and outs of the building. The day before the event, his nerves are on edge, his mind restless, and he makes an irrational decision to stop by the gallery to take a quick look around. He warps between halls and examines the stands — all while answering countless calls he’s been bombarded with since someone leaked the story of his misfortunes to the press.

He’s looking at the layout of the upper floor, flipping through the pages, his smartphone pressed up against his ear when he rounds the corner — and suddenly crashes into someone. The phone slips out, papers scatter around, and he instinctively puts out a hand, and it rests upon another body, their skin warm against his fingers. He hears a surprised voice:

“Oh, excusez-moi!” and then it gets softer. “Je ne m’attendais pas à ce que tu sois là *.”

When Aemond glances down, he is left speechless.

A woman is looking at him, her parted lips curled up in a light smile, her features gentle, face expression amused. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes, an alluring gleam of mystery he is instantly drawn to solve. She’s only wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, and yet he thinks he’s never seen a sight so pretty. His hand stays on her waist, his thumb sneaked under the white material. He wants to keep it there.

She shamelessly studies his face until her gaze grazes his lips — curiously, intrigued — then she looks up.

“I am horribly clumsy, my apologies,” she finally says, her voice low and dulcet, and hands Aemond his phone and a couple of papers. He completely missed the moment when she somehow managed to catch all that.

“Makes two of us,” he utters, reluctantly removing his palm from the bend of her waistline. The touch of her hand compensates for it — their fingers brush, but it’s fleeting and it leaves him wanting more.

She helps him pick the rest of his papers off the floor, not giving him a chance to protest. She’s nimble and smiley, he is tacit and stunned.

“The preparations for the exhibit seem quite extensive,” she remarks, looking around, standing carelessly close to him but not close enough. “You put in a lot of work,” she casts a glance at him, and Aemond’s cheeks heat up.

“I had a lot of help,” he modestly brushes off the compliment, but his eye never leaves her face, and he doesn’t want to leave, either. There is no explanation for this feeling, for this need, for how flustered and tongue-tied he is.

“I should let you get back to it, then,” she takes a step back, moving out of his reach, and he can’t find a reason to make her stay for a bit longer.

“Do you plan on coming?” Aemond asks, and in any other case, he would’ve found the desperation in his voice to be embarrassing. Right now, he couldn’t care less.

She turns to look at him and holds his gaze for a good few seconds. She isn’t smiling but there’s laughter in her eyes when she says:

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” and then walks out.

His phone buzzes again, a string of unread notifications popping up on the screen. But it’s the girl with a velvety voice that hooks his attention like nothing else. He didn’t think to question what she was doing in the gallery.

>>> The exhibition is a bit too crowded, and Aemond scurries between the halls and watches the gemstones like a hawk, looking out for anyone suspicious. He tries to persuade himself it’s the only reason he peers into the crowd; it’s not. He also can’t help but wait for a certain person, for a very specific face to show up.

But minutes pass by and soon turn into an hour and then into two, and he almost gives up.

He stares blankly at one of the gems — Colombian emerald, a hundred carats of the purest green, — he was ecstatic to get his hands on it, and yet right now it looks dull, and it brings him no joy. He sees a gleam of the same color out of the corner of his eye and disregards it at first, but then he casts his gaze to the side, and his breathing hitches.

She did come, and when he sees her, his heart not only skips a bit but does a full-on salto.

Her dress is brighter than any emerald — the material flows, following every curve of her body, with a coyly slit up to the middle of her thigh. The waves of her hairdo fall to one side, and his eye trails her collarbones, the line of her neck, and moves up to her lips that are blooming red, radiant like rubies. She is so beautiful, all the gemstones pale in comparison, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

She goes straight to Aemond as if there are no other people in the gallery — she maneuvers between them but only looks at him, a familiar smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“It’s safe to say your efforts paid off,” she gestures at the crowd when she’s at arm’s reach. “I think congratulations are in order,” the words flow from her lips like honey.

He blinks a few times, then comes to his senses and finds his voice.

“Thank you,” he musters in response. “I suspect the gems are to blame,” he remarks and tries to put on his usual cold self-restraint. She isn’t having any of it.

“With so many of them, I can’t decide what to look at first,” she comes closer, boldly and unabashed, and he’s enveloped in her perfume, in the warmth of her gaze. He takes the hint.

“I can give you a tour,” he offers, and her smile grows wider. Then her eyes glide over the emerald, and she taps on the protective glass:

“This one seems rather pricey.”

“It was,” Aemond agrees, clasping hands behind his back, very pleased with himself. “Comes from the Muzo mines, a square octagon-cut 100.2-carat emerald.”

“The shape does help to convey the color depth of the stone,” she hums with satisfaction, but her eyes are on Aemond again. Seeing his questioning look, she adds: “The cut of a gem is what determines its value, isn’t it?”

He only manages to nod because her thigh brushes his, and he doesn’t even pretend to pay attention to the gemstone. Neither does she, taking him by the arm:

“So, what’s next on our tour?”

>>> He guides her from one display to the other, and they move further away from the crowd, into smaller halls, less noisy and dimly lit, the gemstones being the only bright spot in each room. She asks questions, and their conversation flows, but he quickly notes that she knows more than she’s letting on.

“You seem well-versed on the topic yourself,” Aemond assumes as they take a stop in front of yet another stand. The yellow diamond on it catches the light and sparkles like a little sun.

“My father held a great appreciation for gemstones of all sorts,” she reveals, with a tinge of sadness in her voice. “I guess I’ve learned a thing or two from him.”

“Are you a collector too?”

She softly laughs, and her gaze turns playful:

“I value the rare beauty of them but... I think I find the buying process more exciting. It’s all about the chase,” she murmurs, leaning into him just a bit.

She’s mesmerizing, she’s a charade, and he’s captivated beyond understanding. But before he can say anything else, a loud noise shatters the silence between them — the fire alarm goes off. А monotone voice on the speaker orders everyone to leave the building.

“That’s odd,” Aemond mumbles, more to himself. He hears people’s voices in the distance and gently takes her by the hand. “We should go too.”

“Maybe it’s a false alarm?” she doesn’t move. “I am sure the security will turn it off in a minute. With how well this place is guarded, you have nothing to worry about, right?”

It dawns on Aemond that he didn’t think once about the safety of the gemstones in the last hour, and it’s just as concerning as the unexpected evacuation. To add to his worry, the overhead lighting goes off.

“We should wait for the emergency generator to kick in,” she suggests, not bothered in the slightest. He should find it weird, but he can only think of how close she is, how the faint light from the display contours her face.

“Um, it will take — ”

“About three minutes,” she finishes up for him. “We just need to find a way to pass the time.”

“I think I’ve told you all there is to know about the collection,” Aemond lightly chuckles. “Unless you got any other ideas?”

“Well, I don’t usually do that but...,” she says quietly, looking up at him as her hand lies on his shoulder, then slowly moves to his neck.

“Do what?” he is caught off guard, he can’t concentrate on anything other than the movement of her palm. “Do you want to —”

“You talk too much,” she interrupts him with a smile, her finger tugging at the collar of his shirt, and then her lips cover his, and the words die down on his tongue, and all the sounds disappear.

Her lips are rubies but they feel like silk, intoxicating like wine, and before he can think it over, he kisses her back, and he can’t think of anything else, and his hands find her waist so easily he wishes to never keep them away. She allows him to lead this time, to set the pace, his fingers tugging her closer, his mouth fervid — and he’s insatiable, and he wants to leave her as breathless as he is. He succeeds in that.

When they part, the light is already on.

“I didn’t mean to take your attention away from your precious stones,” she breathes out.

“I think I got a hold of another one,” Aemond trails for her lips, but she laughs against his mouth.

“I meant actual gems.”

“I can recognize a real gem from a fake one,” he retorts and brushes away a strand of her hair that fell loose.

“Can you?” she throws him a cunning look and bites her lower lip. “Oh, Aemond,” she then gets quiet, almost hesitant, her gaze hinting at something unsaid, something important. “You should’ve let me make the last bid,” she whispers all of a sudden.

He stares at her in confusion, and there’s a ringing concern in the back of his head, a nascent hunch. Simultaneously, another realization kicks in:

“You never told me your name,” Aemond finally grasps.

“And you never told me yours, you just assumed I knew it,” she’s not offended, she is very much enjoying it. “I did,” she traces the contour of his jaw with her index finger.

He’s about to say something else when they hear hurried footsteps approaching.

“Mr. Targaryen, we were hoping you would — Oh,” the guard falls silent upon seeing them. The man reads the room and gets clearly abashed but Aemond doesn’t.

“I would what?” he asks, unfazed, not removing his hand from her waist.

“I just wanted to inform you it was a false alarm, but we are going through the cameras to look for any suspicious activity,” the guard explains, then holds a pause. “Maybe you would want to join us?”

Aemond looks at her, his face expression apologetic, but she doesn’t make an issue out of it.

“You should go,” she encourages. “Make sure that everything is fine.”

He doesn’t want to but he has to, they both know that. What he doesn’t know is why he feels the need to make promises to the woman he’s only met twice.

“It will only be a couple of minutes,” his hand glides down and captures hers.

“Take your time,” her thumb careless his palm, and then she lets him go. He feels her gaze on him on the way out.

>>> Aemond walks through the empty halls and corridors, catching a glimpse of Helaena and Aegon standing outside with all the guests, his brother’s hand draped over her shoulder, both laughing at something. He’s glad that everyone is safe — he is also glad that Aegon won’t get a chance to tease him. Aemond is pretty sure there’s a red hue left on his lips but he only thinks of it when he walks into the security room, and it’s too late to wipe it off.

“Anything caught your attention?” he nonchalantly asks the guards that are watching the security footage.

“Nothing so far,” one of them informs. “The evacuation went without complications, took us about seven minutes — started with the green hall, all according to the plan,” he proudly states. Aemond absentmindedly nods.

“And what was it with the light?”

“Oh, that,” the man frowns. “Something set off the emergency reboot of the system. All our guys were outside, so we sent one of the security men who stayed back at the site to check the generator.”

That string of words bothers Aemond.

“Stayed at the site — you mean, in one of the halls?” he guesses. “Which one was it?”

“The green one, it’s closest to the basement,” the guard tells him without a second thought.

Aemond thinks of the floor plan, then counts the minutes in his head. Then he realizes:

“So the emerald remained unguarded the longest.”

>>> He’s the first one to run out of the room — and the first one to reach the green hall, his heart racing. But, despite his worst fears, the gem is still there. Untouched, big, green, dull.

... Dull.

Aemond watches it silently, and the gears in his head start turning faster. He comes up to the stand, eye fixed on the emerald.

“Take it out,” he asks, his tone commanding. “Now.”

A member of the staff gets the gem from under the glass cover, and Aemond takes the emerald in his hand, then turns his phone’s flashlight on. Under direct light, the jewel radiates a rainbow of colors, bright and iridescent. Just like plain glass. To prove his theory further, he drags the bezel of his platinum watch over the stone’s surface — and it leaves a very evident scratch.

Someone gasps behind his back, and there’s no need to say it out loud. Still, he does:

“It’s fake,” Aemond concludes.

The invited jewelry expert holds a hand to his heart.

“But it’s not possible! Not possible,” he muses. “The cameras were on for the duration of the day, we’ve got the footage right here!”

They were on today, but not the day before, Aemond notes. He drags out all the pieces of information he can think of — coincidences, memories, words:

“The man you’ve got your diamond from was some tech developer,”

“My father held a great appreciation for the gemstones,”

“The preparations seem extensive,”

“It’s all about the chase,”

“You should’ve let me make the last bid,”

— and the puzzle comes together.

“God damn it,” he says under his breath, closing his eye.

And then, while everyone looks clueless, Aemond lets out a laugh. There is no anger in it — if anything, he feels relieved. For him, the chase has gotten quite tiresome. But oh so worth it, he thinks.

“You can put it back and invite everyone in,” Aemond gives the emerald to the expert who seems doubtful.

“But what of its authenticity?”

“Well, just don’t let anyone take it out and put it under a flashlight,” Aemond sneers. Then he turns to the guards: “Can you show me the yellow hall?”

When he sees the place empty, he rushes out without another word.

>>> The sunset spreads over the sky, flooding it with orange and crimson, and Aemond searches for her in the crowd and in the street but to avail at first. His eye roves over the mass of faces, bodies, vehicles passing by — and then falls on the other side of the canal. He recognizes her in a heartbeat.

She changed back into jeans and a t-shirt, with a leather jacket thrown over, a black motorbike parked next to her. The wind ruffles waves of her hair and the hem of her shirt, and Aemond wishes he could sneak his hands under it again. He doesn’t know if she sees him in the side mirror or if she feels his gaze — he hopes it’s the latter — but she turns to him, and their eyes meet.

She flashes him a smile that lits up her whole face and then turns into laughter. Aemond can’t hear her but he remembers the sound of it, and the corners of his mouth tilt up. It feels like there’s no distance separating them, no people, and no channel of water strewn with fallen cherry blossoms. She taps at the pocket of her jacket and points at him — he looks down at his suit and in a second he catches on to what she means. Aemond puts a hand in his pocket and finds a piece of paper inside. It’s small and gently folded, it’s the same cursive he’ll recognize anywhere:

“Didn’t get a chance to tell you last time — you really should invest in a better security system. Makes me wonder how good is the one you have at home. Maybe I should check it out.

Until next time, Y/N.”

When he looks up, she’s already left, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

He doesn’t know if it’s a challenge or a date.

But he can’t wait to see her again. * “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t expect you to be here.”

✧ the original dress in all its glory ✧ “The Lady with the Veil” 💕 another fic where the girl makes the first step 🔞 another fic with a green dress

💚 my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[gothmiqote]

very normal thinking about them & their first progress towards anything in the azim steppe. taking the scenic route back to kugane & getting to know each other better after heavensward, when there were too many frayed threads to really start weaving something together yet. but now there's some time, with the situation in ala mhigo & doma dealt with. it's that bit of respite and pocket of time before the next crisis where they really got their claws into each other. of course, because of personal hang-ups and deep-buried insecurities, nothing was made definitive until after paglth'an, which left them both dwelling on this shared interim for several months, full of mutual regret for not making a move sooner.

[ragnarokhound]

For the au ask game!

OKAY I wanted specifically to get to the pokemon au from the ask you sent, it's been cooking a bit so it's time to see what comes out of the oven, so... @azol-otl ty for the ask!

Crossover au's are all about the fused worldbuilding for me and speculating on how characters from universe A would fit into universe B heehee hoohoo - and for Batfam especially it's fun to think about the equivalent of their roles as vigilantes! What kind of people have the same level of celebrity, the same sideways seeking of justice?

Naturally this leads you to the gym leaders because a) it's the most fun and b) they are like. Quasi-law enforcement/educators/professional athletes depending on how you try to translate the innate child's perspective on the pokemon universe into something that makes sense as an adult lol ilu pokemon. [insert 'compels me though' gif here]

SO with this in mind, here's 5 fun facts (that are mostly backstory lmao) from a jaytim pokemon au I would write

I'm deeply ill about pokemon so this one goes under the cut lol:

Jason Todd used to be the Champion. He won the role after Dick Grayson quit a year or two before (Dick had been getting older and chafing under the League rules - meaning he'd been chafing under how Bruce ran the League) and was a fierce competitor who didn't believe in going easy on anyone. His Houndoom was a force to be reckoned with, and despite running a mostly Dark-type team, his Honchkrow cleaned up anyone thinking their Fighting-types could sweep. He looked after the League and Gotham with a cocky, self-assured attitude and the win record to back it up. .

Jason disappeared suddenly at the age of 15. Many assumed him dead, after a Rocket (Or whatever Gotham themed gang name we want to go with lol could be Team Joker) bombing in the area he'd last been seen, but he's officially declared missing. Bruce Wayne took back the duties of interim Champion as he once did for Dick Grayson, but he's not quite the mentor he once was. It's obvious he's grieving, and that he doesn't want to mentor any more twelve year olds. Dick signed up to be a Gym Leader shortly after this, returning from his trip about a year early to help out in the chaos following Jason's disappearance. .

Enter Tim Drake. Tim's gym challenge wasn't all that interesting in the circuit at first; he had a rocky start and had to retake a few gym challenges. He wasn't exactly sweeping on his first try every time like Jason had done. He didn't have the meteoric rise that caught the Champion's attention early, didn't get one-on-one mentorship or face-to-face meetings, cautionary advice and congratulations all rolled into one from Bruce Wayne himself - but Tim had patience and grit, and he paid attention. He was gunning for the Championship, and it wasn't just so he could prove himself. Team Rocket/Joker was still out there, and Bruce needed all the help he could get. He was always better for Gotham when he had a Robin. .

Dick had been nicknamed Robin for his all-Flying-type team and especially his Natu-then-Xatu; Jason followed up with his Murkrow-then-Honchkrow; Tim's Rookidee was one among many (Robin-esque pokemon were popularized by Dick and the trend remains through Tim's day) so he wasn't considered a possible Robin successor until it was a Corvisquire and he was about to face Dick Grayson himself, a badge away from Victory Road. By then, Tim and his team were a well-oiled machine (he runs mostly Steel-types lol but also Normal-types for the unexpected adaptability and the 'underestimate my rattata i dare you it's in the top peRCENTAGE--' of it all. FEAR.), and his loss-record had all but frozen while his win-record ticked higher and higher. .

Shit finally goes down about three years after Tim has become Champion and all but bullied Bruce into mentoring him (he basically said 'if you don't watch me, i'll go find Team Rocket/Joker on my own' and triggers all of Bruce's child endangerment traumas simultaneously) and the mysterious Rocket/Joker leader Red Hood shows up, bringing the gang out of the shadows in pursuit of a hidden agenda. Identity shenanigans and "wait is that a Houndoom? But he's only been using Ghost-types, it CAN'T be..." and heel-face turns abound. .

(BONUS FACT: Something something, Jason went into deep cover with Looker or whoever he is, that Interpol guy from X & Y (WAIT. LOOKER MIGHT ACTUALLY BE TALIA AL GHUL IN THIS AU HOHOHO), infiltrating the Rocket/Joker gang and going public as Red Hood is the first step in the last phase of the sting. Cue a million tense Jaytim interactions in which Tim is legitimately trying to take Red Hood down and Jason desperately tries to shake him so that he doesn't do anything that forces Jason to blow his cover. There is at least one 'tugged into a tight space to hide them both from the actual bad guys, "wait, did you just HELP me...?" "Think whatever you want, babybird"' interaction because I am a slut for the first sprinkles of a redemption arc that is rife with UST fufufu)

[the-ace-of-fools]

tes ocs (and miraak) brainrot hours yet again

[lavenoon]

Bonnie, the former Agent Jackalope!

The last of the original Glamrocks, with a superficially mellow personality. He’s calm and calculating during missions, and through his polite but approachable attitude fostered a tendency of others underestimating him. 

The only people who know that there’s more to him are his friends - Freddy, Chica, and Foxy. Foxy loves annoying him because it’s the easiest way to get him to snap, and then the petty and snarky Bonnie comes out. Gossips like a house-wife, and pulls no punches. None of those punches are ever serious, he’s petty, not a full on asshole, and Foxy (the most common target due to his habits) laughs at them more than anyone. It’s in good humor, and Bonnie very much enjoys being the entertaining complainer.

He’s still also friendly, it just happens to be the act he has to put on during work most often too. The snark is catharsis, but most of the time he’s happy to sit back and just joke around with his friends. 

When Foxy first started asking questions and directing criticism towards the higher ups, Bonnie didn’t necessarily disagree - but he also did not feel like openly antagonizing his employer. Not when he knows what kind of dirty work he does for said employer, and thus knows that they are not above underhanded techniques to silence threats. So he, like Chica, tried talking Foxy out of his approach, while Freddy was the most vocal in his defense of Fez. 

And then Foxy “died”. 

Bonnie did not believe it - but he questioned himself, too frozen in the realization that his friend is gone. Is he simply stuck in denial, or is there really something fishy going on? He finds no evidence in the building Foxy was last seen in, but he knows Fez cleanup works fast and well. For a long time he doesn’t do much, just running through the same routine trying to make it through every day while doubts gnaw at him. 

But when Roxy comes in, much too soon after Foxy’s death, his suspicions rear their ugly heads again and he starts investigating in earnest. He’s quiet about it, quieter than Foxy. First, he talks to Roxy. Asks her about her age, when she started training, when Fez recruited her - and he does the math. It does not paint a pretty picture. He thanks her, quietly but genuinely, and when he notices how uncomfortable she is about the entire topic, he shoots her just a quick “You did nothing wrong.”

Despite being quiet, his investigation starts drawing management’s attention - and Bonnie sees the writing on the wall. His missions get riskier and more often end in fights and require cleanup. He starts moving his assets out of town. When he gets put in charge of a high stakes mission, teamed up with a newbie (as promising as he is), he’s immediately on edge. It’s not that he doesn’t get along with Monty - but there is tension between them, with Monty’s urge for quick action clashing with his own calculating attitude. Bonnie is the one to suggest a split, and Monty doesn’t disagree - they both feel like they need to cool off.

Bonnie gets ambushed, though he dispatches his assailants with minimal injury. But he realizes this is an opportunity that he won’t get again so quickly, and next time could be too late. There’s already splinters of his outer shell lying about, but he knows Fez will want more evidence of his “demise”. 

His left ear, already damaged, loses its top half, thrown towards the next wall where a few blood splatters already mar the paint. His loose left finger, in the opposite direction. For good measure he rips off the dented plating of his left arm too, where he shielded himself against a heavier blow. Because he knows Monty will be at risk on his own, he sends one last signal through their communicators, before crushing his on the ground, too. 

Now he has to be quick. He carries off the knocked out attackers, only leaving an ambiguous fight scene. 

And then agent Jackalope officially is no more. 

Bonnie keeps tabs on Abra Fez, though he now has to jump through many more hoops. He moves cities, focusing his investigation on his friends. Are they okay, or has Fez hurt them for his insubordination? He doesn’t like hearing about them grieving him, but doesn’t dare reveal himself to them either, remembering Freddy’s vehement protest at the suggestion that Fez does not care for its agents. 

And then Monty joins the Glamrocks, and despite Bonnie not disliking the guy, he hates it. Hates that he was replaced so quickly, hates that his friends will move on without him, hates that he can’t do anything about it until he has solid proof. 

So he stops checking up on the Glamrocks, and digs deeper. Who’s behind the code name “Hare”, leading Abra Fez from the shadows? What really happened to the late head of Fez, the one who recruited Freddy and built the agency from the ground up? When did animatronics become tools, and when did those tools become expendable? 

The answers aren’t pretty. 

And despite everything, he still doesn’t know what happened to Foxy. 

When his savings start running out, Bonnie takes a job at a local bowling alley, and has to relearn how to be social. He’s fumbling a bit more in the casual environment, but finds that the one or other snarky comment isn’t actually considered a faux pas, and then he starts enjoying it. It’s not the same, it’s not his friends who are all living without him, but it’s something, and beggars can’t be choosers. 

He’s boisterous and happy for everyone to see, but he never talks about his past and refuses to actually give out any information about himself. His coworkers appreciate him for his humor and ability to handle even the roughest customers while staying calm himself. When they ask where he learned that, he only ever declares he’s had practice, and nothing else. And then he goes home as soon as his shift is over, with no one knowing his address or even phone number, and never joins in on any after-work hangouts or the like. 

When Bonnie’s off work, and not charging, he continues investigating Fez. He deals with many shady individuals, still getting into the occasional fight when someone has second thoughts about sharing information with him, though he has managed to stay low enough to not draw Fez’ attention again. He makes a name for himself as a private investigator, and while not entirely accurate, it’s not wrong enough for him to tell anyone otherwise. Those gigs are much rarer, but he can be convinced to investigate other people’s matters, too. 

For a few years, that’s his life, and he figures it’s the best he’ll get. 

Though, then… Then Fez makes moves to settle in another city, and Bonnie hears about it. He hears about them being beaten back, and he starts wondering if perhaps he’s gone about things the wrong way, not seeking out allies. 

He prepares for another move. When he quits his job many are devastated, and he acts like it’s a regretful development. But for the first time in all those years, he’s buzzing with anticipation and something more - maybe hope. 

Hope of finally making headway against Fez, hope to finally find a new safety net, hope to perhaps even see his old friends again, and maybe his continued existence together with everything he has already collected on Fez will be enough to convince them to quiet, or at the very least believe him. 

But for once he’s also filled with a lot of anxiety restless energy, knowing that he’s just as likely to be found by Fez as by any agency opposing them, but it’s a risk he willingly takes. Turns out he’s done hiding, and done only playing pretend at being happy and social - he wants friends, his friends, and he wants all those things Fez originally took from him. 

And, well, once he does move, and gets to investigate in town… There are some very unexpected revelations to be had <3