#prompt: can't go home

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Fic #40!!! 🎉

Summary: A Stephen Strange variant finds himself face-to-face with Cassandra Nova. (Gap filler based on the name-drop in Deadpool and Wolverine).

WARNINGS: Major Character Death (mentioned in Deadpool 3), various mentions of past trauma including brief torture, death, depression, suicide attempt, and family issues

Excerpt:

“You are different, you are broken. Hell, all of your variants are broken, and you-” her fingers made contact with his forehead.

It was like a hurricane came over him; waves crashed into his frontal lobe and winds blew his thoughts around into a jumble that made it hard to resist.

Bad things happen bingo: Can't Go Home

Fandom: Doctor Strange, Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)

[inhurtandincomfort]

Hiraeth

@badthingshappenbingo // OC // "Can't Go Home"

CW: Referenced noncon, implied forced prostitution. I'm not sure if that got across, but it is Seasaidh's story so I'll put a warning anyway. Implied character death, in the past of a character who's never been shown.

A/N: Finally, Seasaidh makes an appearance! Written in a few hours in a sudden burst of inspiration, another OC makes her debut! If you haven't read my OC bios, Seasaidh is a selkie. This will make much more sense with that knowledge!

---

Sometimes, she’d swim. 

Cool water would embrace her like a welcome home, running through her fur as she glided effortlessly through the sea with her kinfolk beside her, racing each other, showing off their spins and coats. They’d feed together, snatching fish as they swam past in schools, so many they wouldn’t notice one or two of them missing. She was always a good huntress.

 Her mate wasn’t. Mímhí was too slow, or the fish too crafty, always dodging his snapping jaws. She’d laugh at his cute little pout before diving in to snatch another on his behalf before others see. It was a celebration, when she’d seen him last. They caught lots of fish, for the whole colony, they’d feast before they’d head to shore, shedding their skins to dance in the moonlight. In the peak of winter no humans came by, and they were free to dance and sing for hours, heading back before dawn broke. 

And then she’d wake up. 

“Seasaidh? Seasaidh!” 

She startled, blinking into focus. A muscular woman with swampy-green skin was watching her with a petulant look on her face. Protruding tusks had their tips shaved down to look more delicate. “Bagrak?” “We have work in thirty minutes. You should be getting ready.” 

Seasaidh yawned, stretching her arms with exaggeration narrowly avoiding cuffing the taller woman in the chin. “That’s plenty of time. What do you want?” 

Bagrak looked away, a dark blush colouring her cheeks. “I need help with my dress. I can’t tie it with my hand,” She raised her right hand to prove her point, covered in bandages with her fingers in a splint. Her screams still echoed through the building, from when Madam crushed her bones under her heel. 

“Oh, of course.” Seasaidh immediately rose, Bagrak turning around so she could tie the back. “This is pretty. Is it new?” 

“Yes. I hate it.” Silk clung tightly to her skin, almost set to tear as it was forced to clench around her burly frame. “Madam told me to wear it though, so I can’t complain.” 

Seasaidh hummed, finishing up the ties. Bagrak uttered her thanks, turning back to face her. 

“What of you? Master keep you up all night again?” 

Seasaidh’s lip curled. “Ugh, don’t even say it. Madam’s going to kill me one of these days.” 

“Her fault for running a brothel with such a lech.” Bragrok glanced at the clock. “You really should get ready, or they really will be pissed.” “Alright, alright. Get out of here,” She made a shooing motion towards her retreating back as the door closed behind her. She sighed heavily, stretching out once more feeling her bones pop. She went into her bathroom, slipping off her comfy nightclothes to gently rub a wet washcloth down her skin. She closed her eyes, both relishing and loathing the sensation of water dripping down her human skin. She walked naked back into her bedroom, pointedly ignoring all the fur in her closet, selecting a low-cut cerulean gown that hugged her curves, showing off her figure. Satin fabric was pleasant on her skin. She might have liked the outfit, under different circumstances. 

She brushed out her long, black hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. She tried not to look as she clasped strings of pearls around her neck, a painful reminder of what she’d lost.

Her sister would love these. If she threw them into the ocean, would they find her? Would she understand the apology, a final message from a sibling who was never coming home? 

Had they mourned for her? Did they still look to the shore every day, waiting for their friend, sister, daughter to return? Or had they pushed her out of their minds, banished her for her sins? If she ever returned, would she be welcomed back with open arms, or turned away to wander a foreign land till the end of her days?

Not a day went by that she didn’t yearn. The sea was her life, a part of her as much as her flesh and blood. Every waking hour she ached, a strong pull urging her back to the sea, back to where she belonged. When the sea sings, She calls her name, crying out for Her lost daughter, calling for her to come home. She who was never meant to be inland for so long. She, who had fallen for that man’s honeyed lies. A handsome face, a charming smile, a shower of gifts all built to hide the devil inside. 

She had thought, at some point, that maybe she could learn to love him. Maybe if she loved him, he would let her visit her sea. Yes, he hid her skin, but outside of that he was kind. He was loving. He was gentle. 

He was a murderer, and he was a thief.

She bit her cheek hard, blinking back tears. No. She mustn’t think of this, not now. Mímhí’s face flashed in her mind, dark eyes shining brightly, big dumb grin as they clumsily danced under the moon hand in hand. 

I’m so sorry, Mímhí. 

She took a deep breath, looking to the ceiling as she dried her eyes. It was almost time. 

She pinched her cheeks until they flushed pink, looking herself over one last time before she set out. She could never go home. The ache in her heart would never fade, the burden of her choices will follow her to her grave. She’d already mourned. She would mourn again. 

But she still had a life. A life she’d never envisioned. A life of cruelty, away from everything she’d ever loved. But she had a life where others did not, and she’d be damned if she was going to let it get away from her. 

She plastered on a smile, swaying her hips as she went to meet her customers. No matter what, she'd find a way to live through this.

[dftea]

The world of two

@badthingshappenbingo: Can't Go Home

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - Julian Bashir/Elim Garak

Sequel to Broken wings by @k1ttys-w0nd3r74nd

Garak discovers who has the greater claim on him: Cardassia, Bajor, or Julian Bashir.

[read on ao3]

[lazinesswrites]

Prompt 10: “It’s alright, I’m here now.”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Rating: Teen

Warnings: No archive warnings apply, near-death experience, starvation, open ending (it ends well in my mind though)

Excerpt: They should’ve brought Impact along, but they hadn’t expected to find anyone, alive or dead; hadn’t thought they’d need a medic, and so Rex hadn’t wanted to bring him away from the base, and the few wounded he’s treating there. “Shh, it’s alright, Crosshair,” Rex soothes when he sees Crosshair’s brow furrow just slightly. He must be at least somewhat conscious then. Enough to hear what’s happening around him, if not enough to understand or fully react to it. “It’s alright, I’m here now.”

[deadstarsrisingsblog]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: Make a new post and post the latest line in your WIP & tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

Thanks for the tag @alamogirl80 😊💜 (also still screaming about YOUR last line. I'M SO HYPE)

The hangar quiets, the swooping ache in his chest stills, and Caleb opens his eyes just as the clone Commander tips his head down to meet him, his helmet in his hands and his eyes dark and curious. 

No pressure tags: uhhhhh deadass anyone who sees this and writes? Idk anymore but please tag me if you do! 👀👀👀

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny is stuck in the DC Universe against his will. He is trying to build a Ghost Portal to try and get back home, but he needs to steal a bunch from the different High-Tech Companies in the DC Universe

So now Wayne-Tech, Lex-Corp, Palmer Industries, Star Labs, and everything else you can think of has been robbed by a Meta-Human Theif who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly

Eventually, Danny gets all the parts he needs for the Portal and starts to build it in some forest outside of Gotham.

At the same time, Constantine reports to the League that the small traces of magical green goo they found at each crime scene was Ectoplasm. Basically Death Energy in Liquid Form from a Dimension called the Infinite Realms. They figure out that all the parts put together could be used to build a Portal, and the Ectoplasm makes them suspect that he is trying to open a Portal the the Infinite Realms

Constantine says that the Ectoplasm has energy readings that suggest it is from the High King, but it is mixed in with a bunch of Human DNA. He suspects that Danny is a Thrall of Pariah Dark, created so he could open a Portal the the Infinite Realms and pave the way for his Invasion of their Dimension.

They find a way to track down the Portal, right when Danny is about to open it.

A final battle ensues as Danny desperately tries to defend his Portal, while the computer reads out the Countdown to the Portal Opening. When the timer reaches 1, Batman finds a Bomb near the Portal Opening and throws it into the tunnel, destroying the entire Portal in one go.

They all stand back, watching as Danny stops and collapses in front of the destroyed Portal. Constantine warns them to be careful, Pariah Dark is a being of pure hatred, and once they piss off his Thrall he will attack them with all his angered might. "This bloke is about to explode. Once he realizes what he's looking at, he's gonna-"

But he is cut off when they hear drops of water hiting the ground, coming from the direction of the Portal. Danny is silently crying, looking at all his hard work go to up in flames.

They are all stunned. Constantine warned them that the Thralls of Pariah Dark were incapable of any emotion other than Anger, that they were completely sadistic monsters who took pleasure in ripping Mortals apart piece by piece. But this wasn't anything like that.

This was a Child, crying on his knees while staring at his Portal he had worked so hard to build.

"Why?" He asks.

"You were going to open a Portal to the Infinite Realms. We know you are a Thrall of Pariah Dark, you would have let his army through to our dimension."

"But Pariah Dark is dead."

"If he was dead, then why did we find traces of the King's energy in your Ectoplasm?"

"I'm beat him a few months ago. I'm the new king."

"Wait, so why were you trying to open the Portal?"

"I just wanted to see my family again. It wasn't even going to be open for long, I had a bomb ready to destroy it behind me..."

The Justice League realizes they all fucked up.

[skylersprompts]

DC x DP Prompt *6*

The entire Bat-Clan was on their way back from a mission abroad. Batman was the one in command of the Bat-Plane, while the kids tended to their wounds or were asleep. (Tim may have slept only 3 hours this entire week and Bruce would probably have to carry him to bed, as soon as they would be home.) Alfred knew that the family was on their way and was probably already cooking up a feast. Soon they could all rest.

At least that was the plan.

Before the Bat could even register what was happening, a swirling green Portal opened in front of the plane. Every system was screeching, while his kids all got ready for a fight.

He couldn't do anything to stop them from making contact and just two seconds after the green mass appeared the plane collided with it.

But on the other side was just more green. And some floating, purple doors.

Bruce immediately turned the plane around, but he was just greeted with the exact same few, without a portal.

And one look on the scans showed that they weren't in any to the Justice League known dimension.

They drifted through the strange world, sometimes seeing floating islands among the green abyss. While they all stayed vigilant, they also started to theorize.

The only one not participating was Jason, who had the strange feeling of a Deja Vu.

The green seemed to go on forever, at least until another green vortex opened in front of them and they incident repeated itself.

And for a split second they all thought that they are back in their world, but the navigation system seemed to be unable to provide them with any information on how to get home or on the place they landed in.

The Batman grunted in a way that all his children knew.

It was the grunt he made, when he wasn't able to say 'fuck'.

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #19: A poem recounting a historical event

To a Man Commenting Upon Lincoln's Homely Features

Abraham Lincoln knew quite well He had never been beauty-graced. When Douglas met him in debate And told him he was quite two-faced, Old Lincoln made a quick reply With his usual sense of fun: "If I'd another face to wear, Do you think I would wear this one?"

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Meddling Mar

A warning this chapter for a mention of Dark Warrior Program related violence (because Praxis is just. The worst.) It will be in italics for those who wish to skip it.

Click HERE to go to the chapter index for this fic

(From last time:)

The king studied him for an uncomfortable moment, then his lips twisted at the corner into a smirk.

"You let me fix that haircut you gave yourself, and I'll call it even."

Jak did not appreciate Daxter's howl of laughter. Or Mar agreeing on his behalf.

Nonetheless, he had nothing to trade, and so he grudgingly agreed to let this bizarre ruler fix his hair the following day. Thankfully, Damas didn’t comment on how absolutely abysmal Jak’s handiwork really was. Instead, he just asked questions about preferred length, and what he wanted his hairline to look like.

"What do you mean hairline? I mean, doesn't it just kind of look like that normally?" Jak asked, a little bewildered.

Damas muttered something under his breath, but his expression was kind when Jak turned around.

"You have options, you know. Look at your brother’s hair. We could do it like that, or you could do a fade-"

"A what?"

"...alright, we're starting at square one, then." Damas stood up. "It's a tapered cut, essentially shaved on the sides and "fading" into the rest of the hair. Give me a minute, I think we're going to need the comb my wife uses."

"You're married?!" Mar demanded with an incredulous expression.

"Yes?" Damas raised an eyebrow. "Am I not allowed to be?"

"Well where is she, then?"

The king pointed to the window in the ward, towards the ocean.

"Fishing. She spends two days a week at sea overnight, barring storms."

"Oh. Like Ollie."

Damas didn't know who Ollie was supposed to be, but the name obviously meant something to the older boys. (Older boys: plural. That was going to take some getting used to, trying to remember that the orange mustelid looking thing was evidently a teenage boy with a very unusual condition.)

"What's she like?" Daxter asked, tiptoeing as if he could see her through the window, "Is she hot?"

He quailed under a stern look from Damas.

"She is to be respected. And while I will settle for a verbal warning for a first time, -- considering you have likely not been subjected to particularly reputable influences in Haven -- she is within her rights not to."

Daxter flattened himself against the bed, ears pinned back against his skull. He mimed zipping his lips closed and covered his mouth with both hands. Jak rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Disreputable influences, huh," he snorted. "That would be "loudmouth KG on every street corner and hour shift" in our case."

"And Torn," Mar chipped in.

There was something unusually bitter about the way Jak answered, "Sure. Torn too."

After an awkward few seconds, Jak added, "You can do the fading thing I guess. I don't care either way."

"You should," Damas grumbled, "Didn't anyone ever teach you how to take care of yourself?"

"Nnnnope."

The boy didn’t sound nearly as concerned about that as he should have.

"Ye gods and little fishes," Damas muttered under his breath.

He needed to come up with some kind of guardian, and soon. If he let these three attempt to survive on their own, his wife would skin him alive.

"Alright then. Fade it is. You make sure that razor is sharpened -- run it on the leather strop. Yes, like that -- I'm getting the comb."

It was a calculated move on his part, leaving Jak with a sharp object. It was a gesture of trust -- or more of a leap of faith. Giving Jak the sense that no one objected to him being able to protect himself, while also showing him vulnerability. If the kid was inclined, he could very well try to slit Damas’s throat. Of course, he hoped Jak wouldn't do that. It wouldn't end well for anyone involved. But maybe he'd find the gesture comforting.

Damas dug around upstairs through his wife's cluttered washroom. As sparse as it was, he was amazed by how much junk Phobos managed to drag in. It was always "I'm gonna make something out of that", but then she hopped from project to project as time allowed, leaving half finished blades and combs and cups all over every available surface -- and even some unavailable surfaces.

By the time he'd actually found the comb, Damas had accidentally knocked over a box of shells in the process of being ground up into paint, dislodged a sketch hanging over the mirror, and gotten pigment dust all over the right side of his head when he'd stood up too quickly and knocked his head on a shelf.

His attempts to hide the evidence were mostly successful, but not enough to keep the little Not-Mar from noticing a streak of gold on his cheekbone and hair. He let out a delighted shriek of laughter and pointed, so of course Jak and Daxter turned and stared too.

Ah, the judgement of teenagers. Just what everyone needs.

"Phobos booby-traps her bathroom, I swear," Damas sighed. "At least there were no snapping turtles in the sink this time."

"This time?!" Daxter echoed, alarmed. He fell back onto Mar's pillow. "Eesh. Jak used to do that too, til we got the dog."

Mar stiffened in something akin to panic. "Chopper! Where's Chopper? Did they take her too?"

"Calm down, squirt." Daxter patted Mar's knee. "I left her with Tess. She's gonna be fat and spoiled when we get her back, but Tess won't let anyone hurt her."

Mar relaxed. "Oh. I remember her, she's good."

Daxter grinned. "See? I know what I'm talkin' about." He elbowed their little brother. "Hey hey, maybe Spike King should put some of that glitter on Jak, since he's already having a spa day, huh?"

"Shut up, Dax," Jak huffed.

Jak would never have expected a haircut to be soothing -- embarrassingly.

Nobody was yanking through his tangles, complaining loudly about how "unmanageable" it was. No one was sloshing burning plant extracts into his hair, untwisting his coils into stiff, "good" hair. And somehow, Jak wasn't afraid.

The Baron’s prison had never bothered to cut their victims' hair; they hosed prisoners off to avoid vermin and wash away blood and that was the extent of it. But the Baron still had a habit of yanking prisoners around by the head on his few "inspections".

Especially Jak.

The worst had been a moment when they'd thrown him into the blood-soaked "training course", with the few other surviving members of the experiment. When Jak had refused to salute the Baron. A day when he'd been brave enough to spit in Praxis's face. Enraged, the Baron had hauled him bodily from the ground, hard enough to rip a couple of hairs from his head. He'd flung Jak headlong into the half-cover brick wall for his insolence. It had knocked out one of his canines on impact.

He still hadn't saluted.

Jak was glad they'd never figured out that his first dark transformation had completely regrown his missing tooth. He had absolutely no doubt that the experiments would've taken horrifying new turns if they'd learned about the regeneration. Jak's muscles twitched in a suppressed shudder.

Less than a second later, Damas quickly withdrew his hand.

"What is it?" he asked, "Did I hurt you?"

How had he known that had been a reaction? Even Daxter had trouble telling what was a fear reaction and what was just a spasm.

"Muscle spasm," Jak lied, "Sorry. It happens sometimes."

"....uh-huh."

Damas didn’t sound like he was completely convinced, but he didn't say anything more about it. He rinsed his comb in a bowl of water and continued easing through Jak's hair, gathering it up with a clip on the top of his head. Once or twice he sat back and made thoughtful humming sounds.

"Well, young man, now we find out how well you sharpened that razor." Damas held a hand out, just waiting.

Jak held his breath.

And handed him the blade.

"Well done. I'll be quick," Damas murmured. He trimmed and shaved in careful motions, pausing whenever the castaway tensed up. "This won't take as long as your brother’s hair did-"

Then he whispered, "-and clearly I won't have to bribe you to sit still like I had to with him."

After pausing to imagine the strange king trying to comb a squirming, thrashing Mar's hair, Jak scoffed and grinned.

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

They descended into silence, and Mar lost interest after a minute or two. He slid off his bed and began boldly rifling through Damas’s bag before the man reached back and caught his wrist.

"Excuse you!" Damas scolded, "What do you think you're doing?"

Mar shrugged. "Looking for the peg game."

"So ask, barbarian!" Damas gently pushed Mar away. "Pick a pocket like that in the city and you'll bring more trouble down on your head than it's worth. No more of that, understand?"

The little boy scowled. "Your hands were busy! Asking makes people mad at you for bothering them, anyway. What are you scolding me for?"

Wolves. They were raised by wolves. For a moment, Damas felt like he was dealing with one of Mar’s tantrums.

He stared at the little boy incredulously and leaned forward.

"Ask. First. We aren't mind readers. And this isn’t Haven."

Mar's frown deepened. "Fine. Can I have the peg game?"

"I didn't bring it today," Damas answered, "But you may get the green canvas bag out and play Pathway if you like."

"That one's hard!" Mar complained with a frustrated grunt. Nonetheless, he pulled out the bag and undid the drawstring to unfold it into a game board.

Jak raised his brows and studied the nondescript grid on the mat. "How does this work?"

Daxter shuffled a stack of battered cardboard squares with lines on them and separated them from several tiny figures.

"You start at a corner and put down tiles to make a road. Can't cross another line or go off the board or you're out."

"You have to trap other travelers in loops or send them off the mat," Mar added.

He pouted.

"Daxter always wins."

This, Jak was shortly to discover, was not an exaggeration. At their warden/potential new boss person's encouragement, Jak picked up a token and joined the game, only to find himself cornered within three turns. Daxter wasn't even that good at the game; Jak and Mar were simply too impulsive to consider strategy on something that wasn't life or death. (And even when things were life or death, they were still reckless.) Now and then Damas made an observation or suggestion, but for the most part he focused on Jak’s hair.

After getting his token run off the board for the seventh time, Jak was getting frustrated. Still, he was too stubborn to admit defeat -- especially in front of someone he was probably going to end up working for. (It was the only way he could think of to pay off whatever their medical care had cost, anyway.)

He was about to demand another rematch when he heard the razor drop into the bowl with a soft splash.

Damas thumped him on the shoulder in a kind of rough, playful gesture and stood to shake hair clippings onto the floor. There was more of it than Jak had expected.

"You're done. Look in this and tell me what you think."

He handed Jak a small, scratched mirror, no bigger than his fist.

Jak stared into the glass and a stranger stared back at him.

The face in the mirror looked softer, rounder. More like Mar than he'd ever believed possible. He was still pale, but it almost looked like the dark circles under his eyes were fading away.

With one finger, Jak traced the sharp, neat, line delineating his forehead from his hair. It would take some getting used to. But he liked how the sides of his head looked.

"Oh," he said softly.

"Oh?" Damas repeated, "Is that good or bad?"

"Good, I think." Jak ran his fingertips through gold coils -- the green was starkly obvious at his temples now -- and idly twisted a longer strand around one finger. "I look..."

I look like someone cares about stuff like my hair. Never had that before.

"It's new," he settled on.

"Better than before, at least," the king said. He shook the last stray hairs from his tunic.

Someone cleared their throat from behind them, and both Jak and Damas turned to find one of the monks a few feet away at the door. She looked faintly perturbed by something -- Jak wondered if seeing a king doing menial tasks was normal or not here -- but waited to be acknowledged. Immediately, Damas gathered up the comb and razor and left their alcove.

"Strip your bedding after the noon rest," he ordered, a little distractedly, "You'll be moving to Alma's building tonight, so your beds need to be ready for new patients."

Then he hurried to the corridor to speak with the monk.

"Ruth, yes? What is it?"

The woman glanced over his shoulder at the boys, and the lines around her mouth deepened. "Word from the medical records keepers, sire."

She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, clearly uncomfortable. "It's about the young exiles."

Damas ignored the foreboding whisper in the back of his mind and held his customary facade of stoic thoughtfulness. "Already? I was under the impression that the cheek swabs wouldn't yield results for another two weeks."

A muscle twitched in Ruth's ghostly white cheek. "Tam sent me to inform you that their gene samples are causing some trouble in the system. He requires four extra days to ensure that there has been no contamination of the samples during transfer. In the meantime, he had a question regarding the childrens' fingerprint records. There is an anomaly we are unable to account for, despite it being completely impossible."

"What kind of anomaly?"

Despite the heat of the afternoon, Damas felt a chill across the back of his neck when the monk answered him.

"The younger boy's fingerprints are fully identical to the elder one's, down to the last line. In all ways save the size, they are the prints of the same person."

[daughterofhecata]

Got my writing session yesterday cut short by a visual migraine that got to the point where I couldn't see the keyboard anymore, and now the damn thing is *back* and idk yet if I'll be able to write later -.-

[youremyonlyhope]

why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up

[sculpture-in-a-period-drama]

I've decided that Amias will have a cat with a rather fancy human name, complete with his surname. For the sole reason that it would be hilarious for his colleagues to think he has a wife/daughter whenever he refers to his cat

[tiny-space-platypus]

God knows I don't know how to write the Lanterns but I still want to write this so I'm trying

Danny's tired. Danny is so fucking tired. He's tired of being hunted, tired of being king, tired of his responsibilities that no one understands, he's tired of being looked down on, he's tired of watching his friends and family change while he can't. He's tired of being 14 but the dead don't change. Even though he's just a halfa, even though he's still half human, even though he's still half alive he doesn't change or maybe he just changes extremely slowly. . .

His friends have all grown up, all left him to deal with the GIW and ghost alone. He doesn't blame them, he did tell them to do so. His parents think he's run away a long time ago, his sister calms every once and a while but now it all just feels too much. So after another day of being hunted, of being attacked for just existing Danny makes a decision. He's going to disappear and hide away and not come out. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

He makes himself a home in a deep cave within the earth. A nice dark and warm spot to sleep.

The next time Danny woke up his cave was green. That was weird. He got up slowly to see people in his cave. WHAT PEOPLE- GIW- attack, attack, attack.

Danny immediately made ice shoot at the fools who came to disturb his sleep. He growled at them as they blocked with some sort of green force fields. Ecto-tech? No this felt different, this felt confident? Edible? Whatever it made it made his crown and ring react hungrily.

----------------------------------------------------------

The lanterns at first thought they had found a dead child. A boy buried deep underground wearing the very deep red rage ring and something else on his head. There was no heart beat, there was no breathing, the boy was dead. Then they got closer and the boy got up, he yawned then looked at them and panicked? Why did this child look so panicked? Did the child think they were going to harm him? Hal thought kids liked the green lanterns, they did every everything they could to seem as non threatening as possible. Why was this one so scared?

The boy hissed at them "GIW just doesn't know when to quite do they?" Then began to attack them with ice and rage and pain. Then after a minute or two after the kid blinked away the rest of his sleep and took a closer look at them. The kid stopped. Only staring at them unblinking. "Those rings, what are they?"

Hal responded a bit confused and concerned, has this child been down here so long that he's never seen a lantern. "We're the green Lantern Corp. We're here to protect sentient life" The boy snapped at that speaking almost bitterly. "Let me guess, I don't count as sentient then? Your kind love to throw that around." The boy glared at him with bright angry green eyes as his ring glowed and pulsed red. "Let me guess, you're here to try and drag me back to that ancient's forbidden Lab? Here to tell me I'm not sentient again to yourself feel better when you-"

"No! No, we're not here for that! What are you- Kid-" Hal and the other lanterns who came with Hal believing this mission was going to be a rough and awful fight looked dumbfounded and horrified. "We're just here because of your ring- it's dangerous."

The kid looked at the lanterns suspiciously. "What do you know about my ring?" Hal was still processing what the kids had said earlier. "Well it's a red lantern-" The kid cut in. "Wrong. It's more powerful than that." The kid went back to sit on his bed of smooth rock as he studied them, studied their horror and their emotions. No aggression, no dishonesty.

Hal tried to say something but didn't know what to say for a second. He paused before speaking softly, the kid seemed mostly reasonable aside from being so closed off but he couldn't blame him if what he said earlier was true. "Why don't you come with us? This cave can't be too-"

The kid interjected. "There's nothing good up there. I'd rather just go back to sleep" Hal frowned at that. "Nothing huh? How about space then?" That seemed to peak the kid's interest. "Like space space, like going to see the stars and stuff?" Hal chuckled as he watched this kid open up a bit and the ring cool down. Maybe he really was just a kid. "Yeah like space space. Do you like space?" The boy hopped up and began to project different constellations and stars and planet systems from his arms explaining them in far more detail than any of them expected. The kid rambled for probably a half hour before catching himself and flustering. "Sorry- I um I know a lot about space. It comes with the territory of what I am" he laughed awkwardly. He then looked at them hesitantly again. "You mean it though right? I can see space and not a lab?"

"Yeah, we'll take you to space. While we're heading there, do you mind explaining what you mean?" Hal answered back with a smile though he did notice the ring disappear. Hm, maybe that was why they couldn't get a reading on it for so long. The kid paused for a second then got up and stood by Hal. "My name's Danny." Hal smirked, "Cool, my name's Hal. Nice to meet you, kid."

And with that Hal and the other lanterns took Danny with them up into space. Up past the stars as he spoke in depth of each star and planet like it was natural to know. The kid lighting up with everything they pasted. Like he was finally in his element.

Danny was in his element. He was the ancient of space after all. He knew all about this. He wished he knew of the lanterns before, if he did we would have gone there instead of a cave. Maybe.. He could build a new home with them. Maybe he could help them protect space and life as well as keeping tabs on the dead. Maybe he could finally live his life.

There's a very, very, important ring the lanterns have to locate and seal. After centuries of absence, they briefly find it's presence somewhere on earth. They're fully expecting the destruction that comes with it (via whoever has it not giving it up)

Danny, who ran away from the GIW, now jaded and left with no sense of hope for humanity, doesn't get why he feels like he's being somewhat spied on.

((He learns to love again and gets adopted in the process))

[hisromance]

tag dump.

[xavieremix]

okay so the tags on that last post got me feeling those melon collies so i'm just gonna. tagdump in here. slightly sensitive topics? so uh. scroll down (or press J to jump to next post). or read my thoughts like the morning paper. sorry. cheers.

[frogeyedape]

Mmmm....ironic mimicry may be perceived as plain opinion by someone not in the know that it's irony--that doesn't mean ironic mimicry is always and universally equivalent to "ironic" genuine opinions. It does bear thinking about whether speaking plainly/without irony might be warranted in various situations such as in the presence of people who you don't know well and who don't know you well (it being somewhat easier to weed out "jokes" from frustrated mockery of the opposition when you know someone well)

"reject modernity embrace tradition" isn't even a dogwhistle it's literally just saying regressive ideology directly. how does anyone not get this