#the shenanigans continue

[rosetta-j-stone]

Jere posting more BoJere vacation content like

[thelightningstreak]

Chapter 16 for Trigun Fic, Love and Violence

Available on AO3: Start from Chapter 1 | Go to Newest Chapter

Summary: A town of humans accidentally rehabilitate a floundering, injured Knives after his deadly battle with Vash. Canon divergent gen fic.

Rated: T

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

I've been trying to think of some comment to make about the whole "Gavlebocken eaten by birds" thing, but honestly its just such a true, aggressive level of ~Seasonal God Bullshit~ that I don't know what to say

[incinerated-vestiges]

this meme but them

[merchantziro]

DP x DC Writing Prompt: Justice League's Totally Real Redemption Program

It has been a few months now since Vlad became a member of the Justice League.

...Alright rewind, it started after he instinctively used his powers a bit in human form during one of the Wayne's Galas. It was subtle but Masters moved someone out of the way and they "barely" avoided it (no thanks to a hint of intangibility of course) if only to continue talking business with them or coursem

Of course he should have known being technically a Metahuman in Gotham would get him on the Bat's radar. It was only a matter of time before the big bad bat himself burst into his office.

But... It happened while he was asleep and only left a business card to contact the Justice League??? They apparently wanted to recruit him???

Vlad was unsure but based on them being friendly they seemed to act like they were trying some bizarre rehabilitation program? Like they're trying to make villains into heroes by treating them well having them use their powers or skills for their side? Well based on his data on the Flashes, they seem to treat their Rogues well... Probably his idea.

Weird that they chose him first instead of one of their own rogues, but Vlad went along with it. Writing it off Danny was also being recruited by the Justice League and he suggested using him as a Guinea Pig first? Honestly he wouldn't put it past the boy.

Over time though Vlad began to see the positive effects he was having as the heroes seemed to look happy he was learning good with proud stares. It felt.... Refreshing to use his powers for good, something he remembers his past self had mocked Daniel for when they met.

...Speaking of Phantom, where was he anyway? It's been a while since he pestered Vlad?

------

Batman, on a rare occasion like this, was happy all things considered. Constantine was right about the rumors regarding a Halfa helping people and ghosts alike. A hero in his own right.

He didn't expect to find Vladimir Masters as the one he was looking for, and by chance when he saved someone with a subtle use of powers. At first suspecting Metahuman abilities he was keeping under wraps, but Constantine came by not long after asking about the feeling of the "Infinite Realms" in the area. Once he was told about ghosts, it didn't take long to find a connection back to Vlad.

After some digging they found according to legends he has been seen across history having fought what was believed to have been another like him... The only other Halfa and one appeared evil to the bone.

Batman hadn't pressed Plasmius about his past but he did make a list of the rogues in Amity Park, a town protected by the Halfa.

Including the suspected evil Halfa, he was easy enough to track down as hiding as a ghost hunter's own son and seal away into a little artifact for now. One less threat to deal with...

Even if he recognizes not all ghosts are evil, some do not deserve second chances for their crimes.

------

(Or... Justice League fucks up a teeny bit in research and recruitment, so through misunderstandings they believe Plasmius was the hero and Phantom was the villain based on past stories of their appearances and legends passed through the Ghost Zone to other mythical creatures but the story and detail become warped and faded as centuries past by.)

Meanwhile Vlad thinks this is some weird rehabilitation project and seems to be working for him as he feels good about doing good. Danny in turn may not be stuck in absolute suffering but isn't exactly having a good time due to being mistaken for the bad guy and now currently sealed away.)

[starmocha]

So it turns out if you make Sylus say "my bride" in

Three

Different

Fanfics

In a row, you manifest an engagement 🤓

Do not question my clown logic the evidences are evidencing 🤡

[hughmanbean]

Space Lady

When Bruce gets lost in time he sees a common sight between each jump.

A woman in a dress of nebulae, stars studded around her neck, hair a soft silver.

He asks who she is, and she does nothing.

He asks who she is, and she smiles mischievously.

He asks what she's doing. "Watching" is all he gets.

He asks what the purpose of this is, and she looks at him like he's stupid.

He tries to move around, but seems to loop back around. She looks amused at his attempts.

After Vanishing Point, during his last jump, he asks her if she knew what was going to happen.

"Aren't you the world's greatest detective? I'm sure if you put your mind to it, you'll figure it out. Now off you go."

---

It's been 2 years since Damian had been dropped into the family. Even after, Bruce felt like he was being watched sometimes.

He gets a visitor at the door, and standing there is the Lady.

"How have you been, Bruce? Doing well I hope. Be a dear and let me in, would you?"

[mediumgayitalian]

“Piper?”

“Here.”

“Damien?”

“Here.”

“Clovis?”

No answer. Nico reaches over and pokes him, hard, and the son of Hypnos startles awake long enough to manage a garbled, “Present!” before nodding off again. At Chiron’s nodded permission, Connor procures an airhorn from what appears to be thin air, grins, and blares it right next to Clovis’ face. He shrieks, flailing off the chair, and would have slammed his face in the ground if Nico hadn’t caught him by the back of the shirt.

“Thanks, man,” he says, yawning.

Nico hauls him back upright, patting him on the shoulder. “No problem. I’m gonna let you fall next time.”

Clovis eyes him warily, shifting at Nico’s too-wide, sharklike grin.

“Noted,” he mutters, sitting straight to try and stay awake. “Jerk.”

Nico pats him on the shoulder again. “There, there.”

Chiron continues with the attendance.

“Butch?”

“Here.”

“Miranda?”

“Yep.”

“And…” Chiron sighs, peering through his reading glasses. “Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…” He glances down at his clipboard, slowly tapping his pen on the edge of it. “Where is Will?”

A groan ripples through the gathered campers.

“Just start without him!” someone shouts, sinking into their chair.

“He always takes forever!” another person agrees.

“Almost like he’s busy running the infirmary that keeps us all alive,” Lou Ellen says drily, but her one vote of confidence is drowned out by several dozen other voices, all complaining.

Before Chiron has to deal with too much of a coup d’état, the rec room door creaks open, and Will comes strolling in after it, ignoring the heaps of boos and launched ping-pong balls at his tardiness. The beam of sunlight from the one dusty window seems, suddenly, to become a great deal stronger, highlighting the blonde of Will’s hair and strengthening the gleam of his easy grin.

“Perforated artery,” he explains cheerfully, settling down in the one empty chair. “Rogue Ares cabin mine went off. Had to do emergency surgery.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth does he kick off his flip-flops, curl up in the rickety wooden chair, place his head on the nearest shoulder — Pollux, this time, who rolls his eyes affectionately and shifts to be more comfortable — and immediately starts snoring.

“Well,” says Chiron after a moment. “Let’s begin.”

“Wait,” Clovis complains, “how come he gets to sleep?”

Instead of answering, because there is no delicate way to say because he’s my favourite and I am a giant hypocrite, the centaur moves on. He gracefully avoids the various mutterings and calls for mutiny, instead running through the usual cabin check-ins at the speed of light to delve into the more interesting — and therefore distracting — things, such as Personal Grievances. This portion of monthly head counsellor meetings is Nico’s favourite, because he gets to sit back, be silent, and watch a bunch of teenagers yell at each other for his own personal amusement. On especially great days, he communicates with Connor through a series of complicated hand gestures to coordinate betting pools. Today, he is up seventy-two dollars. (Did he throw the pool by betting against himself and then inventing a fight with Chiara? Yeah. Did he cut her a deal for halfsies beforehand, making this technically fraud on two counts? Yeah. Can anyone prove it? Absolutely not. Suck on that, Stoll. You wanna be beat at your own game any day of the week? Nico’ll beat you at your own game any day of the week.)

As he’s accepting three dollars from a huffy Nysa (obviously the physical altercation count was going to reach six, c’mon, doesn’t she pay attention to these things), a hoof stamping the ground makes Nico jump.

“Boys,” Chiron says tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s quite enough.”

Both campers immediately burst into louder arguments, continuing to flail and smack at each other as their voices get more and more raised and illegible.

“Boys!” Chiron stamps his hoof again. This time, they fall silent, staring at the old centaur with flushed, guilty faces. “Sherman, get Malcom out of that headlock. Malcolm, we are not building a pig pen in the dining pavilion so the Ares cabin can ‘eat in an environment more suited to their mannerisms’.” He pauses, nodding in acknowledgement. “As funny as that was, it was entirely inappropriate to say. Apologise at once.”

“My throat is too bruised to do so,” Malcom grumbles.

“My throat is too bruised to do so,” Sherman repeats, mockingly. “Gods, it’s like you’re asking for me to jump you.” At the immediate catcalls and jeers that follow, he reddens, hastily shouting, “Like mug! Jump like mug him, guys, like beat him up! Shut up! Shut up, or I swear I’ll —”

“Sit down, boys,” Chiron says, banging his hoof again. “For Hera’s sake. It’s like you want to embarrass yourselves further.”

Nico snickers with the rest of the counsellors as Sherman and Malcolm return to their seats. In their desperate attempt to separate from each other to assure their status as Heterosexual, Guys, Please, they manage to bump into each other, losing their balance and collapsing on a heap on the floor, more tangled than before. Predictably, this makes the flailing worse, which is unfortunate for them and their misery but a source of great entertainment for everyone else. Among the hooting and hollering and camera flashes, Chiron sighs, putting his head in his hands and muttering something about teenagers and being too old for this shit. Or something.

“If everyone’s quite done,” he says finally, ignoring Connor’s quip about how he could watch a few more minutes, actually, “I would love for this meeting to end. I have to do something that doesn’t involve teenagers for several hours. All of you exhaust me.”

“Except Will,” Sherman says petulantly, scowling at the still-sleeping medic. Pollux, who by close proximity has become endeared to the human disaster (Nico knows the feeling; he’s still convinced Will has weird powers that mess with one’s oxytocin levels by virtue of smiling as there is no way that someone so annoying can be so simultaneously endearing), glares somewhat protectively.

“Sh,” he hisses, at the same time Chiron says, “If the rest of you spent less time trying to kill each other and more time trying to fix the consequences of said attempted murder, I would be more lenient.”

Lou Ellen speaks up. “Also, Will has that whole cute, can’t-stay-mad-at-me thing.”

Various campers nod and mutter in agreement.

(Nico knew he wasn’t the only one.)

Nyssa clears her throat. “If we’re ready to return back to the actual meeting, I have a point of discussion.”

Chiron nods, gesturing for her to continue.

“The vans are breaking down,” she says bluntly. “Again. Because they’re, you know, older than everyone in the room.” She glances at Nico, frowning. “Well, except for him.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “Youngin’s, these days,” he says, shaking his head disdainfully. “No respect for their elders.”

Chiron raises a bemused eyebrow. “…Indeed. Nyssa?”

“I need parts again. Preferably from that place in Virginia? They don’t ask questions and price fairly. That would be best. Only I need the van to go get the parts, so. You can see the conundrum I’m in.”

“Easy fix with the chariot,” Chiron decides. “Can someone wake Will?”

“Gladly.”

“Without the airhorn, Connor.”

“Aw. I’m not doing it, then.”

“How tragic. Pollux?”

Gently, the son of Dionysus taps Will’s cheek, shaking him until he blinks awake.

“I was totally paying attention and I think we should go with the second option,” he says, yawning.

“Not asking you to settle a debate, but nice try,” Pollux says.

“Well, shit. That one usually works.” He flicks still-tired eyes around the room, smiling when his gaze rests on Nico. Nico rolls his eyes, willing down the heat to his cheeks. Judging by the teasing edge Will’s grin takes, it does not work. “Whattaya need, then?

“The chariot,” Nyssa says. “Vans are breaking down again. I need a part from a shop in Roanoke.”

Will straightens. “Like, now?”

“In the next day or so, yeah.”

“There’s a strawberry delivery on Saturday,” Miranda pipes up. “So sooner rather than later.”

Will nods. “Yeah, that works. Hell, I can probably be back by —” he checks his watch — “late tonight, honestly. Just gimme the part number and —”

“I kind of meant that I could go,” Nyssa interrupts, looking at him strangely. “I know what the part looks like. I just need to borrow the chariot.”

Will presses his clasped hands to his face, inhaling deeply.

“I would absolutely love to lend you the chariot blessed by my father who has gone totally silent,” he begins, in a tone that makes Nico think that he would not, actually, absolutely love to lend out the chariot blessed by his father who has gone totally silent, “only that the last time I lent someone this super important chariot it came back in pieces.”

“I remember.” Nyssa levels him with a look. “I fixed it.”

“Exactly! So you appreciate how much I would like it to not be broken. In fact —”

“Alright,” Chiron interrupts, holding up a hand. “You’ve made your point, Will, the errand is yours. Choose a buddy to lower the chances of you dying and check in before you leave.”

Predictably, this choice is not well-recieved. Because why would things be easy?

“Totally not fair,” Sherman protests, the loudest of all complainers. “Will’s no less likely to break it just because his cabin thinks they own it —”

“Finish that thought and I will curse you in twelve different ways for the next eight months, Sherman.”

The Ares counsellor snaps his mouth shut, sensing the new, hardened edge in Will’s voice. “Noted.”

“He’s got a point, though,” Damien hedges. At Will’s glare — boy, is that chariot a sensitive topic, Nico is noticing — he holds his hands up, shrugging his shoulders. “We draw straws for small errand-quests, Will, you know that. It’s not fair that you just get to call dibs.”

Will takes a long, slow breath, fingers pressed to his temples. When he looks back up, his expression is flatter than the entirety of the Midwest, jaw set and eyebrow raised. He narrows his eyes, contemplating, then clearly comes to a decision, nodding to himself. Everyone watches with bated breath as he climbs up to stand on his chair, folds his hands together, clears his throat, and says, voice carefully controlled, “Who can guess how many surgeries I’ve done in the last week?”

For a long moment it’s so silent that Nico can hear every rustled shirt as people fidget, every aborted cough and uncomfortable swallow. Will’s eyes are piercing, and he takes the time to stare at every individual counsellor until they meet his eyes, squirming, and look immediately away.

Nico’s impressed. Sometimes he forgets how godsdamn rigid Will’s backbone is.

Finally, someone offers a guess.

“One?”

“Try four,” Will corrects, smile more like a bare of teeth. “I have not had a circadian rhythm since I was thirteen years old. I sleep when I can. And yet, somehow, you clumsy fucks manage to near kill yourself at the exact moment my subconscious even considers approaching REM sleep, every single time, and then I get to spend my next several hours piecing your sorry ass back together by hand, since hymns barely work right now. If I have to see another surgical pin I am going to stab it through someone’s eye. Am I making a point?”

No one answers.

“‘Cause I can make it clearer,” Will drawls.

“No need,” Chiron says hastily. “The quest remains yours, so long as there are no further objections.”

Wisely, no one speaks up.

“Perfect. Nyssa, if you’ll stay behind with me to iron out some details, everyone else — dismissed.”

The tense air immediately evaporates as people practically spring out of their seats, sprinting for the door. Nico is among the last to leave, having to stay and stop several fleeing demigods to collect his wares. On his way out, a heavy arm slings over his shoulders, and he’s suddenly enveloped by the intoxicating scent of lavender body wash and pure sunshine.

“Get off me, Solace,” he complains immediately, coming up to wrap his hand around Will’s forearm in the guise of shoving him off. Will is entirely unfazed, holding him tighter.

“But I have a proposal.”

“Take it elsewhere.” He ducks out of Will’s hold and sweeps his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling with an oof. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look any less sunny and smiley from the ground, somehow making it work for him, actually. He settles against the soft grass, sighing, hair fanning out like a golden halo. He pats the spot next to him, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in the late morning sun, and Nico swallows roughly, joining him.

“You wanna come with me to Roanoke?”

“Yes,” Nico says automatically. Will grins, and he flushes. “I mean, I guess if I have to. Loser.”

“Ever so grateful, Neeks.”

“You should be.”

He keeps his voice prim and superior, attempting to uphold his image, and since he is delusional he convinces himself he’s successful. Will, though, is entirely undeterred, lazy smile still on his face and arms stretched above his head, the picture of unbothered. A sliver of skin shows where the hem of his shirt rises and Nico ignores it. He doesn’t even glance at it, or the glint of Will’s belly-button piercing, at all. Nor is he aware of Will’s shorts riding up, or the curve of his calves as he crosses his legs. All of these things go unnoticed. Obviously.

“I have a proposal for you, if you’re done checking me out.”

Nico shoves his flaming face in his knees. “Did you know that in all the corners of the Earth I have been to, I’ve only encountered three things uglier than you?”

Will’s grin only gets wider. His eyes, even, start to get squinty as the force of his smile squishes his cheeks. Entirely unsubtly, because Will is the least subtle person alive, he reaches out and sends a wave of calming energy into Nico’s body, slowing his rapid heart rate.

“…Right.”

“Three things, Solace.”

“Of course, of course.” He removes his hand, graciously allowing Nico the space to breathe and remind his lungs that their job is not voluntary. “I’ll come pick you up in a half hour? Wear a jacket.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Nico pauses. “Yes.”

“Stellar.”

“God, you say such nerdy things unironically. How do you have friends?”

“I dunno.” He gets to his feet, brushing the dirt and grass from his shorts. “You tell me.” He leans down and presses a smacking kiss to Nico’s hair. Nico presses his fingers into his eyeballs until they hurt, screaming silently into his palms.

He waits until the smacking sounds of Will’s stupid flip-flops retreat before braving the world outside his little ball of misery, squinting at his retreating form.

“I think I should get a lobotomy,” he says out loud to himself, because, realistically, if his braincells are already spilling out of his ears like loose quarters every time Solace so much as smiles at him then there’s not much to lose, is there? and stomps off to his own cabin.

Out of spite, he chooses the New York Giants jacket he got from Percy, just because he knows Will hates it.

That’ll show him who’s bossing who around.

Totally.

———

next

[hypnotic-kink]

Cute new dress to wear for my birthday weekend celebration 💞 pic quality is terrible but it’s about the dress! :)

[here-comes-the-moose]

Crosshair: *chugging milk because Wrecker dared him to*

Echo: Aren’t you lactose intolerant?

Crosshair: This isn’t lactose, it’s milk.

Tech, facepalming: You’re a fucking idiot.

[rosetta-j-stone]

The fandom, on waking up to more BoJere posts:

[escelia]

DP x DC PROMPT/FIC

Gotham Portal

(If you get the notif for this post like 2 days ago, no you didn't! I wasn't done yet! You were imagining things!)

Where the story takes place in Gotham instead of Amity Park, the Fentons having moved before the construction and testing of the Ghost portal due to the high saturation of ectoplasm in Gotham. So, Danny's accident ALSO happens in Gotham, except he has no support system at all.

Enter the Bats stage left!

Danny couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. His parents had uprooted their whole life to move to Gotham. They said they'd need all the ambient ectoplasm there for when they built their portal. Jazz had been thrilled! After all, Arkham was a shining beacon of mentally ill people, and Jazz was like a psychology moth to a flame; it would be the perfect place for her internship after college.

His parents had wasted no time assembling the portal from their blueprints in the basement of the run-down apartment building they'd bought outright just on the edge of Crime Alley, complete with the Ops Center parked right on top. They'd gutted the place and completely redone it before they moved in. (Danny had no idea when they accomplished that. Maybe they'd been planning it for a while and only thought to tell their children two weeks before moving day.) He was genuinely surprised the local vigilantes hadn't stopped by yet to ask questions.

But anyway, back to how he was royally screwed! He'd just wanted a cool picture for Sam and Tucker now that he'd moved away. His parents weren't home (they'd gone back to the hardware store after their last test), Jazz had stayed after school to try and butter up her new teachers by running a study group, and he'd been alone. He'd even followed all the safety precautions his parents had told him about! He'd put on the hazmat suit and tried not to touch anything. But he'd tripped.

Through the whirling of green and the static buzzing in his ears, he remembered screaming, though he hadn't recognized it as his own. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and he just wanted it to stop. Stop, please stop, why won't someone save me, please!

He woke up to the smell of burning flesh, but he woke up. He was okay! Disoriented, a little disgusted by the smell and throat a little raw, but okay!

At least he'd thought so at first.

He'd begun to... change colors? And float, he floated sometimes, too. But the most irritating of all was that he would go through things. Forks and glasses slipping, quite literally, right through his fingers.

He hadn't told his parents. He'd been fine, after all. A little shaken up, but they'd been so excited he'd gotten the portal to work, who was he to put a damper on the mood when he was fine?

That brought him to now, staring at the mirror in the school bathroom in horror. He'd fought his first real ghost that morning around breakfast. He'd kept it together fairly well, in his opinion. Got through three whole classes before making an excuse to the teacher, slipping off into the blessedly empty restroom.

He'd been getting better and better at controlling his form, and he transformed in front of the mirror, taking stock of his appearance.

Odd colored hair: check.

Bright glowing eyes: check.

Floaty hair: check.

Could walk through walls, disappear, and fly: check.

He raised his finger to his pulse point and felt... nothing.

"I died," he whispered to himself in shock. "I... died," he repeated, this time in despair.

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

Damian Wayne was not usually one to keep tabs on his classmates. They weren't his friends, therefore he saw no point. However, the new kid, Daniel Fenton, had begun to act strange.

When Daniel Fenton enrolled in Gotham Academy it hadn't been anything special. He'd started the year a little last due to his family moving, but families moved for all sorts of reasons. He hadn't tried to immediately make friends with Damian like so many others had, much to his relief. But he hadn't tried to make friends with anyone else, either. Maybe he liked to be alone? It really wasn't his business.

But then the boy started getting skittish and clumsy. Clumsier than he had been when he started school. He'd developed a miniscule tremor in his left hand, so he'd probably sustained an injury. He began dropping things in Chemistry. So often, in fact, that he'd been banned from doing practical labs and was instead assigned extra book work.

If Damian had been anyone else, if he hadn't been raised by assassins or had his night work as Robin, he wouldn't have noticed. He wouldn't have followed Fenton to the bathroom under the guise of needing to see the school nurse for a headache. Perhaps if he were anyone else, Fenton might have noticed him following.

There was an alarming flash of light as Damian peered carefully around the corner. Fenton had changed forms. Something had happened to him.

"I died," he heard him say. Damian thought he was being dramatic until he watched him raise his fingers to his pulse point. His glowing eyes dilated in panic, and he repeated himself. He watched as his classmate, looking fragile and lost, curled in on himself floating in the air, and sobbed.

Damian didn't confront him that day. He watched, waited, and researched. He found the research of Dr's Fenton on ghosts and ectoplasm, most of which he was skeptical of up until actual ghosts started to torment them during patrols.

Ghosts were real, it appeared.

He also concluded that their findings on ectoplasmic entities being non-sentient and inherently malevolent was incorrect, having met the ghost of a little girl caught up in a rouge attack that killed her and her family.

Damian watched Daniel Fenton for about a week while he ditched class in a poorly hidden effort to fight and contain the ghosts that he and his family were having such a hard time dealing with. His father was even nearly considering contacting John Constantine, which was never his ideal solution. Damian had been rolling an idea around in his head for a while and he decided now would be the time to bring it up.

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

Dinner at the manor was more of a full table than Damian had expected. Not everyone was there, Jason's relationship with them was still a bit strained, so he was not in attendance, and neither was Stephanie. But Duke was home, and Dick was actually there early for patrol later. Tim was there, and so was Cass, so almost everyone.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat politely. "Father, I wish to recruit a new member."

The chatter around the room came to a halt, the clatter of silverware ceasing.

"What exactly do you mean, chum?" Bruce asked carefully.

"I have a classmate I believe would be a valuable asset in light of our trouble with ghosts recently. However, he has no training or support, so I'm asking for your assistance."

"Did... demon brat make a friend?" Tim asked bewildered and a little bit terrified.

"Tt. No, I've never even spoken to him." Damian rolled his eyes. "My classmate, Daniel Fenton, transferred to Gotham Academy about a month ago and started acting strange soon after. He came to school with a tremor and a Lichtenberg figure you can just barely see starting on his left hand and traveling up his arm. I believed he'd been in an accident, and my suspicions were proven when I saw him use meta abilities to ditch class and fight a ghost in the courtyard of the school. From my observations, they are newly acquired, but he has decent instincts and an inclination toward heroism. I believe it would be safer for everyone involved if we approached him first."

"What?" Tim muttered. Dick was smiling gently at him, though, as if he were doing something he was proud of.

"Do his parents know?" Duke asked. Damian scoffed.

"I highly doubt it."

"Wait, Fenton as in the ectobiologists?" Bruce asked. The ex-assassin nodded.

"And considering their research is not reflected in our own interactions with ghosts thus far, I do not believe we should tell them."

"Not safe?" Cass signed. Her brother shook his head.

"The abilities I've observed resemble that of a ghost. He even has an alternate ghostly form."

The implication that they'd be endangering him hung heavy in the air. They'd all seen the Fentons' research. It mostly consisted of theoretical analysis and blatant biases with a long list of proposed experiments they'd run if they ever caught one. They'd all agreed that the Fenton ghost hunters were not a viable option for their ghost problem, especially after seeing how they drove, which in itself nearly put them on the Bat's rogue list.

"We've been meaning to investigate the Fentons properly anyways," Dick pointed out.

Bruce attempted to massage a headache out of his temples. The stuff his kids stumbled into, really. But Damian was right. If his classmate was a new meta with no support, it was only a matter of time before the rogues zeroed in on him, and since his family lived there, he couldn't tell the kid to leave.

"I'm not saying yes just yet, but talk to him. Find out any more that you can."

"Of course, Father."

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

Danny finally felt like he was getting the hang of his ghost powers. He was pleasantly surprised, and also mildly horrified, that his parents' inventions actually worked on the ghosts he was now beginning to fight regularly. His favorite was by far the thermos, which did no ghost mutilating whatsoever.

He discovered he had a ghost sense and enhanced hearing and vision, which was cool and all, but now he could hear all the shitty things his classmates said about him behind his back. Which, rude! He didn't even talk to them, what did they have to be shitty about?

He also noticed that one of them, Damian Wayne, had been watching him. From what Danny had heard, Damian was the richest kid in school, a Wayne. Son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, to be exact. And his attitude reflected that. His standoffish, holier than thou rich guy attitude made Dash and Paulina look like they lived below the poverty line. Apparently, he generally didn't talk to anyone at school unless it pertained to class, so Danny saw no point in introducing himself.

That made it extra weird that Damian was following him.

It was right after lunch when a hiccup had a cold breath tumbling from his lips. He raised his hand and asked his teacher if he could use the restroom. He made his way to the bathroom on the other side of the building this time, hoping it would be too out of the way for Damian to follow. But soft rustling of his classmate's school uniform gave him away, no matter how imperceptible his footsteps were.

When he entered the restroom, he made his way to the sink instead, splashing some cold water on his face as Damian walked in behind him loudly as if announcing his presence.

"I know what you've been doing," he said confidently, crossing his arms and standing in front of the door so Danny couldn't leave.

"Oh, hey! Damian, right? I'm in most of your classes, but I don't think I've ever introduced myself. I'm-"

"Daniel Fenton, I know. You've been fighting ghosts." Damian had to give him at least a little credit; he'd become a great actor over the last week. Though, that probably had a lot to do with the fact that he probably didn't feel safe at home anymore.

"My parents are ghost hunters, but I don't think shooting a ghost in the face with a lipstick laser then running for my life counts as 'fighting ghosts'."

"Tt. You are lying."

"Dude, what are-?" Danny cut himself off when his words came with another misty breath. Crap! He'd taken too long!

The ghost of the day, an ugly, mutated, bird looking thing with claws at the ends of its wings and a full set of dangerous, pointed teeth, phased through the door behind Damian, poised to strike.

Without warning, Danny grabbed Damian's wrist and whipped him out of the way, throwing himself between the two. A green shield formed in front of him just as the bird slashed at them with one of its wings.

"Well, that's new," he said startled as the bird geared up for another attack.

Danny groaned at his miserable luck before throwing caution to the wind and transforming. He'd just have to force friendship upon one Damian Wayne in an attempt to keep him from telling anyone about his whole magical girl transformation. He tried to activate his shield again, but when nothing happened, he was flung across the room into the wall. God, this was embarrassing.

The next time the ghost tried to attack him, Damian yanked him aside in a dodge and bolted out of the bathroom with Danny in tow. He was dragged through the winding halls to one of the side exits of the school. In costume or not, Damian's priority was luring the ghost away from the other students.

"Hey, so uh, you won't say anything about this," he gestured wildly to himself, "will you?"

"Tt. Of course not, but I believe you have more important concerns at the moment."

“Right!” Danny patted at the sides of his hazmat suit. “Crap, I left my thermos in my locker!” He dodged another attack and retaliated with an ectoblast, trying to keep the ghost's attention off of Damian as much as possible.

"Your lunch? Really?" Damian shouted. Dang, Danny must have been doing a decent job if Damian had the spare time and attention to be exasperated with him.

"No! It's a containment device! Besides, ghosts are basically soup anyway!"

"Distract it," Damian instructed, "I'll retrieve the device." The boy took off. Danny had to wonder how he even knew where his locker was. The ghost tried to follow him, but Danny shot another blast at it.

"Hey ugly, auditioning to be one of Gotham's Birds? Sorry, but you don't really look the part." He had no idea if the creature could even understand him, but the way it turned to him and lunged again suggested it had done the trick. This time, his shield did work!

Danny could have cried tears of joy at finally having some consistency with it. The next few minutes of the fight felt like an eternity while he dodged and shot ectoblasts at it. The creature wasn't really that strong, and it didn't seem to have super dangerous abilities like some of the other ghosts he'd fought like Skulker or Technus. It ended up being a great opportunity to practice his new shield ability, actually. But he knew the longer he took, the more danger his classmates would be in.

The bird ghost slammed into his shield with a particularly vicious strike, slamming him into the ground and creating a small crater.

"Note to self, remember intangibility," Danny groaned.

In that moment he noticed a door opening on the school building. It was Damian! He was finally back with thermos in hand! Unfortunately, the other ghost noticed too.

"Oh no you don't!" Danny yelled, latching onto one of its feet as it tried to fly toward his classmate. He dug his fingers in hard and sunk into the ground partway to anchor himself.

"Big green button by the lid then the button immediately below it!"

Damian wasted no time popping the lid open and sucking the ghost into the device, the lid closing with a quiet pop. He had to admit, though the design was questionable, it was sturdy, light, and very clearly effective. He wondered if he could get away with sneaking off with this one to have drake examine later.

"That was some incredible timing, thanks." The ghostly form of his classmate floated over to him, taking the thermos from his hand. Damian did not pout.

"We should probably get out of here before the Fenton's show up." He could already hear the screech of tires and his dad's voice over the megaphone tearing through the air.

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

"Don't worry honey, we'll catch that nasty ghost boy next time," Jack Fenton comforted his wife. True to form, the Fenton's had arrived to the scene late, and most of the damage to the school yard had been from their vehicle crashing into things upon their arrival. Parents had been called and classes ended for the day, which was how one Bruce Wayne found himself at Gotham Academy trying to help the teachers talk the two down from storming and searching the school.

His son was standing off to the side with one of his classmates. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, lanky frame; Bruce could have mistaken the child for one of his own, but looking between the hulking man in front of him and the kid standing next to Damian, the resemblance was obvious. That had to be Daniel Fenton, the meta his son had told him about. Which meant he'd been the one to deal with the ghost before anyone else had gotten there. The classmate Damian had suggested they recruit for his safety.

"Danno, did you see where that spook went? When I get my hands on him, I'll rip him apart molecule by molecule for even thinking of attacking your school!" Bruce saw Daniel's breath hitch with fear.

"Sorry, no. I was coming back from the bathroom when I saw him fighting another ghost through the window. I was scared so I hid," he lied, gripping his left wrist while he spoke.

Bruce was impressed. The boy's fear was real, and he used that to his advantage to really sell the lie to his parents. His heart ached for him. He couldn't imagine seeing any of his boys looking at him like that, with such fear and distrust.

"That's okay sweetie, we'll get him next time. We're just happy you're alright. Let's get you home," his mother comforted, though Bruce knew it wasn't very comforting at all.

"Yeah, we'll teach you to use the Fenton Bazooka," well that was horrifying, "that way next time you can just blast him!" Danny wanted literally anything else.

"Actually," Damian interrupted politely. "We were assigned a project in class earlier on the history of Gotham. As Daniel is relatively new to town, I offered to assist him with the assignment. Father, would it be acceptable for him to join us for dinner?"

Bruce would have been incredibly surprised his son was inviting someone over for dinner if he didn't see exactly what he was doing. Daniel wasn't safe at home. And he clearly wasn't comfortable with the way his parents spoke of the 'ghost boy'. If his defeated expression was anything to go by, it hadn't been the first time they'd said something like that, nor would it be the last.

"What do you think, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton? We'd love if Daniel could join us for dinner."

"Please, call us Maddie and Jack. That sounds wonderful Mr..."

"Wayne. Bruce Wayne, I'm Damian's father," he introduced. If the two recognized the name, they didn't show it. It worked out rather well in his favor.

"Mr. Wayne. If its not too much trouble, that would be wonderful. It's about time he made a new friend, he's been sulking since the move. Now, we have a ghost to catch!" Maddie planted a kiss on Danny's forehead, leaning her blaster on her shoulder as her and her husband made their way back to the homemade assault vehicle parked haphazardly on the lawn of the school.

"Be sure to call us if you plan on staying the night! We'll let Jazz know she doesn't have to worry about dinner for you! We love you, have fun sweetie!"

"Are they always like that?" Damian asked after the two had pulled away. How had those two even gotten their driver's license? It was truly abysmal, he dreaded the thought of anyone getting into a vehicle with them. And then there was the speed in which they'd dumped their son into their laps, even suggesting they'd be okay with him not coming home that night.

"They mean well, but yeah," Danny replied, heaving a sad and defeated sigh. "Thank you, by the way. For inviting me over, even if you didn't mean it. They can be a bit much."

"Clearly," Damian mused back.

Bruce watched the two interact and felt pride well up in his chest. Meeting the Fenton parents just once was enough to convince him that their son needed help, maybe even their daughter too. That Damian had taken the initiative to bring this to his attention, that he had stood up for Danny and offered his home as a sanctuary for him, made him so incredibly proud as a father. He wasn't as prickly with Danny the way he was with other people, even his own siblings. That was a very good thing indeed, considering it was looking more and more likely this would end with another adoption.

Maybe Clark was right, he did have an adoption problem.

[daredevils-advocate]

Y'all were so sweet on last night's Offering that I made another!

[such-expensive-mistakes]

Superpham AU (part 4)

Original prompt + parts 1-3

Masterpost

-----

It's not the most awkward dinner Lois has ever had, but only because she's dined with literal supervillains before.  

Danny is poking at his Mongolian beef with his fork more than he's actually eating it.  Lois can hardly blame him; it’s been a difficult few days for her and she’s not the one who just landed in a different dimension from the one she grew up in.  But Danny certainly isn’t up to keeping conversation going.

Jon is making a valiant effort, but he seems distracted.  He keeps shooting looks at Lois and Clark when he thinks they’re not looking, and while he recounts everything he and Damian got up to (not too much trouble, thankfully, although that wasn’t saying much), he’s less enthusiastic than he would normally be.  

Clark keeps shooting Jon worried looks when he thinks Jon isn’t looking.  Lois will have to ask him how that conversation went; it seems like it was rough on both of them. 

Eventually, even Jon runs out of things to say, and the four of them sit around the table, eating their Chinese takeout in silence.  

“So, Danny,” Lois finally says.  “I don’t know how the dimension you grew up in differs from this one, but if you have any questions about anything, please ask one of us.”

“It’s not that different,” Danny says.  “I mean, it is in some ways, but it’s still Earth, you know?”

Lois isn’t entirely certain she does, but this doesn’t seem to be the time to ask.  Maybe when things are less fresh.

Jon has no such compunctions.  “What’s the biggest difference?” 

Danny looks thoughtful.  “You guys have a lot of superheroes here,” he finally says.

“What kind of superheroes did your other world have?” Jon asks eagerly.  

“We mostly didn’t,” Danny says.  “I mean, I guess Phantom kind of counts.  But that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Jon is clearly flabbergasted by this.  Lois fights a smile, and she can see Clark doing the same thing.  Jon has never known a world without the Justice League, but she and Clark can both remember when superheroes were much, much rarer.

“Most people probably wouldn’t even count Phantom,” Danny says.  “The kids mostly did, but a lot of adults didn’t trust him because he was… because he wasn’t exactly human.”

Combined with what Danny said before about that interdimensional portal, this is painting a picture Lois really doesn’t like.

“There are folks like that everywhere, unfortunately,” Clark says.  “And you can’t always change their minds. But I believe most people are better than that."

Judging by Danny's expression, he wasn't entirely convinced of that. Lois couldn't blame him; she has enough trouble seeing the good in people the way Clark did, and the other dimension sounds worse than hers in this regard.  

Danny doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it any further.  Silence lingers for just a beat too long before he speaks.  “Oh, the sun’s yellow here.  That’s different, too.”

-----

The front door slams, shaking the house, and Jon scrambles into the kitchen.  

“Where’s Ma and Pa?” he demands.

Kon mentally says goodbye to his tentative plans for the day.  Not that he minds hanging out with Jon, but he’s clearly upset about something.  Kon’s good at a lot of things, but emotional conversations is not one of them.

“They’re in town for the day,” Kon says.  “You’re lucky they didn’t hear you slam the door like that.”

“Did you know about Danny?” Jon demands.

“Who?”

“Dan-El.”

Clark texted a couple of days ago, telling Kon to call when he had time.  Kon has been putting it off, knowing that Clark has better ways of getting in touch with him if there’s a real emergency.  That’s starting to seem like a mistake.

He doesn’t answer Jon right away, which Jon seems to take as its own answer.  

“Did everyone know but me?” Jon demands.

The thing is, Kon is pretty sure he's not supposed to know about Dan-El. Lois and Clark have never breathed a word about him in Kon's hearing.

He only knows because he spent an afternoon helping Ma go through some old boxes up in the attic and found a box of photos-- mostly of Clark as a kid, but some of Ma and Pa when they were younger.

"Oh goodness," Ma had said, when she'd notices what Kon was looking at. "I keep telling myself I'm going to organize those and put them in an album, but I never get around to it."

She'd sat down next to Kon and looked through the pictures with him, pointing out her favorites and telling stories to accompany them. ("And that one was from just after Clark's tenth birthday-- we had to get a new door because his strength was just coming in and he broke the old one.")

Then Kon had pulled out a photo of a toddler, sitting on the front porch with Pa. He'd thought it was a picture of Clark at first, but Pa's hair was considerably more gray than it was in the pictures from Clark's childhood, and Ma had just told him that the porch had been rebuilt and expanded after Clark broke the old one in tenth grade.

"Oh, that's Daniel," Ma said. She'd gently taken the photo from Kon's hand and ran a finger over not-Clark's face. "He was our first grandson-- Lois and Clark's oldest." She'd gone on to tell him the whole sad story.

There's a small headstone for Daniel Kent in the Smallville cemetery, right next to Pa's parents. Kon thinks it must have been Ma or Pa's idea; there was no body to bury and as far as he knows, Lois and Clark never visit it.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kon says.  “I think it’s just not something they talk about.”  Jon doesn’t look convinced, so he adds, “They told you now, right?”

“Only after he showed up!” 

“Wait, what?”  Kon is starting to think he really should have replied to that message from Clark.

-----

Not for the first time, Clark wishes there was a handbook for this sort of thing.  But oddly enough, parenting manuals generally don’t cover how to talk to your long-lost son about his alien heritage.  He’s put this off long enough already; Danny had spent most of the previous day out with Lois, picking up all the necessities he didn’t have.

“So…” Danny says, kicking his feet a little.  He’s sitting next to Clark on this skyscraper, his feet dangling over the edge.  It makes Clark a little nervous, seeing how Danny can’t fly yet, but he also knows he’s fast enough to catch Danny if he were to fall.

"Lois said you're an alien?" The words are softened by the blatant curiosity in Danny's tone, and Clark remembers Lois recounting how excited Danny was to meet J'onn and to see space from the Watchtower. 

It's a sentiment Clark can understand. He's traveled through space and met aliens both hostile and friendly. He regularly meets with his colleagues on an orbiting space station. And yet, seeing his adopted planet from space still fills him with awe.

"When I was born, my parents— my birth parents— already knew our planet, Krypton, was dying," Clark begins. It's not an easy story to tell, but the grief is old. Not gone, but distant. It's a place and a people he will never know except through stories and the archives in the Fortress— but those, at least, he can share. He tells Danny this, too, and promises to take him to the Fortress soon. It would be easier if Danny could fly, but he'll make it work. 

"You should talk to Kara, too," Clark adds. 

"Who's Kara?"

"My cousin. Right now she's in space, on a Justice League mission, but you'll meet her when she gets back. She was a teenager when Krypton was destroyed; she has firsthand memories."  He’ll save explaining the part where she got caught in suspended animation for later; he’s dumped a lot of information on Danny already.

“You said something the other night about yellow sun radiation?” Danny asks.

“It’s what gives Kryptonians our power, here on Earth,” Clark says.  

“And what powers are those, exactly?” Danny seems more hesitant than Clark would usually expect of a teenager finding out he’s going to develop superpowers— but then, they already know Danny grew up in a world where that sort of thing was feared and looked down upon.  

“Enhanced sense, enhanced strength and speed, flight, invulnerability— there are others, but those are the main ones to expect.”

Danny nods thoughtfully.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

This is the start of something new

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My World; Chapter 4

You finally find your way into the labyrinth, coming across some new and old faces; both friendly and malicious.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, reader is getting tired of being stuck here and smelling like a bog

Content Warnings; Swearing, some talk of death, reader passes out

Word Count; 2.2 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

As per usual, don't put my work into AI.

You were finally making some decent progress, what, with not being stuck in some bog and knowing somewhat of where you were going. A vast improvement really! Well, it would be, but unfortunately, you still reeked of rotten eggs and skunk — apparently the bog stench only got worse the longer it stayed on.

“Why did it have to dump me into the swamp,” you huffed, rounding yet another corner. “Like, it could have dumped me beside the water, but, no, no, let’s dump the magicless human right into the putrid bog water! A good guffaw, don’t you think? Ha ha ha HA!”

At least your au de Bog of Eternal Stench kept any would-be assailants away since you hadn’t run into anything (besides a rose bush, ouch) since you started making your way through the labyrinth. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad… damn, maybe your sense of smell was just used to it… hey, if stink helps you not die, then you would gladly stay stinky! Well, bitterly stay stinky is more like it.

“Assholes,” you muttered, rounding another corner. 

But it wasn’t a corner; it was a crossroad. Three paths merged off of the one you were on.

… aren’t labyrinths just one long line? THIS IS A FUCKING MAZE?! You groaned, looking at your possible options which all looked exactly the same.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. Of course nothing is easy here, no no no! Gotta make things difficult now.

The hedge behind you rustled, and you whipped around, getting into a stance where you could either land a pretty good sucker punch to the hedge-stalker or make a mad dash away. But out of the hedge crawled out a small, fuzzy, caterpillar. And back at home you would have thought it was cute, but you learned your lesson from the doors; don’t trust it, or anyone for that matter.

You looked down at the caterpillar, and the caterpillar looked up at you, blinking slowly. 

What are the chances… 

“Do you know a way out,” you asked the caterpillar, crouching down so that you didn’t tower over it.

The caterpillar blinked at you again (apparently caterpillars in the Underground have eyelids, which isn’t the weirdest thing considering everything). “No,” it chirped and continued crawling on its merry way, wherever that may be. “But you’ll find the way.” And it disappeared into the growth of the maze, humming a little tune to itself.

You sighed, and pushed yourself back up, straightening out your shoulders and looking up to the sky. “I’ll find a way,” you breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky which was starting to turn a brilliant amber with the setting sun. “I might want to find a way is more like it.”

You looked back down to the ground, looking at the three paths in front of you. They all look the same, save for the ground making up paths themselves, with the middle and right paths looking well worn with travel. And while they may be well worn, there was a voice at the back of your head that was whispering caution. The left-most path was not as well travelled, with dead vines covering parts of it.

“Hopefully you’re right, little buddy since I could use all the luck I can get.” And you made your way down the path, hoping that it was the correct one and didn’t lead you to your death or some other unpleasant thing.

…

…

Lilia was at the entrance of the labyrinth, in front of the two doors.

“Have you seen a human, about this tall, a bit of a temper, and smelling foul,” he asked the doors.

The doors looked at each other before looking at Lilia. “And what’s it to you,” they said in unison.

Lilia smiled, but it was one of mild annoyance, not joy or amusement. “Royal orders I fear. You wouldn’t want the mistress finding out about you both tampering with a royal matter, would you?” The smile turned cat-like since Lilia had backed them into a corner.

The doors paled, with the blue door speaking up. “No no, sir! We would never dream of such a thing!!! Yes, there was a human, a wretched one at that, horribly rude!”

Lilia hummed, cocking a brow at the door. “I do think wretched is a bit of an overstatement now,” he whispered to himself. “Well, tell me where about they are then. The sooner I can collect them, the better for you lot.”

The red door sighed, “Near the heart of it, they took the left path.”

Left path? Why the left path leads to… Shit. Lilia mentally groaned, knowing that regardless of the path you took, you would end up having to deal with them eventually. “Your cooperation has been noted,” is what he said though, giving the doors both a nod before turning into a bat and flying over the labyrinth, trying to find you before you ran into whoever them was.

“Please be clever enough not to die,” he whispered to no one, hoping that he didn’t have to deliver your body to the Queen.

…

…

The left path brought you to what looked like a forest; with old-growth trees, ferns and moss covering the ground, and a list mist hanging in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful, with the setting sun illuminating the mist without burning it away.

But that would not last, night was fast approaching and you had nothing to protect you this time; no rowan tree to haul your ass up, and no sort of weapon to protect yourself besides the oh-so-lovely smell of the bog to deter something from eating you. You were pretty sure it would also keep away anything that wanted to otherwise snatch you up.

“AH!” Something jumped out from a tree, and you couldn’t fully register what it was since you were also screeching, much like the creature was at you; you with fright, the creature with amusement and joy.

Two other creatures jumped out from behind the trees and startled cackling, jumping, and clapping. Together, they surrounded you, with no way to really escape them without fighting through.

… you really should have read about fae species, since you didn’t know what they exactly were, or how dangerous they were either. 

One pulled you near a pit and lit a fire, cackling in glee and dancing, trying to get you to join them. “Ah come on, human, have some fun! DANCE BABEY!!!!”

But you stayed still as more creatures came out of the shadows, dancing around the fire, giggling, cackling, and pulling a bit at your clothes to prompt you to join them. You didn’t know, cementing your feet down, your eyes watching their movements with caution.

‘Should you dance with the fae, you shall not stop dancing until you exhaust yourself. And once you wake up, you will continue dancing. This cycle will repeat itself until you dance to death.’ 

At least that was what the book said, and so you stayed still, regardless of how much the creatures pulled at you. While it looked like a grand old time, you remained where you were.

“I don’t have time for dancing,” you answered coldly, flinching from pinching fingers. You were also a bit shocked that Eau de Bog of Eternal Stench wasn’t keeping them away. Either, they couldn’t smell, or, they didn’t care that you smelled downright awful. “So this ‘baby’ won’t dance.”

And should I be offended by you calling me ‘baby’ or am I reading too much into it?

The main creature just shrugged and spun its dancing partner around. “Your loss human! More fun for us then! YIPPEE!!!” And it threw something in the fire to where you could feel the heat on your face.

What now? You were just standing there awkwardly as the creatures danced about, singing something that you couldn’t really make out. All you knew was that the heat, noise, and the dizzying dance of them was making your head pound, and throat scream in thirst. You hadn’t drank anything for over a day(?) — no, bog water did not count — and the heat from the fire made the thirst only worse. Shit.

“Ah, you don’t look too… hot there human,” one of the creatures snickered at its own joke at your expense. “Maybe if you dance with us, loosen up and have a bit of fun, then you can have a drink? Hmm? Dancing won’t kill you!” But its failed attempts at covering up its own malicious giggles were more than enough to stand your ground… which was coming at you quite fast since you practically collapsed.

Was it the thirst? The pounding migraine that wanted nothing more than to crawl into some dark hole and hide? Or your exhaustion from making that tiring trek, crawling yourself out of the bog and making the trek again, or the hours you had spent wandering around the maze with no real idea of where you were going? All you really knew was that you were now on the ground with the creatures poking at you to see if you were still alive.

“Aw, man! Are they already dead? That’s no fun!” One of the creatures pouted, raising up your arm, and you let it plop back to the ground. “Come on human! Get up! You’re not a party pooper are you?”

Scre you buddy! Can’t you read the situation?!

You were trying your best to stay quiet, which wasn’t all that hard, since all of your energy was gone. 

“They best not be,” a familiar voice called out.

From your position, you couldn’t see who it was, but you could make out the creatures jumping away from you like you were the hot fire instead of the fire pit. But someone else was approaching until you could make out a pair of shoes in front of your face.

They crouched down beside you, placing their fingers gently at the base of your throat; taking your pulse. “Hmph, playing dead, are we, Beastie?”

That irritating chuckle. The annoying nickname. Those mischievous magenta eyes that now looked at you with curiosity and amusement.

It was him — Mr. Sparkles.

And he had just blown your act of playing possum (well, not really, since you had actually collapsed).

But you didn’t say anything, instead favouring to give him a dirty look. Yet he just shook his head in jest, and proceeded to pick you up and wrap you around his shoulders and neck like some sort of bizarre ermine pelt; better than being carried like a sack of potatoes or the bridal carry you supposed.

“Her majesty sends her regards for not turning or killing her guest,” Lilia offered the creatures. It would be such a waste and pity to see such an entertaining Beastie leave us too soon now. “But do know she won’t take to their condition lightly.”

My condition? I’m not some Victorian child with some unknown illness wreaking havoc on their body you know?! But all that you did was groan and cough. You couldn’t even cough in Mr. Sparkles’ (Lilia’s) face, since you had a lovely view of the moss-covered ground and the fae’s shoes.

He patted the back of your calves, and you would have kicked him if you had more energy, but you didn’t. “Now, we really should be off, since Beastie has… an hour to get out of this maze before they turn into some sort of worm, or a hedge; never know what this old labyrinth will decide on really.” Lilia chuckled at the thought (was it merriment, or was he happy that you weren’t joining the caterpillar you met earlier?).

“No,” you wheezed. “WoRm!”

“See! They said it themself! No worm! How lovely that we are on a similar wavelength, Beastie! Marvellous even!” Lilia exclaimed, and the both of you started levitating off of the ground. “Now, do enjoy your party, Fireys!”

The creatures (Fireys apparently) groaned but got back to their party, dancing around the fire like they didn’t just try to lure you to your death mere minutes before.

“Tsk tsk, Beastie,” Lilia’s tutting brought your attention back to him and you grumbled. “You owe me two favours now, you know. Lucky that I found you… although that part wasn’t hard. I thought you learned your lesson the first time you decided to take a dip into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

You lightly kicked him, letting your irritation be known, but Lilia just hummed. “Now now, no need to be like that! Do you want to smell like a bog when you meet the mistress? She wouldn’t take kindly to your… unique aroma.”

You hissed out a breath since he decided to pinch at your ear rather harshly — prompting for you to answer. “No,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Also, do read up on that book, since you will want to know about the government and fae species etiquette!”

From a smelly bog and fumbling around a maze for hours on end, to finding yourself being taken to fae high society… was it too late to become some worm in the maze? I think being a worm actually has a better chance of me living.

But sadly, you were saved from an eternity of being a worm. Hopefully, Mr. Sparkles (Lilia) would cover for your blunders a little for when you found yourself in front of ‘the mistress’.

...

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To be continued!

~~~~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

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