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poppy-metal · 5 months ago

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MARRIAGE COUNSELING W ART PLEASEEEEEEEE GOD THE DEVASTATION THAT TAKES PLACE ON THAT COUCH

i think about it alot. tashi staying with patrick, her injury never happening. your arts college girlfriend and now you're married and it feels fucking stagnant, your relationship. but neither of you wants to give up. neither of you wants to reveal to the other true feelings.

under the cut because this got long and i have a whole au in my hear around this concept

you're only in counseling because of tashi. because shes still in your lives, her and patrick. and she recommended it to art when they were having one of their 'friend' lunches. and now here you are, because of course art took her advice.

he hasn't said anything, though. despite pleading for this. saying he wanted to save your marriage, that he wanted to love you how you should be loved but he didn't know how.

so here you are, on opposite ends of the couch, with the counselor staring at the empty space between you like that in itself is very telling. you suppose it is, in a way. couples who want to stay together should be unified, shouldn't they? you imagine how it would feel, if art had sat next to you. put an arm around you. squeezed you to his side. would you even be able to relax into him? its been so long since you touched eachother that way.

"so im picking up on some distance here," your therapist says. shes a small woman. almost swallowed by her chair. her glasses are perched on her nose as she gazes imperiously at empty space separating you and art. "not just physical either, though thats rather obviously there. but emotional distance. do either of you wanna comment on that?"

you cut a glance at art, expecting him to speak up since this was his idea - well. tashi's. but he just looks down at his lap, quiet. spins his wedding band around his finger.

you feel an anger so intense it pricks your eyes with tears.

"well, i guess you could start with the fact that coming here wasn't even either of our idea. it was his friends."

and now. here art speaks. his head jerks up and she shoots you an annoyed look. "you don't have to say it like that. you always say it like that. her name is tashi and she is my friend. and it was her suggestion, yeah, but it was a good one."

you look at the therapist - janet. raise your eyebrows in arts direction like, get a load of this guy. your legs cross and you start picking at a stray string from the couch.

"first words of the session and its to talk about another woman."

arts inhale is sharp and you can feel his eyes on you but you dont look at him. you can't. you wont. you're right, anyway. he can try to deny it all he wants but you know - you know what you are to him. you know where all your problems stem. you dont need to be here to make any grand discoveries over a fact you've resigned yourself too.

"i see." janet says. "and art having a relationship with this other woman upsets you."

"everything upsets her." art cuts in, sounding tired. his elbow is braced on the arm of the couch and hes chewing on his thumb in one of his nervous gestures. he always did that, as long as you've known him. he was a nail biter, he'd chew his lips raw, he'd nibble on straws, the ends of his pens. he was either lost in thought or agitated. your guess was the latter. "nothing i do makes her happy."

"is this true? are you unhappy with art?"

your skin feels hot. you shift around in your seat. the attention is all on you, and it feels like you've done something wrong, even though you know its literally janets job to ask questions.

"more like i know I'm not what he wants and that makes me...... really fucking sad."

art knees almost knock against yours as he turns his body to face you, giving you his full attention the first time today. you cant meet his eyes still, so you look at the faded spot on his jeans. light blue, like his eyes. you wonder how hes looking at you. cant make yourself look up to see.

"what." he stops. seems to gather some thoughts. tries again, with a steadier tone. "what are you talking about."

you try not to roll your eyes. your arm flings out limply.

"just that this whole thing is a joke, art." and you let out an exasperated laugh, even though nothing is funny. nothing has been funny or light between you two in a long time. "we're only here because the girl you really wanted to marry, told you to get your fucking shit together. you didn't ask us to come here because you wanted to mend something, you're here to please tashi. because if playing a good husband is a role she wants for you - well, you want to play it right, dont you?"

its quiet after that. in the silence you cant help but think about those early days. when you'd been full of love and light and art seemed to be really happy with you. you'd go on dates to the movies, walk through the park together with your hands swinging between you. laugh together and steal kisses whenever you could. you felt high back then.

it didn't even matter that art had a crush on tashi, because hell, you had one too, at the time. but she'd started dating patrick, and they seemed to mesh well together. they were both so intense and passionate. back then, you'd been alot closer to tashi yourself. patrick too. you remember the way she'd rant about how much she fucking hated him, pacing around your room and calling him every name under the sun. and you'd sit there with eager curiosity, and ask her why she didn't end it then. if he makes you so angry, why stay?

and she'd get this faraway look in her eyes. kind of wistful. kind of sad. kind of happy.

"because he makes me feel fucking alive. hes like a - like a drug or something. i cant quit. its addictive, you know?"

that stuck with you. it still sticks with you. you remember being envious of that kind of passion. youe relationship with art had always been so easy. you dont think you'd ever fought by that point. you loved art. you felt safe with art. but were you addicted to him? if you broke up - would you feel withdrawal symptoms?

sometimes you layed awake at night and thought about starting a fight - breaking up for no reason. just to see if he'd fight for you back, if the missing of eachother would be so intense one of you would cave.

but somehow you knew that wouldn't be the case. thats just not how you and art operated. if you got angry, he wouldn't rise to meet you, he'd back down. if you ended things, he wouldn't chase you, he'd let you go.

patrick and tashi were fire and brimstone and you and art was ice and you were....... dirt. solid. walked upon. dependable and not at all exciting.

when art had proposed to you after college graduation it wasn't spur of the moment as it had been with patrick when he'd swept tashi up with a ring and a elopement to vegas. it was talked about and agreed upon and you knew it was coming.

you still said yes.

"you think," and arts voice has a barely concealed tremble to it that makes you look up, finally. you're shocked to see he looks wounded. so many of his expressions you can count on one hand - and this - this wasn't one of them. his eyes are dark, stormy. "you think i dont care about our marriage beyond what someone else has to say about it? you really think that?"

you hate the sliver of guilt you feel, because its not a crazy thing to feel.

"yeah, i really do."

because well, that's the truth of the matter isn't it? you and your husband stare at eachother. and it feels like you're looking at a stranger. not the man who's freckles you used to kiss. who's fears you knew. who's hands you know every callous of, every divot and fingerprint.

"it seems you two have very different views of how the other views this marriage." janet cuts in, sounding curious. she taps her pen against the open notepad on her lap. "art, would you like to chime in on why you wanted to come here? even at the suggestion of someone else?"

art stares at you for a long moment. his face is unreadable to you. his jaw works before his chest expands on an exhale and he looks away.

"i guess i - i just didn't realize how..... stagnant things had gotten until it was pointed out to me. harshly." he winces, and you wonder exactly what tashi had to say to him. you haven't talked to the other woman for some time. contact fizzling out after your marriage to art. he flicks a glance to you, then away again. "im not the best at being aware of shit going on around me." his hand comes up to rub nervously at his neck. "i guess you could say im good at brushing things under the rug. going through the motions. that sort of thing."

janet nods like this makes sense to her. well, great, you think. you know my husband more than i do.

"you're not a fan of confrontation, are you?"

art actually laughs. a genuine one. one that brings a dimple to his cheek and flashes his teeth. you stare at it, like its an exotic animal, and you wont see it again. quickly you catalog the expression in your memory, so you dont forget what he looks like when hes happy.

"yeah, no." he shakes his head. "but I think thats part of the problem. I've obviously let too much shit get put under the rug and now its so full other people are noticing."

you look down at your hands, lips pressed together. your face burns at the knowledge that tashi and by extension - patrick - know your marriage is in shambles. how embarrassing, to be caught lacking in such a momentous way. to come up short and have your husbands friends know about it. you wonder - does he talk about all the ways you make him miserable with them? does patrick shake his head, say, "she's sucking the life out of you, man." does tashi look at him with pity? like hes some poor abused cat that needs to be let in from the rain?

the rain of your marriage.

the rain of you.

you're the storm. you're the problem. you're not enough. art needs fire. you're not even dirt, you're glass. and you can feel yourself breaking.

"that clearly hit a nerve, my dear." janets voice is soft. soothing. she hands you a tissue and you realize you'd begun to cry. "do you want to explain what you're feeling about what art said?"

"i...."

you dab dab dab at your eyes. sniffle. look around the room, trying to collect your thoughts. they feel like flyaway dandelions. you dont know which of them to grasp.

a warm hand settles over yours in your lap and you startle. its arts hand. warm and calloused and tan, covering yours. the gold glint of his wedding ring winks at you, the engraved words etched into them, "my soft epilogue". a shortened version of your favorite qoute i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.

at the time, that's what art was to you. your life before him hadn't been easy. being with art had felt like coming home from a long day and falling into a soft bed. it had felt like being able to land after weeks of being made to fly.

you turned your palm up, so he could slide his fingers between yours. he squeezed your hand.

"i think, i. i think i just think - I'm a failure." your bottom lip wobbles. you look at your enterwoven fingers and it makes you so sad that you haven't done the simple gesture of holding your husbands hand in months. "the two most important people in your life are. are so passionate and loud. and i see. i see how happy they make you - and i cant - i cant b-be that for you. we aren't - im not - you dont need me. im not a limb for you how they are. you could extract yourself from me and be. be happier."

your breath shudders out of you.

"you don't need me." you echo.

you wait for him to pull his hand away. this is more than you thought you'd share. some of it you weren't even aware of till the words were spilling from your lips. but they ring true.

without patrick and tashi art would drown. without you..... he'd float just fine.

"and that's important to you." janet says. a statement not a question. "you want to feel needed by art, and you feel as though you aren't. that his needs are met better with his friends than with you."

you nod slowly.

"baby." the word sends a shock through you. not the word itself but how its said. art calls you baby all the time, in a monotonous kind of way. routine. now he says it softly. with feeling. he lets go of your hand in favor of cupping your cheek, still damp with tears, turning your face to his. he looks pained. "of course i need you. i know i haven't been good at showing it. i just - you shut down - after we got married. you've been like a fucking ghost. like you dont want me to touch you. like i could dissappear for all you care and you'd just carry on. i don't know. but i need you, okay? i. need. you."

both hands cup your face, he makes you stare right into him. the conviction in his voice takes your breath away. theres a fire burning there you've thought long put out.

"obviously we have shit to sort out, and we will. but you've got to. you've got to know that. tashi only pushed me to do this because she how - how desperate i was. that's all."

you inhale deeply. exhale. swallow hard. tears cling to your lashes. you reach a hand up to clutch at one of arts wrists. eyes fluttering automatically when you do. you feel grounded again. less like you might float away.

"okay."

"yeah?"

"yeah...." and you smile. it trembles across your lips. but its there. "we'll sort our shit."

art lets out a relieved breath. kisses your forehead, lingering there. the gesture so tender you get emotional again. you want to crawl into his lap, have him wrap you in his arms. you want to feel held by him, like you used to.

"our time is up." janet sets her pen down. smiles. "but i think that was a wonderful first session. i can see the love between you hasn't faded, and that's more i can say for alot of couples who come to see me. keep your chin up."

#ask #poppy fic #i guess?#see its complex right because reader definitely isn't crazy art DID feel some kind of way abt tashi #and still does #but hes in love w us. he is.#its just different. like.#its complicated but its like. art cant allow himself to feel passion because he thinks its too much #and you WANT passion like patrick and tashi have. you want it mixed in with the comfort and stability w art.#but arts self worth is low so hes like. why fight passionately for anything if im not enough im not enough ig #and thats sm he needs to overcome #because its making you feel unwanted #also theres definitely some feelings for patrick and tashi on your side as well #tashi definitely misses you and wishes you would talk to her #so many more thoughts on this #anyway #art donaldson x reader #reader and art just need to FUCK real rawdog real sloppy #art donaldson #challengers x reader #art x reader #failmarriage au

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pcr-alice · 13 days ago

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DPxDC - The Bat Key

there were a few posts going around a bit ago about Danny being Bruce's mentor in his early years, and they planted this idea in my head. i mixed in some cryptid danny for fun and to fit the halloween vibe. also on ao3

Batman grunted in pain as he hurried down the dark, townhouse-lined sidewalk. The cloudy night blocked the moonlight, and the lamps along the entire street were out, but they still moved between the shadows under the trees. The slash wound in his side was painful to the point that he had an arm around Robin’s shoulder to prop himself up. He scowled with each grunt. At least the blade hadn’t been spiked with venom. The same couldn’t be said for Red Robin’s wound. He was barely conscious, and Nightwing had to practically carry him. But they had finally made it here.

“Door.”

Nightwing hobbled up the few steps to the small porch and leaned against the wall to help hold some of Red Robin’s weight. Robin rushed to the door, already pulling a pick set from his utility belt. Batman managed to ascend the few steps himself, double checking the 13 to the side of the door.

“Wait.”

Robin scowled once again, but he complied. Batman pulled a small strip of metal from the lining of his utility belt. The tip was cut into a jagged, hooked pattern. He slipped it behind the bat symbol on his chest from underneath and twisted it a half spin. When he slid it back out, there was a house key attached to the end. Once free, he inserted it into the deadbolt and removed his hand. The temperature immediately dropped. Batman sighed in relief.

“What are –”

Robin’s question died before it was finished as the key began glowing green. It slowly rotated itself with the sound of grinding gears until a click echoed from behind the door.

“Oh great, I’m hallucinating” Red Robin wheezed out.

Batman turned the knob and pushed the door open.

“In.”

Robin entered first, crouched and alert. Nightwing followed, Red Robin draped over his shoulders. Batman took one more look around and spotted one of their assailants across the street, staring with their two glowing yellow eyes. He held the gaze for a silent few seconds, tension slowly leaving his body as they remained deathly still, then stepped inside and closed the door.

The large circular window high above the door lit the entryway with moonlight from the clear night sky. A staircase on the left led up into the dark, its railing marking out a small hallway balcony above. To their right was a small table, empty except for an unlit lamp. Past that on the same wall was an archway that led to a dark room pierced just enough by the moonlight for a large couch to be visible. The hallways straight ahead stretched into void.

“Couch.”

Once again, Robin entered first, disappearing into the shadows to scout the room. Nightwing lugged Red Robin into the room and laid him down on the couch to examine his wound. Batman followed and watched over the back of the couch.

“Bruce.”

Robin spun and threw a knife at the voice.

His senses had been honed to perfection since as long ago as he could remember. From the age of eight the only two members of the League who were capable of sneaking up on him were his blood relations. Now that he was out, Cain was alone on that list. Not even Batman could go unnoticed. Whatever this voice was, it managed to surprise him. But the League taught him to have no weaknesses, so even if his senses failed him, his reflexes could pick up the slack. The best tutors known to man had trained him with strict discipline, instilling perfect form and pinpoint accuracy that he could replicate from a dead sleep in pitch black darkness, all before he had even formed a single thought.

All together, this meant his blade was in the air before he could even parse what was said or what tone it was said with. When he realized that the voice had called Father by his civilian name in a calm greeting, he realized he made a mistake. But luckily, the voice wasn’t injured. Nor even startled.

“Danny.” Bruce greeted back.

This Danny had caught the knife by its handle well in front of his chest with what Robin evaluated to be his off-hand. Bright blue eyes pierced through the darkness straight to his position. They glowed in the darkness despite emitting no light, almost like a cat’s but without a source to reflect. If he had to guess, this unknown was a bit older than Red Robin. A bit taller, too. His deep black hair was unkempt, as if he had just been in a windstorm, sticking up at gravity-defying angles. He wore a dark robe made of fine material, not quite up to League wear standards, but too formal for a nightgown.

Robin cautiously stepped out of the darkness toward the others. Danny’s squinted eyes followed him, head angling slightly as it rotated to track his movement. Then they flicked away to look at Nightwing and squinted further. After a scant two seconds that stretched far too long, he raised his other hand to push his sleeve up, revealing a cheap plastic Batman-themed digital watch with a bright blue rubber strap.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” He murmured.

He pushed his sleeve further to reveal another, different watch, analog and much more elegant with a black strap most likely made of leather. It looked like something Father would wear to a gala. His eyebrows raised as he looked at it.

“Late, too.”

Batman grunted. Danny dropped his arms to his side, grip loose on the knife. He dipped his head at Damain and looked at Batman.

“My son, Damian.”

Damian tensed at the revealed information.

“He’s sharper than you were.”

“Being raised in an assassin cult will do that to you.”

Damian tensed even more despite the relaxed familiarity, almost teasing tone, that Batman fell into. Danny hummed a deep note and nodded his head toward Nightwing.

“Dick?”

“Nightwing.”

“And the one bleeding all over my couch?”

“Red Robin. Tim. Also my son, not by blood.”

Danny hummed again and lazily tossed the knife into the air toward Robin (who easily caught it, of course) as he walked to the other side of the couch. His movement made no noise whatsoever. Nightwing stepped back cautiously, positioning himself to step between Danny and Red Robin at a moment’s notice.

“What kind of poison?”

“We don’t know.”

He sat down on the edge of the couch to look down at Red Robin but paused as he was leaning down. Instead, he pushed up his sleeve again, and the watches were gone. In their place was some sort of wrist computer that took up half his forearm. The screen was covered in undecipherable text and was surrounded by several buttons marked with hieroglyphics. Robin narrowed his eyes and gripped another knife behind his cape.

“If you throw another blade, I’m confiscating all of them.”

“Stand down, Robin.”

He scowled but let go of the knife. Danny looked to Batman.

“You seem to be getting a call, Bruce. You can take it in the entryway.”

Batman nodded and walked back out the archway, tapping his comm.

“Oracle. We’re safe for now. Red Robin is being treated for poison”

Robin and Nightwing watched him go, turning back after a brief second, only to flinch into defensive stances.

The entire room had changed. It was now lit by a blazing fireplace with a large coffee table between it and the couch where Danny and Red Robin were situated. The table was covered in supplies – glass bottles with colored liquid, mason jars filled with water and fruit and herbs, bowls of nuts, trays of fruit, plates of granola balls, and stacks of labeled first aid kits.

They each stole a look back to Batman, who kept speaking over his comm, not bothered in the slightest.

“I know you can’t. Have the others pull back.”

He flashed them the hand signal for safe.

“I’ll explain when we return. Hour at most.”

They focused back on Danny to see that he had a much larger first aid kit open on the floor next to him and was skimming his fingers across Red Robin’s forehead, brushing his hair away.

“Oh, this one’s cute,” Tim slurred, and he was Tim now, his mask resting on his chest.

Danny snorted and shifted Tim’s uniform away from the slice in his side. He wiped the blood away with some bandages and tilted his head in confusion. He lifted a bloody finger to stare at it. His eyes squinted and he brought the finger up to his nose, where he gave it a sniff. A low growl vibrated through the room, and Robin gripped his knife again. Danny tapped the bloody finger to his tongue, and Robin threw his knife. Or he would have, had Batman not caught his arm.

“Well?” Batman asked.

“It’s a good thing you brought him here,” Danny responded, voice deeper than even Batman’s, “No one should have access to this.”

He raised his other hand and a glowing green post-it note shimmered into existence in his palm. He flicked his wrist toward Nightwing, offering the note to him between two fingers. It was now covered in tiny writing, just as indecipherable as his wrist computer had been.

“Take this into the greenhouse,” he nodded to a door behind Nightwing that had almost certainly not been there before, “Give it to the Gardener; she’ll get you what you need.”

Nightwing hesitantly took the note and looked to Batman, who nodded to him and began walking to one of the chairs next to the couch. He stepped backwards to the door and cracked it open, giving them all one more glance before slipping inside and closing it gently behind him.

Batman slipped his cowl off and grabbed one of the bottled drinks, twisting the cap off and taking a large sip.

“I��ve tried countless times to replicate this flavor, all of them unsuccessful.”

“It’s made with long-extinct fruits, Bruce. I’d be impressed if you managed it.”

Bruce grunted as the door behind him opened and Nightwing stepped in, looking slightly shell-shocked, carrying two small jars and no post-it note.

“Took you long enough,” Danny scolded while gesturing him over.

He handed the jars over and sat down in the chair opposite Bruce, squinting in confusion at his lack of cowl and relaxed snacking. Robin slid into place next to him, still tense and on guard.

Danny unscrewed one of the jars and stuffed a roll of bandages inside before screwing the lid back on. He tossed it to Bruce without looking (who easily caught it, of course) and unscrewed the lid off the other jar.

“Help yourselves, by the way,” he vaguely gestured toward Robin and Nightwing with his head and pointed to the table with his elbow.

Bruce shook his jar and pulled some of the bandages out, sliding them underneath his suit around his wound. Danny scooped a finger’s worth of paste out of his jar and spread it over Red Robin’s wound. He screwed the cap back on and tossed the jar to Bruce just as the other one came flying back to him. They were both easily caught, of course.

Despite the initial hiss of pain, Red Robin’s whole body had been relaxing since the paste had been applied. His eyes slowly opened while Danny was cleaning his hands off and flicked around the room in a quick assessment.

“Who’s this?”

“Danny.” Bruce supplied.

Red Robin looked around the room slowly this time, taking in Bruce’s cowl-less head, the half-drunken jar of colored drink in front of him, the pile of nuts in his hand, Nightwing’s slightly traumatized face and awkward posture, Robin’s irritated scowl and distrustful glare, and he groaned loudly.

“Please tell me this isn’t another Selina situation. He’s like my age.”

“Bold of you to assume my age and gender.” Danny deadpanned.

Red Robin gaped back.

“I met Danny when I was first starting out as Batman.”

“When he was what, eight?” Dick blurted.

“Still with the assumptions,” Danny muttered to himself.

“We thank you for your assistance...Danny.”

Robin was stiff and formal and struggled through the Danny. But that didn’t stop Danny from giving him a slight smile. He looked down at Red Robin then up at Nightwing then finally back at Bruce.

“I like them,” he declared, grabbing a jar of water off the table.

Bruce grunted as Danny unscrewed the lid and handed it to Red Robin.

“Danny has not aged since we first met.”

“Not exactly, but whatever,” Danny mumbled as he tidied up the first aid kit.

Nightwing opened his mouth as if to speak but shook his head and kept quiet. Robin stepped forward to grab a banana off the table with a polite nod to Danny. Red Robin stared down at the jar in his hands. It was full of cold water with a thick slice of pineapple and sprig of mint. After a quick glance to Bruce, he took a sip that turned into a gulp that turned into him emptying the jar in one go and releasing a contented sigh afterwards.

“Do you know anything about the Court of Owls?” Bruce asked.

A tremor shook the house. Bruce tensed in reflex but didn’t leave his chair after a glance to Danny. Nightwing leapt to his feet. Robin slid backwards and drew a blade. Red Robin jolted up and winced through the half-eaten pineapple slice in his mouth. There was a tense silence for several seconds.

“Only that they are not welcome in Gotham,” Danny eventually replied.

After a few more seconds of silence, Danny flicked his eyes to the fireplace mantle as a small object tipped itself over. Nightwing shot his hand out and snatched it out of the air before it could hit the ground. He opened his fist and looked at a miniature gargoyle statue in confusion.

“I may have to become involved,” Danny nodded to Nightwing, who gently replaced the gargoyle on the mantle.

Bruce grunted. Danny tilted his head, staring into the middle distance.

“The occult shop on 4th and Finger between Asher’s Deli and Panadería Golosos,” he recited.

“There is no such shop.” Robin scowled.

“You are correct,” Danny turned to look at him, “And now that you know it’s there, you’ll be able to find it.”

“Emergencies?” Bruce asked.

“Entryway table, same rules.”

The exchange seemed to satisfy Bruce, who stood with a grunt and pulled his cowl back over his head. The others rose with him and followed him toward the entryway, each nodding a thank you to Danny as they went.

They stepped back into the moonlight of the entryway and saw the previously empty table now had four keys laid out on top of it, evenly spaced and covered in a thin layer of dust. When they looked back through the archway they came from, they saw a dark room back to its original form, no Danny to be seen anywhere.

Batman grabbed one of the keys and slipped it into a belt pouch. Robin followed his lead and took a key for himself.

“Father, were you ever going to inform us that you befriended a vampire?”

Batman grunted and cracked the door open to peer out.

“He’s not a vampire,” Red Robin scoffed, grabbing a key for himself.

“I don’t know, creepy house, magic shit, you should’ve seen the gardener,” Nightwing swiped the last key with a flourish.

“He tasted your blood, Drake.”

“He what!?”

“That was after you called him cute,” Nightwing teased.

Red Robin froze with his mouth open, eyes slowly widening.

“I was hoping I just imagined that.”

“Seriously Tim, he’s probably like 300 years old.”

“Tt, I believe Brown would call this robbing the cradle.”

Nightwing and Red Robin turned to look at Robin in silent surprise.

“Shall we leave?” He ignored their incredulous looks and followed Batman out the door.

They scrambled to not be the last out the door, finding themselves in an entirely different part of the city than they entered from.

#dp x dc #dpxdc #my writing #i personally think this works best in a pure batman universe (no JL)#but imagine it how you will #also im ambivalent on how dp fits in #same universe/different dimension/something else #theres clearly some sort of time stuff going on #that could fit into it too idk #probably not ghost king danny #maybe cw apprentice cuz of the time stuff #or maybe theyre just chilling #not totally happy with my writing here but it is what it is

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