#we like character building in this story

[heimdallsbraids]

Blood of Mine | Ch. 6 (Heimdall x fem!reader)

Summary: Life is pretty simple. Survive the harsh conditions of Fimbulwinter in Midgard, trade with your dwarven friends in Svartalfheim and – avoid the shit out of Odin’s most loyal lapdog? If word reaches the All-Father about your blood-bending origins, you’re doomed… (Hints of Avatar: TLA, but not a crossover)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Profanity

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Chapter Six: Björn

It was the morning after Thor’s big feast, and you awoke feeling more well-rested than you have in a long time. Your dreams pleasantly consisted of travelling to some foreign lands, far away from the troubles of Asgard – no Odin, no Heimdall and certainly no threat of Ragnarök looming around the corner. It was a nice change from the recent nightmares you’ve been having.

Feeling good, you opted to wear one of your new dresses, admiring its splendid quality as you stood before the window, peeking outside. It was an emerald green number with delicate stitching along the hems and ivory symbols lining your full-length sleeves, showcasing what you assumed was Asgardian supremacy. It fits you like a glove, and you were tempted to order another to take back to Midgard once you built up some savings.

Exiting the hall of bedrooms, you were surprised to see the double doors to Odin’s office open, if only a crack. The man himself could be seen standing behind the massive desk, muttering away as the hushed cawing of a raven echoed around him. It was an odd sight, and you were nearly out of earshot before he called out to you.

You exhaled slowly, backtracking around the corner to peek your head inside. “Yes, Odin – I mean All-Father?”

He beckoned you in with a humoured shake of his head. “Got some time to chat?”

Not having much of a choice, you nodded and stepped inside. Unfortunately, you hadn’t seen Heimdall standing off to the side when you peeked in before, and you barely held back a groan of displeasure as his lips tilted upward in a sly smirk. Here you were wanting to avoid the Gods, and now you were stuck alone in a room with both of them. Just your luck!

Odin didn’t miss the interaction. With a pointer finger, he gestured between you and his son. “You two know each other?”

Heimdall’s answer was prompt. “Of course, All-Father. I make it my business to know who or what enters the realm I love.”

The insinuation behind his words wasn’t lost on you, and you inwardly cringed as he gave you a pointed look while saying it. You tensed. Could he make it any more obvious?

Odin hummed, sounding pleased. “Always on the ball, this one! If you ever have any questions about Asgard, he knows everything there is to know about it. He’ll be happy to show you the ropes.”

“I’m sure he will be,” you replied monotonously, doubting that very much.

“Indeed. Now, I’ve been meaning to say…” he began, fluffing with some scrolls along the expanse of his desk. Some were new, others were old and tattered, and a few were lying open with foreign characters written over them. “You’re more than welcome to come and go from the city as you please. I won’t always be around to take you, but Heimdall here has the ability to travel by bifröst if you ever find yourself missing home.”

Your brows rose at that. Travelling to Midgard with Heimdall? You didn’t know him all that well, but something told you he’d rather go anywhere else than to the realm of humans and shitty Fimbulwinter weather. Not to mention, you doubt the locals at your camp would appreciate his uppity, better-than-thou attitude – if he didn’t just up and ditch you by the Lake of Nine, that is.

You glanced at him to gauge his reaction, but he gave nothing away as he regarded his father and superior with a stance that meant business, all upright and straight-backed. He looked like a hound, ready to bark and bite on demand if its owner commanded him so. It certainly didn’t scream familial love to you. It piqued your curiosity, but you weren’t about to comment on it.

“When’s the soonest I can leave?” You asked instead, making Odin cease all actions and huff a laugh. Even Heimdall quirked a brow, but he otherwise remained stationary.

“Already so eager to leave? I hope you haven’t run into any issues; any problems…?” He trailed off.

“No,” you answered. “I’ve just never been away from home this long. I want to check on my dad and see how everything’s going.”

“I see.” Odin took a moment to drum his fingers against his chin, thinking. Then, he clicked his fingers, “How’s about I take you there now? Meet the parents, see the town?”

You winced. “There’s only one.”

“Hm?”

“Parent,” you clarified. “I only have one. And it’s not a town, either.”

“My apologies. I had no idea.” Odin rounded the table and lay what you guessed was supposed to be a comforting hand on your shoulder. “If you want to go now, we can. Just let me make some arrangements beforehand to keep this place up and running while we’re gone, and I’ll be right with you. Wouldn’t want to return to it in shambles, would we now?”

With that, the man was off, leaving you and Heimdall to stare at where he’d stood nearly two seconds ago. Seeing no reason to hang around, you circled back and made your way to the great hall, figuring you should probably squeeze in a quick meal before your trip. You had no idea the younger God was hot on your trail until he cut you off, treating you to a face full of his leathered tunic. You sputtered and reeled back with a heated glare.

“Running from your problems isn’t very becoming of you, sunshine. Reality getting too hard to face?” He sneered, glowing purple eyes locked onto yours.

“How am I ‘running from my problems’?” You snapped, wanting nothing more than to knee him in the groin. He seemed to notice this, too, because he wedged his leg against yours, preventing you from doing so. You continued, “I’m going home to visit, not hide!”

“That’s right, wench, you won’t ever be able to hide from me. You may have gotten off yesterday, but you’ll be put to work very soon – that, I promise you.” He finished lowly before stalking off through the front doors of the lodge.

You could only stand there, dumbfounded by his harsh overreaction. You had no idea how he came to the conclusion that you were running away, but the nerve he had to act as if you’d somehow forgotten about your agreement pissed you off more than anything. You kicked the wall out of frustration. What did it matter to him anyway? You’d be out of his hair, out of his realm, and most importantly, far, far away from his precious All-Father.

The two of you had also gained quite the audience since, when you finally calmed down enough to look up, several servants and helmets were staring at you, clearly baffled by the scene they’d just witnessed. Aggravated as you were, you stormed off to your room. Thanks to Heimdall's little hissy fit, you no longer had an appetite to worry about.

You were sitting on the bed with your knees tucked against your chest when you received word from a servant that the All-Father was ready. You were silent as his ravens surrounded you in waves, clearing out once you’d arrived in Midgard. You instantly recognised where you were, but the sudden exposure to sub-zero temperatures had you huddling your arms to your chest for warmth.

“Hah, almost forgot!” Odin chuckled. He waved his hand toward your shivering form, “Efri-lá…”

Suddenly, as if a blanket had tucked itself over you, the cold whispers of Midgardian winds weaned away, leaving you nice and toasty in your new Asgardian dress. You probably should’ve changed into regular clothes beforehand, but you were too busy sulking to think correctly. You were just lucky Odin had that trick up his sleeve, or he would’ve had to take you back.

You mustered a small smile. “Thanks. We’re actually not too far from camp.”

“Lead the way,” he encouraged.

You observed as he tucked his cape so that it enveloped him entirely, granting outsiders nothing but the vision of a tall man. He looked every part the mysterious God you’d heard countless stories about throughout your childhood. It was hard to believe you were now his personal guest in Asgard and that he was bringing you here on a house call, of all things. You would’ve been pretty chuffed if you didn’t know any better.

“So,” you began awkwardly, adjusting the sleeves of your dress as you walked. “I take it you’re not as busy today, then?”

“I figured I could spare you some time. After all, you are my guest.” He stated, his voice accompanied by his crunching footfalls in snow. “I do apologise for the blatant neglect. I’ve been a very busy man as of late. Gotta keep the people happy, you see?”

You wanted to scoff at his honeyed words. Sure, the people inside the walls of Asgard were probably satisfied enough, but everything outside of it? All the other realms that suffered, thanks to his input? You didn’t doubt that they were in an absolute state. Especially Vanaheim.

“I see,” you echoed, struggling to maintain your composure. “It must be hard. Protecting so many people, I mean…”

“Ah, it comes with the territory, I’m afraid, but I don’t let that stop me. Enough about me, though,” he declared. “I take it you’re enjoying your stay in Gladsheim?”

“It’s a beautiful city,” you answered honestly, thankful for the change of subject. “Your granddaughter’s very nice, too. We spend time together quite often, actually.”

“So I’ve heard! She’s a fiery young thing if I’ve ever seen one – big dreams, too. It’s a shame she takes so much to her father.”

You tilted your head in muted shock. Was that a dig at Thor? Did this man have a healthy relationship with any of his sons?

“I’m pleased to know she took responsibility for our guest. I have to admit, I was a little worried at first.” He finished jokingly.

A familiar cave opening appeared in the distance, and soon enough, the sounds of people talking drifted within earshot. Your heart began to race. You were eager now that you were actually here, about to see your father again. You weren’t lying earlier in saying that this was the longest you’d ever been away from home and, thus, away from him. You missed him.

Your camp neighbours stared as you hurried to the back with a peculiar man trailing behind you. They had no idea who he was, and you were more than happy to keep it that way.

“Dad?” You called, running inside.

You were surprised to see that he was awake – sober, even – and he immediately stood from the stool near his bed, pulling you in for a bear hug. “Where the Hel have you been, you little shit?”

“I’ve missed you, too, Dad.”

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before shuffling to the other end of the tent where a heavy wooden chest sat. He lifted a weighty green sack from inside and gave it a shake, the tell-tale sounds of clinking money reverberating in the tent.

“About that…” You trailed off, scratching the back of your neck.

“You couldn’t have given me some warning before running off like that?”

“Hey, it was for our benefit!” You argued, crossing your arms over your chest. “I had to do something, or we’d have been screwed within a few weeks!”

 “I know. And I am sorry.” Your father sighed, dropping his arms to his side in defeat. “I promise I’m trying. It’s just, ever since your mother-”

Your hand shot up in front of you. “Please, don’t. It’s been years, Dad. We… we need to move on.”

“Am I interrupting something?” It was Odin. He lifted the tent flap and peeked inside. You almost forgot about him amongst the influx of complicated emotions, but you were honestly glad for the interruption.

“No, you can come in if you like.” You told him, shaking your head.

Your dad sent you a questioning glance as he returned the money to the chest, silently asking who the Hel this man was and why he was stepping into your home. Nevertheless, he straightened up and held out a hand, facing him with a presence you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Ah,” Odin grasped the offered hand. “I’m Odin. You could say I’m your daughter’s new boss.”

You didn’t miss how your father’s grip tightened or the way his eyes flickered to yours upon recognising the name. You shook your head, signalling him to play along.

“Björn.” Your father replied, smoothly taking on the role of the unassuming parent. “Thank you for that, by the way. You’ve helped us out of a tight spot.”

Odin seemed to revel in the praise as he clasped his hands behind his back. The two began chatting, and you quickly excused yourself to grab the two men a drink. Upon your return, you discovered them sitting on the stools, still talking.

“Wouldn’t you rather be by your daughter’s side?” Odin asked, and you froze.

“What?” You interjected. You crouched down, eyes flicking between them in curiosity as you handed them each a cup of freshly brewed tea.

“I extended the offer to live and work in Asgard to your father. I thought it better for the both of you that way.”

You were immediately reminded of Heimdall’s words a few nights ago – how he believed Odin already knew what you were – and immediately began waving your hands in front of you. One family member in the devil’s den was more than enough.

“Don’t be silly, he’s fine here in camp. Right, Dad?” You urged, hoping he’d take the hint.

“They need me here.” He agreed firmly, nodding his head. “Fimbulwinter’s only getting worse, and we’re about to have a few new additions join the camp, so we need all the people we can get.”

Odin took a sip of his drink as he processed this. “I can respect that. However, the offer remains the same should you change your mind. Asgard will welcome you with open arms.”

You sighed in relief, not realising you were even holding your breath in the first place. A few more pleasantries were exchanged before the sound of a raven squawking had the God standing from his chair and returning his cup.

“Business calls, I’m afraid. I’ll meet you out front.” He ominously declared. “Until next time, Björn.”

You were granted a private moment with your father as Odin left, the sounds of his footsteps and hushed words fading not long after. Deeming the coast as clear, your father gripped you by the arms, shaking slightly.

“What have you done, sprout? You’re not safe in Asgard,” he jutted his chin toward the tent’s exit, “-and certainly not with him!”

“All I know is I was lucky enough to meet his bitchiest son, then Durlin kept me out of Niðavellir for a good month, and then suddenly, he was taking me to meet Odin!”

“Durlin?” Your father spat, venom lacing his tone. “Really? Did that little shit blab? Oh-ho, if your mother was still around-”

“That’s what I was thinking – and that’s not even the worst part!” You were anxiously shifting on the spot now, waving your hands in grand gestures to help explain the shitstorm you’d gotten into. “That bitchy son I mentioned before? He knows! He fucking knows!”

Your dad stilled. “You’re not going back. Tell him I’m sick or dying – shit, anything!”

“I can’t! If I even think about leaving, he’ll tell his father…”

“Which son is it?”

“Heimdall.”

Grave recognition overcame his features, and your father threw his hands in the air. “Of all the sons, it had to be him!”

You wanted to ask how he knew Heimdall, but you feared Odin would become suspicious if you continued to delay, so you quickly leaned in for a hug instead. “Look, we’ve got an agreement going, so I should be fine until-”

“Should be?”

“Come on. I have to go!”

He shook his head as you pulled away from his tight embrace. “I’m always here, sprout, you know that. Dad’s always here…”

“I know,” you whispered, having already made your exit.

Your chest hurts.

A/N: Yoo, what is with the lack of Odin gifs? I could hardly find any except for the ones where he's getting beaten the shit out of by Atreus, Kratos and Freya omg

[egophiliac]

(almost) four years in, and I finally had time to draw something for the anniversary! woo! 🎉🎉🎉

[danielsarmand]

guys. guys. guys. look at me. i beg of you to think about it for one single second. do you really genuinely honestly think that armand. 514 years old never turned a human never made a vampire. would make his first and only fledgling OUT OF SPITE? look at me in the eye. come on. i know you don't genuinely think that

[puppyeared]

littlest furth shop

@laikascomet

[suja-janee]

My overall analysis on Sektor and Bi-Han’s relationship and how I still think a Bi han redemption is possible.

If you don’t wanna read all this let me know, I’ll give you a summary

[kantush]

I fucking love Kelvin. My cute malewife

He's doing honest work.

[prideprejudce]

the more i think about Oppenheimer the more disappointed i get because at its core it’s such an interesting story to tell. like the whole manhattan project catapulted the entire world into a new atomic era that we could never go back from whether we were ready for it or not. and the fallout from the project not only changed and devastated the lives of hundreds of thousands of people (including of course the victims in hiroshima and nagasaki + the people living in new mexico where they tested the bomb) and the continued generational trauma of the bombs. also just the general mass panic and fear that the Cold War instilled into every citizen in the states who were literally waiting to one day be just annihilated by a nuclear attack. the whole creation of the atomic bomb had so much impact on the world. so doing a deep character study of both oppenheimer and his colleagues on the moral ambiguity of their work in the project and the outcome of it is such a great movie concept. but the film didn’t feel like that at all. instead Nolan gave us the watered down story that he’s best at and spent almost three hours forcing us to watch whether oppenheimer had to lose his disneyland government fast-pass due to his communist ties or not (spoiler: he does) and how strauss doesn’t like him because he got his feewlings hurt once. all the other scientists and physicists were given one or two minutes of screen time and were really just names to a face. the actual bombs creation was given a sidelong glance and trivial explanation at best. and of course to tie it all off the main female side characters were either naked/having sex for 80% of their screen time or was given the character depth of a piece of tissue paper

[randomminty]

Opened paint tool sai for the first time in 5 years immediately drew yuri

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance - La Cité des Cloches

[starry-bi-sky]

Childhood Friends Au: Danny's in Gotham Again

when the wool is off your eyes you'll stop counting sheep at night cause you'll eat your fill of them during the daytime

A few weeks after Danny’s visit to Gotham, he buys an apartment in the city. It’s this little thing, a studio apartment on the same street he grew up in. In Crime Alley. When he tells his parents, they protest heavily. They don’t think it's safe. They think he should reconsider. There were plenty of apartments and places to live somewhere else. And what about college? 

Danny doesn’t think he’ll go to college. He isn’t sure what he wants to do, now that being an astronaut is off the table. It’d be a waste of money to go without a goal in mind, he thinks. He says he’ll take a gap year and apply at one of the community colleges funded by the Wayne Corporation, possibly. It just wasn’t in the cards right now. 

“If things get tough,” He says at dinner that night, “then I can talk to the Waynes. I’m friends with the family, remember?” He ended up getting Bruce’s number in his phone again before he left, and in the process got Tim’s as well. They don’t talk much, Danny isn’t sure what to say. But he sends Tim memes whenever he comes across one and thinks he’ll like. Tim sends memes back in return.   

His parents do remember. They remember. They also remember the horrified shriek that echoed through the house when Danny learned of Jason’s passing. They remember running up the stairs and bursting into their son’s room and finding him sobbing into his bed, curled up like a little kid, like he was in pain. He lost his voice that day, stuck between screaming out his grief and sobbing it. 

They’re still not sure if they should let him go. 

In the end, Danny wins them out, and he lets them help him search for an apartment. They take a break from their lab work to help search for cheap furniture to buy. They may have more money than when they were in Gotham, but that frugal part of you never fully goes away. They all agree that they don’t want Danny to be seen carrying in nice-looking furniture when he moves in. 

He ends up with a basic furniture set, all mismatched, and in the warm summer of June, his parents rent out a u-haul and drive him down to Gotham to move in. They meet the landlord when they arrive, a skinny and frail old man with wispy white hair and a wrinkled face. He gives Danny the keys and tells him what apartment number he is, and then he leaves. 

His parents help him move in. They help him carry his heavy furniture up to the second floor, where his apartment is. Danny isn’t sure if he wants them to help. His mom and dad are strong, but they are getting old, closer to their fifties now that their children are grown. His dad’s hair is slowly beginning to thin, and rather than the white eating at the sides of his head, it now streaks through his hair like salt-and-pepper. His mom’s hair is graying out too, and there are more lines in their faces than he remembers there being. 

When he voices his concerns, his mom laughs spiritedly and says that they may be getting old, but they are still as spry as when they were in their twenties. Danny isn’t sure if he believes them or not. He can see his dad struggle a bit when they return to get his bed frame, and they have to take a break before they go back down for the rest of their things. 

Five years ago, his dad could do this without breaking a sweat. It forces a heavy thing in the back of Danny’s throat. (He is less afraid of his own death than he is of his loved ones, and while he has always felt rocky with his parents, he still loves them more than anything else.) 

Danny’s apartment is exactly as he would have expected it to be: shabby and worn through. The entire room smells like stale cigarette smoke and weed, nicotine stains the wall with poorly covered bullet holes, and stains in the carpet that are a color he can’t discern. The fridge has a broken light and when he tries to turn on the gas stove, it click-click-clicks before lighting, fire fwooshing out while the smell of gas fills the air. There’s rat droppings in the cupboards and the closet-like bathroom is just as bad. 

The ghostly part of him can sense the heavy stench of death in the room; people have died in this room. People have died in every room of this building, he thinks. They have died on the streets outside and in the alleys squeezed between them. He can feel it like a heavy fog in the air. 

It is painfully nostalgic, a bittersweet feeling in his chest that he grimaces to. 

When the last box is placed in his apartment, his parents offer to help unpack. They are hesitant to leave and Danny knows it, although he doesn’t know if it’s from empty nest syndrome or because it's Gotham. He thinks it might be both. He is their youngest child finally leaving home to a city known for its danger. 

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay behind, sweetie?” His mother asks, a frown she tries to hide settled in the creases of her face. She fiddles with her hands, a nervous habit Danny has since noticed when she feels truly unsure and doesn’t need to hide it. Hesitancy looms over her like a heavy cloud. 

His dad jumps in hastily, splaying his hands and smiling painfully wide to hide the glistening in his eyes. “You’re mother’s right! We can help you get everything set up, champ. I could probably do something with that stove of yours to make it faster!” He says, his voice still booming like it always does even if there’s a stumble in his words. 

It makes his heart squeeze, knowing just how much they care. It was hard last summer, telling him that he was the Phantom. Terrifying, actually. They couldn’t comprehend it. He hadn’t felt his heart beat that fast in years when he stood in front of them at the kitchen table and told them he was a halfa, begging them to believe that ghosts weren’t inherently evil. 

His parents were people of science, however, and after much, much shock, they slowly came to terms with it. How could they not? The evidence was right in front of them. Their son was dead-alive, alive-dead. Somewhere stuck in the between. The tears they shed that night could fill a river, moving from the kitchen to the living room as Danny explains how he died. 

(When Danny tells them that he died after a week Jason did, his mom and dad look horrified. His mom covers her mouth when he adds that it was his idea to go inside it, his dad looks ashy pale, gripping his pant legs so tight that his knuckles turn white. There is a conclusion coming to their minds that he can tell they don’t like.) 

(“You’ve always hated our inventions, Danny.” Mom says in a hushed voice, and Danny winces at the wording, sinking into the back of the cushions in shame. He never thought that his parents noticed. Mom quickly grabs his arm, “No, no, there’s nothing to be ashamed of Danny. We were… perhaps too careless with our inventions, too enthusiastic. You had every right to hate the things we made when they had a tendency to… to malfunction.”) 

(Malfunction is a delicate way of putting it, when Danny remembers every time they had to evacuate their old apartment complex because whatever half-baked creation his parents made inevitably blew up into ash and smoke. There were soot marks permanently stained into the ceiling.) 

(Her hand slides down and grabs his, and she cups it in both of her hands, squeezing tightly. He forces himself to look up, and there is a look like her heart breaking when he looks into his mother’s eyes. “You’ve always avoided the lab after we moved, Danny. And you had every right to, so why on Earth did you ever think about going into the portal?”)

(Danny struggles to come up with an adequate answer, a way to verbalize what came over him that day five years ago. The answer is there, hanging in the air like a knot in a noose. He opens his mouth, and then closes it.)

(Finally, with a tongue made of lead, he shrugs lamely and looks away. “I didn’t know there was an on button inside it.” He mumbles, and despite being the truth it feels like a lie. But that is the truth. He didn’t know there was an on button inside it. So he didn’t care what happened.)

(Something dulls in mom’s eyes, like she thought of something else that Danny hadn’t said. Her eyes shimmer, and she squeezes them shut, breathing in so deep that it shakes. And then she pulls him into a hug, a hand burying into his hair and pressing him close. “It must have hurt so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”)

(It is something that Danny doesn’t expect her to say, like missing the last step of the stairs. It startles him so much he laughs this short, bark of a thing. He feels his dad press against his back and wrap his big arms around them, his nose pushed into his hair.) 

(Because yeah. Yeah, it did hurt. It hurt more than anything else he’s ever felt before. It had torn him apart and sewn him back together again, only to rinse and repeat. The pain was nothing he ever spoke to Sam or Tucker about, and it was something they never brought up. No, that’s not true. If they ever brought it up, Tucker would call it a zap. As if Danny only experienced a mild static shock. Like it was painless. It’s a pretty lie that Danny lets him and Sam believe.)

(His eyes sting and water immediately wobbles into his vision, coming up with such a force that he doesn’t even need to blink before it spills over. “Yeah.” He forces out, voice unexpectedly rough and cracking. “Yeah, it- it hurt. A lot.”)

He tells them about fighting the Lunch Lady a month later. He tells them about finding Jason. It comes spilling out like a waterfall. “I found him, mom.” He says, holding onto her tight while she keeps him tucked under his chin like a little kid. The secret of Jason being Robin stays hidden under his tongue, it is not his secret to tell. Not his identity to expose. He grips her tighter. “I found him, mom. Right there in the Ghost Zone, and he was my Jason. He wasn’t an echo or a— an imprint of him.”

Mom is silent; quiet and attentive, and so is dad, who rubs his large hands up and down Danny’s spine in an attempt to soothe him. It only works a little. Danny breathes in like a gasp as the urge to cry overcomes him again. He always avoids talking about Jason, his grief is like a never-healing scab that can be picked off at any time. It is ingrained into his core. 

“And then I lost him.” He forces out, a sob layering under his words that he chokes on and swallows. The hand on his back stills, and he can feel mom and dad breathe in like a question. He turns his head and pushes it into mom’s shoulder. “He disappeared, mom. Just— just gone.”

“And he didn’t move on.” He says, voice snarling like teeth biting before his mom can ask, because he knows that’s what she was going to ask. It’s what Sam and Tucker asked when he came to them in tears hours after he found Jason gone. It’s what Jazz said when he finally told her about it. It’s what every one of his ghosts asked when he told them about it and begged for their help. 

Danny grits his teeth and tries not to dig his nails into mom’s clothes as a fresh wave of tears run down his face. “His haunt is still there. If Jason really moved on it would have disappeared with him. That’s how it works. But it’s still in the zone, so Jason’s out there I just don’t know where.” 

(Sam once asks him why Danny didn’t just move on from it a year after Jason’s disappearance. She asked him why he didn’t give it up. Danny nearly saw red, and nearly bit her head off for it. It was incomprehensible to him to just stop looking for Jason, to give up. Not when he was out in the zone somewhere. Because he had to be in the zone.)

(Danny once tried to take Jason through the portal with him, and much like what happened to Kitty, it didn’t work. Jason was too tied to the ghost zone to leave.) 

(Some bonds are just unbreakable, he thinks. Bonds forged through blood and time and trust, and when you’re on the streets of Gotham, you hoard what little trust you have in someone like a dragon with its gold. It is scarcely given and fiercely kept.) 

“I’ve been looking for him.” Danny whispers when talking becomes too hard for him, when it runs the risk of him crying. “When- when I’m not fighting ghosts or, or in school or with my friends, I’ve been looking for him.” He has explored the Ghost Zone in every reach he can. He has met so many people. He’s met the ghosts of aliens from planets in every corner of the galaxy. He has met gods or god-like beings and their disciples. 

He’s met famous scholars and writers (he’s gotten the autographs of all of Jason’s favorite writers). He has found entire cities that have so much life in it that it's been permanently etched into the ghost zone, like a mirror version of itself. 

He’s visited the ghostly vision of Gotham so many times, and he avoids the imprint of Wayne Manor like the plague. There are ghostly newspapers that he reads. There are the ghosts of Martha and Thomas Wayne in many of them. 

Jason’s haunt connects to Wayne Manor, but it is also the street they grew up in. It is a small brick building with a door that leads to Jason’s room. A ghost knows when someone enters their haunt, it alerts them like a doorbell in the back of their mind. A foreign ecto-signature in a place drenched in your own. 

Danny visits it every time he goes into the Ghost Zone. It’s always his first stop. 

He tells his parents all of it. He tells them of the ghosts he’s met, of the places he’s seen. And when he feels brave, he tells them about Rath and the terror that his future self brings him. He keeps some details hidden, the ones that he can afford to keep without muddling up the story. 

(Rath is a tall, spindly thing, like a funhouse mirror version of Danny himself. He has arms that are much too long and legs that are much too tall, with skinny fingers that extend into claws.He wears his suit the same as Danny does, with it partially undone and the sleeves wrapped around his waist.)

(There is a black hole in his chest that is much bigger than Danny’s own. It takes up his chest cavity and drips the same, viscous black liquid as the tears falling from his eyes. Danny never forgets his voice; a scraping, quiet thing like he’s screamed himself hoarse. Rath has a voice like goosebumps, and it haunts Danny like a bump in the night.) 

Danny speaks and speaks and speaks until he can’t think of anything else to speak of. He is tired and sad, and it feels like his heart has been ripped out and rubbed raw again. And yet, he also feels so much better. Like a long heavy weight has been taken off his chest. 

Yeah, last summer was hard. His parents walked on eggshells around him, and they forced themselves to unlearn their bias of ghosts. It was more than Danny could have ever dreamed of, and when they felt ready for it, they asked him more about the ghost zone.

He smiles sadly at his dad, “I think fixing the stove can be a priority another time, dad.” He says, watching him wilt and his smile fall. Jack Fenton was always so good at making himself look like a kicked puppy. “I can handle unpacking by myself, I promise.” 

His parents still look so unsure, like they want to argue. Danny watches his mom purse her lips tightly, confliction running across her face like a datastream. She takes dad’s hand, squeezing their fingers together despite the droop in her shoulders. 

“Oh, alright then, I suppose.” She relents, her hand placing on Jack’s arm. “I guess we could go, we’re just going to miss you so much, Danny.” 

Tears seem to have won over his dad, and Jack Fenton sniffs back before he can cry properly. “Our little boy, all grown up.” He says, voice wobbling. It makes Danny laugh, and it makes his heart pang. His smile grows impossibly wider and so much fonder. “You’ve become such a kind, wonderful young man, Danno. We’re so proud of you.” 

Danny laughs again, and it cracks. “You’re gonna make me cry, dad.” (He feels a welling of guilt in his gut that he ignores — he doesn’t feel like a kind man. He doesn’t feel like a good one either. Not with what he plans to do.) 

His father holds out his arms in hopefulness, “One last hug for your old man before we head out?” He asks, mustering up a smile on his face. 

Danny barrels into him, nearly knocking his dad over with an oomph. He’s as tall as him now, but he still feels little in his bear hugs. With arms wrapping around his middle, Danny hugs his father tight and breathes him in one last time. 

“Careful there, Danno.” He laughs, patting Danny’s back roughly. “You’ll break my ribs with that ghostly strength of yours!” But he holds on just as tight.

Out of spite, Danny bends back and lifts him off his feet, laughing when Jack tenses up and nearly scrambles out of surprise. His mom laughs with him, stepping back to give them room for the few seconds that dad is in the air. 

When it’s his mom’s turn, Danny has to hunch to hug her. Something bittersweet to him as she plants a kiss on his forehead and says that he’ll always be her baby. “Even if you do have that horrid smoking habit.” She adds on with a disapproving eyebrow raise. 

Danny turns red in embarrassment, and walks them back to the GAV. Gothamites of all kinds slow to stop and boggle at the monstrous, road-illegal thing that is parallel-parked next to the curbside. In the past, Danny would have died with mortification to be seen with it. Now it just makes him laugh. Before he goes back into the apartment building, he buys a newspaper from a nearby convenience store.  

The first thing he does when he gets back up to his room is one: make a mental note to buy a bicycle chain lock for the door. The locks jiggle and there are splinters along the side that show signs of it being broken into in the past. The second thing he does is pull his cigarettes out of his pocket and light one. 

Danny starts to unpack with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, placing the newspaper he bought onto the counter. He has a cheap loveseat that he pushes off to the side, and he moves the boxes into the kitchen. It’s a matter of organization that Danny has to think about before he does anything. 

It’s as he’s pushing the sofa up against the wall facing the windows that his phone rings a familiar tune: Sam. The phone is fished out before he can think about it and when he stares down at the screen, he realizes it's a facetime call. 

He presses answer and walks over to prop his phone up onto the counter. The smiling faces of Sam and Tucker greet him, rather than just Sam. Immediately, Danny grins. “Hey Danny.” Sam greets, smiling a dark-painted lazy thing. From the background it looks like they’re in Tucker’s room. Sam is in Tucker’s desk chair, and Tucker is behind her, leaning against it. “Have you moved in yet?” 

Danny pulls the cigarette from his mouth and huffs, a cloud of smoke following his breath. “Yeah! It’s a shithole.” He grins lopsidedly, and his feet carry him off to the side to allow Sam and Tucker view of his apartment. He lets thirty seconds pass, allowing the both of them to really see the rest of the room. And then he steps back into frame. 

Sam and Tucker both look like they’re trying not to look judgemental, like they’re trying to hide a grimace that Danny sees anyway with the small turns at the corner of their mouths. He grins wider, mirth filling his lungs. “I know, it looks awful doesn’t it?”

“It’s— it’s not so bad.” Sam says with a strain in her voice, a forced smile on her face that tries to be reassuring. Tucker nods along readily, and he looks just as unsure as Sam does. Danny stifles laughter behind his teeth. 

“No, no, it looks bad,” He takes a drag of his cigarette, shaking his head. “You can say it, I won’t get offended. It’s a fucking apartment in crime alley. Of course it looks bad.” 

Sam remains silent, a rearing of her stubbornness showing itself. Tucker takes a different approach, and heaves a dramatic sigh of relief, slumping like a weight. “Okay, you’re right. It looks bad.” He frowns, “Sorry, man.” 

While Danny snorts, Sam sighs. “Yeah, it looks bad. What even are those stains?” She asks, and both she and Tucker lean closer in tandem to the screen, eyes squinting at the floor behind him. Danny glances at the floor, and shrugs. 

“Blood, probably.” He says, and while years in Amity Park have accustomed him to a clean environment, the desensitization of Gotham still remains. Tucker and Sam both make faces and lean away, as if the stain itself was capable of passing through to them. “Yeah, there are bullet holes in the walls.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe to be there?” Tucker asks, a furrow appearing between his brows. He adjusts his glasses and leans against the chair. Sam is frowning heavily, and Danny can already see her thinking up of a new way to fix the problem. 

“Oh, I never said this place was safe.” Danny tells him cheerily, taking a last hit of his cigarette before placing the dead stick onto the counter. He itches for another one. Instead he walks over to the shelf his parents brought in and starts moving it. “It’s Crime Alley, Tuck. Safe isn’t even in its vocabulary.” 

Tucker and Sam look like they’ve both swallowed a lemon.

“But it’s where I want to be right now.” He says, grunting quietly when the shelf is against the wall he wants it to be, near the short hallway leading to the front door. He can push it in front of it if someone tries to break in. “And Crime Alley’s apartments are the only ones I can really afford right now without mooching off my parents, and I’d rather not depend on them.” 

He can hear the disapproving hesitance from where he stands. And he ignores it. 

Danny walks back into frame, lifting up a box onto the counter. He hums lightly, fingers run over the tape keeping it shut. “Why do you even want to be in Gotham, Danny?” Sam asks, and she sounds genuinely perplexed. Danny stills. “I thought this place only had bad memories for you.” 

His blood turns cold, and like a dime being flipped his slow heartbeat fills his ears. “It does.” He replies automatically, before he can think. Shit, shit. He knows that Sam or Tucker would ask that question, and yet he still feels unprepared for it. His heart pulses quickly against his ribcage, knocking, asking him what he’s going to tell them that isn’t the truth. 

Danny stammers, “I mean— I just— I guess I felt nostalgic.” He says, and it sounds like a weak defense. He looks away, finding himself instinctively scratching his jaw. A new tick of his when he’s nervous. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam and Tucker both narrow their eyes at him. 

He cannot tell them the real reason why he’s moved back to Gotham. He can’t tell them of the little secret and vow he told himself five years ago, the one that’s been left to fester and burn like an open wound close to his core. The one that, if he thinks too much about it, sends a searing hot electricity through him, filling him from crown to toe top-full of direst wrath.  

(Danny was always the angrier one in the duo of Jason and Danny. He was always the one with glass in his mouth, cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world around them. His knuckles had more blood and bruises on it than skin, once upon a time. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He has grown from it, that fury has turned to a small simmering candle.) (But sometimes, sometimes it rears its head, and electricity will buzz under Danny’s skin. There is lightning before the thunder, the second before a fist pulled to punch lands, the spark before it becomes a blaze.) 

He stumbles over his words, and then sighs long and low, drooping his head. “I… was thinking that I can’t avoid this place forever.” He says, and the best lies always have the truth in it. Because it’s not a lie, not completely. But it’s not close enough to the truth either. “And that maybe if I came back, I’d be able to do something about those bad memories. Make them better or make it hurt less.” 

Like wool over their eyes, it fools Sam and Tucker. Their narrowed eyes soften, and Danny feels like a snake is in his lungs as they both adopt their own versions of gentleness on their faces. “Oh, Danny.” Sam breathes out, and the snake squeezes, “Of course, we understand.”

Tucker nods, smiling at him. “Yeah, bro, that’s really brave of you. I know it can’t be easy coming back.” He says, “Maybe you can reconnect with the Waynes again, you always thought well of Mister Wayne whenever you came back from visiting.”

Danny smiles weakly, the gesture cutting into his cheeks like a knife. Perhaps he could. He was still upset with Bruce for hiding Jason’s killer from him. But he doesn’t hate him. Maybe five years ago, he did, when the death of Jason was still fresh in his mind and freshly bleeding in his heart. Now he just doesn’t know what to think of him. He was Batman. Jason was Robin, and the Joker killed Robin. 

It would need to be something he’d have to speak to Bruce about in person, he thinks, in order to resolve it. To hear his judgment on it and make an opinion from there. Danny has learned in the last five years, much to Jazz’s smug delight, that talking to people about something he was upset about did make him feel better. 

The conversation slips on from there into something more light, more breathable. And while they talk, Danny unpacks. He sets up his bed in the corner of the room, adjacent to the windows, and unpacks his cheap TV and table stand. It’s directly across from the couch, in front of the windows. He puts up knicks and knacks he’s collected over the years on the shelves.

When he puts up the curtains, he notices that more than one frame jiggles loosely. Sam makes a comment on the musty stains permanently dyed into the glass, and Danny talks about getting something to fix the cracks. Gotham winters can get brutal, and even if he can withstand the cold, doesn’t mean everything else in his apartment can. 

“Oh, watch this.” He says halfway through unpacking, and pulls out a stick of thick white chalk from a box. “This is something I learned from Clockwork a while back; I think he knew I was going to move to Gotham.” He grins sillily, popping into the camera frame to show them. “I wonder how?” 

Sam rolls her eyes, smiling while Tucker huffs. “It’s not like he’s the Master of Time and can see all past, present, and future.” Tucker snarks. 

Danny hums lightly, curt like he isn’t sure he believes Tucker, and walks to a piece of bare wall not yet blocked by furniture. He starts to draw on it. The chalk shimmers with faint ectoplasm on the wall. 

“Uhh…” Tucker’s voice cuts through, “Are you sure you should be doing that? Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

“There are bullet holes in the plaster, Tucker.” Danny retorts dryly, arching his hand to make a big circle. “I don’t think the landlord is gonna care if I get washable chalk on his walls.” Inside the circle, he inscribes the symbols of the Infinite Realms. “I don’t think he’d be able to see it anyways, he was really old.” 

When he is done, Danny steps back to admire his work. It’s not bad, he thinks, for a lack of practice. He tosses the chalk off to the side, it lands on the couch and rolls back into the cushions. Ectoplasm heats under his hand, slowly glowing from his fingertips before stretching down the rest of his palm. 

Danny’s fingers press against the wall, into the center of the circle. The result is immediate, ectoplasm is siphoned off his hand and into the circle. It glows, and then swirls. He steps off to the side for Sam and Tucker to watch its transformation. The circle fills with a swirling pool of ectoplasm, like a smaller version of the basement portal, and then it warps and stretches. 

It fills out a rectangular shape, shifting like taffy being pulled this way and that, before settling into a solid shape. It solidifies, and instead of a wall there is a glowing purple door, warped in nature and seemingly shifting like a trick of the eyes. He can hear the gentle hum of the zone standing next to it, and can see the carving of the circle in the wood. 

He gestures dramatically, grinning from ear to ear. “Ta-da~” He sings, “A door to my haunt! For whenever I feel like visiting it.” He pats the wood, making a strange thunk-thunk sound. “And then watch this.” 

Danny touches the circle again, and the door twists and recedes like water going down a drain. The circle flashes bright green, and then fades into nothing on the wall, invisible to the naked eye. “I can hide it whenever I want! So if I ever invite someone over—” which he doubts, “—I won’t have to worry about them asking, ‘Hey Danny? Why is there a creepy fucking door in your studio apartment?’”

He gets a pair of laughs for his efforts, and Danny grins wider. 

Sam and Tucker have to end the call when Danny is nearly done unpacking, leaving him alone with only his thoughts and the Gotham ambience outside. There were only a few boxes left, and they promise to call him tomorrow. He tells them that they better keep that promise. 

The silence that follows after they leave feels somberly, as if the reality of moving in has finally set in and filled the air with its loneliness. With its change. Finally, Danny lets the strangeness of moving back to Gotham hit him when he reaches the last box, and he stops to take another smoke break to let it settle. 

It feels so strange to be back in Gotham, he thinks. He’s all grown up, or almost grown up. He can vote and pay taxes, but he doesn’t feel much older than he was at fourteen. There’s a disconnect that makes him feel sad. 

There are cars running outside, driving by. He can only catch glimpses of them, his apartment faces an alleyway. There are dogs barking in the distance, strays he bets. It’s already dark out, and he wonders if he looks out the window he would see the bat-signal shining through the night and staining the permanent cloud that hangs over Gotham. 

Bruce would be so disappointed if he learned the reason for Danny’s return to Gotham. But Danny’s not here for him. He’s here for someone far more important. And like that, the simmering anger that has tucked itself into the furthest corners of his heart starts slipping through. His heart has teeth, ready to strike and snarl and bite. 

He crushes the cigarette in his hand and throws it away. When he opens the last box, it is with hands that tremble and with a face of stone. With a delicateness he does not feel, he reaches in and pulls a corkboard from the box. On the corner frame is a small, near inconspicuous carving of another ghost rune. 

Danny hangs it up on an empty space on the wall, out of sight from the window. It’s plain, and he has nothing to pin to it. He presses the small rune on the corner, pushing ectoplasm into it. Unlike the door, it does not twist and warp and shape itself into something new. Instead it bursts into green flame, eating away at the board and revealing the same thing underneath it, just in dark blue-black-purple. 

Now this board, this board Danny has something to pin to it. The newspaper he bought earlier sits abandoned on the counter, and Danny unrolls it with something like viciousness in his chest. On the front page is an image of a damaged street, and above it is titled: “JOKER STRIKES AGAIN, 3 DEAD AND 27 INJURED”

Danny rips out the first page, he rips out every mention of him. His hands shake and threaten to crumple the paper as he turns back to the board, there is hot blood pounding in his ears. There is an impending sense of finally in his chest, like a setting sun giving the stage to a starless night. There is a stern set in his jaw, five years of festering rage rushing forth like a tidal wave, threatening to make his vision swim. 

It would be so easy, he thinks, to go out as Phantom right now and hunt the clown down. It would only take a night. All it would take is a night, and then he could sink his hands into the Joker’s chest and rip out his heart where he stood. It would be so easy. 

The thought alone forces Danny to stop as he is hit with another rush of fury, really making his head and vision swim. Thorny vines wrap around his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stares at a spot on the wall until the shaking passes. 

If he wants to be discreet about this, then he can’t do it now. Even if he wants to. He doesn’t want witnesses. He doesn’t want an audience. He made a mistake, telling Red Hood about his plan. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. But he can only hope that the Hood hasn’t mentioned it to Bruce. He knows it hasn’t been long since they started working together. He hopes that the Hood has already forgotten about it. 

He pins the newspaper clippings onto the black-blue-board, and stands back. It’s bare now, but it won’t be forever. 

He presses the circle again, and the pinboard reverts back to its original blank state. 

-----

Was I expecting to make a third part?? No. No I was not. I was also not expecting to make an entire google doc filled with summaries for short story ideas about this au that all tie into each other so that way if i DO continue this i have a skeleton pathway to follow rather than making everything up from scratch and potentially cornering myself

you can find this on ao3 or on tumblr 1 2 :)

[scalproie]

"t6 ruined Jin by making him evil and do evil things"

So you agree? So you aknowledged that Jin was treated unfairly by the narrative and are willing to suspend your disbelief for a second so they can redeem his character thru a compelling character arc where he regrets his actions while also realizing that he shouldnt die to fix them and also that he shouldnt die for what he is?

"no he started ww3 everyone forgiving him is bullshit he should die alone and hated"

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Asunder

slow-paced high fantasy

a woman who has a contract with an eldritch entity allowing her to see the dead & survives by taking various jobs

when a job searching for stranded smugglers in a cave goes wrong, she ends up with the soul of a dying stranger bound to her shadow

along with a scholar and her old childhood friend, they travel to his home country to find a way to unbind him and save them both

dark fantasy world with gods, demonic entities, arcane magic, and semi-sentient beasts used as transport

[moonpaw]

Fighting DEMONS rn trying not to get invested in one piece to figure out wtf you're posting about!!!!

come here cyber.... we have this thang

‎

[puhpandas]

just watched all the way through john fuhnaffs recent theory and like godd he really is cooking he truly is onto something but like. the idea that Cassies dad did all of thos important stuff and is connected to the mimic and built mxes and did all this shit is like. what do Gregory and vanessa even have to do with anything anymore at this point

[wereh0gz]

The Minecraft movie would've been so good if they'd just. Made it in earnest

[b4kuch1n]

IT ARRIVED IT ARRIVED IT ARRIVED

DESPITE EVERYTHING DESPITE MY CHRONICALLY CURSED INTERNATIONAL MAIL PROBLEM I AM STILL THE ZONE RPG