#when magic goes wrong

[justaz]

semi-dark king merlin au, someone from ealdor tells king cenred about merlin and he is captured and held as a slave in essetir. since merlin despises captivity and servitude, he’d rather be dead and free than alive and in chains so he acts out and pisses people (especially the king) off so they’ll think him too much trouble and kill him. at first they stick to beatings until merlin manages to get his chains around a few necks and now has a body count so they kill him…..only he wakes back up a few hours later and king cenred is Intrigued and keeps him close. merlin keeps acting out but no matter how many times they kill him, he won’t stay dead. merlin has this moment after waking up perfectly fine after his twenty seventh death where he is hopeless and believes there to be no escape, not even thru death. a few other sorcerers in chains come and help him clean up and give him a lil peptalk, realizing him to be emrys, and then they revolt and take over the kingdom and crown merlin as king and now uther is like “wtf” bc his neighboring kingdom who was kinda sorta on his wavelength about sorcery, though uther did not approve of keeping them alive, is now a kingdom ruled by magic. he goes to war with them but with magic running free and fucking emrys on the throne, they don’t make a lot of headway. anyways merthur meet on the battlefield, enemies to lovers, you get it

[anne-is-confused]

"firstly, i ABHOR the use of blood magic" SINCE WHEN???????

[themoonking]

finally finished the priory of the orange tree after putting it off for like a year, and putting aside the fact that it's insanely boring, way too long, and the romance is lackluster, it certainly was a choice to, in a book at least in part about finding common ground and coming together, basically go "religion a is correct and good and its believers can continue on their merry lives, but religion b is a 100% incorrect wrong bad lie founded by a wrong bad misogynistic lying liar, and everyone who believes in it should convert and in fact we're going to end the book by heavily implying that the recently-converted queen is going to slowly but surely pressure the entire country to convert because their faith is wrong and bad". like that was certainly a decision that samantha shannon made.

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing of Paul Hackett from the film After Hours. The piece is landscape, but the bold dark blue background has a lot of empty space, with Paul confined to the right side. The piece is drawn upwards of his shoulders. He has a exhausted and apathetic expression on his face, with his head tilted to one side slightly. His skin is coloured with exaggerated tones, with dark purple shadows circling his eyes. He is covered in a white plaster dust, which congregates on his disheveled hair and suit jacket. Behind him, there's an askew streetlight, which has a glaring red light at the top. It is the brightest part of the piece, and is drawn with spikes of red protruding from the lighter light yellow in the middle. To the left of this, there's the phrase "stop him!", written out like it is on his wanted poster. The lineart is a very dark navy colour, although it veers redder on Paul. It has stark shadows but also sections of softer, more textured shading.]

Inktober - Day 8 (Hike)

Film - After Hours (Martin Scorsese, 1985)

[outshinethestars]

New headcanon that pre metal-plating Logan couldn’t get drunk, but afterwards he can. Because, while his regeneration is very efficient at healing him from poisons, post metal bonifying, this is counterbalanced by his liver doing shit-all, on account of it being too busy MAKING ALL HIS FREAKING BLOOD.

[bafflement]

The musical episode of the Deaged AU Reblogging this one because it's utterly hilarious.

Ozqrow Day 7 - Alternate Prompt - Love Letters

... imagine this as the musical episode of the deaged AU. I know that I am...

Tip: Write me a message that comes from the heart

Is this an ending or merely a brand new start?

For you and I, maybe one day we'll fly

Away from the war, away from it all

Just to be free to choose a destiny that isn't the same

I feel it's calling our name, though I know that we can't

This wasn't your fight, it was never your war

Yet you still stand beside me, we've been through it all

And we're standing still, in a way, at least...

Both of us changed here, though you not as much

I long for your kiss and the sense of your touch

But I can't reach the distance that time itself placed

Between us now, not yet, but maybe one day

I still need to wait to grow up, to be adult again

You don't have to wait, I've seen that look in the eye

Of someone who sees you, you never needed to stay

Loyal to me, you know. Maybe he can give you

Everything that I can't, right now?

All that I want is you to be happy, maybe this

Can give you a taste of that, for awhile?

I wouldn't blame you, I could never grudge

You that, I love you too much.

My heart is my message, it's scrawled on my soul

Whichever fragment of it that's still me

And not someone else, at least, that much is yours

And it always will be.

Qrow: Oh pen me a missive that's written in stone

Not flesh and blood, not skin and bone just yourself

For that's all that I wanted... don't you know

That I'll wait until Remnant falls, nothing else matters

To me, not at all, only you. Well, that isn't quite true...

The kids matter too, and our friends, them as well

Though maybe not Jimmy, as much

And if Glynda stopped glaring, she'd almost be pretty...

(Sorry, I know, I need to take this more seriously...

But poetry never was my thing, pocket sized...)

Anyway... you have to know that I love you, that I always have

I don't care about Clover, not really at least

At the most he'd be temporary and I think that

I'd fast find him too annoying for that...

I mean, he thinks you're a kid, and a real one at that

The man doesn't quite get context clues.

Maybe he took too many bumps to the head

This IS Atlas after all, you know what they're like...

Tip (Laughing): Okay yes, maybe we took this too far

An interesting semblance, though, one for the ages

I rather doubt though that the medium will take off...

How do we stop this thing, anyway, it needs to wear off?

Great. Oh I love you, my dearest Qrow

But this much is obvious, this much you know

That you matter to me more than I ever thought that you could

Or that I deserved, but this love that burns deep

Is too great a fire to put out. I think though

That maybe we'd better shut up, now

This is getting rather embarrassing, as

I'm pretty certain the others will never

Quite stop laughing at us as it is.

I'm just rather glad that Tai cannot hear

Or, oh Gods, if Raven could maybe she'd decide

That I'm not a threat, that I'm still on the side

Of the good guys, I still wish I knew why

She ran... ah well, maybe one day.

Qrow: Yeah, pocketsized, I think we need to be quiet

Not that that's easy for either of us

Maybe that's why it was us that got caught?

They found the person whose semblance it was,

They say maybe five minutes, a little less?

I just want to stop speaking in rhyme and in verse

Forget either of us, this thing is truly a curse...

[arcanescholxr]

Open Starter

“Please don’t laugh at me.”

A forest green tail flicks from out of the tub. It’s filled almost all the way up, just enough for Dwight and his new gills to breathe. There’s an open book by the tub. The witch, now merman looks wildly embarrassed.

“I was practicing transformation spells but, now I can’t change back. I had to hop in the tub quick because I can’t breathe without water.”

[lord-squiggletits]

"Rodimus is a better Prime because it didn't hurt for him to bond with the Matrix while for Optimus it did" headcanon/theory my beloathed.

One day I'm literally gonna snap and make a whole post addressing why what's wrong bc I'm tired of the inaccuracy and tired of ppl not understanding the Point TM of IDW and its version of the Matrix/Primacy and even more tired of people putting down Optimus in favor of Rodimus by essentially arguing that being unworthy means you deserve to be punished/put in pain bc you just weren't good enough to hold the Symbol of Ultimate Authority

[connormoving]

how it feels to want to dress very fancy and accessoried but unfortunately have the autism where i think im supposed to just be lounging in a field naked or in like. a plain linen dress. and any accessory or makeup or nail polish or ehat have you makes me want to rip my skin off

[thesorcerersshadow]

merlin whispering “don’t let him get too close”, already the advisor on arthur’s shoulder when society says he really has NO BUSINESS being so, and arthur listening and drawing his sword and warning uther. okayyyyy.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[camakkuma]

I won’t get the chance to draw it but just so you know I vision the QSMP as a rhythm gatcha game :3

Like those fun and wacky anime that turn out to be unbelievably dark

[talentforlying]

angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ?   what motivates them ?

angelica:   where does your muse draw inspiration in life?   what motivates them?

constantine is often inspired by the beauty in the world, and by the human potential for kindness. he doesn't always see a lot of it, but when he does, it moves him to passion. anything in life is worth enduring to see one more sunset, to hold one more hand, to hear the laugh of someone you love. he's face-to-face with pure fucking evil so often that even the smallest acts of simple decency will leave him fawning over humanity's potential for hours. show him a kind word, and he'll remember you. show someone else a kind hand, and he'll battle the devil so you'll have the chance to do it again, and again, and again.

in terms of motivation, we find ourselves on the other side of the coin: constantine is driven a lot by the amount of petty, cruel injustice in the world. living in the 80s under margaret thatcher was not a good time to be anything other than british-born straight white upper-class, and he witnessed a lot of his friends and people from all walks of life (and himself, though he'd brush you off if it was pointed out to him) get screwed, by the government and by people they thought were their friends and neighbors, because of nothing more than the color of their skin, their sexuality, their class. more than that, in the forty years following, he's never seen it end — only seen it change shape.

it makes him angry and it makes him righteous, and it pushes him to fight harder to protect the people who can't protect themselves/for whom it's safer to take the hits and keep going. if it means sticking his neck out for a stranger who trusted the wrong people, or stepping in to save a fledgling magic-user who had no one to warn them about what they were getting into, or facing down the monsters that have more power and money than god with nothing more than the shirt on his back and the audacity, so be it.

@cagedchoices / BOTANICAL HEADCANONS ( always accepting )

[syluss-littlecrow]

better than the devil

<sylus x fem!reader>

where you find out if Sylus really has horns, and why he avoids letting you touch them

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, unprotected sex, size kink (i mean bro is PACKING), breeding kink, sylus’s horns are ✨sensitive✨, dirty talk, sexual tension, missionary, a fuck ton of horn play, horny horns, cumming untouched, orgams galore!, so much cum♡

w/c: 2.9K

a/n: gotta thank the loml @bro-atz for helping me with this a little ehehehe >:) I hope this destroyed yall as much as this destroyed me to write it!!🥹

They say he takes the form of some dragon-like creature—with large black horns and wings. 

The first time you witnessed it with your own two eyes was when he choked out a serpent wanderer ten times his size before it got to you. You were semi-conscious at that point of time, the fatigue threatening to take over, but you had caught a glimpse of his silhouette—two thick appendages that curled proudly past his dirty silver hair, and large wings that hung off his back—before you blacked out. 

“Staring at me isn’t going to get any of your curiosities satisfied”, Sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. Your gaze flickers to his face, but Sylus has his eyes on his phone. 

Then his gaze shifts to you. 

“What are you thinking about, sweetie?”

Of course, you couldn’t just tell him outright that you wanted to see him magically grow his horns out of his head. You doubt even Luke and Kieran have seen it themselves. 

“Your horns.”

Sylus lowers his phone onto his lap, then he cocks an eyebrow, which turns to a furrow in seconds. 

“What gave you the idea that I grew horns?” He asks, his tone laced with mock and caution. His attention is fully on you now. 

Yeah, maybe that was not a good question to ask. Then again, being around someone as direct as Sylus had made you pick up his mannerisms quite a fair bit. 

“Nothing really”, you brush off, attempting to derail the conversation before something goes wrong. “I’m just curious.”

“Talk”, Sylus demands, albeit in a soft tone. “I’m listening.” 

His crimson eyes burn a hole into your head, and you now only realise the way he has you cornered on his couch, his large frame looming over yours. 

You sigh, realising he’s not about to let it go anytime soon. 

“A few weeks ago, during one of the battles we had, where I almost died-“

“Get to the point, sweetie”, Sylus cuts, seeing through your guise. 

You pout. “Right. Before I blacked out, I saw you appear right in front of me, with horns.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows, seemingly in amusement. “You sure you weren’t hallucinating?”

He earns a smack on his chest. You’re ready to let him disprove you further or whatever, but your body jolts when you feel Sylus snake his arms around your waist before he carries you effortlessly off the corner of the couch and onto his lap. 

You watch his eyes grow soft when he locks his gaze with yours. His expression is unreadable.

Your eyes widen in amazement when the thick pair of horns curl past his locks, the black a stark contrast with his white hair. He looks like he’s wearing bows in a funny, demonic type of way. Not that he has to know that. 

You continue to stare at his horns, visually taking in the rough yet smooth texture and patterns that run downwards as the horns grow thicker towards the base. 

“What are you really?” You wonder aloud, your fingers reaching out to feel the interesting texture of his horns, only for him to pull away quickly.

“It’s not the right time for you to know”, he replies curtly. You notice the glint of concern in his eyes, shrouded under the indifferent expression he wears. 

So you decide to leave it for now, at least. 

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop you from annoying the ever-loving shit out of Sylus about his horns once you found out about it.

He would stare at you with his eyebrows furrowed, muttering that he should have never told you about his horns, only for you to bat your eyelashes at him, much to his annoyance. 

“At least let me touch them if you’re not gonna tell me more about them”, you would whine. With a frown, he would push your forehead with a finger, giving you his standard answer.

"No."

“Then could you at least tell me why you won’t let me touch your horns?”

He would rest his thumb and index finger on his chin, feigning a thinking stance before his expression drops deadpan and then the curt answer leaves his lips.

“No.”

You’re putting this right next to when you were fighting for your life to get that fucking brooch months ago. 

While the thought continues to eat into your curiosity, you mostly let Sylus off the hook after a while. For some reason, you’ve been noticing that Sylus has been walking around his mansion with his horns freely out. Maybe because he’s shown you his full horns once that’s why?

Or he’s just straight-up taunting you. 

You feign nonchalance, only stealing glances at the thick appendage that stood out against his pale locks from time to time, but never really bringing it up to him, for now at least.

You hear the raindrops patter against the large windows of Sylus's room one afternoon. At least the heavy clouds are hiding the sun on top of the dark curtains drawn, and it makes Sylus's rest a little more comfortable. 

He's sound asleep beside you on his bed, but you're seated up on your phone, the sound of the rain also slowly luring you to grow sleepy. You stretch a little, careful not to wake the male beside you. Sylus grunts softly, and you feel his hair tickle your thighs.

Through your peripherals, something catches your attention. The black on white is undoubtedly hard to miss.

Now that Sylus seems dead asleep, you're considering taking a chance to take a closer look at his horns, and maybe even touch them. 

Carefully, you shift your weight closer to Sylus, monitoring his expressions and movements. When the coast is clear, you lean closer, staring at his horns with much amazement. It's a lot different now that you're this up close to admire them. 

His horns aren't simply a simple shade of jet black–at different angles, you notice how the scales of his horns shimmer like an oil spill under the soft light. Close up, the base of his horns are thick, and as it extends, it curls, almost fully wrapping around his head. 

“So pretty”, you mutter to yourself. Your fingers are reached out as if by instinct, barely inches away from touching his pretty crown. 

You pause, weighing the risks of attempting to touch his horns. How fucked would you be if you actually did? 

Your eyes scan Sylus’s calm sleeping face. He doesn't seem to have even noticed his horns have grown out. 

“It’s just a little touch, he won't feel it anyways”, you convince yourself softly, your resolve firming as your curiosity begins to bubble over your rationale.

You let your fingers brush his horn, feeling the cold and scaly texture beneath your fingertips. Your eyes are sparkling in amazement even more, now that your curiosity has been satisfied. You press your fingertips onto the appendage, enjoying how nice and cool it feels to the touch.

Just then, you hear Sylus groan slightly. Your hand immediately retracts before you fully freeze, watching the way he presses his head against your leg, his eyebrows slightly scrunched before it returns back to relaxed. 

Close call. 

You obviously don’t learn your lesson, because your fingers are on his horns almost immediately once more. You grow more curious about the feeling of running your palm across his horns this round. 

So you do.

Your hand starts from the thick base, and you stroke it, following the horn's curl, enjoying the way the texture of the scales run smooth under your palm.

And then Sylus makes a sound beneath you. You squint in curiosity, wondering if you heard it right.

So you run your hand from his tip to the base this time. 

And this time, Sylus lets out another moan. You definitely did not hear wrong. 

Your cheeks are slowly flushing when you realise what you're doing to him. But for some reason, it makes you want to do it more.

So this is why he doesn't want you touching his horns? 

With a cheeky smile, you run your fingers along his horns in various ways and places, eliciting more pretty and erotic reactions from Sylus. 

You giggle to yourself, trying to ignore how he's making you aroused with all the noises he's making with every stroke you give his horns. 

You want to go for the next round, wondering how far you can take this.

Obviously not very far, because the next time you do, Sylus’s hand catches your wrist before you're about to touch his horns again.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, pink dusted on his cheeks and his breathing shallow.

“Are you having fun, kitten?” He asks with a frown.

Fuck.

You feign a smile, trying to wave your hand from his grip, of course, your attempts futile. 

Sylus’s other arm curls around your thighs, locking you from leaving the bed while Sylus lets his sleep leave his body from the rude interruption. 

“Denying me of satisfying my curiosity only makes it worse”, you shrug. Well, if only Sylus had just let you have a little touch…

The corner of Sylus’s lips pull up to a half smirk. 

“Right”, Sylus replies, a hint of annoyance and something else laced in his tone before he shifts above you in one swift motion, trapping you underneath him on his bed. 

“Then, I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that actions have consequences?”

You swallow hard. 

His hand that grabbed yours is placed on his chest, and he forces you to trail down his body, feeling his thick chest, then his abs under your touch, all the way down until he stops you right on his thick erection.

“You should take responsibility, don't you think?” Sylus asks with a raised eyebrow. 

You know it's pointless even attempt to escape when he’s devouring your lips like he hasn't eaten in days. It's so intoxicating. You would never admit your greed, but Sylus knows you well enough to feed you so good. You want to pull him so impossibly close.

In between breathless kisses, your warm hands trail from his biceps to his shoulders, to his neck, and right to his hair.

You test waters–letting your fingers rake through his hair, grazing the base of his horns. You get his green light when he doesn't swat you off, on the contrary, it makes Sylus grow more desperate in the kiss.

You confidently stroke his horn, from base to tip once more, and the moans that leave Sylus’s lips sound like fucking heaven. 

His crimson eyes finally meet yours, and he almost looks like he's in pain. 

“If you keep doing that–ngh–” Sylus trails off with another strained moan when the sensation of you stroking his horn buzzes right to his cock that he has shut his eyes to hold back. 

“This?” you tease, sliding your palm down to his base once more, rubbing the scaly appendage, watching him failing at trying to keep his composure. 

“Fuck”, he hisses, diving into your lips once more, eating you up. 

He pulls away briefly, pressing his lips just below your ear.

“You’re gonna be taking responsibility, kitten.”

He presses himself close onto you, so close that you feel his cock just pulsing against your pelvis, only separated by his black sweats. Sylus takes your chin in his fingers and steals your breath away once more, uncontrollably grunting with every stroke your hands play with his horns. You feel his cock twitch, then pulse before the feeling of warmth spreads across your skin, accompanied by a long, drawn out moan in your mouth.

It makes you dizzy with bliss, realising what you've done to him. 

Sylus pulls away once more, catching his breath, his eyes reflecting something more feral when you met his. 

But all you do is flash a cheeky smile at him, letting your fingers caress his cheek. 

His fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts and he yanks them off, almost growing feral for the second time when his eyes meet the sight of the way your pussy is glistening so much that a wet and thin string of arousal sticks itself in between your pussy and your soaked panties. 

Well, Sylus is holding the short end of the stick anyway, because when he tugs his sweats down, your heartbeat accelerates as your eyes land on his cock–thick, red and completely covered in white and thick cum, some staining his underwear, twitching slightly with dribbles of cum seeping past his cockhead when the fabric brushes past his balls. 

He looks so fucking delicious when he's messy like that. Shit.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, staring at me like that”, he teases. He doesn't even look embarrassed.

“Maybe I should play with your horns more often”, you reply with a smile. Sylus narrows his eyes at you, his expression mixed with annoyance and affection. His fingers press against your soaking clit, enjoying the way the smile on your face gets wiped, replaced with a contorted expression of pleasure when he rubs it in slow circles. 

“I’m strongly against that idea, sweetie”, Sylus responds, leaning in to take in the expression of your mind slowly growing dumb and blank just from his slender fingers rubbing you out. “It’ll give you a little too much leverage over me.”

Through the hazy and building pleasure, you still manage to reply, “that's the whole point.”

Sylus only smiles at your reply, his fingers leaving your clit. You're about to protest, that is, until he grabs you by your hips, dragging you closer to him, then pressing your knees to your chest, before his wet cock slowly enters you from below. He watches your face contort in pleasure–your eyes rolling back and your eyebrows furrowed–while soaking in the fucking delicious feeling of your cunt warm and wrapped around his cock. 

“S-so good”, you whimper, his fullness knocking out any ounce of breath and sense out of you at a dangerous pace the his cock inches even deeper into you.

“Such a nice and warm pussy hole”, Sylus grits, pushing himself even deeper, his control slipping when he's buried himself all the way in. “Fuck, you're so good for me, kitten.”

You're clawing his pillows when Sylus starts fucking you, and you're looking at Sylus with such a glazed out expression–and you know it drives him fucking crazy. His palm rests on the bulge that his cock is pushing every time he enters you, and it makes your thighs shake. Your moans grow in pitch and tone on top of the sounds of lewd wet skin slapping. 

He lets you wrap your legs around his waist in return for letting him scatter love bites across your neck.

So you decide that it’s the perfect time to aim for his sensitive spots once more.

Your fingers tug against his scalp, then alternating to stroking his horns once more, throwing Sylus into another round of pleasured daze. 

You feel his cock fill you up even more, and it makes you greedy to how far you can push it.

“I really should make you regret this”, Sylus mutters, failing to suppress another groan when your fingers scratch against the base. 

His thrusts become more like ruts, his cockhead hitting your g-spot over and over as payback. Sylus sprouts a satisfied smirk as he watches you completely come undone on his cock. You throw your head back while stars flicker in and out of your vision. The pleasure is growing so fucking good that you're choking on your moans too. 

“Right there! Fuck, that feels so fucking good, Sylus”, you sob through wet lashes and heavy pants. 

Sylus is mesmerised by your pretty expressions and the pretty sounds you always make for him when he's breaking you apart. 

Maybe you finding out about his sensitive horns is his punishment for indulging in these sick pleasures. Nonetheless, he still wouldn't have any other way.

Your hands find his horns once more, and he falters for a split second. But he doesn't shake you off since he's much too focused on trying to force an orgasm out of you.

Your pussy squeezes him before it starts uncontrollably fluttering against his cock. Ah, his goal is slowly being fulfilled.

As your orgasm dangles above you, you react with periodical squeezes on his cock and his horns, which definitely draws a much larger reaction from Sylus. 

“So close”, you whine, your orgasm slowly filling the crevices of your brain, plunging you deep into pleasure. Your cunt clenches on his cock, and you unintentionally yank his horns.

Sylus fucking growls, pressing himself so fucking deep into you, his cum fucking spurting into you–so much that some is leaking out from your plugged pussy hole and onto the bed. 

He pulls his cock out momentarily, letting his cum ooze from his cockhead, his eyes darting to the loads seeping out of your hole, before he slides his cock into you once more. You gasp at the fullness, another squeeze to his horns, which only stimulates Sylus once more, and his cock fills you up with another warm and sticky load. 

He’s panting, but he musters his energy to meet your eyes. 

“Sweetie”, he calls out to you amidst his dick attempting to take over his brain. “If you don't get your hands off, your pussy won't be able to hold anymore, I guarantee.”

He's met with a fucked-out and sly grin from his partner. 

“And I thought you enjoyed challenges.”

Sylus scoffs at your comment, realising that he really has to teach his kitten a lesson to not touch things that aren't hers.

[little-pondhead]

[unedited. In this, I gave Danny a walking cane to help with mobility issues caused by his nerve damage. Feel free to continue where I left off!]

Everyone knew about the coffee shop. They couldn’t remember the name. It’s been there forever, on the corner of Gotham Proper and the East End. Northwest of the opera house. A few blocks away from the high school. You know, that coffee shop.

Some of the seniors at the high school insisted it really did have a name. It was one of many in some corporate chain. They couldn’t tell you what it was no matter how hard they tried, and none of the freshman believed them. Why would the coffee shop need a name? Everyone knew where it was. It was a popular spot. There were only a few employees at a time, but they always knew what everyone wanted and the line was always super short from how fast they worked.

There were a few odd things that always stood out, however. The coffee shop was always ahead in food trends and popular drinks, so they never ran out of supplies. The kitchen had been expanding to fit more equipment than what a coffee shop needed. (The construction crew didn’t make a peep, even in the middle of the work day.) Those few employees that could cook prided themselves on being able to make anything you wanted, even if they shouldn’t logically have the ingredients on hand. They always charged you what you could afford and not a cent over, which seemed weird considering it was part of a chain. Shouldn’t they be focusing on profits? But no one had ever met the local owner, and no one had any complaints about it, so the issue was left alone.

All of these points were easy to look over. Most people were just glad to have a warm drink and a filling meal at the end of the day.

There was…one more thing, however. Something that caused the hairs on people’s necks to rise as soon as they crossed the threshold, right before the warmth of the shop hit them, brushing the feeling away. Something that called for them to come back, to relax, to be kind and quiet. Something that was a waiting danger in a cursed city.

That something was a boy.

He was by far the youngest employee there, and always worked the register, sitting on a little stool with a cane by his side. Probably wasn’t even of legal working age. But this was Gotham; who the hell cared?

No, what made him strange was his piercing eyes that seemed to look straight into your soul. He was the best at telling you what you needed, no matter if you knew it yourself or not. His cold hands made people shiver as he exchanged money with them, and his voice was smooth when he asked for their name.

People gave it to him without hesitation. He would smile gently, say thank you, and write the name in horrible cursive on a cup or kitchen ticket, never misspelling it, and sending it back to be made before beckoning the next customer forward. The first time someone experienced this, they usually experienced some sort of foggy overstimulation as they wandered to the pick up counter, thanking the kind baristas. Everything felt bright and strange and loud, like they were just plopped into another world.

The second time was easier, and they often felt light as a feather. The third time made people sneeze. The fourth made them cry, and the fifth made them happy. This tended to go on up until a person’s twelfth visit. As soon as they gave their name for the twelfth time, a few things clicked into place, and a few slipped away. It was always a special visit, whether they knew it or not, and they never walked out of there the same.

Today was Tim’s twelfth visit.

The commute to the coffee shop was the same. He’d memorized it months ago, even though he hadn’t had the chance to go as often as he’d liked. The shop was always neat and tidy on the outside, and he took a strange comfort in the split second feeling of fear that shot through his system as he opened the door.

Something felt wrong, why was he happy to be afraid?

“Hello! Nice to see you, Tim!” The boy was at the counter again, smiling widely and waving to Tim.

Tim smiled back and approached the register. “Hey, uh, how are you today?”

Why don’t I know his name? He’s wearing a name tag.

“Doing okay so far. My cane was being an ass, but I made it to work safely.” The boy tapped away at the menu, apparently ringing up Tim’s order.

I haven’t even told him what I want.

“Don’t worry about what you want, this is what you need, Tim.”

“Oh, okay.” Tim felt a little floaty. Of course the boy knew what he needed, it was obvious. Man, how tired was he? Tim rubbed his eyes and turned away for a second.

Blinking, he scanned the shop with fresh eyes, noticing things he never did before. The boy’s cane was made of wood, with an ugly face carved into it. Wasn’t it a black metal cane earlier? Some of the windows were casting rainbows despite the lack of sun. It smelled of ash despite no fireplace existing. A jackhammer was going off in the unfinished kitchen literally thirty feet away, but no noise was being made and no dust was in the air.

Something isn’t right.

The boy poked his arm, a cheeky grin on his face and a blue marker in hand. “Can I have your name?”

“Tim.”

A violent shiver ran up his spine as his name rolled off his tongue. It felt like he just got shoved to the side by a gust of cold wind. The boy-Danny-didn’t notice as he stuck his tongue out and drew little shaky stars around his name on a cup.

His name is Danny. That’s what the name tag says.

He blinked, moving to the side in a daze so the next customer could come forward. Were the lights in the shop always so bright? No, it wasn’t the lights. It was Danny. He practically glowed under the cheap fluorescent. His ears were pointed, and his teeth were sharp as he bared silly grins at everyone. His eyes were green now, too. Or were they always green?

They weren’t.

A barista behind Danny turned to grab a lid and he spied sparkling dragonfly wings cascading down her back, right out in the open. Another had longer ears than Danny did, and a third had actual metal disks braided into their hair. Almost everyone behind the counter was very much not human.

Why didn’t I notice this before?

The shop changed, too. Artistic scribbles on the walls became lines of swirling script-the same kind Danny had written on his name tag. He would need a notebook and a few days to properly read it all. More and more customers seemed to warp behind his very eyes. Every time Danny greeted them by name, they both glowed a little brighter. One little girl had scales on her face. An old man was sporting a pair of rat ears that twitched as he enjoyed a grilled cheese.

His skin suddenly felt itchy. He scratched absentmindedly at his hand, a little unsure of what was going on. He had the sudden urge to go stargazing.

“Hot chocolate for [ ]!”

His feet were moving before he realized. The barista smiled as she handed him a to-go cup of hot chocolate and a bag with a blueberry muffin.

I don’t want a hot chocolate. I need coffee. I have a meeting later.

As if hearing that tiny thought, Danny smiled mischievously to him and waved as he took his food and left. “It’s not about what you want; it’s about what you need! You’re gonna crush that meeting either way. See you next time, Tim!”

The itching got worse.

He felt his neck hairs raise again as the bell chimed, announcing his departure. Stepping back into the hustle and bustle of Gotham shocked him, and he had to wander over to a bench to sit for a moment.

He stared at the cup in his hands. T I M was written, with shitty little stars drawn all around. This drink was special, he somehow knew. If he drank from this, something in him would change forever. It already had, but this drink was important. He considered, briefly, about not drinking it. About tossing the cocoa and muffin away. Something wiggled at him to go through with it.

But Danny said he needed this.

Danny was always right.

He sipped the cocoa, letting the hot liquid settle into his body and soul. It eased aches and pains he didn’t remember getting, and he sighed, closing his eyes. He lost himself to the moment of peace the drink gave him.

If this wasn’t his twelfth visit, or if he’d waited a day to visit the coffee shop and come with the Laughing Magician instead, the boy on the bench would still know what his own name looked like. He would know what it sounded like. He wouldn’t be glowing and growing feathers, turning into something other than human.

But now the deed was done, and the heir to the Drake family belonged to Danny Phantom, the newest Lord to join Gotham’s magical courts.

Danny is a Fae at Starbucks

So! Danny works by Fae Rules, Names and all, but he has no idea about that because he was forced to run away from Home (and the Ghost portal) before his Ghostly Education could be completed.

He runs to Gotham and eventually gets a job at Starbucks, or some other Cafe.

He has to ask the question "Could I get your name please?" A LOT while working there. And unintentionally steals hundreds of Names by the end of his first day, much less a week or a month into his job.

One day, Constantine visits Gotham for a Meeting with Batman, but by the time he gets to the Meeting Point he has bigger issues to discuss.

"Why the hell does half of your City belong to a Fae Lord?!"

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Thrift Shop

DPxDC Prompt #1

When Danny was suddenly given the title of Ghost King many things came with it. This included responsibilities, power, and a whole lot of junk.

Apparently no one had cleaned out the castle in millennia and there were thousands of old artifacts ranging from shoddily made blankets to weird glowing gemstones to even archaic weapons. They all had one thing in common though.

Danny wanted nothing to do with any of it.

So when Danny ended up homeless in Gotham after coming out as Phantom to his parents went wrong and he needed to make a quick buck he decided to start up a thrift store. It was two birds with one stone really.

The Bats end up really concerned that someone is supplying the citizens of Gotham with very powerful magic items.

Danny: sells some bracelets he found in a lead box in the artifact room Batman: wondering how and why the teenage girls of gotham are making friendship bracelets out of kryptonite

Red Hood: sees a kid about to be mugged and goes to save him The Kid: pulls out a sword bigger than himself Mugger: runs away The Kid: phew I knew this would be worth the 10 dollars Red Hood: thinking wtf

Danny: people really like my junk! not gonna look a gifthorse in the mouth, dunno why though Also Danny: selling priceless magic artifacts for less than 20 dollars a pop

The Bats eventually find out about the thrift shop (lovingly named the Junk Shop by Danny) and try to have it shut down to no avail. Bruce is going gray, but hey, the kid who runs The Shop is a mystery and he's nothing if not a detective.