“The first time I saw you, you jumped off that damn building. What was going on in your head at that time?”
Despite her light voice, her expression is intense. “If a Bagon can dream of flight, then so can I.”
Corbeau gazes at her over his glasses. A thick hush falls between them, causing the shadows to retreat further into the corners of the room. The aplomb behind her statement is enough to make the statues in his office perk up to anticipate Corbeau’s reaction.
There is no poison behind her words. But the candid quality of her words, her unwavering eyes, and the stare she returns tenfold is enough for him to raise an eyebrow.
But just as confidence can bloom in a heartbeat, it wilts just as fast. She remembers the katana he keeps near his desk—the blade’s sharpness is not for display. What he lacks in stature, he makes up with authority and acuity. Like the katana, there is nothing ornamental about him. Yoru forgets herself; she’s speaking directly to the leader of the Rust Syndicate.
“Ever since you jumped off that building and fell into my base…how could I not keep a close eye on you?” Corbeau wrinkles his nose, recalling how his men escorted her out of the zen garden the moment she stood up, seemingly unfazed, after the fall. “Not an iota of thought in that head of yours. If not for the Roto-glide, you would have shattered your knees! And ruined my garden.”
“I see that the state of your garden is more important,” Yoru doles out flatly. “At least I had the sense to return my Shelgon into its Pokéball. People would’ve gotten hurt.”
“You do realize that Shelgon weighs around 240 pounds.”
“The buildings here have great support. And incredible architecture.”
The frown across his face only accentuates the creases on his temple. He exhales through his nose. “To me, it sounds like you care about your Pokémon more than your own safety. You never actually told me why you were on the roof that day. What made you do that?”
Yoru rests her hands on her chin and stares at the wall behind him. “It was a strategic retreat. But falling like that wasn’t intentional. A flock of Pidgeotto and Pidgey attacked me when I was trying to sneak by—before, I just calmed down a rogue mega Pokémon. But I angered the flock and was forced to escape. Some luck, huh?”
Corbeau gazes at her from across the table. His brow creases, fingers intertwining in thought from her story. He nods once—as if comparing her version with the report from his men. “I see. But there have been rare instances where the Roto-glide failed to activate. What if you died?”
Yoru winces. His words are blunt, but there’s no heat behind them.
“I know I was reckless. But I wanted to protect my friends. I was heading to a Pokémon Center to heal until…”
Her hands twist the hem of her skirt. I pulled that stunt because the Roto-glide would save me—save us.
Corbeau reaches across the table and places his hand over hers, and she relaxes her grip on her skirt.
“You worry me, sometimes.” His voice is soft, and he’s no longer speaking as the leader of the Rust Syndicate. Now standing across from her, he’s Corbeau, her confidant and friend. “I don’t like to pry, but your actions concern me. Last week, my men saw you leaving the sewers with a limp. Two days ago, Philippe saw you leaving an alley with some nasty bruises on your arm.”
Yoru stays silent and lowers her eyes.
“Show me your arm,” he says.
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. Nurse Joy had her Blissey heal it.”
“Show me your arm,” Corbeau says again, with a gentleness that makes her wonder where does she stand in his life—as another powerful associate, a hero of Lumiose, or a young woman with a fragile heart?
She doesn’t notice that Corbeau walks around the table and kneels on one knee in front of her. He glances at her, searches her eyes, for a truth she makes pains to conceal from him.
Yoru catches his gaze, and his eyes glow gold like the moon. Slowly, he reaches out and brushes her hair back and pauses.
“Yoru?”
Nothing fazes him when she demurely slips off her coat and shows him the truth. It’s subtle, but his eyebrows narrow and the corners of his mouth twitch. But in the next instance, his expression smooths over like marble. He stands and Yoru immediately grabs his arm, forgetting how expensive it is to wrinkle his suit.
“Corbeau, don’t. It’ll heal,” she starts weakly. “And I already reported it to the police. They’re searching for the culprit as we speak.”
But he carefully extracts himself from her and strides to his desk. The office phone is already on speed dial when he gives his orders. “Philippe, assemble a group for a search. Immediately. I’ll send you more details soon. Yes, Yoru is with me but it’s a 3124.1 situation. And yes, make it look like a damn accident.”
He slams the phone on the receiver and strides to the door. Yoru scrambles after him after adjusting her coat.
“Corbeau, stop. I’m shaken up but I’m fine—”
His hand is on the door, but he doesn’t open it. Instead, he whirls around and the expression on his face shatters her heart.
“How can I protect Lumiose if I can’t even protect you?”
Hi!! I just wanted to say that I read your fic "something wrong with danny fenton" and it is by far my favorite danny phantom fanfiction I've ever read oh my god, theres nothing I value more than good characterization and you really nailed it!! and nothing else quite scratches the horror itch like you do while still being able to maintain lighthearted moments :) so good job!! thank you!
Hi! Thank you for reading and thank you so much for this nice ask 🥺 the most important thing to me about Horror is love and grief!!!!!!! You gotta have the balance of the lighthearted friendship and the gut wrenching stuff!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types
Relationships: Tim Drake/Danny Fenton, Tim Drake & Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Characters: Danny Fenton, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne
Additional Tags: Meet-Cute, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés (technically), Getting Together, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Eldritch Danny Fenton, Meeting the Parents, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, don't repost on other sites i will track you down and eat your vertebrae one by one like tic tacs
Summary: Daniel Fenton didn’t exist eight years ago.
(or: one of Damian’s artificially aged-up clones becomes the Ghost King. Tim has a crush. Ra’s is jealous. Damian, needless to say, is apoplectic with rage.)
“Who are you?” she asks briskly, pressing the damp cloth harder against his cut. She can’t rule out a concussion yet, especially if he really did take a police baton to the head as Grantaire alleged. “I mean, what’s your name?”
Enjolras sighs, eyes opening fully to reveal a startlingly blue hue. “Gabriel Alexandre Lucien Sébastien Enjolras,” he dutifully recites in a monotone.
Éponine rolls her eyes. “Just Enjolras would have sufficed, but good to know you remember your full government name. Why do you have so many names?”
Or, 5 times Éponine listens to Enjolras’ heartbeat + 1 time he listens to hers.
A mother was tucking her children in for bed whe her youngest looked up at her “momma can you tell us a story” she looked down with a weary smile “sure my love,.. ahm….
Along time ago before the dawn. In a place where the sun had not reached the sky, there were 2  stars who hated each other despite both being stars they forged themselves apart one forming an eternal void the other formed the gods. These gods were called starlings, each more beautiful than the last each more powerful than the other all the same equal. They set out to conquer.There was one specific one who wasn’t like the rest no she was by far the most poetic in all sense her Beauty unmatched, her power unmatched, her sheer will-force alone was unmatched there hasn’t been any like her before or after I don’t think their will be another like her to this day, She was the foundation with out her there would be nothing.
She was Kayiah. Goddess of earth and most importantly the straw hats painter “ Why do you keep talking about her in the past tense” the middle child asked. “Well.. wait mommy isn’t- wow would you look at that” the mother says slapping her knees standing up off the bed “it’s bedtime lovelies” “awww but mommm” “ I’ll tell you later” she lightly pinches the nose of the eldest child then she kissed the top of each head gently “night you three.” “Night momma” as the mother walked to bed it would be the last night they’d ever hug or say I love you again infact this is the last time they’ll open their eyes again
It shouldn't be surprising; he hasn't lived there in months. Almost a year now, maybe. He hasn't even lived in the trailer that had ben the only home he'd ever known. Instead he has a bedroom - a real one, with windows that open, and curtains, and furniture that isn't made to fold up and take up as little space as possible - and a whole mansion to run around in, and that trailer is now stored safely in the barn Bruce had specially built for it.
When did he notice the lack of scent? This morning, when he'd pulled a shirt from the dresser? Freshand clean, but smelling of the detergent Alfred uses and the strangely static warmth of a real dryer instead of sunlight; his mothr had often let their clothes air-dry when the weather was good enough, specially when driving into town to find a coin laundry wasn't much of an option.
His clothes had once smelled of sawdust and stale popcorn, of cotton candy and dirt and even elephants when he'd gotten to help feed or bathe the gentle giants. He'd smelled of woodsmoke and chalk, and sometimes his father's cologne or his mother's perfume or - more often - both at once.
The scent of the circus.
The scent of home.
It's faded from everything he has in the mansion, but maybe it's still there in the trailer. There's still time before breakfast; he can find out. Bruce gave him the key to th barn door, so he can check on the trailer any time he wants. Not that he has, much; it's too lonely, seing that trailer sitting in a barn when he's only ever seen it surrounded by other trailers and tents and the bustle of the circus.
At least it's here, though. He just stares at it for a moment after opening the barn and turning the lights on. There's the familiar paint job: Haly's Circus in big letters on the side, The Flying Graysons on the door in faded blue. His father had liked the color, he remembered. And inside…
It's faded here, too, but there's still a trace. Sawdust and popcorn and smoke and chalk, his father's cologne lingering on the chair John grayson had always favored, a trace of the dish soap his mother had always used on one of the kitchen towels. It's still here, but for how much longer? And, once it's gone, how long will it take for him to forget this scent entirely?
How long before this sense of loss stops tearing open that hole in his heart?
Breakfast entirely forgotten, he just curls up on his father's favorite chair, intent on savoring every trace of that scent before it fades away forever. Maybe if he focuses hard enough he can burn it into his memory. It won't be the same, but at least that way it won't ever be entirely gone, right?
Give us the links to your wonderful words with the Most hits, Most kudos, Most comments, Most bookmarks, Most words, and Least words.
I am grossly embarrassed by the first one so I didn’t link it, just trust me bro lol. Seen @/necromeowncy’s reblog of @/ragdoll127-ffxiv’s Self Rec list so I decided to take a crack at it.
Most Hits: Little Pet (Discontinued), MCUAvengers!Loki/Reader (969)
Most Kudos: Bonnets, Aizawa x Black!Reader (78)
Most Comments: Parasocial, a Pokemon SWSH fic (7)
Most Bookmarks: Quinceanera, an ATSV!Miguel O’Hara fic (4)
Most Words: Parasocial (12K words, 7 chapters) and Last Night In (One-shot, 5.7k words)
Least Words: 10 Wishes, MCU!Loki one-shot (774 words)
tagging some of my fave authors that I can think of before I get ready for bed: @lumeriadeborel @just-a-nerdd @ffxiv-hunklander @elfyourmother. If you see this, even if you aren’t tagged, give it a shot!
edit: maybe I should type before I start getting tired :/
