Listen, he loved Dan. Loved him with his whole heart; which is why he tried to avoid the idea of his boyfriend meeting his family.
For a lot of reasons, too. Not just because his adopted father was a paranoid bat vigilante who wasn’t too fond of people with powers and that the rest of his family were vigilantes and were def going to embarrass him.
Though he had to say he mostly hid his boyfriend from them bcs he doubted they’d react too well when they found out about Dan’s…past adventures.
The point was that because Tim loved Dan he was trying to hide him from them. But it didn’t work, because why would it?
Hence the family dinner his boyfriend and him were currently at.
“So,” Dick grinned, his voice too cheerful, “how did you and Tim meet?”
Followed me home from patrol and broke into my apartment to give me flowers, a bejeweled dagger, the severed hand of Ra’s Al Ghul, and a poster board saying “please love me” Tim mentally snorted, “it was a chance meeting, I guess,”
“Like fate,” Dan grinned, his fangs gleaming and Tim could see Bruce take note of it in real time
Damian turned to face Dan, “What makes you think you are worthy to be connected to the Wayne name?”
Bruce sighed, “Damian,”
“It’s an honest question, Father,”
“Well,” Dan started, “To be honest, I suppose the fact that I am—“
A swirling portal of green ripped through the dining room, the Waynes leaping into action minus Tim (and Dan, of course).
Three Observants stepped through.
“Dark Phantom,” Observant 1 said, “You have been neglecting your duties to—“
Dan snarled as his eyes glowed red, a powerful ectoblast slamming into the two Observants next to the one that had spoken and a blast powered up for the last one.
“I,” Dan’s voice was Eldritch and horrific, “Am meeting my cursed treasure’s family. Disperse before I rip out your souls from your bodies and devour them!”
The Observants quickly vanished and the portal disappeared; Dan sitting down in his seat calmly as the rest of the Waynes stared in horror (minus Tim, who had his head in his hands and muttering about never living this down).
Dan made eye contact with Bruce and grinned, his teeth sharp and needle-like in his too-wide grin, “Pass the salt, please,”
Some time after Clockwork spares one Danny Fenton, a member of the Observant High Council takes care of a concern.
The Observants haven't retained power for this long by tolerating insubordination. And they didn't gain it without a willingness to break a few eggs.
Characters: Observants, Observant Council Member, Clockwork, Danny
Words: 870
Warnings: Oh wow. Um. Implied eye gouging, Implied mutilation, implied non-consensual body modification?
Read below, or on AO3.
The vault was buried deep in the labyrinthine storage levels of the Observatory. Its doors were nondescript, protected only by a single guard. It was far from the usual gilt and opulence the Observants favored for their most important assets.
This was deliberate.
Sclara, member of the Observant High Council, nodded at the guard as his companions produced the twin keys for it and inserted them into their respective holes with a click.
The vault doors slid open.
Behind them was a second set of doors and a heavily armed battalion of deeply loyal members of the order. Sclara was met with a bristling wall of swords, spears, and stranger weapons. He did not glide back. He did not flinch. This was expected.
The correct documents were produced, and Sclara was pleased to note that the guards were indeed thorough in their examination. They would be receiving a reward for their behavior today. It was within their stated duties, yes. But rewarding thoroughness was important on this matter.
At a gesture, they opened the doors and followed him into the vault.
There was only one thing within: a solitary metronome with a shining jewel at its pivot. Its arm rocked to and fro in a constant rhythm. This was also expected. He approached it, and at another gesture the guards formed a wall around him.
Sclara brushed the arm.
A wave of pressure, of presence, and like a thunderclap Clockwork was in the room, eyes ablaze and staff in hand. He swung, and–
Sclara pinched the metronome's arm between two fingers.
Clockwork seized once, midair, and fell to the ground.
The guards encircled him, but there was little danger with the pendulum in Clockwork's chest frozen mid-swing.
Sclara picked his way through their line and knelt down at Clockwork's side before pulling out a dagger.
A few minutes later, he exited the vault with a small box clasped in his hands. The vault doors thudded shut behind him, but the battalion of guards did not remain within. Instead they flowed into a column with Sclara at its center.
Behind them, the vault held only two things: the stilled metronome with Clockwork's core as its pivot, and Clockwork's motionless body.
Sclara twisted down corridors and through hallways until he met a very specific door. He paused outside of it for a moment, fingering the delicately inlaid box in his hands.
He nodded, and a half dozen guards split from the rest to vanish around a corner.
He twisted the door open.
It was a strange space to find within the Observants' domain: all bright lights and harsh lines. The only decoration was painted on the walls, and the only furniture a pair of steel tables. One was large and empty. The other was smaller, with two shelves. A tray rested atop the upper shelf, something large and bulky on the lower.
He crossed to the tables and set the box down on the tray, next to an array of tools; blades, needles, a pair of odd tongs. A branding iron was off to the side, already hot. He fiddled with them, moving them this way and that until they were precisely in line. Then he bent to check the shelf beneath. The clock and metronome were both present, and both in good condition. He ran a single finger along the empty setting at the metronome’s pivot and examined his finger for dust. None. Good.
That done, Sclara straightened and picked up the box, removed the lid. A brilliant red eye nestled within. He picked it up between two fingers and held it to the light. It shone like a ruby, and refracted patterns swirled dizzyingly in its depths.
The tendrils emerging from its back wriggled and reached for Sclara’s fingers. They wrapped themselves around them and began to burrow, but before they could pierce his skin he shifted his grip, and the tendrils fell slack.
There was a knock, and the guards reappeared with Phantom slumped unconscious between them.
"Good," Sclara said, replacing the eye in its box. "On the table. And remove his shirt."
Phantom was laid on the table, chest bare. Beneath his lids, his eyes were motionless. Truly unaware, then. Good.
"Leave us."
The guards left.
He was alone.
He brushed his fingers over the implements at his side until they found the slimmest of the blades. With a deft movement he brought it to rest on Phantom's chest and cut a rectangle in four smooth strokes.
Sclara paused to watch as green welled up and beaded on his skin.
If Clockwork's hubris had grown great enough that he would ignore the word of the Observant Council, then they would simply replace him. It would hardly be the first time. He was hardly the first Clockwork. Sclara traced one finger along a cut, smearing the ectoplasm there. Clockwork had even done them the favor of severing this candidate from the time stream for them.
His hand returned to the tray, ghosting over the tools at his disposal, lingering over the enucleation spoon. Ah. Tempting, he thought. But not yet.
First, he needed to make sure this one couldn’t fight back.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
And chapter 7! With this, I hit the end of what I've written for this fic -- I wanted to write more than a single prompt for this phic phight so I'm afraid this likely won't get further updates until after it ends.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 6 is up! I have one more chapter's worth of rough draft left, though that's not the end of the fic. I just wanted to move on to other prompts before the end of phic phight.
