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DP X DC PROMPT
Ok, so you know how there are sooo many adaptations of what’s happened in history? First thing that comes to mind is “Horrible Histories” that aired on CBBC (side note:: if you loved HH, you are literally my best friend, it was my favourite show), and how they take things that happened all the way back, and add a little whimsy to it.
A little laughter. A little silliness. You get the point.
I!! I headcannon that in the DC universe all of DP happened thousands of years ago. And then there is a show. It’s called “Danny Phantom” and it takes what happened thousands of years ago, with a freak lightning accident that “created” the first hero. (Scientists wonder if this was how MetaHumans came about. They’re— not wrong, exactly)
Except. This is the DC Universe. Where people do stupid stuff on a daily, and mad scientists can be found at a school lab.
So, one of the people high up (a producer? A director? Someone who’s VERY tired and is just looking for some authenticity in this project because it’s literally what they did their dissertation on—) decides to do something that seems reasonable at the time.
They summon the very person (being?) that they are basing this on.
And—
It works.
Whoops?
Ok, that’s alI I have for now! Tagging others to continue this (only if you want!!) @dcxdpdabbles @nerdpoe @starry-bi-sky @ailithnight @hecate-hollow @hello-eden @dp-sidebloggg @dclovesdanny @charlietheepicwriter7 @evilminji @enigmaris @glow-in-the-dark-death @kizzer55555 @luxaofhesperides @noxcheshire @puppetmaster13u @violent138 @virgamsysxvolumes @zylev-blog
Penelope’s screaming at her husband,
“Only my husband knew that, so I guess that makes him you!”
She’s trying to get it into his head, that he’s held her close in her heart all these years. He’s gone through all of this to get to HER. Her husband is not lost, has not been made into a “monster”. 20 years have gone by, and yet he still remembers the blood sweat and tears that went into making their wedding bed.
‘You are not a monster. You are my husband. You know this incredibly niche thing that you haven’t forgotten in over 20 years, that I have kept secret, and I have been waiting for you this entire time’
Penelope’s anger at her imbecile of a husband.
“Of course I love you. Would you be able to tear up that Olive Tree? Would you be able to tear up the roots of my love? Why would you ask me to forsake you?”
INTRODUCTION AND MASTERPOST
SIDE BLOGS: @curious-minds-verse
Hi! I'm Mae, a long-time lurker, and occasional poster. I mainly post in the DPXDC community, but am active in the DCU, DP, Spider-Man, Miraculous Ladybug, Percy Jackson, Epic the Musical and Harry Potter fandoms (as well as some more that I'm pretty sure I forgot).
I have a discord server for my fics, and you can find that here!
Anyway, I'm also a freelance writer, who's commissions are usually open. My carrd usually has all of my stuff, including my socials, prices, how to commission and more.
ANWAY, onto to the Masterpost!
[MULTIPOSTS]
[Phantom & Fent—wait, that's a Wayne!]
[Kingmaker]
[CURIOUS MINDS]
[ONE SHOTS]
[A haunting image]
[Jazz & Darkseid]
[Billy telling the truth]
[It's a nice day]
[PROMPTS]
[Maddie & Talia]
[Historical DP, Modern DC]
Tried my hand at some art……
Why YES, I have been reading an over abundance of 9 year old tim drake in his bowl cut figuring out who robin is….. 🫣😔😔mmmm how did YOU know…🤔🤨🤨
I’ve made a carrd!!!
Ahhhh, this is so exciting, it’s my first time setting something like this up!
Here’s the link, for anyone who wants it:
HOLIDAY COMISSIONS:
Payment will be made via PayPal.
I’m up to anything and everything—DM me if you’re not sure.
It’s a nice day. That’s what Alex focuses on, and it’s something to hold onto.
It’s a nice day. Blue skies, no clouds, the sun high in the sky—but with a bit of a breeze, so that it’s not too hot.
It’s a nice day. Which is why it really is a shame that his day is ruined already. It’s 11AM—hasn’t even reached noon—and this is turning out to be a shitshow.
“Fire now! It will not be able to reform as quickly as the other!” Someone shouts in his comm. Agent W, probably. She was always one to see the little inconsistencies. To see how quickly one could heal in comparison to another.
He shoots. He does not miss. It falls from the sky, with its clear sky and cloudless expanse, and lays crumpled on the ground.
He does not approach. That will be someone else’s job; his is to aim, to shoot, and to not miss.
He never does.
A marksman is what he is, no dressing it up. He might wear the white clothes, have the same honorific, but at the end of the day, he is paid to shoot.
He looks at it with curiosity. Even from this far away, he can see the little twitches it makes, as though it’s being electrocuted in small, sharp increments. Death twitches, he’s heard them call.
He smirks to himself at the name; what an ironic phrase, to be a dead thing and to relive your final moments.
He cannot deny that he is curious about it; but really who wouldn’t be?
What a curious thing in that it was a monster masquerading as human. Acting like a human, moving as a human.
He turns away as someone starts to inch closer to it. There’s no need to listen to the pleading, not when it’s mimicry meant to lure.
It’s a nice day. A beautiful day, even. He should take Julia to the park—she’d be turning 8 soon, and he didn’t know when he might have to leave for a mission.
He turns away from the pleading-turned-screaming, and hums under his breath as he checks his rifle.
What a beautiful day.
Gods, it’d be impossible to properly pull off like how I’m picturing, but imagine a story entirely from the perspective of a GIW agent.
Like, put aside all your existing knowledge of what ghosts are really like and imagine entering the story with only their knowledge. As far as you are aware, the main character is correct about their beliefs. You have no reason to doubt them (yet).
You are part of a government branch tasked with fighting monsters. Every single one of them is immune to conventional weaponry and can have a wide array of superpowers.
And they’re intelligent, too. Not like how a person is intelligent though; they’re not sentient. Sure, they can mimic it, but it’s all an illusion. Under the surface, they’re still just mindless monsters. You can’t reason with them.
Oh and also, they could be anywhere. They can theoretically spring up from any time anyone dies, or can emerge from entirely unpredictable natural portals.
And regardless of if any actual ghosts are present, the very material that makes them up can contaminate humans too. Not just making them sick, that’d be one thing, but making them monstrous in similar ways. Even if you’ve gotten rid of the ghosts, the entire town might be too far gone already.
And then, of course, the actual plot progresses. The character actually interacts with the world, and all the little inconsistencies start to add up. Maybe the character eventually notices, or maybe it’s left as fridge horror as only the reader can realize the truth of the protagonist’s ongoing evil actions.
Though of course that concept does rely on the idea that the reader doesn’t know the truth going in, which is impossible for a fanfic since readers would already be familiar with canon. So in reality, it’d have to be dramatic irony instead of a creeping realization (which could still work but feels a bit less evocative IMO). Or maybe calling it an AU would work to distract people enough, but idk.
Twilight is a STRESSED pony, sometimes she just needs a hit 🤷🏽♀️
yes i drew twilight sparkle smoking a bong. yes im proud of it. yes i also spent way too long on the bong. i never expected to be drawing something like THIS at my grown age when i was a child watching this show, but here we are i guess.
They’re not sure what they’re seeing. It’s a—
Well, it’s something that boggles the brain. Makes you do a double take. Something that well—just doesn’t seem possible.
Darkseid—yes, that Darkseid—is bound and gagged by a slip of a girl. She looks no older than 23, someone who by all accounts should have been overwhelmed by college exams or a new job.
Not someone who has a feral, bloody grin on her face and a few burgeoning bruises on her face.
“Well!” She says cheerily, mouth widening into a true smile. There’s blood in her teeth, and it looks like a tooth has been knocked out.
She’s not even out of breath. It’s frankly terrifying. “You gave me a bit more of a workout than the others do.” Hands on her hips, surveying the battlefield—and make no mistakes, it was a battlefield—she glances down at the bound god.
“Time for you to go back!” And then—and then—this is the part where everyone collectively believes they must be hallucinating. Or in a bizarre dream. Or—and really, this makes the most sense—they’re dead.
That is the one and only explanation for how this 5’6, maybe 160lbs woman is able to heft Darkseid up.
“Sorry for the interruption! I have to get this little guy,” and here she jiggles him like he’s a sack of potatoes, “back home. Bye!”
And she just. Leaves.
It’s silent. There is no pandemonium, no rush of questions, because what do you say to that?
The step, step, step of her heels are the only thing heard.
“Little guy,” someone echoes in disbelief.
Jazz always thought she'd be a psychiatrist. Things did not work out like that.
Being the older sister to one of the strongest ghosts, and being in constant contact with Ectoplasm and said ghost, gave her certain powers.
Certain responsibilities.
She can either talk a spirit into, or force it to move on.
Her powerset is a little broken, she thinks, as "spirit" is a vague concept, and she can technically banish any supernatural entity back to where it's supposed to be.
Demons? No problem.
Gods? Harder, but doable.
Ghosts? Barely breaking a sweat.
So her job, as she is paid to do courtesy of the Observants, is to go where there is a breach in reality and just...shove that spirit back to where it's supposed to be. They give her items to assist, and she uses her abilities in tandem with those items well enough to be nigh unstoppable.
One of those items, however, she never had to use; a length of unbreakable chain so fine it looks like a ribbon. Specifically, a leftover of the very same one that bound Fenrir in Norse Mythology.
Well, she hasn't needed to use it until today.
She was ordered to go banish a new god back to his realm, for attempting to end the world. Again.
Which has led her to standing, bloody and triumphant, over a bound and contained Darkseid as she banishes him back to whence he came.
GUESS WHO GOT A JOB…. YIPEEEEEEEE
Thank you lord for this opportunity!!!!!!!! Alhamdullilah, I was able to get one!!!!!!!!!! It’s a trial period which means that until my 3 months are up i am not telling ANYBODY about this.
but ughhhh it’s an online/freelanxe job and my parents are going to be like “ugh it’s sketucky” ITS NOT. anyway im so happy!!!
guys i LOVEEEE PJO, but. if I see ONE MORE FIC of Annabeth & Percy calling each other “Wise Girl” & “Seaweed Brain” throughout the entire fic i’m going to commit myself to a mental hospital. PLEASE. THEY HAVE NAMES. USE THEM.
THIS IS A LIFE-OR-DEATH SITUATION! THEY DONT NEED CUTESY NICKNAMES ON THE FIELD.
🎉 Writing commissions are now open! 🎉
Hi! I’m Mae, and you might have seen me lurking around on here. I’ve decided to open commissions for writing, and that includes short stories, original works and fanfiction!
✨What I offer:
- Original works: If you have a story idea, world building you need help with, dialogue, or anything else, then I will be able to help. If you’d like to just provide an idea, and have me build on that, then that’s fine. If you need help with your own writing, then take a look at beta reading.
- Beta-Reading: If you need a second opinion, someone to edit, and someone to help you with revisions then I can help with this. I’ll provide feedback on your plot, pacing, and overall story.
- NSFW work: DM me or send an ask about this service.
I offer stories ranging from 0 words to 20,000 words. If it is any longer than this, then please be prepared to either be rejected, have to pay more, or have to wait longer.
💰 My pricing is as follows:
£1.00/$1.30 per 100 words, 0.01/0.013 per word, £10/$13 per 1,000 words. Subject to change. I will only ever accept payment through PayPal.
📧 OPEN COMMUNICATION: Throughout the process, I will be in constant communication with you via email/a platform that enables communication. Once the project is over, I will be able to do a maximum of 2 MAJOR revisions (i.e rewriting the entire story, cutting off or adding plot points etc) before I will charge you an extra £2 ($3) for each major revision after this.
💬 How to commission me: If you’re interested, please send an ask with the following information:
- The type of commission you’d like
- A brief description of your idea or specific details for your project
- Word count preferences or specific length requirements
- Any deadlines or timelines you have in mind.
I think you can tell a LOT about a community/time era via books and arts. Especially unconventional media. We’re really deep into capitalist society, and you can ABSOLUTELY see it in fanfic and fanart, because why are some (most) fanfics i read about a person getting adopted by a rich person (coughcough DPXDC), and having their wellbeing taken care of? That sounds like a DREAM to me, and probably to a lot of people, so they try to find it in art and writing.
Maybe I’m wrong tho… you never know 🤷🏽♀️
See, it’s not his fault about this whole situation; he’d been incredibly upfront about it from the start, and it’s really, truly not his fault if the Justice League simply couldn’t listen.
That was a terrible way to start that off, and Billy backtracked.
What he’d meant to say was that he was extremely, explicitly clear in what he’d said when he’d first joined up. Considering the fact that one of the founding members was Batman, a world renowned detective, and another was Superman, someone who could hear anything in the world, he decided to just—out himself as it were. Get ahead of the jump. Lay all his cards on the table. You get it, don’t you?
And now here he was, a few years later listening to them bickering. He didn’t even remember what had started this up, but knew that the turning point was Wonder Woman—Diana, she asked to him to call her Diana—freezing up and looking at him in shock before breathing out,
“You’re a child.”
Well—yes? Wasn’t that something he’d told them from the start. He’d literally told them,
“I’m twelve.”
Sure, he was in his Captain Marvel form, but that didn’t detract from the fact that he had in fact told them.
Green Lantern—Hal, not Guy—looked at him in betrayal. “I cannot believe you!”
He didn’t have much to say to that except confusion.
“Uh—why? I literally told you this when I joined? I don’t understand why you guys are making such a big deal out of this.”
“We thought you’d been on the superhero scene for twelve years! Not that you were actually twelve!”
Ohhhh. Yeah, that made sense.
Billy Batson but he was incredibly upfront about his real age from the beginning, people just misinterpreted that as how long he's been a hero. This is funny only because it puts him as the most experienced hero in the League and people are mad about it
i need to write a story about this IMMEDIATELY
a lot of people have said this already but
warrior!penelope with ares as her mentor
It is a haunting image.
A boy; a teen, puppy fat still prevalent, kneeling— wailing over the corpse of an elderly.
It is a haunting image. Not because this is his mother, or grandmother or aunt. His skin is tinged green, tears streaming down his face. He is sobbing—great, heaving sobs that show how inhuman he is if only because he doesn’t stop for breath.
It is a haunting image to spectators—but especially haunting to those who know the child.
Well.
He can hardly be called a child, now can he?
This is not his mother. Not his grandmother, not an aunt. This is someone else, someone who he held dear to his heart, if only because she was his sister.
His brave, fearless older sister. Not older by much—barely 2 years, and yet. And yet.
There is grey streaked in her hair.
He sobs. He wails. He keens.
King Phantom grieves because his last remaining family member has not risen. She will never rise again.
It is a haunting image.
A prompt
Imagine this guys. Ghost King Danny has been the King for many years now, ever since he was 14 and put Pariah Dark back in his timeout napping corner, and he held an elderly Jazz closely to his chest as she breathes her final breath. As she goes limp and her eyes go distant and unfocused, nothing rises from her corpse. Not a single hint of a ghost forming, or even a simple shade.
The last of his family has left him, and all he can do is scream in anguish.
A ghost who still looks like a 14 year old holds his 2 year older sisters elderly corpse, and all he can do is wail.
Original writing! Kinda funny, I guess? I don’t know, read it under the cut and please tell me what you think!!!!!!! I NEED OPINIONS PLEASE!!
Agatha looked at the man in her hallway incredulously. When she looked behind her, around her, even above her, she looked at him again with an arched brow.
“Care to repeat that?” She asked, with not a small amount of skepticism.
He was still beaming, his smile not faltering even in her impromptu search, and his eyes twinkled—yes actually twinkled— as he opened his mouth, straight white teeth gleaming.
“You, my Lady Agatha, have been determined to be the Chosen One of the Great Prophecy and will be the Realm’s Hero!”
That’s what she thought he’d said. He beamed even brighter at her, his teeth twinkling now. This had to be a dream. Or a hallucination. Or she was dead and this was what her brain had decided to conjure up. Why couldn’t she have a nice hallucination like—like eating at a five star hotel? Or even getting to retire with a hefty pension fund?
She pinched herself. It hurt.
Motherfucker.
The silence stretched, and stretched. And he was still smiling. Was there something wrong with him? Her head was blank, devoid of any thoughts except a faint buzzing sound. And then, just to cut off the silence that was becoming a little stifling by now, she blurted the first thing she could.
“But what about my cats?”
The man blinked, his perfect smile faltering for just a moment. His brow furrowed slightly as if the thought of cats hadn’t quite factored into his grand announcement. He opened his mouth, paused, then tilted his head, clearly trying to reassess the situation.
"Your... cats?" he asked, as though the concept of pets was a foreign one.
Agatha nodded. "Yes, my cats. All three of them. Whiskers, Tibbles, and Shadow. Who’s going to feed them? Who’s going to clean their litter boxes? You can’t just expect me to up and leave them!"
The man hesitated, his eyes flickering as though searching for an answer that would satisfy her. "Well, my Lady, surely your noble companions will be well looked after—"
Agatha cut him off with a raised hand. "By who? You? The Realm’s Hero isn’t exactly a part-time gig, is it? I mean, between saving the world and fulfilling the Great Prophecy, when exactly am I supposed to find the time to change the litter? And do you know how picky Whiskers is about his food? He only eats the chicken pâté, and it has to be room temperature." She was rambling now, and her eyes had strayed over to the door she was leaning against. It was dusty, and she winced a little at the state of it. She’d have to remember to dust it soon. Assuming that this ‘Hero’ business didn’t put her out too much.
The man’s smile had faded entirely now, replaced by a look of utter bewilderment. This was not how these proclamations usually went. There was supposed to be awe, excitement, a dramatic embrace of destiny. Not... cats.
Agatha watched as the man struggled to find words, feeling a small sense of satisfaction in his discomfort. She had no idea how to deal with being a "Chosen One," but she was quite adept at handling pushy strangers who thought they could just barge into her life with outlandish demands. Being a wedding planner helped with that. She crossed her arms over her chest, her skepticism growing by the second.
"Listen," she said, her voice softening a bit. "I’m sure saving the,” she had to pause here, remembering his words earlier “Realm is very important and all, but I have a life here. A small life. With cats! You can’t just expect me to drop everything because some prophecy says I’m supposed to. It’s not that simple."
The man finally seemed to regain his composure, standing a little taller and clearing his throat. "My Lady Agatha, the Great Prophecy is not to be taken lightly. The fate of the Realm hangs in the balance, and you are the key to our salvation. Your—" he paused here, much like she did earlier, and he seemed to be clearly struggling with the idea “cats, while surely beloved, are but a small part of a much larger tapestry. Surely you can see the greater good—"
"Stop right there," Agatha interrupted again. "If you’re going to try and guilt-trip me into this, we’re going to have a problem. Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not saying no, okay? I’m just saying I need to think about it. Maybe read up on this prophecy, find out what it actually entails. And, y’know, figure out what to do with my cats." She frowned a little at the end. If the answer was that she had to leave her cats behind, then she was going to have to do a lot of thinking.
The man sighed, the twinkle in his eyes dimming slightly as he realized this conversation was going to be far more complicated than he’d anticipated. How did he do that? "Very well, my Lady," he said, his tone more subdued. "I shall return in three days' time for your decision. In the meantime, I suggest you prepare yourself—both for the journey ahead and for the weight of the responsibility that comes with being the Chosen One."
Agatha nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure what "preparing herself" meant. Finding a bow & arrow? That seemed very on point with what was happening right now.
The man gave a stiff bow, turned on his heel, and with a flash of light that made Agatha wince and shield her eyes, he vanished from her hallway, leaving her alone with her thoughts—and her cats, who had finally decided to come investigate the commotion.
She looked down at Whiskers, who meowed expectantly. "Well," she said, picking him up and scratching behind his ears, "What do you think? Should I save the world? Or should we just go back to bed and pretend none of this happened?"
Whiskers purred loudly, clearly in favor of the latter option.
Agatha sighed. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."
DP X DC PROMPT
Ok, so I had this idea in the shower.
Alicia and Maddie are sisters, right? Wrong.
Talia al Ghul and Maddie are sisters. Twins, to be exact. Idk what happened with Maddie for her to be cut off from the LOA, but let’s say that she’s a researcher for the Lazarus Pits (ectoplasm), and leave it there.
She married Jack Fenton (which— why do the Al Ghul women marry big men who are ditzy and himbos on the outside, but are surprisingly smart?), and they had one child; Jasmine Fenton.
Talia on the other hand had twins— Danyal and Damian. (Again— what is it with twins here??)
Anyway, same thing happened with Danyal. He was cut off somehow, some way, and Talia decided to bring him to her sister, a “civilian”— as far as LOA operatives can be civilians. (Is this an excuse for backstory for her 9 black belts? Yes. Yes it is.)
Damian goes to them periodically, maybe once a year, and since Danny and Jasmine and Jack aren’t aware of the LOA, this is literally a sneak mission. Can you pass off as a civilian 101. So, once a year, Damian goes to meet his “cousin” Danny, Jasmine and his aunt and uncle. He is to be a normal American Teenager™ when he visits them, and this skill is rarely used but can be used.
Cue Damian going to the BatFam, all of canon stuff happens etc etc. For about 2 years due to all off the canon stuff, Damian doesn’t meet his cousins. So one day, in the middle of dinner, Damian says
“Father, I will need to be dropped off in Amity Park to meet my cousins. I will be there for roughly one week, and I will need you to pick me up after this.”
Cue Bruce and co, going “Whaaaat?? Cousins?? What are they doing in Amity Park, which, last I checked, doesn’t have any LOA hotspots??”
Damian doesn’t elaborate.
They research, and find a seemingly normal family, if a little eccentric in their research of the paranormal.
They go to Amity Park with him. Damian is sighing and tt’ing this whole time going “They are normal. There’s nothing wrong with them!!”
They meet the family. As soon as Maddie opens the door with a “Darling! How have you been!” it’s like a switch has been flipped.
No longer is he Damian Wayne, son of the Bat and the grandson and heir to the Demon’s empire. No, no, he is just a normal American Teenager ™ who is just very excited to have his annual sleepover with his cousins.
Everyone is weirded out by this.
Ok, that’s as much as I have for this, if anyone wants to add on to this prompt, have a go!!
@nerdpoe @starry-bi-sky @hecate-hollow @bet-on-me-13 @deadsetobsessions @dcxdpdabbles @virgamsysxvolumes @lazerswordweilder @evilminji @hdgnj
go check it out!!!
Ok. So. If you like my writing in “Phantom and Fent- Wait that’s a Wayne?!”, then I have another story for you …
It’s HEAVILY inspired by Dark Matter by the lovely @mysterycyclone, so it’s a spider-man in gotham thing. BUT. there’s someone with him. “Who?” I hear you ask. Read and find out 🤭.
Here’s the summary for the story:
“So. You're dumped in a dimension where you have no idea who the locals are, only a couple hundred dollars, and no way to get back (yet). That's the exact scope of my situation, and the fact that I've got a vague memory of this city and its nutjobs are only the cherry to this clusterfuck.
Well. I've always wanted to know what Gotham was like anyway...?”
Idk, this story has a special place in my heart, soo… check it out
Seeing the notes I wrote for my book and it’s like
No?? I don’t understand?? What was past mae thinking??
Im the funniest person ever to make Jason a conspiracy theorist
PLEASE CHECK THIS OUT
First half of chapter 1 under the cut;
Peter looked at me with wide eyes. He was breathing fast, jerkily, and by the time I processed what had happened, he was half-way to a full-blown panic attack. “April,” he gasped, breaths coming out sporadically, “April, what the fuck are we going to do?”
I was staring at my hands, eyes blank. They were flickering in and out of visibility, my mind and body apparently unable to decide if I should hide or not. The alleyway we were in - that we were deposited in - was dark, looming, and before I had realised it, my spider-sense had warned me of the person at the mouth of it. If I hadn’t been so out of it, if Peter hadn’t been occupied with his panic attack, we would’ve heard them long before they got there.
“Hey! Brats! Scram, get out of here! This is my turf and I’m not having you lot stay here!” He looked angry, and drunk, and ironically this is what got me out of my fugue state, what helped Peter calm down a little. Getting dropped into an unrecognisable alleyway had shaken us, but it seemed that drunk, angry people were always around, no matter what dimension you got dropped in.
That thought almost had me disassociating again, before I got a firm grip on myself. Get yourself into a place where you can panic properly first before you have a mental breakdown I thought.
A plan was what I needed, and even the bare bones of what I had calmed me down somewhat. I turned to Peter, who although had snapped out of his panic attack by virtue of the drunk, wasn’t faring well. “Peter. Hey, Pete. We need to move.” Grabbing his hands, I let just the bare bones of my strength leak through, helping to ground him in the moment.
I could imagine what he was thinking - what his mind must have conjured for him to look so broken. I cursed Dr. Strange for the hundredth time in my mind, if only for the fact that the magic that had thrown us here had us feeling like we had dematerialised into ash.
Yeah. I’m sure you know what memory Peter was reliving. I hauled myself up, and still grabbing his hand, dragged him out of there.
We stumbled out of the alleyway, and into the main road - if you could call it that. It was dark, and the pollution was thick, but it couldn’t hide the gothic architecture or the grimy cityscape. The buildings loomed, dark shadows cast over the street. There were neon signs out every couple of buildings, but they flickered half-heartedly, the light dying intermittently. It was as though even the inanimate objects here were warning us to leave.
Peter was still shaking, his breaths uneven, and when I looked back at him he looked haunted. But I had the brief thought that at least he was moving - at least he wasn’t stuck in that seedy alley. More alert than I was before, my spider-sense tingled at the base of my head, a constant hum that never dimmed - warning me to not let down my guard.
My eyes flickered over the faces of people, their heads down. They walked like they were afraid of getting jumped, wary looks given to me before they hurried away. My thoughts were bitter as person after person looked at me, took a glance at Peter, and lowered their eyes before they walked off.
My faith in humanity died a little at that point.
I tightened my grip on Peter a little, trying to convey some semblance of reassurance. His tight hold on me tightened further, and I flashed him a quick smile when he looked at me. My smile was weak, fleeting, but it seemed to be enough to ground Peter a little more.
We kept walking, aimlessly, it felt but we needed to find somewhere to regroup. To think. It felt like hours, but was maybe only 45 minutes before Peter was tugging at me to stop.
“April, look.” I looked over to what he was pointing at - a small sign that was innocuous and easily passed over. ‘Narrows Shelter’ it read, and I looked over at the building. It looked - clean for a lack of description. It was by no means the Ritz, but it was a far cry better than what I’d seen so far in this depressing city. It wasn’t much but it was something.
I nodded at him, and we hurried over, hoping to find somewhere to sleep for the night. We walked through the doors, and the inside of the lobby matched the outside. The place was clean, and although it looked run-down, I knew that it was our best shot at the moment. Remembering the seedy bars that the neon signs advertised, I shivered a little and prayed that we got something right today.
The Universe owed us.
Wait.
That thought had me spiralling again, the thought that I was in a different dimension. A different UNIVERSE.
By the time I had checked back in, fingernail indents carved into my hands, I could hear the tail end of the conversation that Peter had with the receptionist.
“Room 3B. Keep your heads down and don’t cause trouble.” She sounded brusque, but not unkind.
I could feel a hysterical laugh bubble up at the back of my throat, threatening to come out. Us? Keep out of trouble?
Peter gave me a look, correctly identifying the look in my eye. I swallowed it down, thanked the lady, and we made our way to the back of the shelter. The room was small, with 2 small cots and a window that was so dirty it let in barely any light. But the room was clean, the beds looking not bad. It felt like a sanctuary compared to the streets outside.
Peter sank onto one of the cots, and I followed him, my hand still grasped firmly in his. “We’ll figure this out Pete. We always do.” I laid my head on his shoulder, and felt as he nodded above me.
“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, but I could hear some hesitation in his voice. “April what if we– what if we can’t find a way back?”
I stayed silent, doubt nagging at me. What platitudes could I say when that thought had been running in my mind?
I’d assumed that when I was able to find somewhere to rest – somewhere for my mind to shut down – that I’d have the panic attack I was pushing back. But I just … disassociated. I couldn’t compartmentalise what had happened and my body felt – floaty. I was in a haze, and I didn’t want to go back to the panic-filled haze that my mind had been in before.
I could just – relax. Let everything drop, if only for a minute, and if my hands were trembling, if my glassy eyes held tears, then I didn’t make note of it.
The shelter helped with that. It was quiet, the background sounds muted; footsteps, murmured conversations, the occasional cough. It was a lot louder to me than to the average person – and I think that was what had ultimately grounded me; the fact that my enhanced senses still worked in this hellhole, that I hadn’t lost my powers.
I refused to think about what I could hear outside the shelter.
“We can think of a plan later, Pete,” I said eventually. I looked up at him, and I could see the exhaustion on him. “Let’s try to go to sleep first.”
He looked down at me, and his eyes softened with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “Ok April,” he said.
We settled into our respective cots, exhaustion laying us down like a heavy blanket. We lay there for a while, and drifted off after a bit. The last thing I could remember before I fell asleep was the dizzying relief I felt in the fact that Peter was with me. That the spell hadn’t careened out of order, and separated us.
Writing tidbits
The way when I write with no plotting is so so SO different to when I'm plotting LMAOOO.
No plotting:
Vague idea of plotting:
PLOTTING:
LMAOO I think this is why i do NOT plot at all for my WIPS
Notes for what I'm writing are so funny >.<,,
I genuinely think I'm the funniest MF ever LMAOO
