The Curse Of Hope
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Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.
The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.
“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”
That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.
Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.
“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.
The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.
“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”
Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.
The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”
Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.
-Or-
Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.
Luckily, Danny can provide that help.
But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.
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I know we all clown on Tim Drake for having a moral code that’s just “whatever the opposite of what I think will make me evil gun batman” but have you considered Tim Drake is absolutely the kind of feral bastard to carefully design and create an entire illusion of inevitability just to manipulate his younger self into not becoming a supervillain.
Like do you think Future Tim just set aside some really crazy weekends. Do you think he was the worst drill sergeant ever when making his friends practice their lines and backstories over and over until they locked him in a closet with no electronics
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.I’m so tired of constantly having to ‘prove’ a character as aromantic, no matter the coding or the subtext. .A character could even straight up say something like, “I have never been in love, and I am opposed to the concept of romance (for myself). I have never dated/married, nor will I ever” and people will still try to claim them as something other than aromantic. …And when you try to argue your point, it’s for naught, because at the end of the day, the character or the creator has never specifically stated they’re aromantic and people will use that to make the assumption that they will change eventually or to assume it’s because they’re insecure or because because because... .So many people are willing to take any interpretation of a character as long as it isn’t aromantic (especially romance repulsed and non partnering aromantic). .To have a character that is explicitly and unapologetically aromantic, so much so it cannot be ignored or interpreted otherwise, would be amazing.
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There comes a moment, a few years forward. Precision of memory fails. The exact cadence of their voice, light of their eyes, the way they made their tea. You catch yourself in the midst of a story; you don’t know the next words. They’re not here to ask. Immortalised in grief, they are myth and memory.
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there obv IS a prevalent and aggravating trend of stories having an antagonist who correctly identifies a flaw in society and aims to fix it but also commits atrocities along the way that the narrative claims to undermine the entire goal and then when the hero defeats them it is in the name of the status quo - but people sometimes point to legend of korra as an example of this which is so annoying bc like man how can you not understand a show written for children. every single season ends with korra defeating the villains and then saying "they had some points tho!" and then changing the status quo to address the flaw the villain identified
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In the magical world in my heart we have conversations somewhat like this:
Transmasc: Wow transmisogyny seems like a horrifyingly violent and abusive system, I want to do everything I can to combat it and help my trans sisters feel safe and welcome.
Transfem: Thank you, it seems like transmasc erasure sweeps the complex oppression and specific transphobic rhetoric you experience under the rug, so I want to do what I can to listen to and uplift diverse transmasc perspectives too.
And then we hug and maybe kiss if we’re feeling like it.
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morgan im on my KNEES for the yuuta fic.
for u anon............
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Yuuta falls silent, gaze stuck on the toes of his shoes.
You turn to him curiously. “What is it?” You ask. He had been fine, perky even, just seconds prior when he had been so eager to walk alongside you after you beckoned him. Before, he had been several steps behind you, as if to give you a wide berth. It gave you the mental image of a tiny duckling trailing after its mother.
He lifts his eyes, and you’re surprised to find his lips pressed in a small pout. “It’s just—” the tips of his ears flush red, but in an uncharacteristically bold move he meets your gaze. “You called me ‘Okkotsu-kun’ instead of ‘Yuuta’.” He takes a deep breath. "I'd like you to call me Yuuta."
You stare at him. What an odd thing to fixate on.
He wilts like a dying plant immediately. "I mean—" he stammers, voice pitching higher and higher, hands floundering in the air. "If you want. You don't have to. You really don't—"
You feel an ominous pressure surging into the air, pressing you down to your knees. It takes all your strength and willpower to stay upright. To smile and pretend you don't notice the mass of cursed energy gathering, incensed, and she stares daggers into your back.
"Callllllll himmmmmmm Yuuutaaaaaaaaa!"
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